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wordsinhaled · 10 months

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i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

#coughs this is also why aziraphale’s a dom. but that’s a separate post #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 spoilers #this continues to be an aziraphale stan account #‘aziraphale is traumatized’ and ‘aziraphale celebrates the part of himself that loves crowley’ are two ideas that can coexist #feeling a bit like this take might get me flamed whoops but. i’m deep in my az feelings tonight so i guess i’ve decided to share anyway

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muffinapologist · 1 year

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“Stop calling wrightworth old men they’re only 24-32″ you don’t understand, when we call them old men it has nothing to do with age.

Miles Edgeworth was an old man at 9 years old. He dresses like a 17th century vampire. He deadass uses a phone in his office from the 19th century. He talks like he’s in a dickens novel. His hobby is drinking tea and playing chess with himself. Phoenix Wright canonically doesn’t know how to use a computer. Despite ostensibly being a millennial he’s used the same Nokia phone for the last 15 years that’s now held together with packaging tape. He complains about his back aching and calls people 7 years his junior kids. It’s about the mindset. The personality. On all levels except physical they are old fogeys

#wrightworth #narumitsu #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth

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tenebrous-if · 3 months

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LINKS:

🜲 Play the Game

Estimated Release: N/A

🜲 FAQ

🜲 Pinterest

🜲 Character Descriptions

🜲 Family Descriptions

🜲 Map of Arvandor

🜲 Genre(s): Fantasy, Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, and Action/Adventure.

🜲 Rating: Tenebrous is an 18+ Fantasy IF set within the mythical world of Arvandor.

The Kingdom of Aetheria, within the world of Arvandor, is a nation ripe with history. King Lysander du Aetheria rose up and led the fledgling Aetherian Army against The Forsaken One— Herald of the Abyssal Uprising— and came out victorious when everyone else had failed. With his victory, Lysander placed Aetheria as one of the key pillars of keeping Arvandor safe; allowing for peace to reign over the continent for centuries.

Peace, however, was never meant to last.

The Order of Netheron, Followers of The Forsaken One, had captured you at the tender age of fifteen, holding you captive for a decade within a tower only labeled as “The Spire”. All due to their wish of resurrecting their fallen deity— something that they believe could only be accomplished by using the blood of King Lysander’s descendants; it was a ritual that didn’t go as planned— one that did bring back their deity, but only for your eyes and ears only; the both of you attached to the other in a way that probably wasn’t intended.

And that’s how you spent the last decade of your life… Growing used to the presence that now appears whenever the time calls for it. It isn’t until your twenty-fifth year that you’re finally found and taken back to Aetheria, to everything you had long thought you’d lost.

Your time in the sun, however, was short-lived as the tidings of an even darker uprising was beginning to grow— one that threatens to demolish everything and everyone.

Can you figure out how to save your home?

🜲 Create your Aetherian Royal:

Name/Nickname

Gender [Male, Female, or Non-Binary]

Appearance

Hobbies

Personality [Mainly involving unique reactions to certain situations— the MC is semi-set in some ways]

🜲 Romance 1 of 4 potential love interests— each offering their own unique experience within the story and how the world at large will react to the burgeoning relationship.

🜲 Bond with your family after being apart for so long. They have missed you a great deal. [The MC is a middle child.]

🜲 Harness the magic that flows through your veins due to the gift of your blood.

🜲 Choose from a variety of skill sets that your MC may be able to acquire. [Note: This means you can choose something to specialize in, instead of having to constantly choose between being a diplomat or warrior. You can instead choose to be a swordsman while also focusing on the art of diplomacy.]

🜲 Build a codex from the various interactions that you can have throughout your story— from places, to people, to old legends that have tested the passage of time within Arvandor.

Astorian/Astoria du Aerilon: The Heir to Aerilon, and the person that was your betrothed from the time you were seven until your disappearance. Astorian/Astoria spent every winter with you, and you every summer with them, in hopes that a union between the both of you would bring your countries together. You remember many things from that time of your life: their warm laugh, brazen attitude, arrogant smirk, and their inability to stay still for long. Meeting them again? It simply proves how much can change in a decade. [Can choose to have been in an almost relationship with them or still rivals.]

William/Wilhelmina du Arvandor: A recent addition to the Holy Order, who has an iron-clad need to help and be of assistance to anyone that may require it. Being a Paladin has been something they’ve strived towards for the last eight years of their life; training being second to nothing. It’s simply a mere coincidence, or the Divine’s Will, that their first major mission was to rid Arvandor of the last dregs of Netheron… A mission that brought them to The Spire, with a small band of warriors, to carry out that very task— wherein they find the Lost Heir of Aetheria. You.

Gabriel/Gabrielle Adair: Being renowned within the arcane arts, having achieved the rank of High Mage within the Aetherian Institute of Magic, it’s of little surprise that the royal family of Aetheria would call on someone with their skill set— if it weren’t for the scandal that still plagues them. You’re not sure what could have been so bad that would force them to retreat within themself like they have, especially if your parents had seen them fit enough to tutor you, but it’s obviously something that weighs heavily upon them. Will it be possible to wrangle out the secrets of their past when you’re still trying to figure out your own gift?

Ilyran/Ilyria Caelestis: The Forsaken One, an individual that’s visible only to your eyes from a ritual gone wrong. There isn’t much you can glean from them, after all you can only take what they say with a grain of salt, but the shadows that lurk within their eyes has nothing to do with the darkness that now lives within them. It’s hard sometimes to look at what they’ve become when you’ve seen what they were in Old Texts, when they weren’t the Forsaken One, weren’t the Divine’s Disgrace… When they were simply Ilyran/Ilyria Caelestis, High Priest/Priestess of the Holy Order.

#tenebrous if #choice of games #hosted games #interactive novel #interactive fiction #wip #work in progress #high fantasy #romance #royalty

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lustlovehart · 7 months

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Genre: Nsfw (Afab Reader | No Pronouns)

Warnings: Oral (F receiving), He has a forked tongue, Semi-public(Neuvillettes Office), overstimulation, multi orgasms, gets a little fluffy at the end.

Neuvillette invites you to join in on his water tasting hobby, but instead of him taste testing water, he’s taste testing you.

He has you splayed on his desk as he greedily drinks you up with his long forked tongue, quaffing your essence down his throat as if he was a thirst ridden man who hadn’t drunk water for centuries.

At this point, even though you’re not tied to the desk, it feels as if you’re bounded to the surface, with the way your body can only writhe in pleasure at his advances, your mind so far gone you cant even think anymore. You’ve came at least 4 times already with his tongue, and you’re sure he still wants more from you.

He tightens the grip he has on your thighs, his gloved hands being a barrier between you and him, the leather material preventing him the direct skin to skin contact he wants.

His tongue feels like it’s reaching deeper than it did before, his thumb massaging your clit in circles as he keeps devouring you like its his last day on earth. A knot starts to tighten in your stomach, fingers racing to pull on the Ludex’s long hair. Your throat is hoarse as straggled moans come out your mouth, trying your best to be quiet so Furina won’t hear from across the building.

“Neuvillette…!” You can’t help the squeal that comes from deep in your throat when he replies to you with an ‘mm?’ The low sound causing a vibration to go through you. “Too… Too much…!”

“I know dear, just one more…” his breath sounds heavy, as if he was to busy pleasuring you to focus on breathing. Before you knew it, the knot deep within your core had come undone on his tongue, white filling your vision as your eyes roll back from the pleasure. Even at your climax he could stop drinking from your body.

The moment your orgasm had reached his taste buds, he immediately sped up, not wanting to waste a drop of what you had given him. His tongue greedily licked up the leftovers of your essence, further driving you over the edge.

"Are we... Finished now...?" Your breathing was ragged, different heavy exhaled and inhales filling the silence of Neuvillette's office.

He was the ludex of Fontaine, despite the circumstances he wouldnt possibly lie would he?

Life seemed to lie to you as well, with the way he so convincingly said one more time you believed him, only to be proven wrong by the countless other 'one more' times he proclaimed.

"Neuv...Ilette.. You liar..." you struggled to even think of the words to speak, your mind was insanely numb to your thoughts.

"I'm sorry my dear, it would be an extreme injustice to me to never properly taste you in a way you would enjoy as well"

"Ju-justice...? What are you talking abou- ah...!" The familiar feeling had returned to your lower half, the tightening of your entrance immediately catching his attention. He sped up his advances once more his tongue practically fucking you itself.

Moans are all that leave your lips as your realease on his tongue, this oragsm being even more powerful than the last, but that might just be because of how overstimulated you really were.

His lips finally left your body, strings of your climax sticking to his chin, his lips glistening from the left overs of your essence. Your left essentially dazed from reality as you lay tired on the man's desk. His blue eyes stare admiringly on your body.

His once gloved hands are now naked, his fingers tracing into your skin. He takes your body off of the surface of his desk, sitting you in his lap as his fingers play with your hair.

"In my own eyes, serving you is the highest justice I could ever ask for."

#Vesnsfw #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #alright i wrote my monthly smut back to my other stuff

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ystrike1 · 6 months

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My Student Grew Huge and Proposed to Me - By @_71416 (8/10)

The shock of the century! Your ideal man is in love with you, but he's seventeen years younger than you? You haven't even seen him since he left for high-school. First loves aren't supposed to last. WTF is happening??

Shou and Hinata. An English tutor and an eager student. Shou became extra interested in learning English after he fell head over heels, in the most childish way.

He would not stop following his sensei around.

He was so cute!!!

Was.

I'm not saying their relationship wasn't adorable. Hinata is a skilled teacher, and Shou was a good student. Innocent little crushes happen every day.

They parted before he left for high school.

Hinata is left in shock and screaming when a huge man appears on her doorstep. It's impossible for her to ignore him. She figures it out fast. Her clingy student has returned.

He failed.

He thought about giving up on her, but he's back.

She says no obviously. She's not comfortable dating someone so young...

...

So he says he'll go to college nearby, and they can date after he graduates...

...that's...some dedication...

We see that Shou has always been pretty weird. Most of his childhood revolved around impressing Hinata and becoming a good man for her. He remains popular. He's got great friends. His grades are fine...but the obsession remains.

It's in his hobbies. His dreams. His daily life.

When he faces setbacks and trouble he always ends up thinking about her.

Even after she's gone from his life.

He plans to return, as a good man.

He becomes handsome.

A cute, kind girl confesses.

I do think he wavered. I do think he realized he's a little weird, but pretending would be wrong. It would be a lie. He wants to love who he wants to love. He's almost too pure to be obsessive.

He definitely is though.

If Hinata doesn't waver...

If she looks at him with disgust...

If she's married...

...he'll give up.

His happy when he finds her drinking alone in a small apartment. Unhappily single, and unable to find a decent partner.

Kinda fuked up, but that's his cue.

She's not happy, so he's allowed to try and be her happiness.

Hinata had a hard time during those years. She dated a demanding and cold man. She isn't very financially stable, and she is no longer young. She gives Shou an ultimatum. No good job no marriage. If he isn't willing to wait EVEN LONGER, through years of proper dating and school...she will never trust him.

He is,of course, elated.

He says yes to her proposal.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #My Student Grew Huge and Proposed to Me

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obsessive-valentine · 4 months

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You could make a scenario for the yanderes with an F!READER who knits them a scarf, but she is not experienced yet and ends up making them an ugly scarf but with lots of love and she stands in front of him all excited and smiling

‘The Ugly Scarf’ Yanderes x GN!Reader

Here are some of the yanderes reactions, I didn’t write then all in case they’d get repetitive because they all absolutely love it one way or another.

Classic Yandere - He adores it. You were waiting to greet him with your hands behind you back. Gleaming with joy, and before he could even question why you were out of the bedroom and if he needed to start chaining you again, you presented him with a messily knitted blue scarf. He held it gently smiling in endearment when seeing the range of loose and tight loops “I love it so much, your so talented” he slings it over his shoulder to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. He will keep telling you that you should keep knitting and how precious it is. He wears it to work everyday, and defends it with his life; anyone who jokes about it will get a nasty glare. Literally worships anything you make.

Barbarian - He reacts very much like when you gave him homemade jewellery, his brain buffers hard before realising what’s going on. Anytime you gift him something he takes it as a declaration of love and although he’s not initially delusional, knowing at first you don’t want to be with him -this might make him believe you now want to be with him. But unlike the jewellery he doesn’t wear it everywhere, it’s a fragile piece of clothing and he’ll be dammed it he breaks it in the slightest. No instead it’s proudly but safely hung from the tents beams, and neatly folded up into a trunk every time camp moves.

Vampire - Honestly he thinks it’s very ugly but in an endearing way, he’s been around for to many generations and seen some good scarfs while also carving out his own refined fashion style. But never have he been gifted something so full of love, seeing you stand infront of him full of true happinesses is all he can ask. So when you hand him the questionable scarf saying you made it for him, he forgets to breathe (not like he needs to) before recollecting himself and politely thanking you. “I think we should go pick out some more yarn and new needles to replace those old things you found in the attic” fully supports your new hobby. He also wouldn’t wear it, he’s got to make the frail thing last for the century’s to come, he keeps it folded up neatly in the room with his coffin so he can see it every morning before he sleeps.

Childhood Friend Fae - Much like yandere vampire^, he thinks it’s ugly but appreciates the sentiment “Now what did i do to deserve this? Yes darling I love it very much, thank you”. He wouldn’t wear it but it would become a comfort item. He keeps it in his home study, sometimes finding himself fiddling with it while doing stressful work.

The rest of the OC’s would all be very endeared and wear it most days, it would become a permanent part of their wardrobe. Even later when you start knitting much more advanced scarfs and insist to replace the old thing -they’d insist on keeping it and wear it now and then. Fisherman and Farmer find it especially useful when working in winter.

#yandere oc #yandere #x reader #Classic Yandere #yandere barbarian #yandere vampire #yandere fae

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theaceace · 6 months

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Another old fic idea that stalled somewhere between my brain and my docs, in which Hob puts centuries of life experience to use by writing an anonymous advice column (it's probably Jo's fault somehow) and recently he's been getting some... Odd submissions

My brother has recently left a very stifling living situation and is drowning himself in work. I know his pride won't let him come to me for help, but I want to let him know I'm still there for him, what do you suggest? - Endless Family Drama

It can be difficult to watch the people we love most refuse to accept our help, especially when we can see that they're hurting. The best advice I can offer you is don't push him too hard – the last thing you want to do is scare him away! Spend time with him doing something you both enjoy or rediscovering common ground, and let him come to you when he's ready. Encourage him to find the person he was before all of this, and start learning how that fits with who he is now; reconnect with old friends or pick up a hobby he hasn't tried for a while. Clearly you love your brother a great deal, and whether he's ready to admit it or not, he's lucky to have you in his corner.

Chin up, and best of luck to you both!

And what do you know, that afternoon Death happens to go find her brother feeding the pigeons.

Matthew (with Rose's help, typing is really hard when you're a bird, turns out) after a conversation with Lucienne and later a complain-and-smoke-sesh with Constantine, writes in (not knowing he's writing to the boss's friend) like

I've just started a new job, and my boss is literally a nightmare when he's in a bad mood, he drags me to hell and back, spends all his time moping and fighting with my other boss, and won't listen to any of my advice, how do I let him know I think he's being unreasonable - struggling to keep my beak shut

Eventually Dream - who is both spending much more time in the waking world and also much more inclined to listen to Matthew's advice recently, for some reason - decides to write in to ask the opinion of a human on how to. Well. How one might go about courting one of their oldest friends having just reconnected after a huge fight and period of separation.

So naturally, Hob's reply is somewhat wistful and based entirely on the way he would love to court/be courted by his old stranger (Dream! Morpheus! He's been given so many names and titles to use now, he's practically spoilt!)

Neither of them figure out what's going on for an embarrassingly long time

(Desire writes to ask how you get your brother to stop ignoring you after you've tricked him into prison ('captivity' is the word used, but Hob can read between the lines) and almost made him kill one of their relatives. Hob starts to question if this side career is a good idea)

Also, the tagline for his column would absolutely be something like I keep making the same mistakes so you don't have to! Somehow this does not clue Dream in in the slightest

#Sandman #dreamling #Hob Gadling #dream of the endless #matthew the raven #death of the endless #desire of the endless #On today's episode of 'fics I have so clearly in my head but Simply Cannot Put To Paper'

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hazbinpage · 4 months

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Lucifer x Reader HCs

(In which your relationship is romantic and you both live in the hotel.)

WC is 1741

(A/N: I love Lucifer so much. What a man. That being said, he's probably really OOC in this: we've only seen his character in a select few situations, none of which demonstrate how he treats his romantic partner or bonds with people he doesn't know, and I haven't read enough fics about him to decide what I like. Additionally, I'm not the best at writing romance at this point, so hopefully nothing is too off lol! With the disclaimers out of the way, please enjoy and lmk what you think! :))

-He isn't very fond of sinners, and while his perspective on them has changed since joining the hotel, his opinion certainly hasn't flipped 180 degrees. How could it have? Good deeds never made the news in Hell, and the dead he was forced to interact with were powerful. Powerful sinners were never innocent; no one becomes an overlord by accident. Centuries upon centuries of talking to the powerful, witnessing only violence and hatred, will not be undone by a single moment of comradery in war — a battle where he couldn't know if the sinners were acting solely in their own self-interest.

-This is why, when you first arrive at the hotel, he's fairly aloof. He'll be polite, of course; he has no reason not to be (especially while lowkey still trying to win over his daughter), but will hold himself distant.

-Despite this, he admits you're kinda cute....

-You don't see him often, which doesn't help with his distance — he isn't used to being around so many people, and while he's pretty charismatic and extroverted, he's also still depressed and has a habit of self-isolating when he's going through it (which is often). He only really comes out for his daughter's sake.

-To get to know him faster than his changing perspective and mental challenges would otherwise allow, you could: one, approach him directly! Be friendly, open, and interested in his hobbies. This only works if you do the same for the others, though. If you don't, he might see your advances as manipulation. Two, you could develop a relationship with Charlie. Support her, believe in her cause, and have her back. He'll see you helping his daughter and will want to understand you further. Three, you could talk about ducks. That'll get him. He'll approach you eventually and strike up a conversation.

-If you don't do any of these things, that's fine; he'll just get to know you at the same pace that he gets to know the others. He'll slowly open up to the idea that not all sinners are violent psychopaths, become more comfortable with the rest of the crew, and realize how well he connects with you over a period of several months.

- Lucifer catches feelings pretty fast once you start hanging out for real. He's enamored with you: not only are you cute as fuck, but his daughter loves you, and you're the nicest sinner he's ever met (while kindest of the damned is not a hard-earned title, it's one he appreciates nonetheless).

-Once he realizes he's caught feelings, he'll ask Charlie for permission to ask you out. He doesn't want to pursue you if she isn't comfortable with it; she's already got familial issues, and he doesn't want a sudden shift in the family dynamic to hurt her further. If she says yes (which, if she likes you, she probably will), he'll ask you out to dinner.

-Prepare for the first date to be really awkward. Even if you've known him for a while at this point, he's incredibly nervous — he hasn't done anything romantic in a good while, and the last time he tried a relationship, it didn't work out. The whole time, he's fumbling over his words and cringing at himself, saying things he doesn't mean to while trying to be suave. When he escorts you back home after a very bumpy evening, he'll be downtrodden. He messed things up, just as he knew he would, and now you probably hate him; thoughts of self-loathing and regret swirl in his mind until you say you'll pay him back next time (he blinks up at you owlishly. "Next time? Like...another date?" You confirm his thoughts. "Oh--- oh! Yes, absolutely! I mean, no, no need to pay me back; of course not, but next time sounds good! How does this Saturday at 3 sound?").

-A couple of dates in, and he's feeling more confident, which reflects in his now far more self-assured demeanor and smooth language. He's a silver-tongued devil, after all, and he has to live up to his name.

-If all goes well, after about a month, he realizes he wants you to be his partner. He, once again, gets Charlie's permission and brainstorms with some of your friends about how to pop the question. Initially, he wants to impress you, pulling out the big guns and whisking you off your feet on the balcony of a lavish black-tie restaurant rented for just the two of you. After some discussion among your peers and deliberation of his own, though, he decides to do something else. He invites you to his tower, where he's prepared a handmade dinner with candles and soft music in the background. The food isn't particularly good (he can't cook very well and enlisted Vaggie and Nifty's help to make his dish edible), and the smoke from the candles stopped being pleasant about a half an hour in, but regardless, you both have a wonderful time, laughing about his lack of culinary skills and the excessively warm room. He asks if you would like to be his lover at the end of the evening, nervous but somehow also self-assured, and is overjoyed when you say yes. The next day, he parades you around the hotel, bragging that you said yes and talking about you to anyone who'd listen.

-If he wasn't big on physical affection before he got so lonely, he is now. While his hands might not constantly be on you, they've come close to that, especially if he's going through a hard time. Expect lots of hand-holding, arm-looping, cuddling, and kissing. He likes resting his head on yours (or your shoulder, depending on how tall you are) while he wraps his arms around you (or the reverse — he loves being cradled), you both sitting together on the couch. He also has a habit of rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of your hand while holding it.

-Smother his face with kisses, his cartoony heart-eyes expression will look a tenth lovestruck as he feels.

-You receive frequent duck memes, duck-themed gifts, and duck dissertations. He doesn't go around parading his interest, but if he trusts you, he can't keep himself from wanting to share everything about his hyperfixation. He's concerned about being annoying, though, and while you could try to curb his insecurity by telling him he's not, the best reassurance is to match his energy: talk about your own obsessions and be just as weird about them as he is. Not only does he feel better about himself, but he gets to talk with you for extended periods of time, your eyes alight and grin large. He'll probably try to get into whatever you talk about, wanting to connect with you further.

-He likes giving you gifts in general. Especially those that show you're in a relationship with him, like wearable apple or goat paraphernalia. While he does enjoy gift-giving for its own sake, he's insecure and doesn't want anyone to think they can cross him by taking you. If you give him anything duck-themed, handmade, or (heavens help him) both, especially without reason? He will melt. He loves it; he can feel the thought and effort you put in for him and feels known and loved.

- He’s kinda clingy; he likes being around you as often as possible and gets nervous if you're gone too long; if you leave for more than a day, he's like a koala when you return. It's comforting to him to know where you are, but it’s even more comforting when you tell him how much you love him before you go. His self-esteem isn't at a record low, but it certainly isn't high, and he has huge abandonment issues. Every once in a while, because of this, he'll grow distant; his thoughts of being undeserving or theories about how you're going to leave him become too much, and he semi-subconsciously pulls away to protect himself. Be patient with him during these times; show him how much you care and how you would never leave. Tell him you love him as he is. The first time you say so, he'll cry in your arms and snuggle you for hours.

-He'll become less clingy and insecure as your relationship goes on, but will always rather be with you than alone.

- He's majorly protective. He knows what it's like in Hell, and he knows that by dating you, he's put a target on your back, which only adds to your lack of safety. He will pull all the strings he has in order to keep you safe, whether that means accompanying you when you're out and about, actively keeping you away from overlords, or tracking your phone without your knowledge. He feels bad about some of his less savory means of protection, but not bad enough to stop. The thought of your death haunts him too much to let you be.

-Similarly, though he won't ever admit it, your redemption keeps him up at night. If you're redeemed and go up to heaven, he can't see you anymore — maybe ever. He knows you want to better yourself and tries his best to support you in your improvement, but sometimes his fear gets to be too much. In those moments, he has to spend some time alone before he tries to sabotage your progress in any way — any more than he already has.

-It's hard to tell what his love language is because he uses all of them. He wants to spend time with you (though he will give you a break if you need one; he understands needing to be alone, even if it makes him nervous), give you gifts, be touchy, do things for you, and tell you how wonderful he thinks you are. He wants you to know just how much he cares in every way he can and will be receptive to any form of love in return.

-He doesn't use as many pet names as some of the rest of the cast would, but he does use them! He likes calling you sweetheart and angel-eyes the most.

-Overall, he has a lot of insecurities and mental health problems to work through, but tries his best to be the best partner he can be for you. It's hard work to improve himself, but if you'll have him, he'll stay by your side forever.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #my writing #my hcs #lucifer/reader #reader is a sinner

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clxckwork-sun-n-moon · 9 months

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Old Forest Gods AU - the main players in their day-to-day appearances

This AU takes place in a small coastal town, which used to be Y/N's hometown during their childhood. Some information on these three under the read more:

Sun - of the forest. Comes off as flamboyant and sweet, but still very much catching up with how humanity has progressed in the last couple centuries. Intrigued by new changes, disliking the whole deforestation idea other people have been coming up with. Wants to win over Y/N before Moon does.

Moon - of the river. Prefers to lure people instead of downright pursuing them, but here for the long chase if needed. Tends to stay away from the town, only taking interest if someone comes through his 'neck of the woods'. Wants to win over Y/N before Sun does.

Y/N - of the town. Has chronic pain and fatigue, as well as joint issues in their knees and ankles, which is why they have a fold-away cane to hand at all times. Recently moved back home for better quality of life with their disabilities. Is a photographer for hire and hobby, and enjoys wandering in the nearby forest next to town. Is very much aro-ace.

(There is a fourth player but he won't be turning up for a while...)

#clockwork doodles #old forest gods au #dcaverse #dcamv

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lovelyhan · 1 year

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— meet cute of the century (a teaser) ⟢

the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest, clumsiest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

★ FEATURING; wonwoo x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1.7k words

★ TAGS; meet cute, strangers to lovers, pining, some angst, smut (though this teaser is completely sfw!)

★ TAGS; mentions of accidents but it's not given much detail

★ NOTES; i'm back with my low quality wonwoo bf pics for my teaser headers hehe i am soooo excited to write the rest for this! honestly didn't think the teaser would end up this long but here we are :3c little heads up that some parts of this teaser could change in the full story, but nothing major plot-wise will be taken out. hope you like it!

this is part of the doting on you! series.

There are a handful of things that a college student can do with their free time. Studying, hanging out with friends, and maybe even picking up a hobby of sorts. You, on the other hand, use up all the hours you’re not spending on your undergrad thesis or sleeping the day away at an animal shelter just a few minutes away from your apartment.

Your friends constantly wonder how you’re still able to maintain a remarkable GPA with a part-time job that’s starting to look full-time, but you just laugh their questions off for the most part—saying that other people have got it worse than you, but can still perform leagues better academically.

You also tell them that most of your motivation comes from all the unadopted animals from the shelter. You started as a volunteer just to kill time on weekends when you’re free, but even if you knew better than to get attached to all those adorable faces, you eventually found yourself on the part-time employee roster anyways.

Now you’re rushing to finish your degree so you can get a neat sugar mommy job that’ll let you afford to adopt everyone that’s been stuck in the shelter for nearly a year or more.

Okay, maybe not everyone because you’re no fool with a savior complex. But just enough to give a few furry friends a new home, right?

“Don’t look now,” your coworker, Mari whispers conspiratorially while you’re in the middle of snacking in the break room, “but that cutie you’ve been crushing on just walked inside. He’s checking out the cats out in the playroom as usual.”

Right. Apart from your altruistic dream of adopting as many animals as your financial capabilities can allow, there’s another reason you’re always looking forward to your shifts at the shelter. A reason that you’re a bit too embarrassed to let your friends know about.

You nearly choke on a potato chip when Mari breaks the news and she immediately laughs in your face. Glaring at her, you compose yourself with a long gulp of water before saying, “I do not have a crush on him.”

“Sure,” she plays along. “If you consider making googly eyes at the guy every time he drops by as ‘not having a crush on him’, then I’ll concur.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t, sweetheart. Now get out there and sweet talk him into take one of the kittens home! Pretty sure he wants one if he’s been showing up as much as he did for the last two months.”

While you would’ve argued that the so-called cutie you’ve been crushing on could just like seeing the cats play around in his free time, you don’t really have much energy to play mental gymnastics with Mari. You’ve had a long day of revisions and other nonsense materials you have to submit for your majors, so you’ll let this one slide.

Your workplace is as bleak as every other shelter you’ve seen a few times in your life. Gray walls, concrete floors, and steel cages stacked on top of each other. It looks more like a prison than anything, really, but it’s the staff and those kind-hearted souls who rehome animals that have long been abandoned that give the entire place some life.

While Mister Cutie That You’ve Been Quote-Unquote Crushing On doesn’t exactly fall into either of those categories, you like to think he still leaves the building just a touch colorful once he walks out of the front door.

Speaking of color, he’s wearing a loose, dark green shirt that falls just below his elbows. Cutie—as you’ve deigned to call him not because you think he’s cute but because you’re yet to get his name—has one palm flattened across the viewing glass of the playroom. He’s wearing his usual black face mask today, but from the way his eyes glint behind his glasses, you’re just going to assume he’s having a good time just by watching the cats frolic inside.

“You’re here pretty late,” you state nonchalantly before standing a few feet away from him.

“Is that so strange?” he murmurs with a chuckle, surprisingly not startled with your sudden entrance before glancing your way. “I always show up here at this hour, don’t I?”

God. No matter how many times you hear his voice, you just can’t get over how deep it is. But before any of your thoughts could show on your face, you get talking.

“True. You’ve sparked a debate among the volunteers about your line of work, actually.” Not exactly. You’re not sure if any of the volunteers have even seen this guy, since they mostly work day shifts. “Anyway, are you just here to check ‘em out or am I finally going to hand you the adoption papers?”

His eyes crinkle a bit before he shifts his gaze towards the playroom again. Most of the older cats have already been put back in their respective cages. All that’s left inside are the kittens with way too much energy to spare. The director, A.K.A., your boss, believes that it’s best to tire them out first before settling them into individual enclosures for the night. Keeps the place nice and quiet for the evening shift fellows like yourself.

“Not yet, sadly,” Cutie says with a sigh before pointing at one of the kittens huddled up in a corner. “That one’s new, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve seen him around before.”

“Her,” you correct. “Her name’s Hani. She’s a stray that someone from the university I’m attending brought in last week. It was pretty ugly, actually. Poor thing got into an accident and was bleeding everywhere. Good thing our usual vet was paying a visit when they came here.”

“Oh? That’s a relief then. No wonder she’s got a little limp every time she walks around,” he observes with a saddened tone. “But I digress. You mentioned you were attending university?”

…Okay, why’d the topic of interest suddenly shift to you?

But since it’s a harmless enough question, you reply with, “Yeah. The one that’s just a few blocks away. It’s kinda why the person who found Hani brought her here instead of a vet clinic. The nearest one’s like half an hour away.”

“Good call, good call.” He nods with a look of understanding. “I hope someone comes and adopts her. She deserves all the love she can get. Well, everyone here does of course.”

You flash him a conniving smile, raising your brows a few times. “You could give that to her.”

Cutie shakes his head with another low-pitched laugh. “As much as I’d love to, my…living conditions won’t be suitable for her at all. Or any of the other animals for the matter.”

“Hm?” You stare at him curiously. “Your landlord doesn’t allow pets or something?”

“Mmm… Not exactly.”

The conversation pretty much ends there. Cutie excuses himself—saying that someone is waiting for him at home. You don’t know why your heart deflates a little at the very real possibility that he has a significant other. Then again, if you’re this whipped when you haven’t even seen his face, you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to settle down with someone who has.

Either way, it’s none of your business. And correction: you’re not whipped. Just…hyper aware of his presence every time he stops by.

Despite the fact that you’re dead-set on filing away this strange fascination you have for the guy, however…

“Wait!”

Cutie turns around to face you with an inquisitive look. “Yes?”

You swallow thickly, deciding to just bite the bullet before your nerves get the best of you. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Cu—I mean, Glasses Guy in my head whenever you pay us a visit.”

He blinks for a few seconds, obviously nonplussed by your forwardness but you don’t think your pride can take it anymore if you had to refer to him as—

“You can call me Woo,” he says warmly and you can almost see the smile that stretches behind that black face mask.

Shit. Did your heart just stutter?

“Mister Woo—”

“Just Woo is fine.”

“Okay, Woo,” you start, kind of liking the way that something that’s obviously a nickname rolls off the tongue, “just let me know if you ever want to take Hani home. We’re open twenty four-seven, as you already know.”

He nods. “Sure thing. Is it okay if I can get your number for that?”

Now you have to fight the urge to scowl at him after he’s been so nice to you all night—and every other night he’s dropped by.

This guy isn’t flirting with you. He said it himself—someone’s waiting for him at home! Plus, he’s expressed consistent interest in adopting a kitten for himself a handful of times before. Maybe he just connected with Hani on a level that’s above the others. Enough to ask for your number since the possibility of him bringing one of these angels home is becoming more and more real.

Yeah, that’s definitely the reason!

So you give it to him—hastily scrawled behind an old flier gathering dust in one of the drawers on the front desk. It’s way too big to write just yours and the shelter’s contact details on, but the other calling cards are nowhere in sight. You’ll have to ask Mari if she’s seen them once—

“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch,” Woo tells you while folding the sheet of paper into a sleek black Louis Vuitton wallet.

Wait a minute.

Before you can even seriously ponder about what job he’s got to be able to afford that, Woo is already out of the door—heading into the evening streets without once looking back.

“Gosh, I swear that guy’s an idol in disguise or something.”

That’s the first thing that Mari tells you when you find her doing a few rounds among the sleeping dogs in the far back. You haven’t even spoken a single word about your most recent exchange.

“What makes you think that?”

“He just exudes idol vibes, y’know? Shows up here when the place is deserted. Always acts subtle and inconspicuous. Oh and not to mention how hot he looks even with a face mask on! He could be that one idol your little sister is crazy about.”

You roll your eyes at her odd ways of deduction. “Mari, I’ve seen enough of Haewon’s Mingyu merch to last a lifetime and Woo definitely does not look like him.”

“Oh?” Your coworker perks up with a mischievous smile. “You finally got his name, huh?”

God. This is going to be a long shift.

want to be included in the taglist? send me an ask!

#svthub #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan

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porcelainseashore · 2 months

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Into the Ether (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Authors' Note: Lots of blood drinking (+ its underlying issues), suggestive themes, mention of bodily fluids, and at least dubious consent for vampire turning ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @xoxostarlet @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Bury Me

Leon had reached a row of converted Victorian-style residential buildings in the Lower West Side of Uptown Raccoon City. Tall, stained glass windows lined their exterior, accented with a mixture of gabled and Mansard roofs. Pointed arches embellished with corbels and fretwork adorned the structures, detailing their rich architectural history. Despite them appearing frozen in time, harking back to the 19th century, everything else had been modernized for their inhabitants.

Scanning his keycard on the reader, he slipped in through the back entrance and hurried towards the rarely used service elevator that was stationed out of sight in a narrow corridor at the rear end of the building. He swiped his card again to gain access to his specific apartment floor, punching the button several times erratically, even though it had already lit up on the first try. Upon noticing that he had accidentally smudged blood from his hands onto it, he muttered a string of curses while using the cuff of his shirt to wipe it off.

Holding you close, he planted a desperate kiss against the crown of your head, as if by some miracle you would wake up from this nightmare, safe and sound in his arms. Your body temperature had dropped considerably, and with each passing second, he could feel your vitals waning as your life force ebbed into oblivion.

“Come on, stay with me,” he begged, his visage crumbling under the weight of grief, and out of habit, he thumbed at the gold cross pendant hanging from his necklace. If there was a god, he would let you live.

As soon as the elevator doors parted with a resonant ding, he sped out towards the only apartment door on the top floor. Feeling the side of the frame for a familiar indent, he pressed against it, and a matchbox sized cache slid out, containing a crescent shaped device. Attaching it to another metallic apparatus that he carried around in his pocket, he slotted it through the keyhole while simultaneously adjusting what looked like gears of an old-fashioned clock into place.

Despite all these years, he still had a penchant for puzzle solving, seeing as his former workplace, the Raccoon Police Station, had been a labyrinth in itself. And what better way to put his hobby to use than to invest into the security of his haven, by creating his own intricate lock mechanisms, complete with false walls and hidden passageways. It may seem a little over the top, but sometimes it was comforting to lose his nights designing and crafting the things that had made him human in the beginning.

With a satisfying click, the heavyset door creaked open on its hinges, revealing an immaculately kept and minimalist loft. He dashed in, shutting the door behind him before pushing the coffee table away and setting you down gently on the rug. You were the only blemish in the room, bleeding out from underneath him, staining the fabric in the pattern of angel’s wings.

He felt your pulse, weak and unsteady, and you were nearly gone. It crushed him to see you like this, your skin ashen and pale — the only shade of blue he never liked. As you lay there unresponsive like a corpse before him, he knew he needed to go through with what he had planned for you all long along. Even so, he had a hard time coming to terms with it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! He was meant to woo you, give you a taste of what the unlife had to offer, bring you over to his side and both of you would, what—? Live happily ever after?

Fucking hell, Leon. What the fuck were you thinking? he swore at himself internally. Ada’s words came back to haunt him. She was right, he had let his emotions get ahead of him again. Regardless, he had to fix this mess, and letting you die was out of the question, as was turning you into a mindless ghoul addicted to a blood bond. No, he would never do that to you.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, brushing the strands of your hair, which had clumped together in dried blood and sweat, out of your face. You were so deathly cold in your slumber…

Then, he broke the first of his promises and drained you dry. Images of you flooded his mind again as he latched his mouth onto your neck. He could feel your fears, your joys, and your sorrows. The first steps you had taken as a child, captured through the lens of an old home video; the family and friends you would leave behind; long, solitary walks in the woods; dancing your heart out in smoky nightclubs; ceiling-high shelves filled to the brim with musty books and DIY costumes you’d pieced together from scraps; every trinket and memento — all the signs of life that had made you happy.

There was no time for regrets. He could make you happier, he vowed. He will, he had to.

At the very last drop, he licked the bite marks close and let go, slashing his wrist against his teeth before placing it to your lips. His own sanguine fluid coated your lips in a cherry red stain, restoring a semblance of life to your otherwise waxen complexion, as it dripped down your throat. Slowly, your jaw began to move, lips puckering up as it suctioned against the open wound, the tip of your tongue licking across it over and over again like the sweetest nectar you’d ever savored.

“There you go, angel,” he panted, feeling the pressure grow taut around his wrist as he stroked your hair tenderly with his other hand. “Just a bit more.”

He concentrated on the act, investing the power of his vitae into you, passing on the curse of Caine which he had carried with him all this while. On top of that came the Bane and Compulsion of his clan, as well as its Disciplines and strengths.

You couldn’t explain why your body reacted so naturally to it, but your appetite for his vitae was insatiable, like an insurmountable tidal wave heading towards shore. Your eyes flew open and you caught his ocean blue gaze. Gasping for breath, you clamped down on his wrist even harder, earning you a gratifying moan that fell from his lips, as they twisted into an expression of excruciating euphoria.

Likewise, you felt the build up of sheer bliss with an underlying tinge of agony within you, as you continued drinking from him, unable to stop yourself, no matter how much you tried. Every fiber of your being burned like a warm, inviting flame. You were the epitome of a phoenix in a pyre, combusting and being reborn again, walking barefoot across searing hot coal unharmed, as the fire raged on. From ashes to ashes, dust to dust, into eternal life.

And then he appeared before you like an ethereal, ghostly apparition, kneeling in the pews of a cathedral you didn’t recognize, praying fervently to a crucified man on a wooden cross. Subsequently, the scene switched to a hectic office space, permeated with the shrill sound of phones ringing and papers flying in every direction. There he stood in the center of the room, like the eye of a storm, a handgun secured in his holster as he moved the pins around on a crime board. One vision blurred into the other and it felt as if you were seeing his past, present and future all at once.

An immense rush of ecstasy filled your senses at the final image of you riding him like a horse, as if you were experiencing it for yourself firsthand. Sweat poured down your naked bodies as you rolled your hips back and forth against his lasciviously. His calloused hands squeezed the sides of your thighs, encouraging you to move faster as he thrust up into you. In the throes of passion, you threw your head back and cried out in excess, but found it muffled against his wrist as you abruptly returned to reality. Your eyes went straight to his, and the knowing look on his face gave it away, confirming that you had partaken in the last vision together.

The Beast was gnawing at the cage in his chest again as you suckled more of his vitae. A hunger arose within him and he was aware that the deed had been done. The primary hurdle was getting you to stop.

“Angel, my love,” he called to you softly, “That’s all I can give you.”

You had heard every word he said; they were crystal clear, but your head remained fuzzy, as if it were wrapped in layers of cotton wool, dampening your thoughts. He could see it in your glazed eyes that you were unable to register what he had requested of you, but he couldn’t bear to tear himself away.

“Please, angel,” he whimpered. “Let go.”

At that point, something in you clicked. Perhaps it was the sight of a broken man, crouched in the middle of his living room, weary from all the bloodshed and the cruel hand fate had dealt him tonight. You wanted to do everything you could to soothe his pain. The same pain that had crept up in his voice the night he put you to bed, and when he had wondered out loud in the park if you could accept him for who he was.

Loosening your grip, you tilted back, allowing him to retract his hand as you ingested the rest of his vitae in your mouth. Nothing could ever come close to the intensity of what you had just felt. Gradually, you came down from the high and your ragged breathing evened out. A numbing weight pressed against your body as your eyes fluttered before closing. Was this it? Was this the end? All you could think of was what a peaceful way it was to die.

A shiver ran down his spine as Leon caressed your cheek, watching you fall back to sleep again. Even his own Embrace hadn’t gone this far. Of course it had been the best thing he had felt in the world, but this, with you? It was on a completely different plane. The memories, the shared sexual intimacy, how—? Did he hallucinate that? He still hadn’t figured it out. It was something for maybe the Tremere, unfortunately, to advise on.

But he had bigger things to worry about now. This was only a temporary respite before you would awake in torment, and he needed to find a way to ease that as quickly as possible, despite being so ill-prepared. It would be the first lesson he’d have to teach you and one of the worst.

━━━━━━━━━━━

A set of steely arms wrapped around you the moment your body jolted upright as you came to. Disoriented and unable to think straight, you struggled to break out of their hold as you heard Leon’s voice in your ear, “Shhh… it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me.”

You tried to speak but only unintelligible growls escaped your mouth and you continued thrashing about wildly, as a gut-wrenching pain ripped through your flesh and bones. It felt like hundreds of rats were clawing their way out of your stomach as your eyes searched the room rabidly for the offending source that was driving you insane.

And then you saw him. A man in a fancy business suit, unconscious but propped up against the wall. His hands were bound with rope and a nasty bruise swelled at the side of his head. You let out a torturous wail when it finally dawned on you that the very substance you had been lusting after was his blood. It smelled incredible from where you were seated and you were frothing at the mouth like a deranged animal.

What the fuck was going on?! your mind screamed, while you made guttural noises in retaliation. Is this—? Oh god, no! What did he do to me?

There was a persistent throb in your corner teeth, as if they had been plucked out by force and something foreign had been put in its place. You ran your tongue over them, they were elongated and sharp. Just like-

Leon? He pulled you flush against his chest, trapping you in his iron grip, and with a sense of urgency, he spelled out, “Listen to me, you’re not gonna like this, but you need to feed on him.”

Shaking your head violently, your eyes rolled back as if you were possessed by a demonic entity, while you fought with all your might against him and your overzealous hunger. No, no, no, fuck that! I won’t—!

“If you don’t, you will lose control and murder everyone in your path,” he explained.

Noticing how you continued to resist him vehemently, he added, “You won’t have to kill him, I can show you how.”

You whined, scratching at his hands and crying like a hapless pup. There was no need for you to articulate it in words. He understood everything you were going through — the inner turmoil and mental dilemma at your first feed. Except, you had it worse off than him. At least back then, he knew what he was getting himself into and accepted it. You just didn’t have the privilege of time.

Shambling across the floorboards, he brought you closer to the man. “It’s not easy in this state, but you’re strong, and smart. I know you can.” He paused, shifting his grip on you so that he could point out an obscured trail along the man’s neck. “You need to hit one of the arteries or veins for a clean feed. Usually, you’d take it slow and be more careful, but we don’t really have an option tonight.”

Suppressing another painful whine, you tried your utmost to follow his instructions as a beast-like creature went berserk in your chest, bashing it way through your ribcage. Focusing on the area he had identified, you could more or less make out the veins protruding from his skin, like an ultrasound.

“Here, the jugular,” he indicated. “You can start with that, but don’t drain him fully. I’ll help you to stop, just remember to lick it close at the end, okay?”

Nodding, you sobbed out a vague agreement, though your feet were kicking out furiously, itching to be set free. It felt like your mind and body had been separated in two, and neither worked in tandem with each other. The scent of this man’s blood was overpowering, it was making you giddy.

As soon as he let you go, you lurched forward, grabbing the man’s neck roughly as you plunged your teeth into the vein you’d singled out. A viscous, intoxicating liquid enveloped your mouth as you had your fill. Raw energy flowed from one end to another, restoring function to your organs and limbs, as they began to come under your control again. The more you drank, the clearer your mind became, and the Beast within you quietened, satiated from the elixir that seemed to nourish your entire being and soul. Soul? Did you still have one, especially after this?

From a distance you heard your name, accompanied by an appeal to cut it short. Once again, you were thrown into the depths of a battlefield, where each side struggled for dominance as its victor. It felt too good to end it here. Why should you obey? a voice inside you sneered.

A pair of hands gripped your shoulders from behind. Leon’s tone was stern and resolute: “Stop, lick the wound now.”

His command reverberated through your hollow chest, rattling your bones as you submitted to him. Swabbing your tongue over the puncture site, you released your prey as Leon pulled you away. Splotches of bright crimson covered the man’s attire as well as your own. It had been a messy affair.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.” His voice was tender again, as he turned your face to his. Dragging his fingertip along the spilled blood trickling down your throat, he scooped up the remains and sucked it into his mouth.

By now, he was an expert in cleaning up after his elders, having done his fair share of dirty errands. That’s what neonates like him were good for. At least it would come in handy tonight. The man was still alive, drowsy as hell, but his heart was beating. He had taught you well.

“You did this to me.” The accusation rang like the toll of a bell in his ears, as he watched your expression change into one of pure hatred and disgust.

But before you could continue on with the verbal onslaught you had been saving up for him, a debilitating pain struck, blinding you in the process as you clutched your abdomen and trembled turbulently. What—? When will this ever end?

You were physically dealing with the bitter aftermath of being snatched from the hands of death and flung into rebirth through abnormal means. Anything within you that didn’t need to be there anymore would be cleansed in the next few hours, as your body was dying and disposing of the needless waste. It was not like this in the movies. You wanted to laugh at the outright ridiculousness of it, but all you managed were terrified shrieks.

It was humiliating to be brought down this low in front of him — the man who went from someone you had started to fall for to the last person in the world you wanted to be in the same room with. You hated him for what he had done to you. The fire came back, but this time it was like being burnt at the stake; it was harrowing.

To Leon, you could never degrade yourself in his eyes. He stayed with you the whole time, rubbing reassuring circles on your back as you writhed in agony, dirtying his rug with vomit and piss.

Though she had cared in her own way, Ada never did this for him. He remembered his transformation like it was just yesterday. The serene peach walls of her bathroom, equipped with fluffy towels, aromatic diffusers, and soft music playing in the background, like a spa he couldn’t enjoy. He had been tucked away safely in the bathtub, the door locked on him, as he shivered uncontrollably like a junkie. She couldn’t bear to see him like this — his face covered in snot, stinking up the place with a vacant look in his eyes. It was a mess, but a controlled one.

With you, he wanted it all — the good and the bad. He couldn’t offer you the luxuries that Ada had with him, but he would be there beside you, taking care of you like the sire he desired to be.

━━━━━━━━━━━

There was a sense of déjà vu when you awakened for the second time that night. Or was it morning? You couldn’t be sure anymore. Somehow, you had ended up on a double bed that wasn’t your own and in clothes that you’d never wear — not unless you were a lingerie model on the cover of a magazine spread, or one of those rich housewives looking to spice things up in the bedroom. In your last conscious moments, you thought you had soiled yourself, but now you were squeaky clean. Did Leon—?

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil.

You whipped your head in his direction, and saw him leaning against the banister of the stairs that connected the partially open, mezzanine-like level to the main floor below, which it overlooked. Out of a sense of self-preservation and modesty, you crossed your arms over your chest, hugging yourself tightly.

Stifling a laugh, he smiled at you bashfully like a teenage boy in front of his first crush. “It’s, um, my sire’s.” He gestured towards your outfit. “I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t have anything else.”

Sire? Letting yourself go, you peered down at the fitting lace chemise that clung to your body, still feeling vulnerable and naked under his gaze, as you speculated over what he meant.

“It suits you,” he complimented, either oblivious to your bemusement or attempting not broach the subject at this point.

The remark he had made, even if with good intentions, made your blood boil. “Does turning me into a monster suit me?” you spat, getting up from the bed as you strode towards him in fury.

A flicker of remorse flashed across his eyes and his breath hitched. He thought he could stall for time and reconcile with you before having the talk, but he had been blindsided by your astuteness. Despite that, he tried to pacify you. “Angel…”

But you weren’t having any of it. “Shut up!” you hollered, slapping him hard across the face. The blow was harsh enough to send his head snapping to the side, leaving a vivid red handprint marked on his cheek. “I’m not your angel, and never will be!”

He could’ve punished you for your insolence, but chose to suck it up and tolerate it. You were clearly struggling to accept your new circumstances.

“Okay, I deserve that,” he conceded, gingerly rubbing the side of his face where it stung.

You didn’t seem to care though, in fact, you were absolutely livid to the point where you couldn’t speak. Casting him a venomous look of disdain, you drew in labored breaths, your chest rising and falling in rapid, heaving motions.

His watery eyes met yours, and you saw the pain and hurt brimming in them. “You would’ve died back there,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let that happen to you.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you withdrew from him, gripping the edge of the bedpost so intensely that a huge chunk of it broke off. Wait, just how strong were you now?

He glanced over at the damage and winced. Dammit, I liked that bed, he sighed to himself.

“I wish I did,” you muttered, eyeing the piece of metal in your hand skeptically before chucking it to the side. “You could’ve done your job and buried me.”

That was when he lost his cool. “Don’t say that,” he hissed sharply, his gaze smoldering like dying embers, as he marched forward, seizing your wrist to prevent you from backing away. “I just wanted to help—”

“Help?” you questioned testily, challenging him head on with a fierce glare. “You forced me to drink some guy’s blood!”

“You would’ve died,” he reiterated, using the same excuse in a loop as if he never heard you.

“He could’ve died!” you retorted, with the same stupid line of argument that Leon had been falling back on each time.

“Well, he didn’t, and he’s fine!” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration and huffed as he pivoted to one side, before turning back to shoot daggers at you. “A little anemic, but fine!” he expounded for good measure.

There was a slight pause until you fired back, “Go fuck yourself, Leon S. Kennedy,” letting every syllable of his full name roll off your tongue mockingly.

A low growl erupted from his sternum. He wanted to yank you roughly by the hair, throw you onto the bed and teach you a lesson. Jesus Christ, Leon, don’t go there. Get a hold of yourself!

Instead, he bottled up his anger and composed himself. Releasing a deep, slow breath, he evened out his tone, reasoning with you. “Look, like it or not, you need to come to terms with… what you are.”

You hadn’t backtalked him yet; that was a good sign.

“If you want to survive these nights, then I’m the best shot you got.”

Even though you held nothing but contempt towards him in your heart at that very moment, you realized that ultimately, he had a point. And so, you grudgingly raised the white flag. “Fine,” you relented. “But I will never forgive you.”

Another compromise. He could work with that, for now.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #porcelainscribbles

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

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Title: Sequestration.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Robotic Bodyguard!OC x Reader.

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Heavy Themes of Isolation/Reliance, Needles, Intimidation, Manipulation Through Health, Reader Wears A Dress And Is Called Princess But Like In A Non-Binary Way, and Codependence.

On your best days, you could remind yourself that life outside the castle probably wouldn’t be any more interesting than life inside of it.

How could it be? You’d never actually been outside, sure, but you’d spent hours staring out of your dust-covered windows, sorting through your mother’s research, walking across the scarred landscape in your holographic enrichment chamber until you came to the end of what the simulation was able to generate or Prince decided that you’d spent enough time thinking about things you shouldn’t, that day. You’d talked to other survivors (real survivors, you mean – you still don’t know if you could really call the way you live ‘surviving’) on your mother’s communication devices and the more primitive radio transceivers you put together yourself, and you knew that it was more routine than anything, that scavenging for food and gathering clean water and praying that, by some miracle, you’d stumble onto one of the few remaining pockets of civilization before that pocket devolves into in-fighting and anarchy was about as much fun as sitting inside and daydreaming about doing the same. You knew how to keep yourself busy; the castle was endless, its rooms countless and the labyrinth of tunnels that ran underneath it endless, and even if you did spend the rest of your life mapping out its every twist and bend, it would’ve taken another to finish the restoration work your mother started. You had enough dried and canned food to last you the next century, and you always kept the indoor garden going strong. You had hobbies, and routines, and when you were absolutely desperate for company, you had Prince. That, you guessed, would never change. No matter what you did, he would be there to guide you through it. No matter where you when, you’d always have Prince on your heels.

On your best days, you could tell yourself that life outside of the castle would be as boring as life inside of it.

On your worst, it was impossible to make yourself believe that anything could be as boring as the life you were living now.

It was a quiet, knotted despair – the kind that lent itself to long days spent consumed by low-burning anxiety and dampened terror and everything else that comes along with knowing you’d likely never take so much as a step outside of the building you’d been born in. You tried to keep it hidden the best you could, to avoid Prince and, by association, one of his well-intended but less than helpful ‘check-ups’, but the inevitable could only be delayed for so long. He found you in one of the castle’s tallest spires, sitting in a bay window spilling over with patterned quilts and velvet-lined pillows. He was already scowling when he appeared by your side, his lips quirked downward and his gaze ever so slightly narrowed. You’d expected as much. He’d always said the spire's damp air would worsen your condition, but according to Prince, nearly everything would worsen your condition. If he had his way, you’d be locked in your library all day and your bedroom all night, and he’d always know exactly where to find you.

He was wearing his holographic form, as he always was – his pink hair pulled back into a perfect low ponytail, his features softened yet well-defined, every part of him manicured and refined in the way a creature who’d been quite literally designed for companionship could be. You’d only seen his true form, his physical form, once; that shambling mess of gears and iron banding, but you could still remember the way it creaked as it moved towards you, the strange dissonance of hearing Prince’s voice and seeing that malformed, mechanical nightmare. You couldn’t be scared of him, not really, not when you knew it was still Prince underneath all that metal and all those jagged edges, but you listened when he warned you away from certain parts of the castle, now.

You didn’t turn to face him immediately, keeping your eyes on the distant landscape until he cleared his throat and took a step toward you. You watched, out of the corner of your eye, as Prince reached out, moving to touch your shoulder before pulling back and letting his hand fall to his side. He couldn’t touch you, not in this form, but he’d try, occasionally. It was an expression of the more human side of his programming, the half that was made to keep you happy, not just safe. You could only imagine what string of numbers could make a being so rational carry so much sentimentality. “I believe it’s past time for your treatment, Your Highness.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, burying your face in the thick fabric of your skirts. “Again? Didn’t I just take my medicine yesterday?”

“Yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. It’s a daily essential. You’d know that if you ever bothered to listen to me.” His frown was gone in a moment, replaced with a small smile and a pleased look in his eyes. “Do you need me to escort you to the clinic?”

“I think I can find it on my own.” You waited for a long beat. When Prince failed to move, failed to respond, you added, “But, if you want to accompany me…”

“It’d be my honor, Highness.”

He waited patiently as you slowly removed yourself from the windowsill, sparing one last look towards the lifeless horizon as you smoothed over your skirts and placed yourself at his side. You couldn’t take his arm, but you didn’t need to. He knew how to keep pace with you, by now, matching your stride as you quietly navigated through the castle’s tangle of empty hallways and overly cluttered rooms. Everything, from the ancient furniture to the box-like sensors posted in the corner of every room to your own sparse decorative touches, was coated in a layer of dust you’d never been able to stave-off. You tried to clean whenever you could, and Prince did his part, but there was just too much to take care of. Your world was, simultaneously, impossibly small and incomprehensibly large, and it was similarly difficult to imagine that you’d ever be able to fill the space or shake off that ever-growing sense of claustrophobia.

Eventually, you came to a pair of towering glass doors – the entryway to the otherwise unused sunroom that you’d taken to using as a makeshift clinic. You looked to your side, nodding to Prince, and in an instant, he’d dissolved into thin air. You counted out a minute and, more importantly, waited to hear the sound of metal scraping against tile - the sound of Prince’s footsteps - before slipping inside. As always, the clinic greeted you with shining marble walls and a glittering glass cieling, but only dread accompanied the lovely sight. Your treatment, for as much as it delighted Prince, wasn’t something you could bring yourself to look forward to.

Prince was already waiting for you, a familiar wooden case in-hand, looking just a little more vivid than he had a second before. You knew why – that his holographic body was now anchored to his physical form, that he had to wear a skin you wouldn’t be able to see through – but you still made an effort not to look at him. It was too realistic, too uncanny. You didn’t know what you’d do if you ever met another living person. If Prince was too much for you, you couldn’t imagine how you’d react to someone who was made up of more than projected light.

You took your place on the cot in the center of the room, folding your legs underneath you and cringing at the way the stiff sheets crinkled. In a moment, Prince was at your side, already sanitizing the needle of a long, bronze syringe. You just held out your arm, pointedly glaring in the opposite direction, and Prince acknowledged your discontent with a low hum, a slight pinch, a sudden numbness slowly ebbing from the crook of your arm. You closed your eyes, but that only gave you less to distract yourself with, only left you more focused on the discomfort lodged just underneath your skin, the stark chill quickly seeping away what little warmth you had. Still, you kept your eyes shut as he worked, determined to at least pretend that it helped. “Prince.”

It was a reflex, by now – just another routine. Shut your eyes, and when that didn’t work, call out for Prince. He was as used to it as you were. “Yes, Highness?”

The pain was minimal, but you winced as he drew the needle back. “Do you think we could go for a walk tomorrow?”

“You go for a walk every day.” The bandages were next – white, plush, and virtually useless. You’d take them off in less than an hour, but Prince enjoyed the ritual of it, and it wasn’t as if you didn’t have time to spare. “As far as I was aware, you don’t have any other way to get around.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You threw him a hollow glare. “A walk outside. Just around the courtyard.”

“Why would you want to go out there?” You didn’t have to see him to know he was grimacing. You could hear the disgust in his tone, picture his automatic revulsion. “It’s filthy, and dangerous. The dust would shred your lungs.”

“I’d wear protective gear. We have ventilators, and I could make a—”

“The strain alone could break you. That’s not to mention the heatstroke, or the bugs. You wouldn’t last a second.” There was a soft laugh, a swatch of cotton against your skin. His fingertips brushed against your skin, as cold as ice and as lifeless as metal. “Don’t make me watch you suffer like that, princess. You know I like taking care of you, but that’d just be torture.”

You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “There are people who’ve been out there for as long as I’ve been alive. I think I could survive a day.”

It wasn’t a chuckle, this time, but a laugh – whole-hearted and chirping. Perfectly engineered to be as mirthful and as patronizing as possible. “You can’t be serious. An hour, I could start to understand, but a day?” He shook his head, a stray length of pink hair falling over one of his eyes. “Please, don’t put my poor heart through that.”

“You don’t have a heart.”

“I have enough of one to know that this isn’t a good idea.” He smiled, and when you didn’t return the gesture, he sighed, lowering himself to one knee. The bandage was secured, and before you could pull away, he took your hand in his. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was secure, remorseless and iron-clad. He must not have realized how confining it felt. Otherwise, you knew he never would’ve held you that way. “I know it sounds harmless now,” he started, in that faux-sympathetic tone. The same one he’d used when you scraped a knee, or came crying to him about another malfunction in one of your half-baked inventions. “But you have to trust me. You’re safe here, with me. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to help you out there.”

You felt something acidic rise into the back of your throat. “Prince,” you said, again, if only to buy time to brace yourself. “I want to go outside.”

It was quick, but you saw it. A flicker to his holographic form, a nearly imperceptible lilac aura suddenly tinted a harsh red. You caught a glimpse of spiked shoulders, of a steel grate obscuring a nonexistent face, and then, Prince was back – still smiling, still staring up at you. It might’ve felt more genuine if you hadn’t known what was lurking behind his eyes.

“Do you know,” He spoke slowly, carefully, no part of his expression ever-changing, “what would happen if you missed one of your treatments?”

You shook your head. It wasn’t like either Prince or your mother had ever gone out of their way to explain why you were sick, lest the stress of it all take a toll on your oh-so-fragile helath. “I... I might get sick? It can’t be worse than spending the rest of my life doing this.”

He chuckled, bowing his head, his lips coming to rest a hair’s width above the back of your hand. “You’ll die. You’ll wither and fade away, just like the world outside of this castle did. Just ike your mother.” This time, when his grip tightened around your hand, you couldn’t tell yourself it wasn’t deliberate. You couldn’t tell yourself that he didn’t see how quickly your shoulders stiffened, that he didn’t notice you try and fail to pull yourself out of his hold. “Do you understand?”

“Prince, I don’t want to—”

His thumb dug into the bone of your wrist, metallic fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh. You winced, and Prince’s grin widened. “Do you understand, princess?”

“Yes, I do, I— Please, let me go.” You were gasping, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you fought to urge to pry yourself away from him. “I’m sorry, I understand – I’ll never ask again.”

He spared one more playful, bone-crushing squeeze before releasing you, letting you draw your hand back into your chest. He stood, taking up the syringe and its case before retreating back towards the clinic’s cabinets. You didn’t dare to move until he’d returned to your side, until you felt his hand on your shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t be so cruel to me.” The words were muttered, barely audible. If there’d been anything else to hear, anything else in this castle save for you and Prince, you might’ve missed it. You wish you could’ve missed it. “Will you be tending to your garden this afternoon?”

You nodded, as if in a trance. Prince hummed in approval. “Would you care for an escort?”

“I…” You crossed your arms over your chest. Your wrist throbbed, but you didn’t know what to do about it. You weren’t used to this type of pain. “I think I’ll manage on my own.”

You cast your gaze downward, to the cot’s over-starched sheets. You waited until those dull, thudding footsteps were too distant to hear, until you could bring yourself to sigh, to shrink, to glance toward the reddened bruises forming along your wrist. You might’ve done more, if you’d known what to do. You might’ve cried if you hadn’t still been able to feel Prince’s eyes on you, unblinking and ever-present.

So, instead, you picked yourself up, let your hands fall to your sides, and – like you would tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that – started towards your garden.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere commission #commission writing #yandere oc #yanderecore #yancore

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prodigal-if · 1 year

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Prodigal is an up-and-coming Murder Mystery IF that depicts a tale of deceit, latent pain, and a hidden past that could either heal or completely destroy.

The Reaper— it’s a name that’s haunted you for a little over two decades now. One of the most infamous serial killers of the 20th Century, in New York City. Killing over 25 people, most believing the final tally is much more, and not getting caught until one fateful day. When you were the reason behind his arrest.

The Reaper— the boogeyman made flesh.

The Reaper— the man that made New York City hold its breath until his arrest.

The Reaper— your father.

You’ve tried getting past it, fighting through the darkness that always seems to follow you, and for the last few years you’ve been fairly successful; working for the FBI giving you just the distraction you needed. Being one of their top profilers, as you found it easy to get into the mind of a killer, you even started to believe that your past would stop haunting you.

Until you were fired for misconduct and you found yourself back in New York City, back where it all happened. Will you finally be able to find peace? Especially when you begin to work with the Major Crimes Unit of the NYPD?

Or was the boogeyman just waiting all this time to finally strike?

Features

Customizable MC: name, nickname, some hobbies, appearance, sexuality, and gender. Other things will probably crop up as the story continues too.

Will you fight your demons or succumb to them?

Reconnect with your family after being away for so long. How much has changed? Will you be able to uncover things that are amiss?

Solve cases with the Major Crimes Unit, and solve a much deeper mystery that seems to always be lurking within the back of your mind.

Romance 1 of 4 potential options. Will they help you heal?

Don’t forget about the boogeyman…

LINK — Prospective release Late March/Early April

Ross/Rose Garner

Between Detective Bishop and Detective Garner, the latter is much more open to working with you than the former. With an open smile, that's only slightly tinged by weariness, they're willing to give you a chance and see where that takes them. Offering an olive branch, a helping hand, whenever you could use one. Will you be able to offer them something else in return?

Appearance: Detective Garner stands at a solid 5'10" with sharp blue eyes. Slightly curly, raven black hair complements their olive complexion, mixed with a light brown hue. They have a lithe body type.

Daniel/Danielle Bishop

Detective Bishop isn't as open to you joining the Major Crimes Unit as a Consultant-- not because of any inherent dislike of you, though that may be there somewhere, but for the simple reason of not being as trusting as their partner and boss. Will you be able to crack through their defenses? To the person that's willing to quip an amused one-liner, or crack open a cold beer and hang out? Or will they forever remain a mystery to you?

Appearance: Detective Bishop stands at around 6'2" with closed-off gray eyes. Brown hair, with bits of golden highlights strewn throughout, brings out the fair complexion of their skin. They have an athletic body from years as an athlete beforehand.

Ethan/Emily Yang

The mortician that helps the Major Crimes Unit with every case that comes their way. With an almost innocent quality about them, despite being surrounded by death on a daily basis, they couldn't help but be fascinated by you and your knowledge. Will you only ever share your scientific thoughts with them, and a joke or two, or will something else evolve as you continue to grow ever closer?

Appearance: Doctor Yang stands at a whopping height of 5'7" with intelligently kind brown eyes. Ebony black hairs brings out the porcelain hue of their skin. Along with the delicately slender quality of their body, Doctor Yang is surely a sight to behold.

Caleb/Carina Sinclair

Your old partner in the FBI-- a person that took their job seriously, but you never believed that they'd leave you behind too. Their walls of ice, of stoicism and vast professionalism, had always fallen away for you and only you. They never looked at you like you were something broken because of your past. Will you ever find out the reason they left you behind? Or is it a case, a mystery, you're just never meant to solve?

Appearance: Special Agent Sinclair stands at a striking 6'5" with piercing green eyes-- the likes you've never seen before. Wavy, blonde hair complements the lightly tanned quality of their skin. Their muscular build, from hours spent training, barely being hidden by the standard issued suit for a Federal Agent.

Special: Can choose to have had a romantic entanglement with them in the past (something like FWBs).

#prodigal #upcoming if #choice of games #hosted games #no demo #interactive fiction #interactive novel

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danikamariewrites · 3 months

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𝕊𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Prologue

A/n: welcome to my first series! I’m so happy to be putting this out and I’m excited to hear your thoughts. Please feel free to comment or ask questions :)

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of death, reader being trapped in a tower, deceptive Beron

At thirteen years old you were still showing no sign of powers. Your father had always told you tales of the fire that runs through your veins. What your birthright is as the last living heir to the Autumn Court.

He had always seemed so happy to have you as his child. So proud.

Though the expectations he set terrified you, you were happy you have Beron as a father. When your father visits your tower he always asks what you’re learning this week or if you found any new hobbies to enjoy. There wasn’t much to do in your tower but study and draw. In your free time art had become your passion. So much so that your father and tutor, Lady Briar, couldn’t ignore your talent.

Everytime your father visits you ask him to tell you a story. Finally, after a decade of begging him for the tale of your family, Beron gave in. Your mother and two older brothers had loved you very much, he would tell you.

“When you were just a babe,” he would start the same way every time, “Relations between us and the Night Court were unstable. Their High Lord was hell bent on dominating Prythian.” This tale would always scare you. Make you afraid of what you would have to face once you took the throne of the Autumn Court. You’d be alone as High Lady. You didn’t like to think about being without your father.

During their legendary battle your mother and brothers had perished at the hands of the vile High Lord of Night. It was so awful and graphic your father never let you read any of the history books about it.

After he would tell the story he would leave. Giving you no other information about your family. Only left with your imagination to draw up what they looked like.

By twenty-two your powers had come, but you didn’t dare speak of what they were. You didn’t have the bright flames he’d hoped for from you. Father had told you of the blue flame that came once in a generation. An Autumn High Lord hadn’t produced a child who could wield such power in centuries.

On your own you have discovered your daemati powers. You knew about them from the history books Lady Briar had given you about the High Lords of Prythian.

Every time father talked about powers your gut twisted. Your heart rate spiked. And your palms would sweat. Father mistook it for excitement about learning how to control the fire that was your birthright.

On the day before your fiftieth birthday your father came into your room. He was frantic and disheveled. Telling you he loved you, cherished you even. He told you that you are the most important person in the world to him. That the day you were born he was blessed by the Mother herself to have you in his arms

The next day he didn't visit. Nor the day after that. Then a week had gone by and nothing. No one had come to your tower.

He never missed your birthday.

Calming your mind and body you sit criss cross on your bed. Slowing your breathing you cast your mind out to the main house, far from your lonesome tower.

There was chaos and quiet. Advisors scrambling but no solid answers. But not a soul is worried about you.

A knock at your door brought you back to your body. Unlocking the door with your mind you quickly stand, smoothing out the skirts of your dark autumn red gown. Lady Briar enters, looking as solemn and stern as ever. You give her a deep curtsy. “Lady Briar,” you greet. Looking up you see her expression changed to one of slight sorrow. “Princess,” she starts. “Your father, he…he has been taken with the other High Lords. That is all we know for now, your grace.” Without another word Lady Briar turned and left.

For weeks you paced your room, going about your usual routine. Reading. Painting. Sleeping. Repeat. You were going stir crazy. You were also desperate for answers as to who dared keep your father captive.

Something wasn’t right. You could feel it in your gut that there was more to what happened.

If no one would tell you then it was time to hunt for answers on your own. Which means going somewhere you’ve never gone before.

You have to leave the comfort of the tower. Well, it’s never been comfortable. As the years droned on you’ve felt more cramped and isolated than anything.

You had no supervision. No one to tell you no. Lady Briar certainly isn’t an authority figure to you anyways.

It took days of projecting your mind into the house, watching to learn the guards patterns. Where you would need to hide yourself and whose mind you would need to hold on to.

Throwing your cloak on, taking a deep breath you make your way down the spiral stairs of the tower. There were less than you thought there would be.

Letting loose another breath, resting your hand on the door that separates you from the real world, you square your shoulders and push.

Taking in the night sky from below was so different than your window. It seemed wider. Endless. Feeling the soft ground under your boots made you want to run and jump through the Forest House grounds.

Perhaps another night.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #the vanserras #acotar Autumn court #y/n vanserra fic #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #acotar eris #eris acotar #eris vanserra #Lucien Vanserra #lucien acotar #acotar lucien #lucien vanserra acotar

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percheduphere · 7 months

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Okay. First post trying to use gifs properly. I've switched out improper gifs for these type for my last 3-4 posts. Gonna work on some more corrections tomorrow when I have time. Please let me know if I'm misstepping anywhere. Thanks for your patience! That said...

LET'S TALK ABOUT SYLVIE💕, INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM (SYLVIE & LOKI)✊🏽, AND QUEER REPRESENTATION (LOKIUS)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️!

SYLVIE

I'm rooting for Lokius, AND I also love how much Sylvie has forged a life for herself in S2. A lot of her development is implied, so I think it's worth looking at her growth outside the context of Loki himself: She found a job, locals know her by name, she has friends and acquaintances, she has hobbies!

People call her by name in her timeline on 4 occasions:

1. When the McDonald's shift manager (John) checks in on her after work. See the kid with the tie in the image below. I couldn't find any gifs of him visiting Sylvie at her truck. She asked him if his mom was gonna pick him up to make sure he was gonna be okay late at night. 🥹

2. When a customer picks up their McDonald's order and thanks her (cheerfully). Also note how many employee stars she had on her badge! Queen.

3. Lyle at the record store. They seem like really good friends, and I got the "beginnings of an attraction" vibe between the two of them. Unfortunately, the gifs below are the only ones I could find of him and I'm still searching for the source. His interaction with Sylvie before spaghetti-trauma was so sincere. He could tell she was down and offered her Velvet Underground. Come on, that's a solid move.

4. Eric at the bar, who comments 2 shots of bourbon is a good choice. Let me tell you, finding a gif of Eric was like finding a needle in a haystack, but here he is leaning close to Sylvie. Thank you, @zehiiro!

I tried to find more gifs of all the people Sylvie has in her life but couldn't find any, which is a darn shame because there are so many subtle cues she's built a support system on her own and she's thriving.

She's a regular at many places in her timeline, and when people greet her, they do so with a smile. She loves music, a hard drink, and punk fashion.

When she engages with Loki, she may come across as cold, but I honestly think she's being firm with her boundaries and true to her beliefs. The TVA threatened her life for centuries. I don't doubt setting foot in the building is traumatic for her, which may explain why she was more harsh than usually in S2E4. Her psychological defenses were all on overdrive. Yet when Sylvie's in her own timeline, far away from the TVA, she can be her real self. Turns out, her real self is pretty well-liked! (I'll talk about how this is mirrored in Loki soon).

INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM

Sylvie's an unapologetically "selfish" woman who knows what she wants, wants it on her own, is doing it on her own, and isn't afraid to put her foot down when it comes to her personal boundaries. We should be applauding all of that!

This is exactly the kind of female representation we need, but the show did Sylvie a disservice in S1 by coming at her character as a love interest first (look at all the media promos classifying her as such) instead of more thoughtfully showing how badly she has been affected by the TVA and planting what her desires are throughout. If they had done this with more intention and finesse, her position in S2 wouldn't come off as completely irresponsible.

As a result of this apparent marketing and pre-production development decision, her perception as a character (by both lokius and sylki shippers) is muddled by the question of her relationship status with Loki. This truly isn't fair, most especially to Sophia Di Martino.

Of course, Sylvie isn't perfect. No well-written character should be. I just think she's cooler than she gets credit for precisely because her character arc doesn't require the fulfillment of a romance. She will be fine whether or not she ends up with Loki. It's very feminist!

Loki, in turn, found safety, belonging, and love at the TVA. All the things that are the complete opposite of Sylvie's lived experience. I often see fans complaining about how Loki is ooc in his own series.

The thing is, and Loki admits this himself: it's all part of an illusion.

This illusion started far before the first Thor movie. He comes from a hyper-masculine (dare I say toxic-masculine) warrior society. His true nature doesn't conform with this, so he has to overcompensate with some (genuinely awesome) bad assery.

BUT he doesn't like it.

As a comparison to a far lesser but more relatable degree: imagine putting on a customer service persona 24/7. UGH. It's just not sustainable without becoming increasingly angry and bitter, which is what Sacred Timeline Loki becomes. Mobius gets ahead of this.

In the series, Loki can finally TURN OFF that persona, and TURN IT ON again when it's needed (and fun!).

He also now has the freedom to be silly, expressive, and magical (unapologetically queer!) without anyone making fun of him for it.

The end result is a much calmer, happier, likable person (like Sylvie in her timeline, his defenses are no longer on overdrive!). Who shows him this is possible?

Here's the receipt:

QUEER REPRESENTATION

Sociopoliticaly, Loki and Mobius come from a different angle. A lot of men (cis, fluid, trans, or otherwise) struggle with the social expectation of burying feelings and never ever showing vulnerability, especially to another men. Now, some might argue that shipping men together perpetuates this construct. There's some truth to this, but only through the lens that it is shameful to be gay. In order to get to a point in society where there's no shame in being mistaken as gay (or queer, generally) when being affectionate with another man, there must be continuous positive representation of homosexual relationships in which the characters are not stereotypes. Loki and Mobius are exactly this, especially Mobius.

Whereas Loki, on Asgard, represents the openly queer oppressed (i.e. magic and cunning, qualities historically tied to witches or "immoral women" instead of brute strength), Mobius can represent the closeted repressed.

In S1, Mobius was much more uptight, rule-abiding, and just shy of holier-than-thou. The power structure in which he existed perpetuated this, until Loki reveals to him it was all a lie (an illusion).

In S2, he becomes more flexible, more fun-loving, and more expressive in his affection. In S1, most of his support of Loki manifested as words of affirmation. In S2, his support extended to physical touch and bonding. Mobius, if seen through the lens of a closeted man allegory, finds the courage (and partner) to slowly come out.

#loki #sylvie #mobius #lokius #sylki #loki meta #loki season 2 #loki spoilers #sylkie #my meta #loki series

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