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delirious-donna · 3 months

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Demon In The Mirror [Sebastian Michaelis]

an: this is a rework of an old fic for a different character/fandom. I liked this fic idea and lovely Sebby really fit it, or at least I think so! I've been hyperfixated on the world's best butler so this scratched an itch for me.

pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x female reader

warnings: canon Sebastian, mirror sex, rough touching, praise, light degradation, biting, mark marking, dirty talk, pussy fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mentions of blood (tiny)

Masterlist

A mirror–polished and unassuming as it stood in the corner of the room. It never lied, never hid the truth behind a veil of deceit. All it could do was reflect what it hungrily absorbed.

Truth laid bare for all who peered into its depths. The reflection of not only your physical reactions–the jerk of your limbs, soft quiver of your stomach–but your emotions poured into the surface and were somehow magnified back. Magic, perhaps?

On its own, the mirror was a beautiful thing, decoratively ornate and standing on claw feet. You gazed into it every morning to peruse your outfit and ensure your hair was coiffed exactly as intended. However, when you added what was showing on the calm surface at this moment, the mirror became a truly magnificent beast.

Two bodies entwined in a lover’s embrace.

Every detail was laid bare in exquisite detail, and this outcome was entirely your doing. Slender fingers with midnight nails flexed deliberately into your jaw, testing the strength you had long known against the delicate frame of your mortal body. The angle forced you to stare straight ahead, to witness what was happening to you in such clarity it stole the little air remaining from your lungs.

“You wanted this, did you not?” He lilted with an air of amusement that curled your toes. “I believe you were rather forthright with your desires this evening, at least you were once I coaxed them out of you.”

Sebastian Michaelis, the head butler and right-hand man to your father was a demon. As the eldest daughter in the family and well into your twenties, you were an anomaly to your father. He would have married you off years ago if it weren’t for your ability to chase away every suitor that called. The only person who had been able to get close to you was Sebastian if you could even call him a person. Except, you liked that he wasn’t human—humans were boring.

You cared not for whatever mysterious and demonic bond had been formed between him and your father. All that mattered was that he saw the real you beneath the prickly exterior you presented to the world. It had taken many months of flirtatious glances, heated whispers promising you all manner of carnal pleasure and touches that only grew in intimacy, but you considered Sebastian to be your lover for close to half a year now.

The only problem… he treated you with kid gloves.

“Sebastian… You know, it would be okay if you held me a bit tighter. If you wish to, that is.”

That was what had started it all, the words that led to this path of twisted pleasure.

You recalled the delicate touch of white-gloved fingers, how they curled around your biceps to draw you into his lap. His carefully fastened tie and top buttons were messily undone by your hasty fingers and his midnight hair was just the tiniest bit dishevelled from where you had brushed through it.

The demon gently pawing at you was more than capable of tearing people apart with his hands, the white of his gloves rarely soiled by the crimson remnants of the deaths he bestowed, and yet he held you as if you were fine china. Didn’t he know that the times you bore witness to his feats of strength had resulted in ruined undergarments beneath your gown? He was a sight to behold, tall and lithe with a presence that demanded respect despite being a servant by occupation. What you wouldn’t give for him to direct some of that power and strength towards you, on those intimate late-night visits to your quarters.

“But, my dear, you are so soft. I wouldn’t wish to hurt you.” The sentiment was huffed into the sweet crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin whilst he smeared lazy, wet kisses to your jaw and the pulse hammering beneath the surface. It sounded almost bemused, and that irritated you.

You were no porcelain doll only to be taken out when it suited and arranged delicately upon pristine sheets. You were no silly girl. You were a woman, goddammit, and you wished above all else to be treated as such. Apparently, your expression gave away your frustration, either that or Sebastion was simply well-tuned to the emotions swirling in your complex mind.

“Have I said something wrong, darling girl?”

With today’s gown laid neatly atop your dresser, the petticoats beneath bunched around your thighs and hips, you sat back on your haunches to glower at him. His finger idled with the lace fastens of your bodice, doing little to stop you from moving away from his embrace.

A petulant huff passed your lips, arms folded across your chest, and his easy smile dimmed in response. It should have been your first warning, but ire had a way of dulling your senses to danger.

“I will remind you that I am not made of glass, nor will I break if you…” The remaining words of your tirade seemed to become stuck in the back of your throat as your gaze met with Sebastian’s. The subtle carmine of his irises caught fire, glowing coals of ember that spoke of something… unknown? Worryingly unknown.

Maybe you had misspoken, your tone a little more harsh than you intended but it was too late to remedy. Your shoulders sagged, your body deflating rapidly from the hot air that filled you only moments ago.

The room charged with electricity, you could feel it press atop your head like a physical manifestation of a weight trying to crush you against your bedspread. Something was most assuredly wrong and it wouldn’t be long before you found out the consequences of your little outburst.

“If I what?” he hissed from between gritted teeth, white and gleaming.

Your eyes snapped to his face, and the stark lines of displeasure traced his cheekbones and brow. No longer were you gazing into the face of Sebastian, your lover, this was the demon that lurked beneath. The one you longed for and were going to suffer his wrath no matter if you tried to back peddle or not.

He sat up straight with a start, forcing you further back and almost tumbling you right out of his lap. A palm anchored around your wrist, tightening against the fragile tendons until they nearly popped and wrenching you forward until you were nose to nose. His breathing was harsh, your own picking up pace to match it perfectly. For a moment you thought he would speak but after many moments of staring back and forth, he pushed back and looked towards the periphery.

With a precision no man or demon should have, he caught the fingertip of his virginal white gloves between his teeth and slowly pulled each one free in turn. You squirmed watching him reveal his hands, the intricate design that you always did your best to ignore caught your attention but it was quickly stolen away.

That same hand shot forward to wrap around your hair, yanking on the length in one swift motion until your roots tugged painfully and your throat bared in front of his eyes. The breathless whine you expressed sounded truly pathetic, only matched by the arousal pooling in your underwear.

“Hm, so you won’t break if I do this?”

Sebastian reared back and bit around the slender column of your throat, not enough to break the skin but it hurt—it hurt bad enough to spark tears in your eyes. The sweep of his hot, wet tongue licked across the mark he made, tracing the indents his teeth had created along with a low grunt that sounded from the depths of his chest.

Cool, nimble fingers reached into the front of your bodice, teasing against your heated flesh before rending the garment clean in two. The noise of expensive fabric ripping thundered in the room and you gasped at the sudden chill covering your naked breasts.

It was hard to navigate the sudden flip in his demeanour, although you had all but asked for it. You braced your trembling hands over the lapels of his double-breasted jacket in an attempt to find grounding and solace, but there was none to be found. It appeared that your demon lover was bowing to your whims, you should be pleased, and yet there was a beat of trepidation in your heart. What had you let yourself in for?

As if sensing your wayward conviction, Sebastian moved with alarming ease to the edge of the bed. It was evident that your added weight meant nothing to him, and that alone made you moan into the shell of his ear.

He placed you down in a puffy cloud of your petticoats and stood to shrug out of his jacket and waistcoat but annoyingly left his shirt in place. It didn’t stop you from ogling him openly, knowing what lay beneath even if it was rare to spend the night with him completely nude.

A finger and thumb pinched into the fat of your cheeks, lifting your gaze from the blatant lust-filled staring to meet his eyes that had mellowed to a sparkling fuschia. He was so pretty, so devastatingly pretty that you clung to his wrist, blinking up at him with heat-filled cheeks.

“You will direct your eyes up here, and wherever I instruct, is that clear?”

Only when he was satisfied he had captured your attention and you had given your clear understanding did he release the grip of his fingers, settling beside you. He patted his lap in invitation and you were crawling before he could even raise a sleek black eyebrow.

Smooth palms decorated your sides, pausing to grope your breasts. Sebastian exhaled a laugh when the excess spill from your breasts squished between his splayed fingers, pebbled nipples grazing the hearts of his palms. You whined and rocked against the bulge beneath his tailored trousers, only feeding the frenzy of his wandering hands and how roughly he was exploring your smooth skin. It was a perfect storm of demonic lust and ardent excitement, the result of which resided in the pit of your stomach. You were drooling between your thighs, flushed by the thought of it and you knew he’d tease you when he discovered how wet you were.

“A needy little thing, aren’t you? Darling, surely you aren’t this desperate for my cock?” His hand was beneath the plumes of petticoats, zeroing in on your soaked panties before you could blink. Sebastian tsked whilst his finger stroked the sizeable wet stain that traced the length of your slit. “Deary me, you’re already soaked. One might think that this side of me excites you.”

Without warning, he bounced you from his knee, your feet found the plush rug by your bed but your balance was not to be trusted and you were thankful for the firm hands at your waist keeping you steady. That was until those ruthless hands were twisted in your petticoats and tugging them down your legs to pool around your twisting feet, followed by the sudden removal of the final piece of clothing.

You tried to shield your modesty–an arm slung across your breasts and a hand cupping your sex whilst stepping out of your panties when suddenly you were dwarfed by Sebastian’s taller frame. He appeared even taller than usual, though you weren’t sure if it was an illusion aided by the long shadows cast by the candles on your bedside.

A mere flick of his wrist and your hand dislodged from protecting your decency. He stepped right into your personal space to force his hand exactly where yours had once been and began to dig deeper. Your nails scrambled against the stiff white starch of his shirt, blinking up at him much too fast whilst he took no care to spread you apart with his fingers.

“A-ah, Sebastian!”

Again, he tsked you and clicked his tongue against his teeth in admonishment when a slick covered finger rose into your vision, sparking a fresh wave of heat in every inch of your body.

“Clean it off like a good girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping in honeyed sweetness that you did not trust.

This was not something you had participated in before, but you were determined to meet the challenge in his eyes and earn a sliver of praise that would bow your spine. The taste was surprisingly sweet, a little heavy on your tastebuds but you sucked the long digit between your lips and twirled your tongue around and around to better understand why Sebastian so loved to lay between your thighs and indulge.

He patted your head affectionately, lowering his hand to caress your cheek and smirked when you turned your face to press a kiss to his palm. Unknown to you his attention had snared on the standing mirror in the far corner of your bedroom, eyeing it with first curiosity and then wicked amusement.

You were uncertain why he was interested in the mirror, leaving you by the bed naked and vulnerable, to examine the gold-gilded frame and moving it with ease towards you. What on Earth..?

“What are you–?”

Sebastian cut you off, turning you roughly and sitting with you on full display for the mirror. It made you uncomfortable to see yourself this exposed, you barely looked at yourself in this state whilst bathing or dressing so to see the thick strands of lust hanging from your parted lips was jarring. A sensation writhed in your chest, a mixture of embarrassment mingling with a little pride. Your demon that stared from over your shoulder was here of his own free will, no contract or binding bid him to your side and that was an empowering thought.

He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your flushed cheek. “I am merely doing what you asked of me. You wished me to hold you tighter and be used like a pretty whore for the night, so I am doing just that.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Ah, but you may as well have, my darling. Your body speaks far more readily than your mouth and I can hear it loud and clear.”

Before he had finished speaking, his thumb found your eager little pearl, stroking around and around in maddening circles without touching it directly. Sebastian shuffled beneath you and you felt the blunt tip of his cock trace along your cunt for the first time that night.

A thread of power pulled through the length of your spine, straightening it and you knew deep down that it was his doing. Your eyes flickered to his blazing ones, biting your lip enough to cause blood to bead. A heated kiss cleaned the offending crimson from your plump bottom lip. The scene was like nothing you could ever dream of. No book or play could conjure such images. It was enough for sweat to roll from your temples and he hadn’t even slipped inside yet.

“Can you see what I see?” He cooed, stroking the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

You weren’t sure you did. Sure, you were a carnal feast for the eyes but wouldn’t any woman be in this position? Evidently, he disliked your silent uncertainty.

“A strong woman who stood against her family and chose to take a demon as a lover instead of marrying into dazzling wealth.”

Your chin rose as the words hit home, the cool ferocity of his tone enough to make you clench around nothing but air and the promise of what was to come.

“You are mine. No one else could hope to take you from me. I speak these words now and I will die by them. Mine. Do you understand?”

Nodding weakly, you watched his features twist in the reflection of the mirror. The desperate hunger and possession stoked the fires of the demon. It was at that moment that he pushed the bulging tip into your leaking cunt, pushing deeper past the tight ring of muscles with an exalted sigh of triumph. Sebastian held you still, fingers gripping the meat at your waist to prevent you from trying to run from the stretch you were sure to be experiencing.

It only took one forceful rut of his hips to sheath himself halfway, forcing your silken walls apart, to accept him as you always did. The remaining air from your lungs expired from the sudden pressure and overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Steady hands braced on the inside of your knees to prevent you from closing your thighs and it only made your whimpers sound all the more desperate. You were met with a warning growl directed into your ear, fiery pain following from the sharp teeth that tore at your shoulder until the marks were clear in the watery image in the mirror.

You blinked through tears, struggling in the clutches of a beast you had never mated with before. This was different, and you knew that when he stroked himself to the hilt in your cunt, he felt bigger, wider even, and the tip of his cock knocked painfully at your cervix.

It was near impossible to keep your eyes open, not when they were filled with unspilled tears and your head and heart were pounding from the lack of movement. Scrunching your eyes closed was natural when all you wanted to do was roll your hips and surrender to the build of friction but you couldn’t.

“Watch.” He demanded, wetting two fingers in his mouth and smacking them against your jumping clit as punishment for daring to close your eyes. “This is what you wanted and you’ll see just how rough I can be.”

Here you were. Nude and being used for pleasure. Wrapped in a strong embrace that forced you to witness what you had brought about. Expert fingers pinched at your tender nipples and rolled the taut buds between finger and thumb whilst the other hand abused your puffy clit.

Your body trembled as another orgasm neared–you had no idea what number this one was and it certainly wasn’t the first.

“Oh. Oh, fuck.”

The words tumbled out in velvet tones, eliciting a dark chuckle from Sebastian. He delighted when you cussed, knowing that your usual etiquette was entirely lost and your decency stolen away by how he fucked your pliant body.

With every new wave of pleasure, you understood more and more about the monster holding you tight and you didn’t believe you could love him any more than you did right now. He could destroy you without so much as breaking a sweat and yet he chose to hold you like this. Yes, it was rougher than ever before but you knew there was still a gentleness to his ministrations.

This demon had found a mortal interesting enough that for the first time in his long existence, he had no desire to ever see his contract fulfilled.

His pistoning hips stopped; twitching cockhead buried against your cervix and the pulsing veins that ran the length of his thick shaft throbbed for release. He had assaulted the softy tissue buried behind your clit for long enough, it was time for him to find release too.

You were witnessing the birth of a million stars–a fucking cosmos--behind your eyelids as Sebastian massaged your insides in slow, deliberate circles. Every time you found the reflection in the mirror and met his potent stare, it made you whimper and rut even harder against him.

He was close, you could feel it with every laboured breath at the nape of your marked neck.

“What a picture you make, my dear, one I would love to hang in my room. You are all blissed out and ready for me to spill. Should I cum inside or paint your pretty stomach?”

Your head fell to his shoulder, and for the first time, he let you take your eyes off the show in front of you. Instead, he narrated it to you and that was almost worse. The seductive silky smooth tone of his words heated your blood beyond the boiling point.

“Oh my... look at this thick creamy ring around my cock… I could watch your pretty pussy drool over me all day.”

With a final shove of his hips, jets of heat coated your walls and you were spared from the embarrassment of begging for him to cum inside you. Sebastian grunted into your neck, the sensation of his hot mouth on your skin and the continued lazy pumps deep in your cunt tripped you over the cliff edge and into freefall.

Boneless, panting and mind blank except for the pleasure, your dazed eyes lifted to stare at the mirror.

Hair as black as a starless sky fell over your shoulder, strong arms clinging to your midriff and a mixture of viscous arousal dripped from between your trembling thighs.

Flushed and shivering, you bit your lip at the sight—your demon in the mirror.

#delirious writes #sebastian michaelis #sebastian black butler #black butler x reader #sebastian x reader #black butler smut #sebastian michaelis smut

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circuscountdowns · 2 months

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Hi! Wanted to start off by saying that I LOVE your cotl art its such a huge inspiration to me :D! I recently picked up drawing again and I've unfortunately been upset? envious?! of others' skills and just wanted to ask if you ever experienced this as a fellow artist and if so how do you not do that lol. Sorry for the weird question. I just thought some insight and advice from a fellow artist could helo. BUT I hope you still have a nice day and look forward to any more cotl art or anything you draw really :D!!! (also is okay if you don't answer it is a loaded question I just be in a silly goofy mood lately okay bye!)

oh wow being on the receiving end of a question like this is surreal, I’m honored my work inspires you! Thank u, you’re sweet, it’s not a loaded question at all! Here’s my long reply sorry

so unfortunately that comparing yourself to others thing doesn’t go away ever asdfgjkl. I suffer it every day, it sucks, feels bad. I’ve had industry people tell me they feel this way and they’ll have some of the most gorgeous visdev/boards/animation I’ve ever seen. Disheartening to hear, But! I’m a big believer that comparing your artworks with others is best used as a tool and not a punishment to yourself!

When looking at art you like, try to turn thoughts of, “Man I wish my stuff looked like that, my shit sucks,” to, “What is it that I like about this piece? The line art? The perspective?” Sometimes I’ll see work with thin line art and I’ll get an itch, and I’ll draw something with thin line art. It’s a conscious effort of keepin emotion out of that itch, keeping it as, “I saw art with thin lines, I want to do that. Yay I did that!” Compartmentalize it, the itch was simply to do thin line work, not to remake the piece you were inspired by. And you got a piece of art out of it, and a single piece is progress no matter how small!

If you want to compare, do it methodically! Why does my work look different (never use the words better or worse)! Oh, I see my piece doesn’t follow the rule of thirds, so the framing is different, I’ll be aware of that next time if it bothers me. Or, Oh I see they shade by hatching along with the form, I’ve just been going horizontally, I’ll try that other way!

it’s a learning curve of training yourself, like all corrective behavior.

like, I kinda have the warning feeling of dread when I’m about to compare my work with something, so before the self-deprecating thought can even start I have to think What do I Like about this?

I’m no expert at it, though. Actually getting myself to think this way is a struggle, but I find when I make Thoughtful Observations I level up. Not by a lot most times, but yknow.

and this part is just my personal experience:

Fanart and the internet can be the biggest Art skill killer sometimes. Get offline and cater to the audience that Really matters to your passion: You! I improved the most by spending 2-3 years doing doodles/comics/models for my dnd campaign ocs because I was that obsessed and I simply wanted to have it for me!

and after all that, then there’s the hardest skill of just accepting your work as is.

like, to me, my work is just scribbles. I see other artists’ stuff and go “Man they’re so good at comics and colors, man, why can’t I color?” But do I need to??? I don’t like coloring, do I need to be good at it? This isn’t a career, this is supposed to be fun! I scribble because I like it! I’m glad this persons good at coloring, I don’t need to be! Yay!

if I Want to be good at it, I’ll take the steps to get there! But if not, my scribbles are just fine :) I love black and white and values

I’ve been having that one on repeat for a while. It helps

(acceptance and denial go hand in hand btw lol they sound the same)

I wish there was a little off button for envy, but ah well! I hope that you take comfort in knowing we are all feeling it, and find joy in even the smallest little doodle you make! Have fun stay goofy!

#I wrote this in part so it might be a rambly mess.#I have a difficult relationship with art after 5 years of college for it. Cotl has been helping me find ways to love art again.#ty for liking my work!

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corneliaavenue-ao3 · 1 year

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Prompt! (because i love your exploding snap fic!)

The first exploding snap match after the war is over?

Anon, you inspired another chapter of Love's a Game, Wanna Play

Read Chapter 1 here | Read Chapter 2 here or below

It all became too much.

Going to Hogwarts run by Death Eaters in the midst of a war was hard. Coming home from Hogwarts without a brother was so much worse.

Her family sought comfort from their grief in a variety of ways.

Her dad spent hours at the Ministry, working with Kingsley and a variety of important names that Ginny recognized, but never met. One night when sleep would not overcome her; her mind too loud, her room too warm, her body too tired, she crept down the stairs only to overhear her father and mother’s whispers. Her dad admitted he felt as though it was his fault that all of the muggleborns who entered the Ministry this year were never seen again. That he could have done more to protect them.

It was one of the two times Ginny had seen her father sob. The other was her brother’s funeral.

Her mum went into “Molly Weasley” hyperdrive. Constantly working in the kitchen. The oven was turned on more often than not, fresh breads and treats constantly being pulled out. Charlie and Ginny often were assigned to drop off fresh baked goods at random households because even with all of the Weasley mouths to feed, there still was too much food.

Ginny wished she could say no to her mother when she was asked to deliver more food to another parent who lost their kid in the Battle of Hogwarts. The parents of another dead classmate of hers.

Families would be grateful, invite her in for tea, and share stories of their kids. Ginny choked on her own tears telling Sophie’s family that she held her hand as she died underneath the rubble of the castle, pleading that she just wanted to go home.

Sophie’s last words crept into Ginny’s nightmares most nights and stayed heavy in her heart throughout the day.

Where Percy was loud in his grief, trying to make up for 3 years lost of being a prat, George was somber, staying hidden alone in his room or away at the shop working endlessly to keep his mind numb.

Bill and Charlie were hardly home. Bill and Fleur went back to Shell Cottage at night and would visit throughout the day, and Charlie hated the house more than Ginny did. Always running errands. Counting down the days until he could run back to Romania.

Ron was quiet for the first time in his life. Wordlessly helping everyone with whatever they needed, somehow knowing what a person was going to need before they could ask for it themselves.

Hermione was staying at the Burrow since she could not go home to an empty house without her parents there. Only the first night, Hermione slept in the same room as her. Screams of terror woke Ginny up in the middle of the night coming from the cot on the floor. Ever since then, Hermione snuck upstairs to Ron’s room to sleep.

Ginny never asked what Bellatrix did to her to warrant those screams.

Harry would come into her bedroom at night after Hermione left. His arms wrapped around her tightly, drawing her into his chest. The sound of his heart beating comforted her knowing that he was alive and well. Having Harry close soothed her senses, giving her the peace she craved.

When she didn’t have Harry, she had the sky.

When everything became too much - her thoughts too loud, her skin itching from anxiety, her pulse rapidly increasing, her breath shallow from the suffocating feeling of grief - flying was the thing that could calm her.

Physiologically, it did not make sense. The adrenaline of quick turns and steep dives should have fired her up more, but it made her think straight.

And Merlin, she needed the sky now.

A late-May thunderstorm had brought all of the Weasley’s indoors. The drip of the rain water through a hole in the ceiling that had yet been repaired reminded her all too well of the drip inside a Hogwarts dungeon. Flashbacks of the last year crept out from the mental cage Ginny tried to keep them locked behind.

The kitchen was overwhelming with loud bangs of pots and pans of her mum cooking another feast for too many. Charlie was forced to be home today because they canceled Hogwarts clean up, so he was sulking down in the living room. Not even her own room was free as Hermione had set up all of her Australia research.

She was going to crawl out of her own skin if she could not get space soon.

Fuck it. Ginny thought. Quidditch is flown in shitty weather all the time.

Tightening her hair in a ponytail and grabbing a pair of joggers, she headed to the backdoor.

“You’re going out in this?” A voice from behind her asked.

Ginny whipped around to see Harry sitting on the back porch, dry despite the weather. A small jar of flames sat next to him.

“And you aren’t even of age to cast a warming charm on yourself.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ginny replied.

Harry canted his head to the side, inviting her to join the empty spot next to him on the swinging bench. Ginny sat down next to him, legs pressed against his thigh. Letting Harry take over her already overwhelmed senses.

“Since you can’t play Quidditch right now, do you want to play a different game?” Harry asked.

Ginny gave a slight smile, “I would love that.”

“Accio Exploding Snap cards,” cast Harry.

“Stupid of age wizards,” Ginny scoffed, “Always showing off.”

“The Ministry owes me, I could talk them into letting a certain witch the ability to perform underage magic,” Harry said, catching the deck of cards flying towards them from the back door.

“I am sure Romilda Vane would love that,” Ginny retorted.

Harry snorted but didn’t say anything more. He dealt out the cards from the mixed deck of their respective Christmas presents a year and a half ago. They never got back around to splitting their decks after their game in the Burrow kitchen. Ginny smiled at the memory of them being two carefree teenagers. A memory that felt like a lifetime ago.

“No cheating,” Ginny threatened.

“I would never,” Harry replied.

Ginny gave him a pointed look.

“Again.” Harry corrected, “I would never cheat again.”

Smiling at him, Ginny grabbed her dealt cards and started to organize them by pair. She hadn’t played in over a year, the free time she had at Hogwarts was spent organizing a revolution and trying to survive.

Ginny was pulled away from her thoughts of the days in the Hogwarts castle when Harry pointed his wand at the deck to start the game.

Cards shuffled between them. Ginny laid down the first pair, but Harry quickly responded with his own matching set. Alternating turns, the game was close. Ginny would collect a pair only to be beaten by Harry laying down a set of four.

Frowning at her hand, Ginny drew a card from the deck. The face of a massive black spider stared up at her.

Harry continued laying cards down in front of him, but Ginny could not move. She just stared down at the Acromantula card in her hand.

Memories of detentions in the Forbidden Forest flooded back to the forefront of her mind, her senses overwhelmed with memories. The darkness of the night under a new moon. The sound of the clicks of the spiders chasing her and Neville. Tripping over a root, scuffing her hands and her knees. The fear she felt.

The explosion of her cards in her hand pulled her out of the dark thoughts bouncing around her head.

The feeling of her skin crawling slowly started, traveling up her arms, squeezing around her heart, tightening her throat, and blurring her vision. Unable to stop it, tears began to pool out of her eyes.

“Shit, Ginny.”

Harry shoved the deck of cards on the ground, pulling her into his arms. Sobs wracked her body, shoulders uncontrollably shaking, and her throat burning with tears. Harry pulled the tie out of her hair, letting the red strands cascade down her back. His fingers stroked her scalp as she continued to cry.

“How do you do it?” Ginny choked out between sobs, “How do you keep going on when everything becomes all too much.”

His lips pressed against her hair, breathing in her scent. “It’s not easy,” Harry replied slowly, “But I’ve learned time makes the pain lessen, and having Ron and Hermione, your family,” Harry paused, looking right into her wet eyes, “You. You all helped.”

Ginny gave a watery smile up at him, “You do help me too, you know.”

“I know,” Harry said before leaning in to capture his lips with hers.

Ginny pulled back slightly. “You don’t want to kiss right now, I am sure I have snot and tears all over my face,” She said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater.

Harry chuckled, “It’s very hot.”

“Oh shut up.”

Harry laughed as he pulled Ginny back to him, murmuring against her lips, “I don’t care.”

At that moment Ginny didn’t care either. Not about the snotty kiss or about the fact that she now had a losing record against Harry in Exploding Snap. She was just content that after all the magic and madness, she had Harry to help her through.

(2-3)

#hinny #ginny weasley #harry potter #harry poter x ginny weasley #harry x ginny

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nikethestatue · 1 year

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The Date

Happy birthday to my sweet bestie @fawnandshadows

I wish you all the very best for your next quarter century. Have a wonderful day and an amazing year ahead.

Preface:

This is a bonus chapter for The Kings' Wife. I've had the idea of a Ruhn and Elain date for a long time, but did not want to include it in the story. It contains some interesting background about Ruhn, but otherwise, it's just indulgent fluff and smut.

Warning: Explicit language and explicit smut (anal sex)

Fenrys Moonbeam was right.

Was it embarrassing? Perhaps. But Ruhn Danaan King was never one to follow prescribed rules. He was never ‘normal’ and wasn’t one to hit all of life’s milestones when he was supposed to have.

He started walking at 10 months, talking before he was two, reading when he was barely five. Early. He was early in everything. He didn’t remember when he began drawing, maybe he was still in the womb, when he began seeing images and colours. He skipped grades, because he was too smart, but then he was held back, because of his behavioural issues.

He kissed a girl when he was six. His girlfriend, Millie Kalinowski. Well, technically, he had two girlfriends when he was six–Millie and Aurora Esposito. An overachiever even then. It was Millie’s birthday: he stole her cupcake, she called him a ‘butthole’ and then he smacked a big juicy one on her cheek. She hit him and ran away, crying.

That was his first foray into romance.

He didn’t kiss anyone else until he was almost fifteen.

He remembered the kiss, because that was also the day when he killed someone for the first time. Not a crime of passion, or uncontrolled rage of a teenager. He, and his brother Azriel, found and tracked the people who had kidnapped Azriel years before, beat him, tortured him, and attempted to rape him. Azriel broke his wrist in order to escape, and succeeded, but he never forgot. The two of them spent years trying to locate the men who held Az prisoner in an abandoned farm in upstate New York. It was an intricate and thorough investigation–the first time they worked so closely together on a task that consumed them. Along the way, they built a network of informants, spies, made connections, found hackers among gamers, and guys who were really, really good with money, and breaking into banks and accounts, or discovering hidden assets and identities. It helped that neither he, nor Azriel, looked like they were fourteen. They were big, brawny and muscular, their balls dropping early and testosterone flooding their growing bodies and making them strong, agile and by then, already six feet tall. They had money, they could pay, and when someone talked back, they had other ways of convincing people to do what they needed.

Ruhn remembered his first kill pretty well–a guy named Bobby, a scrawny, but wiry Irishman, who moved fast, and was an ace with a knife. Ruhn’s first kill wasn’t elegant or cerebral. He beat Bobby to death with a baseball bat. The shower of warm, salty blood is what he remembered the most from that evening. Az slitting another guy’s throat, his grip on the blade so strong, that he almost decapitated him. Together, they killed two more that night–but they were no longer counted as the ‘first kills’.

The murders gave him a high like he’d never felt before and his skin itched from the adrenalin and the memories. He thought that he wouldn’t mind doing that again. He was so jacked up that he wandered the streets until it was late, unable to settle down, unwilling to go home, replaying the murders in his mind. It was awesome! At last, grateful that he had his fake ID in his pocket, he stopped at some dive bar. He wasn’t much of a drinker, and hardly knew how to order a drink properly, but he recalled his father’s bar and the bottles of Jameson’s whiskey on the glass shelves, and figured that he’d order that. He thought that he did it like a pro, but the bartender gave him an assessing look, which told him that he wasn’t fooling anyone. But Ruhn was big and bad, and already sported a tattoo sleeve, and no one in their right mind would want to mess with him over a shot of whiskey.

When he went to take a piss, he was accosted by a girl. A working girl? Maybe. He never found out. A little buzzed from the drinks and the kills, he liked the feeling of her hands on his body, when she slipped her fingers under his t-shirt. She was thin and delicate, and reminded him of Audrey Hepburn. She behaved in a very un-Audrey way however, when she tugged him into the bathroom, dropped the latch on the door and then dropped to her knees in front of him. Well, that was fucking unexpected. Having his dick inside the wet warmth of her mouth was incredible, and when she began to suck, it was borderline sublime. He understood the appeal of blowjobs very, very quickly, watching her pink tongue lave over his shaft, her eyes hooded, her hands grasping his thighs, her face looking like she was truly enjoying it. And when he gripped the back of her head, trying not to be forceful, but kind of failing, though she didn’t seem to mind, the sensation was even better. The sense of control, of utter dominance, the pleasure of thrusting into that willing mouth, the feeling of his cockhead bucking into the back of her throat, the pathetic little noises that she was making–it was unforgettable and unbelievable. It was a shame that he didn’t last as long as he would’ve liked to, but he lasted a decent amount of time for a fourteen year old. Like a good two and a half minutes.

He came in her mouth, but she spit it out discreetly, which he didn’t love so much, but he couldn’t be choosy.

Wiping her lips, she winked at him and then asked a question that murdered his boner completely.

“How old are you, stud?”

God. It was only marginally better than her asking him if it was his first time.

“Old enough,” he grunted in response, and then fished out a hundred dollar bill and slipped it under the strap of her bra. She didn’t argue or anything, but got up and then pecked him on the corner of his mouth, biting on his lip ring and making him hiss.

And that’s how he got his first real kiss.

But Fen was correct–Ruhn’s never been on a date. Ruhn had less than zero interest in dating anyone, and no one really wanted to date him either. The girls, the brave ones, thought that they did, but then, they quickly changed their minds. He wasn’t romantic. He wasn’t kind. He was barely nice. He fucked hard. Without tenderness or words or emotions. At least he always made sure that they came. However, he rarely, if ever gave head, didn’t cuddle, wasn’t interested in staying over or having them sleep over at his apartment at the hotel, and if he was being honest, he wouldn’t date him either. He was kind of an asshole.

As usual, his life didn’t follow any normal patterns. He went from a post-kill blowjob, to a little kiss, and then nothing at all. During his formative years, he only had four girls that he fucked, and tried as he might to build a reputation as a manwhore at his boarding school, he couldn’t. He dominated the scene, he was one of the most feared guys in school, respected, obeyed, admired, but a player, he was not.

His twenties were wild. A whole decade drenched in blood and cum.

Now, he was almost 32 years old.

And Ruhn Danaan King has never been on a date.

The way he saw it, it wasn’t the end of the world, but it was weird. It definitely wasn’t normal.

Azriel’s been engaged to Morrigan. And then he married Elain. Those were pretty serious plays in the dating department.

Fenrys couldn’t stop dating! He dated everyone. He liked them, cherished them, adored them, used them, left them, and moved on to the next one.

Cassian’s been in a couple of semi-long term relationships, and also dated casually. And now, he was after the eldest Archeron sister, though without much success.

Rowan was once married, and then widowed. He was raising his four year old son by himself, and was now seriously involved with a girl named Aelin, and it definitely seemed like things were getting serious between the two of them.

Rhysand’s been with Feyre for almost 3 years now. Yes, he was a wealthy playboy prior to meeting her, but the pretty Bohemian artist enchanted him instantly and all women ceased existing for him.

Ruhn…Well, there was that one time when he took his not-exactly-wife, but kind-of-wife Elain Archeron to Subway. He bought her a sandwich and Fanta. He took her to a museum as well, but truthfully, none of it was planned. Initially, he just wanted to tattoo her, and then he ended up fingering her and after that they went out on a whim. Ruhn was mostly curious about Elain’s knowledge and interest in art, which, to his great relief, was present–she wasn’t an expert, but she was well-versed in popular art and had appreciation for it.

The thing was…well, Ruhn was hopelessly, passionately and irreversibly in love with Elain. He fucking loved his wife. Looking back, he wasn’t even sure when and how it happened. At what point did infatuation and mild obsession turn into love, into adoration, into soul-mating. Or, as Elain said, heart-mating with him.

He didn’t mind sharing. That was the agreement, and it was the healthiest way for the four of them to live and exist in their relationship. They shared Elain and there was enough love in her for all of them, to satisfy them sexually and emotionally. Ruhn wouldn’t have it any other way. However, it didn’t mean that he didn’t want her for himself at times. Just the two of them, doing things as a couple, having a private relationship that was exclusively theirs. To some extent, it was happening between Elain and the men in her life–each one had a marriage with her, which was both public, but also private.

Ruhn, however, figured that he wanted to have a proper date with his girl.

Elain was young and a romantic at heart, and obviously she wanted dates and flowers and all that cheesy shit that Ruhn knew nothing about. There was a reason why she screamed at Fenrys to fuck her ‘romantically’. He was the only one who would. From Ruhn, Elain came to expect rough–marks on her hips, imprints of his teeth on her skin, hair pulling, swollen nipples and aching pussy. She liked the pain, but she was under no illusions that Ruhn would be tender or sweet. And Ruhn was determined to prove her wrong.

He couldn’t ask Fenrys–who would probably know and have a decent recommendation, but would also make it bigger and better for Elain, and would leave Ruhn in the dust. So that was out of the question. Azriel would just steal the idea, hog Elain, and leave Ruhn in the dust. And then, there was Google.

Cassian made it to the office early, as usual. He wanted to stop by Nesta’s office and bring her coffee, but then he thought better of it. Not the coffee part, because he would’ve gotten her that gross green water that she called ‘tea’--but because it seemed to him like Nesta truly moved on and was interested in Eris Vanserra. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to wound his bleeding heart anymore than it’s been sliced open already. Nesta was a bad idea. Always a terrible idea that promised to end badly, and here he was, being smacked in the face by his terrible ideas.

“Oh hey,” Cassian stopped abruptly, seeing his cousin Ruhn sitting in the still-empty room, long legs crossed and propped on the desk. “Why are you here? Is Elain okay?”

Somehow, and he didn’t know how it happened, but Cassian began worrying about Elain. It was like a contagion that was passed down to him and his men from Azriel.

“Yeah, she is good,” Ruhn said lazily, putting his phone away.

“What’s up?” Cassian took a sip of his coffee.

Ruhn was unpredictable and Cassian never knew what would come out of the man’s mouth. Could be something nice. Could be something utterly horrible.

“Do you have Pinterest?”

Yep. Weird.

His brow knitted in confusion, and Cassian asked,

“What?”

“Pinterest. Do you have it?”

“No. I am a man,” he reminded Ruhn slowly, enunciating every word.

Ruhn sighed and nodded, shoulders falling.

“Yeah, I get it. I figured I’d ask.”

“And you thought that I’d be the guy to have a Pinterest account?” Cassian raised his brow at him. “I feel like Fen would be more likely,”

“Maybe,” Ruh agreed with another sigh. “But I can’t ask him.”

“What do you need on Pinterest?” Now his interest piqued and Cassian bit into his blueberry muffin, looking at Ruhn expectantly.

“Ideas…”

“What kind of ideas?”

Ruhn mumbled something unintelligible, but Cassian wasn’t going to give up and pressed him.

“Come on. What?”

“For a date!” Ruhn snapped, his normally dark, placid face suddenly turning kind of red.

“You need ideas for a date?” Cassian was confused. “With whom?”

“Elain!” Ruhn opened his arms, like he was talking to an idiot. “Who else?”

“You are taking Elain on a date? And you need Pinterest?”

“Whatever man, you won’t understand,” Ruhn rose and grunted dejectedly.

“Wait, wait. I am trying to. Let’s think about this.”

Exhaling loudly, Ruhn explained,

“I want to date my wife. Okay? And I want to go on a date with her–but not just a lame dinner or something. I don’t want to sit in some restaurant, but I also don’t want to go to some flower show! I don’t want people around. Just the two of us. Our date.”

“I hear you,”

“So I was thinking, I want to do a picnic,”

“That’s a good idea!” Cassian nodded enthusiastically.

“But I don’t know how to do a picnic!” Ruhn ran his hand through his hair, huffing in frustration. “I googled it, and it’s giving me all this shit that I don’t know how to do!”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, man. Fried chicken and deviled eggs and potato salad,”

Cassian smirked.

“Buy her a bucket of chicken,” he laughed.

“I am serious, Cass,” Ruhn said, sounding nervous and hopeless. “What am I gonna do? I want to do something nice and romantic and I can’t show up with a bucket of KFC chicken and some potato salad. She’d think I am insane.”

Rapping his long fingers on the desk, Cassian thought and muttered,

“Okay, okay. Let’s think about it. I think you googled stuff for 4th of July,”

“I just typed in ‘picnic ideas’,” Ruhn explained defensively.

“What does Elain like? Sweets, right?”

“Have you seen Elain with an eclair?”

“Yeah…She likes sweets and pastries. So buy some champagne, a few pastries…No offence, brother, but Elain seems like a cheap date.”

Ruhn laughed,

“I mean, yeah, she is.”

“Let’s face it, this is a chick who loses her mind over soccer and is ready to throw fists. She likes beer. She eats Fen’s horrid English sandwiches with white bread and fucking potato chips inside…This is not a fancy girl!”

“I know…But I also know that Lorcan made her pasta! And took her to the opera! I can’t beat that,”

“Well, of course you can beat that. But Elain likes beer and tacos. I mean, I don’t think she’d be opposed to you cooking dinner for her, but I also think she’d like you as you are,”

“A talentless hack?”

“Don’t cook her a crap meal, if you don’t know how to cook,” Cassian recommended bluntly. “Do something nice and something she’d enjoy. It would go a long way.”

Ruhn got up and squeezed Cassian’s shoulder.

“Alright, man, thanks!”

Cassian smiled and told him gently,

“I don't think you need to worry. It’s not like you have to close the deal.”

“Yeah,” Ruhn agreed. “But it’s also for me.”

Meet me at the King Tower, on the 44th floor at 8 pm

And…send.

Elain: What’s happening?

She responded almost immediately and Ruhn smiled.

Ruhn: Are you going to meet me?

Elain: I will. But should I worry?

Ruhn: Don’t need to worry.

Elain: What is this about?

Ruhn: Surprise.

Elain: I hate surprises! Tellllll meeeeeeeee.

He chuckled, imagining her cute little face, and how she was probably bouncing on her heels, like she always did when she wanted something.

Ruhn: Nope, beautiful. But you can lube up your ass for me, like a good girl.

A lengthy pause.

He frowned wondering if he pushed it too hard.

He wanted to make it a joke, but it was his way of asking for it, and he hoped that she understood.

Elain: What? You wanna do the butt stuff?

Ruhn: When don’t I want to do the butt stuff? Will you surprise me?

Elain: I thought you were the one doing the surprising?

Ruhn: You want me to lube up my ass? As my lady commands.

The conversation made him smile. Their conversations always devolved into something ridiculous, but that’s what he loved about Elain. He didn't know what to expect, and that was good.

He wouldn’t have minded some anal. Just the two of them. For the first time, between Ruhn and Elain.

The first time was special. Absolutely unforgettable. Completely, utterly amazing. Was it the best anal he’s ever had? Yes. Yes. Yes. No contest. But his brothers were there, there was the nervousness and the pressure of the ‘first time’ and now, he yearned to relive it again, but intimately, with just Elain and him.

But first, the date.

Elain had no idea what was going on. Though she tried to figure it out and even texted Ruhn a few times during the day, he didn’t respond or was very vague in his answers. Which annoyed and frustrated Elain to no end, and she couldn’t concentrate at the shop and even messed up a bouquet and had to re-make it.

Therefore, by the time it was 7:46pm, she was stomping across the lawn, heading from her house to the looming skyscraper that was the King Tower, which housed the King Enterprises, Azriel’s office, their businesses and the security arm of business. She took herself up to the 44th floor, using the secret elevator which only the family utilised. Floors 44-53 were where most of the businesses and offices were located, but it being almost 8 pm, she didn’t expect anyone to still be here. However, once she came out of the elevator and walked down the dimly lit hallway which had an original Rothko hanging on the wall, she was stopped in her tracks, because she saw Ruhn. And some woman. And she was the type of woman that was impossible to miss–statuesque, wearing neck-breaking stilettos, reedy thin, with perfect make up at eight in the evening! She wore an expensive satin blouse with a giant bow on the side and an elegant, tight skirt. Ruhn looked relaxed, propped against the wall, his massive arms folded over his chest. He wore a Guns-n-Roses t-shirt, black jeans and boots. His long hair was braided in a tight, neat braid. The woman said something, her perfectly manicured hand lightly touching his forearm, and he laughed, easily and openly. Then he said something, and she laughed as well, throwing her head back and exposing her throat to him.

They looked like they knew each other, because there was familiarity and an ease in their gestures.

Elain didn’t think of herself as a jealous person, but she totally was. She didn't like her men talking to strange, attractive women. Especially when she looked the way that she looked right now–wearing Converse, cutoff denim shorts and Ruhn’s hoodie, which she picked up on the way out, because the evening was promising to be chilly. She dabbed some lip gloss on her lips and her wild hair was barely tamed in a messy bun.

Ruhn noticed her at last, his handsome face breaking into a welcoming smile. It was a nice smile. Genuine and happy. Like he was glad to see her, and the glamazon next to him didn’t matter. Ruhn was not an expressive man. Generally speaking, he maintained the same expression around people and whether he was angry, happy, hungry or murderous remained a secret for most. But Elain knew how to read him, just as she knew how to read Azriel. And currently, Ruhn was thrilled.

“Ellie, you made it!” he gave a brief, disinterested hug to the gorgeous woman, and she winked at him and then smiled at Elain, as she passed them by and headed to the elevator.

“Well, you said 8 o’clock,” Elain crossed her arms and let some of her displeasure bounce off of him. Let him know that she was pissed.

“I did!” he nodded and then wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “And you are here.”

“Who was that?” she demanded rudely and impatiently.

He glanced at the elevator and the shrugged,

“Oh, that’s Em,”

“Who is she?”

He grinned and then growled and butted her face with his, biting softly on the apple of her cheek. She attempted to swat him away, screeching loudly, but he only laughed and licked her face like a dog.

“You are gross!”

“Yeah, grossly in love with you,” he agreed and then stopped and cupped her face in his hands.

She looked up at him, feeling both insecure and elated.

“I love you too,” she murmured quietly. “That girl is very beautiful,”

“She is,” he nodded. Watching Elain’s scowl, he barked a laugh and then softly, tenderly, kissed her lips. “She is also very, very queer and Cerrdiwen’s girlfriend. So…..”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“I…I, that’s,” she mumbled, while he chuckled, “it’s not how I meant it…I mean…”

He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head.

“Yeah, I know what you meant–jealous little thing you are.”

“I am so not!”

“Oh, you so are.”

“Ohmygod!”

Elain gasped audibly.

“What is all this?!”

Ruhn tugged her by the hand and said, “Come on, beautiful.”

“You did this?” she gawked at the romantic setup.

They were on the roof of the building, 55 stories up in the air, the shimmering cityscape of Manhattan all around them. Millions upon millions of lights twinkled and sparkled all around them, and the noise of the city was muffled this high up.

“I did do this,” he confirmed, looking slightly tense, maybe a bit uncomfortable.

She clutched his hands in hers and looked around, face full of wonder.

“But why?”

“Wanted to go on a date,” he muttered gruffly.

“I love dates!”

“I hope I did okay,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

He didn’t miss her wearing his hoodie, and how sexy she looked in it. Not really sexy–the thing swallowed her whole–but to him, it was the sexiest damn thing there was. His woman, huddling in his clothes for warmth, getting his smell all over her.

A fluffy comforter pulled out from the closet. Check.

Another blanket, in case Elain got cold. Check.

A chocolate and caramel cupcake. Four bonbons. Two truffles. One glazed doughnut. A small loaf of bread. Check.

A bag of chips and a tub of dip. Check.

A bottle of Fanta. Check.

A chunk of cheddar. The good stuff. English. Check.

A bottle of Prosecco. Check.

Elain considered the odd assortment of foods, while Ruhn glared at her, his gaze hopeful, and seeking approval.

“The bakery didn’t have a lot of stuff left,” he explained quickly, and then added nervously, “and I know you love cheese.”

“I do love cheese,” she confirmed and then breathed, “it’s perfect! It’s a nighttime picnic!”

He smiled broadly,

“Yeah…yeah. Exactly.”

So what if there was expensive cheese, and cheap dip and potato chips, which made no sense? So what if there was Fanta on the menu? It was perfect.

Elain leapt into his arms and gushed,

“It’s perfect! It’s everything I ever wanted.”

“You wanted to go on a picnic?”

“Always! I love this!”

“Okay, well, sit down then,” he offered her, pulling her down on the blanket awkwardly.

He was terrible at this date thing, and Elain’s heart burst into a thousand million sparks of love for him.

He wasn’t confident and sleek like Azriel, or experienced and loose like Fenrys. He wasn’t even like Cassian, with his smirks and his fast mouth. He wasn’t brooding and amorous like Lorcan.

This was Ruhn. Her Ruhn. A brutal, terrifying gang leader, who strung people from bridges in a cruel and odious display of power and dominance, someone who once shot seven people in a span of 13 seconds, a guy who cut off someone’s balls and then delivered them in a package, complete with a rose, to the man’s wife. Ruhn did a lot of crazy, unhinged, violent things.

But he didn’t know how to date. And he loved her, his wife.

He sat cross-legged next to her, and fumbled with his phone.

“I have some music,” he said, uncertainty lacing his voice, “or if you want to watch today’s Manchester City versus Arsenal match–we can do that,”

Elain smiled at him, and then keened towards his large body and pressed her lips to his neck, lacing her fingers with his.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, feeling the pulse of his jugular under her lips.

“I love you too,” he said softly, and then pulled her hair out of the bun and his nose brushed against her cheek. “So much.”

“The music,” she requested. “Let’s do the music tonight.”

Of course he realised too late that he forgot to bring any cutlery, plates or even glasses.

Fuck his life!

But thankfully, there were napkins in one of the bags, and Elain didn’t even bat an eye. She smoothly arranged the napkins like place settings for them, and Ruhn handed her a knife–not one of his murder knives, thank god–and she sliced the bread and the cheese. He popped the cork on the Prosecco and it was cold enough not to bubble violently over everything.

“Sorry baby,” he whispered and she laughed, took the bottle, and pulled a healthy swig of the bubbly. Patting her thigh, she had him lay his head on it, and then tore into the chips and dip and fed him a hefty helping of both.

He smiled, looking up at the starless skies above and lightly wrapped his arm around her bare leg, before kissing the inside of her knee. She plopped a piece of cheese in his mouth, and then said,

“I didn’t know you were romantic like that,”

“I really am not,” he protested.

“I don’t know,” she tutted. “Champagne, and pastries and a picnic.”

“Just keep it to yourself, beautiful,” he suggested with a grin.

“Street cred?” she confirmed knowingly.

“You know it.”

The music that they were listening to was mellow and old-fashioned. Elain sang along to some of the songs, because it was all the stuff she grew up on–Sinatra, Dean Martin, old Italian songs.

“How do you have these songs?” she demanded, bobbing along to ‘Pennies in Heaven’.

“Ummm,” he grunted, looking embarrassed. “It’s a Pandora radio station. Italian dinner…”

“You even thought of that?” she stroked his forehead, tucking his silky black hair behind his ear.

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.

“I know you like this music. So I thought it would be a good soundtrack to the date.”

“Strangers in the Night” came on just then and he sang along quietly,

Strangers in the night

Exchanging glances,

Wondering in the night

What were the chances

We’d be sharing love before the night was through

Elain squeezed his hand and asked shyly,

“Dance with me?”

“Any time, sunshine,” he sat up and then wrapped his arm around her, and landed them both on their feet, as he swept her in a wide, exaggerated circle across the rooftop. It was a nice rooftop, made for parties and dancing and celebrations. Now it was empty, the space entirely theirs, the lights of the city and Frank’s smooth voice as their only companions.

“You must really love me,” Ruhn mused, watching Elain’s elated face, as he spun her around. His hoodie, which she tied around her waist, flared dramatically, like a ball gown.

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he lifted her off the ground and waltzed with her, as she dangled next to him, his arm supporting her entire weight.

“I do,” she nodded, giggling, her converse-clad feet floating above his boots, “but what gave it away?”

“I am gonna go with you opting to dance with me, and eat cheese and laugh and listen to music, instead of watching football. And that was one hella big game too!”

“I love you more than football,” she confessed, looking into his brilliant, cold blue eyes. “I want to date you more than I want to watch football.”

He smoothed her hair lovingly with his available hand and whispered,

“I want to date you too. More than anything.”

Suddenly, the sky came alive.

Elain gasped and stared open-mouthed at the Thursday night fireworks.

“Oh my god! I forgot about these!” she cried out, her face happy and brightly illuminated by the explosions of green and purple and pink. He held her to himself, and looked up at the sky as well, where giant flowers blossomed and stars streaked across the darkness and exploded in silvery glitter.

The song switched to ‘My Way’, its bombastic, dramatic vocals and lyrics a perfect foil for the fireworks. Ruhn carried Elain back to the blanket, and then lay down, spread-eagled and threw their heads back, watching the show.

“Wow,” she marvelled. “This is the best!”

“You like it, beautiful?”

She pointed to the sky and whispered,

“That’s how I feel with you, Ruhn. Like my heart explodes with love when I am around you. I dunno why.”

“I don’t mind,” he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her brow. “I don’t mind at all.”

She flipped onto her belly and pressed her lips to his.

“Can I ask you something?” she inquired.

“Obviously. Because you will, regardless of what I say,” he smiled at her, his large, warm palm sliding down her back and cupping her ass.

“Okay, okay,” she pouted, but obviously his comment didn’t deter her from asking,

“If you didn’t have to do any of this…Like, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

“You are assuming I don’t like killing,”

“No, I am not. Perhaps you do. Obviously, you don't have any qualms about it. But I don’t know if you woke up one day and decided to become an assassin and an enforcer. So if you didn’t, then what would you do?”

Ruhn scrubbed his hand over his face and then looked at her, before kissing her gently. He was nice tonight. Softer than usual. Elain wondered if it was going to last.

“A house husband,” he announced easily.

“What?”

“That’s what I’d be–a house husband.”

She frowned thinking that he was joking.

The fireworks were still exploding above them and he popped a cigarette between his lips and lit up.

“Honestly,” he turned on his side and brushed her cheek with his knuckles, “that’s what I want to do. Or rather, I don’t want to do anything. I want to tattoo, paint and sketch, and do fuck all else otherwise. If Az needed me to go and whack someone, I’d do it. But I’d love to be a house husband–keep a tidy, elegant home, do some cooking, some entertaining,”

“Are you for real?”

He shrugged,

“Why not? Everyone assumes that every man is full of wild ambition and needs to do stuff all the time. I don’t need to do anything.

“My ideal life would be to wake up, fuck you, go get a professional shave at the barber’s, stop for a coffee, read the paper, shoot the shit with Cass, go to my shop, sketch, tattoo, meet you for lunch, fuck you, eat with you, maybe fuck you again a little bit. Go back to the shop, then maybe wander around some galleries, look at art, pick up stuff for dinner, go to the gym, pick you up from work, have a cocktail. On occasion, I’d talk business with Az and Fen. Dinner. Maybe even cook it myself for all of you. Have a couple more cocktails, play in the pool, play cards, fuck you.”

“How many times a day are you planning to fuck me?” she pondered.

“I dunno. Five-ish?”

“You are ambitious.”

“A man can dream,” he concluded, puffing out a cloud of smoke, his expression pensive and thoughtful. Like describing her perfect life made him wish for it to be true.

Elain sat up, and his palm landed on her upper thigh, squeezing lightly, while he made a little disgruntled noise when she separated from him.

“Come back,” he urged her, opening up his arm for her, but she just looked at him, cocking her head. Then she reached into her pocket and took something out, but didn’t show him.

“Do you still want to do it?” she asked at last.

“Do what?”

“You know,” and she tossed whatever she was holding atop of his chest. He craned his neck and picked up a tube, looking at it in confusion.

“Anal,” she pressed. “Do you want it?”

“Huh…Yeah,” he finally managed to say, looking dazed.

Finally, when he dawned upon him what she was offering, he sat up abruptly and she laughed at his eagerness.

“You serious?” he pressed, twisting the tube of lube in his fingers.

She nodded and whispered, “Yeah. I want to do it again.”

“Did you like it the first time?” he asked.

“It was a lot,” she admitted. “But I loved it…how you did it.”

She blushed, and unbuttoned her shorts.

Ruhn almost tore the shorts off her slender thighs, rolling them down so quickly, it almost gave her a fabric burn.

“Take everything off,” he ordered, as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, his icy blue eyes never leaving hers, “leave the keds.”

She was completely naked in front of him in less than a minute, but still wearing her converse, her long hair spilling all over her body. He crawled towards her over the blanket and kissed her knee, parting her legs carefully, eyeing her pink slit.

“How do you want it?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his rough, large palms smoothing over her inner thighs, parting her legs even further, opening her up bit by bit.

“How you’d normally give it to me,” she requested shyly, stroking his arm. “Rough. Deep. How you always do it.”

He looked at her intently, seeking any hesitation or falseness, but found none.

“I love you, Ruhn,” she reminded him calmly. “Just the way you are. If you are going to ride my ass, I want you to ride it like Ruhn would.”

He smirked and spread her legs widely, as she slid back and propped herself on her elbows, watching him and his ravenous gaze, tracking the movement of his eyes, as they took in her wet, slick pussy, before he pushed her back a bit, so he could see her other hole.

“Did you lube it up for me?” he raised his brow, just as his finger slipped from her opening, dragging some of the moisture down below.

“Nope,” she popped her lips. “My holes are yours, but you do the work.”

He grinned savagely and nodded, muttering, “just like I like it!”

The sight of her so nicely spread for him, so ready and willing made his dick hard as a fucking rock and he knew he’d have to pace himself, because he was in danger of blowing his load before he even got inside that sweet ass.

“Spread it for me a little bit, sweetheart,” he urged her, “show me how much you want it.”

She looked so adorable like this: completely naked, with her large, round breasts and the soft thighs, and the little keds, which skirted the edge of some sort of fetish, but he wasn’t going to think about that now. Not when she reached down, and pulled her cheeks apart for him, opening that cute little hole a bit more. She was looking at him, biting her lower lip, her ass nicely stretched, and he brought the tip of his dick to her lips. She kissed it immediately, and caught a bead of precum with the tip of her tongue, gliding her tongue over the smooth cockhead.

“Put it in, Runnie,” she requested with a pout. “I want it!”

“Do you want me to stretch you a little bit first, beautiful?” he asked, and dipped his cock between her folds, gathering some of the slick with his shaft. She shuddered when he brushed over her clit a few times, her back arching, her hands kneading her pale lovely butt cheeks impatiently.

“No,” she moaned. “I want to feel it…How you fill me up.”

He wasn’t going to argue and squirted a generous amount of lube between her cheeks, before placing her feet on his shoulders and pushing her legs way back, as he leaned into her.

“Relax, sunshine,” he kissed her lips softly, with a kind, soothing kiss, seeing how she tensed beneath him. “I am going to make it good for you. But your pretty asshole belongs to me, doesn’t it?” he asked, while the tip of his cock circled the tight rim of her anus. “Will you give it to me like my good girl?”

“I am your good girl,” she muttered, as she looked between their bodies, back to biting her lip in anticipation.

“That’s right,” he growled, pressing into her tiny hole, as her breath hitched loudly in her chest, “and good girls get their tushies fucked,” propping himself on one arm above her shoulder, he pushed his cock forward, breaching the ring and eliciting a loud, pained moan from her.

Fuck it felt good. So good.

Her head lolled back, as her thighs trembled around his shoulders, as she took inch after inch after inch of his thick shaft inside her narrow, scorching hot rectum.

He knew he’d never get enough of this. The sensation of possession, or her complete submission, her sad, pretty moans, the nervous twitching of her long, tight passage was simply amazing. Was ‘amazing’ the right word? It wasn’t enough. Amazing wasn’t enough.

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” she cried out again and again, while he licked his lips, muttering, ‘just a little more, sweetheart. You are taking it all in, my love,”

“Yes, yes,” she gasped quietly, “ohmygod, it’s so much!”

“You like getting your pretty ass filled,” he insisted, “it needs my dick in there,”

“I am having second thoughts!” she complained and he laughed, kissing the top of her head.

“No you are not,” he tsked. “Look at you! Your hole is packed with dick, just like it’s supposed to be,” he added proudly, bottoming out.

She bit his chin, his neck, licking mindlessly on whatever she could reach with her tongue and her lips, moaning loudly and unabashedly. She didn’t give a shit if she was making a ton of noise–she was being fucked in the ass by a nine inch dick, and his balls were currently slapping against her skin. She was panting, sweat trickling down her brow, the bead immediately licked by Ruhn’s eager tongue.

He kept himself fully sheathed inside of her, but didn’t move, though she noticed the strain of his muscles, the tension of his cobbled abdomen and the bulging of his biceps, as he kept himself back and allowed her to adjust.

Taking deep breaths, she nuzzled into his neck and whispered, “you can move now.”

He exhaled and replied, “give me a sec, beautiful.”

He smiled against his skin, realising that he was straining not only to keep himself in check, but also to keep himself from coming.

“Do I feel good for you?” she asked, kissing him around the ear. “Is my poor ass nice for your mammoth cock?”

“Better than anything!” he assured her and then pulled back at last, before gliding back inside.

The drag of his dick was mesmerising. The most glorious feeling that Elain could imagine. Sure, she loved orgasms–who didn’t?--but it was this that she cherished. The long pull of the thick length, emptying her almost completely, before filling her back up. God she loved it. It was so painful, the burn acute and deep, as her passage accommodated the unbelievably tight fit of him in her, but it also felt absolutely indescribable.

“God, you are so big,” she choked out, knowing that she probably shouldn't be stroking Ruhn’s massive ego right now, because his cock’s been praised and admired plenty, but she couldn’t help it. He was huge, and he felt so, so good inside of her.

He fucked her with deep, firm, but languid thrusts, only his hips working atop of her thighs. He readjusted his position, lifting himself off of her, and holding her feet to his shoulders, while he pumped hard into her ass. Her tits bounced and jumped with every powerful push, and he was watching her huff and grunt beneath him, ordering her to ‘keep your cheeks spread, sweetheart. Are you my sweet girl?”

“Yes,” she nodded, knowing that she was weak and needy for him, and would probably do anything to have him continue pounding into her ass. “I love it,” she moaned. “I love it so much…”

He smirked indulgently at her, nodding slowly,

“I know, sweetheart. I know. That little hole was made just for me. You can take more, can’t you?”

She nodded, watching his stunning body flex and work atop of her. All the ink, the sensational musculature, the smooth, dark golden skin painted with intricate designs–a living canvas of chaos.

“Isn’t it good to be mine?” he asked.

“Always, my house husband,” he smiled widely at him, relishing the glorious burn and build up of pleasure inside of her.

He barked a laugh, nosing against her nose, whispering, “Not yet. But something to aspire to.”

Elain knew that Ruhn was holding himself back a little with her, and she appreciated it. He was loving her in his usual manner–forceful, open, unrestrained, yet slightly more careful and caring. Her clit demanded attention, and without her even saying anything, he was already on it, his thumb pressing on it firmly and rubbing steadily.

“Oh it’s good, it’s good,” her eyes closed and she indulged in all the sumptuous, gorgeous, erotic sensations that currently engulfed her body. The even, unfaltering rhythm of his cock in her ass brought her to an orgasm quicker than she anticipated, and she shook and screamed until she was hoarse, not caring about anything, but the beautiful slamming of his cock and the magic of his finger.

Ruhn wasn’t far behind. His arms clasped her now-pliant, softened body, and he pulled her up into his embrace, holding her like a ragdoll on his lap, as he fucked easily into her, and she kissed him sleepily, draping her arms around his shoulders.

He finished deep inside of her, hot and abundant, and didn’t release her from his hold for a long time, kissing her and stroking her hair.

“Noooo, not yet,” she pleaded, when he made a move to withdraw.

He kissed her again and smiled, laying both of them on their side, his soft cock still nestled inside of her, just like she wanted.

“Let’s eat more chips and drink Fanta!” she proposed decisively.

Ruhn chuckled, arguing, “this is supposed to be a romantic date. Chocolates and music and wine,”

In turn, she reminded him, “Instead, we got chips and dip and dancing and anal. All of my favourite things!”

He hummed to himself and thought that this was not a bad first date.

Not a bad date at all.

#the kings wife #elain and ruhn #ruhn danaan #elain archeron #reverse harem #dark mafia romance #my writing #The Date #bonus chapter #my fanfiction #elriel fanfiction #Elriel #pro elriel #acotar fanfiction

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dinoburger · 6 months

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None of us really know either way, but I do remember speculation in the mid-late 2010s re: whether or not the TF2 comics were leading into something space-related (between what happened to Sniper's mom, the spaceships located in several in-game maps, and the perpetually-unfinished valve map rd_asteroid that used to be in the game's playable map rotation). Entirely guesswork, plus a dash of hope that Valve would continue the storyline post-comics.

:\ yeah, though, ultimately… the comics really shook up the status quo of the game and the established setting, but it's hard to see what conclusion they could've been barrelling toward. Real intrigued by that comics/Helen infographic you posted a few days ago -- I've likewise been puzzling over what Helen's debt could be (for all of the comics' hiatus and then some, lmao). Either way, I don't believe there's enough foreshadowing for us to have figured out whatever-it-is, and then there's the eternal question of "What Comes After?" (both in-universe and regarding Valve's seemingly-dwindling interest in the IP) looming over it all.

(like tumblr user milfy, I'm not really sure what comic 7 could've done to conclude things in a satisfactory way. ngl, sometimes I wish we'd gotten something set during gravel war or mvm -- at the risk of sounding overly critical, I'll admit I personally feel like the fandom missed out on getting some more gravel war era/group-focused content.

though with the then-ongoing [and, hell, somehow-currently-ongoing] status of the game itself, I also feel like the comics ending on too Final a conclusion would've soured some folks' milk. perhaps this is why I continue to entertain the "it was leading into another update" train of thought -- the idea of the comics smacking a big old super-conclusive "The End" onto everything seems unlikely to me, but I cannot fathom what would have come afterwards. or how any currently-raised plot threads would be resolved, if at all.)

… This ask was a whole lotta reiteration/conjecture, so I want to add that I love the TF2 stuff you've been drawing/writing. The classic team and Conagher family lore are so, so fascinating to me, so it's been Like Christmas Morning to me for months lmao. have a good one -🍊

oh man, I would've loved to have more stuff that actually delved into developing the characters during the Gravel wars/MvM... hell, they could've even played off the Scream Fortress shenanigans and have like, a big, ridiculous magical adventure

I also didn't know about the space stuff, that also could've been a cool direction

there's part of me that wants to hope they had some idea of what they were doing but the more I look at it, the more the plot feels like it dissolved more into "stuff that feels really big and important happening" rather than one coherent mystery to unravel, which... the journey should also be important. This is the stuff people criticize Marvel movies for, the twist becomes more important than the actual story. Putting all the eggs in that basket.

I definitely agree... idk like. I think they even could've gotten away with having different canons and not feeling like they had to pin the ultimate resolution of the entire game to the comic, either. Comics can be like that! Different iterations and interpretations of the same universe, that's cool too! IPs get revised and retconned and improved all the time, tbh I think like... the current obsession people have with canonicity can be grating at times.

I think in some ways it's even harder to get past that with an inconclusive work like this because yeah, it does end up being that everyone hopes whatever the conclusion is will be worth the wait, that it'll scratch that itch, and the longer folks go imagining some grand conclusion the higher expectations end up being. You can't really blame them either, at a point, because that's all they really have to go off.

and thank you so much! I love those guys, so I'm grateful when it's appreciated!

#asklies

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rozieramati · 3 months

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hi i don’t really have anything specific to say but i wanted to let you know i really truly appreciate you and your music, as an artist myself (visual mainly- like drawings, painting and sculpture though i dabble in a plethora of art forms including music, and writing) and a young woman coming into my being as a soon to be young adult and as someone whom feels so deeply, your music has effected me incredibly, it has brought me genuine joy from somewhere far within my inner child and core self. I dance to your music, sing to it, and also listen to it intently, searching for meaning though it is not hard to find in the many beautiful word so carefully chosen by you so expertly. I have cried to your music, it is something still so unfathomably beautiful to me and i may have only found you recently, but even the ways in which you choose to share ur music and yourself on the internet is so special and very honest to the world and people who love you and your music. it has gotten me through some of the hardest times i’ve ever experienced in my young life as of late, and it brings a wondrous warmth and admiration for you and your work.

i wanted to close this with a thought and prospective i thought you might enjoy, i think you music looks like those large beautiful collections of small birds flying in smooth motions & waves bending with itch wind almost as a visual representation of the wind itself, i think it is one of the most unique and almost holy experiences to see this natural movement that is backed by the strength of the birds community, and mutual respect and understanding of each other’s love for life, i think this is what your music has instilled in me.

signed, with care & hope for love, luck, sweetness, and the best of life and happiness for you and all of your future.

Waverly Claire

p.s. ~ this is all coming from a 15 almost 16 year old (my birthday is on february 26, coming soon), & i just wanted to share my care for another artist, from one in the making. & even if you are not interested i would love to share my art with you so you can find me if the interest suits your fancy @quaking_aspen_art on instagram it is a public account so only if you would like but it would make me overjoyed if you would consider it! once again sending thanks for your inspiration to my art and others in the world including some friends i have shared you with (who love you btw). ok that is all for know! 💋🌷💞🪆

dear waverly claire,

happy early birthday :)) thank you so much for your kind words. it’s messages like these that really give me the courage to keep going. especially online. it’s been really hard finding a balance with the social media / artist aspect of things. it’s hard to tell if it’s worth all the work but you’ve made me feel very seen with this letter. it’s almost as if you’ve reached into my psyche through the art and thus all the work has become worth it.

it’s funny you say that about birds, air, water etc. those are all motifs on my album. i do call you guys my love doves. that happened on accident bc someone called me a “sweet dove” once and it filled my heart with so much warmth that i wanted to send it back to the world tenfold.

i think i love birds and flying and air bc i was always really attentive to blue birds as a child. i grew up right next to an airport too so airplanes flying are practically the soundtrack to my childhood. not to mention, my fave ghibli film is castle in the sky- which is about flying.

i think maybe i’m just making music so we can all pretend to fly.

community is so important to me. i wish i had more words to relay how lovely your message is and how much i appreciate it. all the best of love and creative spark to you and your endeavors!!!

love,

rozie

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indulgnc · 2 years

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OC fic [an]+dante, allergies 1.1k

heyy here with some of the ghost boys...! ft my oc An and @hachiibun 's Dante! enjoy!

An wishes he could freeze this moment in time. Not in the way that an ice pack stings when you hold it bare-handed, but how honey liquidates when poured into warm tea.

Or something like that. An’s never been good with words. Or intimacy. So the fact that he, right now, is curled around his boyfriends frame is fucking insane. Dante shifts, and it all feels too real. In a nice way, An thinks. It may have taken them a damn year to get to this point, and even longer for him to be in close capacity with someone--physical affection was always an impossible hurdle for him.

Except for one damn thing. An’s nose fucking itches. Normally, he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Sneeze once, get over with it, move on. An didn’t care, Dante didn’t care, they were close enough that it just didn’t matter. Unlike Dante, who got weirdly shy (about sneezing of all things), An was normal, thank you very much. But this time, something was different, bordering frustrating. The itch kept coming back; he’d sneezed twice already, and it seriously wasn’t doing anything to bring relief. His eyes stung, he couldn’t stop blinking, and he perpetually felt halfway to a sneeze.

An, for the record, did not have any allergies. That was a fact. Dante did, and he didn’t. Simple as that.

The feeling culminated, and An gasped, expression drawing up. “hHI--hh’ISHEW!! --IISHeWW!--SHEW-!! Agh…” The sneezes were half muffled into Dante’s shoulder, as the other party shivered in surprised.

“Bless you, bless you, bless you,” Dante murmurs, half asleep. “Five times, actually. Are you coming down with something?” He rolls over to feel An’s forehead. An just jerks forward with another sneeze, nearly hitting Dante’s head with the force of it. Then another. Another, this one more tired, his body trying to get rid of the residual itch.

“No,” An sniffles, and it’s audible in his voice. “I’d tell you if I was.” He’s still ducked down, but he can just imagine Dante’s frown from how he talked, his brow probably furrowing.

“No, An.. no you wouldn’t.” It’s spoken with a sigh, and he turns his boyfriend’s face back upward. “Come here.”

An brings his head up and sniffles again. It’s hard not to, with this damn itch.

“Well…” Dante’s hand is soft, still a bit warm from the shower he’d just taken. “It doesn’t seem like you have a fever, at least.” He’s still got a look of concerned staining his face, and An hates that he’s worrying so much over him. He fine. He goes to say just that, but as soon as he makes the mistake of taking a breath though his nose, its over.

“hiIH’--ISHuew-! --IISHyyw! Sorry, I have to, ha--” Well it’s a little late for a warning, he barely manages to think as his breath draws up again. “hiHII’SHUU!! hIShUH! --IISHU--! ..haH.?! -- uh’IIshyiEW-!!” An doesn’t think he’s ever…sneezed as forcefully, as that last bit. All he can manage is bringing his hands up in the general direction of his face, twisting slightly away from Dante.

“Have to sneeze. Well, had to.” An finishes breathlessly, as if the declaration is still anywhere near needed.

“Bless you hun, jeez,” Dante trails off. “Is something bothering you..? If you’re sure you’re not sick, that is.” He leans to pull An closer, tugging him inwards and carding his hands through his boyfriends hair.

“Not…,” An bites down on his tongue, trying to get through one damn sentence without sneezing again. “Sick. Just my,” he’s cut off by and itchy triple. “Just my, snF. Nose. Itches. My eyes are fuckin’ watering, I dunno what the hell it is.”

Dante mentally runs through the places tissues may be located in the room, but doesn’t want to get up just yet to grab some. For now, he’s selfishly too comfortable with An tucked into his chest. “You think you’re allergic to anything?”

“No.” The answer is quick. “I don’t get allergies.”

Dante almost sighs. “That’s… yes, I know, but they can develop.” He breaches the explanation before An has to get over his pride to ask. “Usually, for me, it makes my nose itch a lot. And eyes, sometimes face… Just, irritation. Anything like that?” Another “no,” because An tends to think he knows every signal his body does and doesn’t send him (and really, it’s not his strong suit. He’s got a tendency to do thinks like forget to drink water for a day, simply because he doesn’t sense his body’s ask for it.)

An leans in to Dante’s neck, almost pouting. He goes to nibble it as a distraction, inhaling, and that is when it hits him. That is absolutely, one hundred percent when it hits him. Dante smells different. Like a flowery sort of scent. And it fucking burns.

“DanT--” He can’t even stutter out the name before he ducks into Dante’ hoodie collar. “H’EESH’’-IEW! iisHUYEW--!--ISHHu’--, IIISH--! !! SNf,.. hEH…isiHUIIEW! hUH’USHuIEW! hhh..” He can barely get a breath in, managing to pull himself from Dante and whatever the hell that smell is before flipping around.

He covers his face with teary eyes, half-glaring at Dante. “You…hhI’ISShuIEW!-- ISShu! You, your—“ Dante looks confused, rightfully so.

“You smell like something,” An manages to choke out, before sniffling and gearing up for yet another sneeze. They’re starting to lower in intensity, and grow in number. “hiH’ISShuiew!--h’ISHUEw!” His breathing ragged, he manages to stutter out ,“Allergic…” before falling victim to another one of his rapid fits.

Scent. Oh, yes. That must’ve been the bodywash Dante had used just half an hour before. He’d thought it smelled nice, but apparently, An’s immune system seemed to disagree.

“Oh, honey..” Dante got up quickly, backing away. He managed to fish a box of tissues out of An’s nightstand drawer, and all but tossed them over to avoid being too close. “I’m sorry, I was using a new soap. I guess you do have allergies, then…” An, nose buried deep into his own sleeve, could only answer with a wet sniffle. He didn’t dare take the pressure off his nose in fear of starting up again, and just nodded in response.

“I,” Dante moved towards the door, “am going to shower now. With my normal soap.” An looks up at him, and before he can even say anything, Dante adds: “No, you cannot come with me. You’re already sneezing your head off, that defeats the point.”

An sighs, one more tired sneeze echoing off the walls. “You know me too well, babe.” Yes, Dante thinks, yes I do. “Come lay with me afterwards…?” Even if Dante were to say no (which, he wouldn’t) An’s puppy eyes could rival an actual puppy.

“Yes, of course.” He gestures towards the tissues again. “Now, go blow your nose. I’ll be back as soon as I can, so go ahead and get comfortable, alright?

#nomtent #snz kink #ghost boys tag #nomoc #hhhi back again... i am a bit nervous about posting oc content for the first time but i hope u guys like it...!!#i wanna do more stuff with these guys (the other 2 band members as well!) + some other ocs im working on so i hope ppl like oc stuff :#sorry the ending is ass i suck at endings but we are all here for one thing. snorn. AMEN!!!

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moku-youbi · 2 years

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Starker plot bunny

So I've been having all these fandomy dreams lately. And like, don't get me wrong, it's sort of awesome, because they're like full-length fanfics playing out and it's just great. But on the other hand, some of them are for ships I don't even ship? And I'm like I don't even go here, but this is really good?? And maybe I should write it?

Like this Starker dream I had where hand-wavey magic happens with Dr. Strange and Peter at some future point. Where Dr. Strange feels like there's something really shady going on with Peter, but can also tell that HE, himself cast whatever spell is causing it, so he's not going to poke at it. But then Peter made a wish to go back in time and somehow forced Strange to do it? Look, it was a dream, okay. I'd have to work on that part of it. Because I'm actually on planing on writing this *facepalm*

But Peter ends up transmigrating back before Endgame/Infinity War. He doesn't know HOW, but he's going to fix everything, and he's got all the time in the world to figure it out, because it turns out Strange's spell permeates time and space, so everyone still has forgotten him.

So he still it starts doing the Spider-Man thing, although with far more sophistication than his original sweats and goggles, with all the knowledge of Stark's technology from the future. Of course he doesn't have access to all of that but he is able to slip around the edges of society finding bits and pieces of what he needs to construct his suits. Also he obviously isn't posting about himself on YouTube this time around (like, I could see him doing it just for the ad revenue but he has no identity in universe, so how's he gonna get paid??)

Stark still takes an interest in trying to figure out who this person is but is particularly frustrated when he can't find any sort of trail. Peter is way more savvy with age, aware of surveillance and staying under the radar so has not to draw attention to himself. He's having a difficult enough time as someone who is in a 14-year-old body with no family or friends, no identity, trying to earn enough money to get by getting paid under the table for various jobs. The last thing he needs is someone whether the police or shield or whoever noticing what this kid is getting up to and/or knowing Spider-Man's identity.

For Stark that means never being able to catch the transition from Peter to Spider-Man anywhere on video, so he has no visual of Peter to go from, he's also tried showing up at Spider-Man's battle scenes after the fact gathering what clues he can. Partial fingerprints from torn gloves get him nowhere. He does find DNA that eventually leads him to Ben Parker as the only living relative to him, and a close one at that. However there are no records of any other member of that family living. He considers that it could be Ben's brother faking his death, but the DNA would indicate a nephew, and his only brother died never having children.

It's a mystery that is really driving Stark insane. What started as curiosity and wanting to reach out to Spidey to see if he's interested in joining The Avengers has now turned into a bit of an obsession. (Especially since spidey always manages to disappear when Stark tries to confront him with Iron Man) Part of this is due to how Strange's spell works. In my dream, the way I conceived of it is that it doesn't actually erase memories or physical evidence of Peter, it just makes everyone forget he was there in the first place. Like, memories with him are still there, but the mind just slips over the parts with Peter. Photos of him are still there, but it's a sort of Westworld-esque "that doesn't look like anything to me" reaction. They just don't see all the places where he is or was in their lives.

And we all know Tony will not leave shit alone, this is like an itch in his brain. So the spell itself is actually fuelling Tony's obsession. It's a puzzle he needs to understand. The more someone tries to focus on those gaps, however, the more the spell fights back. So Tony is getting these awful headaches and occasionally reality goes all blurry, and he keeps getting what he thinks are hallucinations but are actually memories overlaying the gaps in reality that the spell has caused.

This is where the dream got to weird so that when I write it I'll have to figure out my own solution. Because in the dream Tony and Peter had been lovers in universe before Tony's death, and one of the biggest clues was him finding love letters they'd exchanged, and I'm just not feeling that at all. Peter would have been way too young for Stark to even consider it, and I don't want him cheating on Pepper, and I am trying to keep the original timeline close to canon.

So IDK how exactly Tony figures it out, which is one of the bigger hurdles on face when I actually start this fic. I think it has to come to a head when Spider-Man is forced to approach Iron Man for help with some mission and being in that close proximity, hearing Spider-Man's voice, his jokes, something familiar about the way he talks and moves is going to cause a serious mental break for Tony at the worst possible time.

Of course Spidey saves him and is sort of frantically checking that Tony is okay after the fact crying and babbling about how Tony can't die again about how Peter needs him, about how the world needs him, just losing his shit. Tony can hear the cracking of his voice, can tell how young he sounds now when he's not affecting a deeper register. And he's also picking up on all the little clues and what Peter is saying that just confirm his suspicions that somehow Tony should know him. Pulls off his mask, and sees his face, and doesn't know where the name comes from, but whispers, "Peter?"

Anyway, I woke before it could entirely be resolved. But I imagine with Tony in his corner, Peter explains as much as he can about what he knows is coming and the two of them start working together to prevent Thanos from ever having access to the various stones. And over the course of it falling in love. I mean Peter was pretty much already there, but Stark is having a hell of a time with it. He knows intellectually that Peter is an adult and really tries to acknowledge that and treat Peter with the respect he deserves, but he also has trouble getting past what Peter looks like in his teenage body. And Peter struggles with it knowing that if they do this, Tony is never going to reconcile with Pepper and Morgan isn't going to be born, which is a lot of angst I'm not prepared for right now. IDK. Maybe I could go for some sort of poly ending, or Pepper being a surrogate and coparent??*shrugs* (like I said, I don't go here--im all about the Spideypool, and I love Tony/Pepper, what was my brain on??)

Also trying to decide where to set this in the timeline of the past, because I really want to save Ben, but it fits better for the storyline if he comes back post Civil War and Homecoming. Because then Stark has memories of Peter that have been affected by the spell.

So, obviously it needs workshopping, if anyone wants to help, lol.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #my fic #Fic ideas of my dreams

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 1 year

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Chapter 32- Alois

***

There was a big difference, he decided on the fifth day out, between ranging through the wilderness on elk-back and tromping through it on foot, in muggy late-summer heat, battling not just sweat but clouds of stinging, biting gnats that wanted nothing more than to drain him of his fluids. Niive, noticing his misery, had chewed a mouthful of bluish moss and spat out the resultant goo onto his bites, and that eased the itching.

When he tried to say thank you, she tossed her head and strode off, hair glimmering in the swirl of cool breeze she'd summoned.

"I was growing weary of your endless moaning," she'd called back, and Alois, heaving his pack higher on his shoulder, stifled a smile.

Then he slapped a gnat on his wrist before it bit down.

Cereza led them like a bird tied to a string, pulling her toward some distant unknown. She sometimes seemed no longer in control of her body, her limbs; she walked like a dreamer, her eyes closed, her lips fluttering. Her path took them along the aqueduct- it snaked beside them, rising and falling and crumbling away for long stretches before looming from the forest gloom again, pale and overgrown with vegetation. Like its shadow raced the little stream, coursing down from some hidden mountain source.

They were headed upslope and into the foothills, the mountains drawing closer day by day. Alois took it in wide-eyed, wishing he could somehow gather and preserve the sights around him like bottled specimens in spirit, to be returned to, in full sensory splendor, after they were gone to him. For all the Lapidaean mountains' annoyances, the landscape was beautiful, wholly distinct from barren Estara. Here all was lush, all was green and gold and deep bark-red, abundant moss lending a brushstroke softness to the fortress boulders looming amidst the forest. Shadows were blue and deep as wells. The trees here were unlike any he had elsewhere seen, so massive that to be amongst them was like walking between slumbering giants. Their hush seemed a holy thing, profound as any he'd experienced in Bellana's cathedral, back in Pavaloir.

"These are some big trees," he said, running his hand over a rough crust of bark. They'd passed a few that could comfortably house the Tower's entire throne room within. The cones littering the forest floor were huge as elk heads. It seemed impossible such a thing could grow and live at all.

Luca had laughed. "Big indeed. I suspect no one's taken an axe to these giants since the Sundered Empire, or before. These aren't even the largest or oldest I've seen up in these mountains, not by a long shot."

"You've come here before?"

"I used to do work for the magisters at the Academy. Looking for reagents, surveying, collecting samples, observing wildlife and plant growth."

"Cooing over flowers, you mean," Cereza sang back.

Luca smiled. "I suppose I wanted to become Grand Magister one day. Or maybe be lost up here, and not come back until centuries had passed, and my beard was past my knees, and all had turned to dust, like some enchanted troubadour in a cradle song."

"Lapra," Alois said suddenly.

"Come again?"

"That's the word for trees in Old Estaran. That's what gave Lapide its name. Daval taught me that in one of his history lessons." He tipped back his head, letting the sunlight fall dense and golden over his face. "To see this place for the first time must have felt like a dream."

"You'll make a linguist yet," Luca said, sounding impressed. Alois flushed, but Luca had already gone on, singing some taberna song off-key.

Alois knew what he meant by enchantment. There was power here, but it wasn't mighty, no lightning bolt nor vengeful goddess. Sometimes the group's conversations died, and they walked in silence for hours at a time. Alois was overcome with a feeling close to tears, close to ecstasy, wavering always in between. When he did, he felt himself flinch inside, an instant of panic- would someone see? Would his father know? It always faded, though, as he let himself calm again, as he reminded himself there was no one here who would be ashamed of him. Daval was dead, however strong his ghost. These ancient trees, who had lived through so many wars and so much silence, watched him, and then he moved on.

Eventually, the aqueduct ended in a soaring incomplete half-arch, the rest crumbled away into nothingness. The stream remained, sometimes no more than a trickle, sometimes a torrent spraying down a rockslide, all rapids and icy spume. When the treeline thinned Alois glimpsed of the ocean, cobalt-blue and seamed with whitecaps.

Cereza steered them away from the roads, and slowly their ascent steepened, taking them ever higher into the mountains. Valeris was visible for a few days, its spires glinting in the sunlight, before the foothills claimed it. Here, the only signs of civilization were the occasional trails of smoke from some croft on the lower hill or a distant fishing village clinging to the rocky coastline, patches of yellow that meant lillem groves, shimmering with pollinator beetles.

Once, Luca hushed their conversation and held his finger to his mouth, staring off into the shadows between the trees. Something huge moved back there, snapping twigs and stripping the vast ferns of their fronds: a massive low-slung beast with a broad, flat tail and humped back bristling with quills of white-banded black, saber fangs flashing as it curled its tongue around the next mouthful of vegetation. Cereza let out a silent laugh, while Sirin knelt next to Luca, arms folded over her knees. Luca himself watched the creature with the same kind of rapt wonder with which he watched Sirin, and only stirred when Alois crept close.

"It's a mogo-beast," he whispered. "Precious rare. See those quills? Each full of enough venom to stun a wild gholiant."

"Does it see us?"

"Doubt it. But it smells us, I'm sure."

"...Smells us?"

"They eat plants and cedar-bark, not islanders. See the tusks? Cantankerous beastie, but it won't attack, not if we let it be."

Alois didn't move. He stood there, silent, watching the creature as it moved on, leaving a stripe of broken ferns in its wake, vanishing once more into the deep gloom of the forest.

Hours passed, sun-drenched and sticky, relieved only by the wind off the sea. They were winding along the spine of a ridge, one side sweeping upward into a mountain flank, the other a sheer fall of white cliff struck blinding by the sunlight, when Alois stumbled. His vision darkened, like a moth-nest veiling his eyes.

He put out a hand against a tree, heart racing, his breath tightening in his throat. Calm down, he urged himself. Breathe.

"Need me to chew you more moss, Belmont?" Niive called.

"Give me a moment," Alois muttered.

"Or I could carry you, if you'd prefer."

"I said wait," Alois snarled.

He went to the cliffside and stood, staring out over the edge, into the vast emptiness. Birds drifted on the wind- not gulls, but forest birds he couldn't name, vast-winged and fantastically-crested, riding the air currents like a ship rides swells. He made himself breathe, made himself close his eyes to come back to his own body, not be swept away on a wave of his own terror. He heard voices murmuring behind him, then a scuff of boots against dirt, and a presence. Alois opened his eyes again as a shadow fell over him. Luca stood near him on the cliff, staring out to sea, his eyes narrowed, his expression grim.

Alois followed his gaze, and cold plunged through him like an axe stroke. Darkness massed at the horizon, the waves there vast ship-breakers, towering like hills. Blue light shone through them, and as lightning speared the storm, Alois glimpsed the warp-slither of the Leviathan's long body beneath the ocean surface.

It was out there, swimming, matching their pace. Following them.

"Drink?" Luca said after a moment.

"Yes."

He passed Alois the canteen. Alois took a swig.

"I wish this weren't water," he said.

"A man after my own heart."

They watched the Leviathan. "Strange," Alois said, after a while. "Isn't it."

"Yes, I'd say that out there is rather strange."

"Not that. Well, yes, that, but...strange we're standing here sweating our skin off and not standing in Pavaloir's Cathedral of Bellana, bound by blood as brothers."

"Ah."

"I know...I know it was all a lie," Alois said. "But I didn't want it to be. Maybe if I had wanted peace less, maybe I'd have seen into my father's schemes, maybe..."

He shook his head. "I suppose that doesn't matter so much anymore. It's over. It's done."

Luca nodded, his gray eyes narrowed against the sunlight. "You know," he said. "I thought you'd be an almighty ponce."

Alois laughed mid-swig, snorting water. He flung his hand up to catch it. "A what, now?"

"I figured you'd be arrogant, dreadful. Strutting about like you were planning the annexation of Lapide yourself. Believe me, the reality is a great relief."

"I figured you'd be crouching around a sacrificial altar, muttering to the pagan gods and waving witch-feathers."

Luca grinned. "You're not far off."

Alois laughed again. It felt good: a loosening of the fist that seemed forever clenched in his chest. "Your particular witch doesn't seem to like me very much."

"I think she's jealous."

"Jealous? What by all Saints would she have to be jealous of?"

Luca gave him a sidelong look. "Take your pick," he said. "For an immortal creature she's not particularly rational. You'd look and her and Cereza and think my sister the one awestruck, but I think it's the other way round. Cereza's cannier than she lets on. Worse, too. She can be unbelievably vexing in matters of the heart."

"What?" Alois spluttered, in the midst of taking another drink from the canteen. At this rate there wouldn't be any water left.

"One time I caught her kissing the daughter of some visiting foreign dignitary in a broom cupboard. It was by the skin of my teeth I prevented an international scandal."

It took a moment for Alois to realize he was joking- about the scandal, at least. He tried to imagine Cereza flirting her way into a broom cupboard, and couldn't. It was difficult to reconcile that girl with the girl he'd met first in the throne room of Valeris Palace, dressed in blue and seed pearls, pretty as the flowering tree that was her namesake. How little he knew her. How little he would have known her, had they been married as planned. As little as his father had known his mother at their own wedding, two strangers bound together for a cause.

She isn't bound to you anymore, he told himself. It stung a little.

"I never told you," Luca went on. "I didn't believe you, before, when you said you had nothing to do with Cereza's curse. I wish I had."

"I think you made it up to me by saving her life."

Together, he and Luca stood, watching the monster at the horizon as it swam round and round, wreathed in lightning. At last, Luca glanced up at the sinking sun and sighed.

"We'd best get a move on," he said, and with a last smile at Alois, retreated back to the group. Alois took a moment longer, taking in the cliffside, the country below, the glimpse of coastline and field. It would be good, he thought, to vanish, like Luca had said- to wait until the weary hurts of the world had spun themselves into dust. But he couldn't live that way. He couldn't abandon it.

Besides, he didn't have to be alone in it anymore.

He took a last drink of water and rejoined the others.

***

"That's it," Luca announced as he rummaged through his pack. He produced the object in question: a twist of touga jerky. "That's the last of it."

"That's it?" Cereza echoed. "Are you serious?"

"Unless you're stockpiling jerky in your skirts, there's nowhere for more to be, my darling." He tossed both pack and jerky to the moss. "Here, you lot fight over it."

They had come to the end of their already-meager provisions from Lapide, and while they'd scavenged all the tubers and berries and tortoise eggs they could, such things had a tendency to spoil in the muggy heat of the day. Alois sat on a nearby rock, his stomach snarling, not wanting to be the first to reach for the jerky.

"Give it to Puppy," Cereza suggested. No one protested. Alois watched as Luca fed the last of the jerky to the little creature, bit by bit.

Sirin signed something.

"Have you seen any animals in these woods?" Luca said.

She signed again, sharper.

"Fine, fine," Luca said. "Just don't draw any attention to yourself, all right?"

"I'll go try to find food," Alois said, standing and making for the edge of the clearing. They'd stopped at a bend in the stream, where the water pooled and stood still, shadowed by an overhanging thicket of thorn bushes and bitter-smelling mudlily, their blossoms white with delicate starbursts of pink at their centers. "I can...I don't know, catch fish, or...dig for roots..."

"Have you ever dug for a root in your life?" Cereza said.

"How difficult can it be?"

She stood, too, dusting off her skirts. "I'll come with you. You might need some protection." She patted the oyster knife at her belt.

"Don't go too far," Luca called.

"Stop worrying over me!" Cereza yelled back.

"Never!"

She smiled and shook her head, the forest shadows closing over it, dousing the brightness of her blonde hair. Alois stuck his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet- so he wouldn't trip over hidden roots, he told himself.

They walked in silence for a while, picking at the bushes, nosing under ferns, as if someone might have stashed a banquet under there. Alois found a cluster of berries clinging to a bush, but they were overripe and oozing, much-abused by the birds.

"I'm not that hungry yet," Cereza said.

He poked at a remarkable growth of shelf fungus sprouting from a cedar. "You fancy this is poisonous?"

"Almost certainly." She smiled. "I'm glad we're out here together. I...I wanted to talk to you alone."

"Me, too."

They fell silent again, not making eye contact. They hadn't spoken much since leaving Valeris- first out of shock, the disaster rendering them numb and mute, attuned to little more than escape and survival. Afterward she was occupied with leading them, or with Niive, or joking with Luca, her voice always a little too bright.

Now it wasn't. Her face looked older in the shadows, her eyes dark-socketed, wisps of hair straggling from her braid.

You had chances, Alois admonished himself. You're just too much of a coward to approach her. Now he'd manufactured a chance, and he was reduced to monosyllables.

They kicked on, coming to another, smaller clearing. Here, the break in the canopy had come at the cost of a cedar, huge as the collapse of a temple. The great fallen tree lay angled, one end lifted on its roots, the undergrowth already begun to swallow it back into the earth. Shafts of sun reached down from above, green and full of cyclones of insects. A small rill bubbled up from the crater beneath the fallen cedar's roots, plashing through the glade and filling it with drifts of mud lilies.

Alois stopped, marveling. Cereza wasn't nearly so reverent. She moved past him and scrambled onto the log, standing balanced on its lower end. The sunlight fell across her, suffusing her. The fine hairs on her arms seemed gilt.

She faced the mountains, their peaks visible above the trees. Alois felt a chill. What did she see? What did she feel like, to have a shard of the Leviathan's power inside her, to be within the shadow of the divine?

"See any food from up there?" he asked.

"Oh. No."

Alois shifted his weight. "What...what happened to you, out there? Really? Are you witchborn, like Sirin?"

"I don't think so. I don't think this is my power." She lifted her hands, turning them over. "I'm more like...a lens, and this- my dreams, my visions- they're the light. All I do is focus, amplify."

"And this? Now?"

"It's a pull, Alois. More than that. It's like I've walked here before. Like I've been here before. It's me, and it's not me. It's my eyes, but not my sight." She shook her head. "I can barely make sense of it myself."

"It takes a lot of faith to trust in it like that."

"Faith in myself, mostly. Without me, where do the dreams have to go?" She smiled a crooked smile down at him. "They'd be lost in the dark without me."

"I wish I could be as confident as you."

She looked away. "As do I, Alois Belmont."

He pointed at her knife. "You're good with that thing."

"Oh. Yes. Your- er. Captain Azare showed me a thing or two on our journey to Lapide."

"You can say my father. I know."

Cereza nodded, too quickly.

"He grew fond of you, I think," Alois went on.

"Yes, well," she said archly, walking heel to toe up the fallen log with her arms spread like wings. "I'm easy to grow fond of."

"Yes," Alois said. "You are."

She stopped above him, staring down. One heartbeat, two. She knelt, hugging her knees to her chest, her expression subdued.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"Us. It all went so wrong."

"That is hardly your fault."

"No. But can anyone apologize enough for it?" She paused again. "I didn't want to marry you. But I would have. And...Alois, I think I would have been happy. It would be easy, to be happy with you."

"I-" Alois began. He thought of Luca standing by him in the sunlight. "I don't- Cereza, I don't mean to give you insult-"

"Enough of the formal Lapidaean, Alois. Say what you want to say."

"Yes. Yes." He drew a short breath, heat creeping up his neck. "If I were to marry, it would be another...sort."

"What sort?"

Alois paused. Then- "A sort like Luca."

Cereza gave a guffaw that was half a shriek, loud enough that a pair of birds burst from a nearby tree and went clattering off. Alois winced, but after a moment he realized, with a strange wash of relief, that she wasn't laughing at his feelings, but how he'd conveyed them.

"Luca?" she echoed. She laughed again, tossing her head back. "Luca...specifically?"

"No. Not- stop laughing."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just imagining you and- I'm sorry. Please go on." "Not just- not just Luca."

"Another man, then? So find one." A thought seemed to occur to her. "Or do they not like that in Estara?"

"There's nothing in Bellana's books against it. Simply...if I am to be king, I would need heirs." He let out a short breath. "We each in Estara have our part to play."

Cereza gave a flick of her hand. "Many Lapidaean regents got around it. Creatively. Spectacularly."

"It's not so simple as that. My father and mother were such terribly-matched people," Alois said. "So terribly-matched it might've split Estara in two."

"Didn't it?" Cereza said softly.

Alois managed a laugh. She really was right, and it really was a bit funny. "Didn't it," he agreed, with feeling. "I never want their misery inflicted on another, especially not you. I can see how you and Niive are together. She's...beautiful, she's-"

"She's a terror," Cereza said. "But I think I need that. We're very alike, you know."

"Very alike," Alois echoed. And he was not. For a moment he felt the familiar pang of shame- a bastard, a blinded thing, cursed by Bellana, no true Belmont at all. But what use was that? He was the same man he'd been before, no matter his name and the chains that came with it. There was nothing to be ashamed of. He did not need to be ashamed of himself.

He met Cereza's eyes, the gray of stormclouds. "I would have been happy with you, too."

She gave him a soft smile. "Then let's be miserable apart."

Cereza stretched out her hands, and he took them, and she slid down the log and into his arms. Her skin was cool and soft, her hands bunching in his curls. For a moment he held all of her to all of him, her hair tickling his throat, her feet dangling inches above the ground. Then he let her go. She slid down him and alit.

"Here," Alois said, plucking a nearby mud lily. He threaded it into her braid, by the long black feather she kept woven there. "It suits you."

She turned her head this way and that, preening. "You suppose we can eat it?" she said, and he laughed with her.

A snarl rippled from behind them.

Alois whirled. Cereza gasped, reaching for her knife. An animal paced toward them, out from a hollow underneath the fallen tree. A den. Alois recognized the beast in an instant: brush-tailed and long-bodied, its head slung low, its ears flat back against its skull. Short spike horns jutted before its ears, gleaming like jet. Its sleek summer pelt was black, too, rippling with faint spots, its eyes pale blue and fixed on him.

It let out another snarl, baring sharp cuspids. A fellfox. He smelled its sharp, musky scent as it paced closer, footfall silent on the moss.

"Oh," Alois breathed. His heart hammered. Fellfoxes were vicious creatures, all the more reason they were Estara's sigil. If only Daval were here- he'd find the prospect of one killing Alois hilarious. "Saints- Cereza, the knife-"

"No." She pointed. Several sets of round blue eyes stared back at them from deeper in the den. "It's protecting its kits."

"It'll feed us to its kits if you don't-"

The fellfox lunged with a yowl; its teeth clashed shut inches from Alois's face. He stumbled, falling hard to his hands and knees. "Cereza!" he cried, but his voice died in his throat. All he could do was stare.

Cereza stood before the fellfox, her hands by her sides, staring into its eyes. The fellfox stared back, its gaze bright, its teeth still bared. It didn't attack. Why didn't it attack? Alois took a sharp breath, and tasted it: the bitter tang of magic. He felt it, then, its pulse coursing through him from Cereza.

Her lips fluttered. The fellfox gave a softer snarl and paced back- one step, then two, its head lowered, its bristled fur relaxing. It turned and trotted off, slipping into its den without another glance. Cereza let out her breath, staring after it with huge eyes.

Alois scrambled to his feet. "How," he panted, "did you do that?"

"I...I'm not sure," she said. "I felt its anger. How dare we threaten its kits? It felt like...like one of my dreams. So I refocused it. To not harm us. To go back to its kits. And it did." She shook her head with a nervous laugh. "That's it."

"Whatever you did, it was-" Alois started.

He cut off. Voices echoed through the trees, alongside the sound of clanging metal.

Alois looked up, but didn't see the others approaching. The sound came from the wrong direction, anyhow- ahead, not behind. Alois stepped past Cereza, moving toward them. He heard her follow, her knife a glint of steel in her hand. They crept toward the treeline, which ended in a fall of jagged boulders. The rocks plunged down, an abrupt descent into a spreading meadow of wildflowers and windswept grass and road. It threaded down the mountainside: a narrow dirt track cut into the meadow, and on it were people.

"Hells," Cereza whispered, but Alois held up his hand, quieting her. The people looked like farmers, dressed in roughspun: a pair of young women driving a snuffling touga between them. It wore a bell- that was what made the clanging sound- and a yoke laden down with baskets.

"Look at that," Alois whispered, and pointed. The touga's baskets were full of fruit, knobby-skinned and bright yellow. "Food. You don't suppose-"

"I do suppose," Cereza said. "There's a village nearby."

Alois chewed his lip. "We can't stop. Suppose Isabella's soldiers are there, searching for us. Suppose-"

"No." Cereza looked at him. The sunlight fell in her eyes, and they were bright, their gray ghostly, touched with the same faraway brightness that had filled them in the hidden library's depths. "No. We have to stop."

She caught his wrist and held it, tight. "This is where the trail ends. This place is what we came to find."

#grave of the great leviathan #tales of the great leviathan #fantasy fiction #original fiction #serial novel #chapter 32

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bellamuerte1987 · 2 years

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Editors note: I have not written something fanfic in years by years i mean since 2006. I am terrified to post this. But lately I have a itch that I need to scratch. Writing is a way for me to bare my soul. It is a way for me to escape. I hope you all enjoy. And if this does well. I will possibly write more. Please go easy on me. 🖤

CHAN FLUFF.

Compass

Chan X Reader

You never truly had that person who you could turn too. Never had THAT connection, never felt the love of a man who only had the burning desire to make you happy. Who was willing to shield you from the cruelty of the world and was willing to shelter you.

Chan was one of a kind. You have never met someone with so much love, so much compassion and with so much talent. His smile lit up any room he would walk in. His eyes, those beautiful brown eyes how you drowned in them.

His eyes captivated you and his voice was sounds of sirens drawing you in the depths of his heart.. When you were with him nothing else mattered. Your souls intertwined , time was nothing. Everything was at a stand still.

A smile spread across your face as you watch your lover. You definitely had your faults. But he chose you. He chose all of you. Flaws and all. You've always told him "I'm a lost cause. Darkness fills my world." He would give you that smile that always melted your heart, kiss you on the forehead and say, "I am your compass, baby. I am here as a light to guide you through the stormy weather. My soul will be your compass and my heart will be the light and my voice will bring you back from that darkness."

And he was right, he was your compass. He would stop the voices and the demons that would anchor you in the deep. He would release those demons and lift the weight of the hour. "Hello Darkness." You would say. He knew the hurt and the things you have faced. He wanted to be the one who would shelter you from the storm.

You were his world and he desperately wish you would realize how much you meant to him. You too were his light, his compass in his darkness.

You made him feel loved, appreciated and wanted. He took care of everyone before you and no one cared for him. Sleepless nights, wanting and longing for a touch, for a soul, and for a love to light up his world.

One sweet day. There you were. His saving grace. Fate lead him to you, he just knew it. He always wondered if he had that person, the one who set his world on fire, time stopped when he saw you. His heart caught in his throat, he forgot how to breathe. Your beauty charmed him, your smile consumed him, your eyes, oh how he loved your big beautiful brown eyes, full of wonder. His soul ached to be next to yours.

The moment your eyes connected, your heart was beating so fast. You couldn't look away. You always thought you didn't have that person. Instantly with Chan you felt it. The pull of two people longing to touch, to kiss, to have their souls dancing together as one.

You kissed your lover as he sat besided you. You lived for that memory of meeting him. He smiled in return with a questioning look. You laid your head on his shoulder. "You okay, baby?" He asked with concern. You nodded your head. "I am more than okay." You chuckled. "And what is it that you find amusing, my love?"

You lifted your head off his shoulders, looked him in his eyes and gave him a kiss, one that shook your very core and his. He deepened the kiss wrapping his arms around you. You were the air he breathe and he was yours. You loved this man with every fiber of your being.

You broke the kiss still wanting more but you knew you needed to think clearly. You run your fingers through his brown curly hair. Fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall from your eyes. He pressed the palm of his hand on your cheek, using his thrumb to wipe away your tears and with that you smiled.

"Thank you for being my compass, thank you for bringing me out of the darkness. Oh lovey! You saved me. You truly have no idea how much you did. My love for you deepens daily. I can not imagine life without you. You truly are my compass who guides me through it all."

Without saying nothing his lips found yours and you let your favorite compass take control and guide you home.

#chan x reader #skz fluff #bang chan #christopher bang x reader #chan fluff

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keefwho · 4 months

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December 20 - 2023 Wednesday

11:09pm

This morning I wrapped 2 of Daisy's presents. One of them came out great because I found a box for it, the other one had to be wrapped semi-raw and it's kinda wonky but I like how organic it is. For breakfast I made a terrible combination of corndog bites, cherrios, and a brown sugar poptart. I also had a ton of phantom itches in my leg. In stream I warmed up with a couple Zelda sketches and a landscape for the first time in awhile. I worked on the group commission again. I was supposed to learn how to use the chainsaw today but of course my dad didn't actually keep that plan so maybe Friday. Instead I did a treadmill workout while I watched Henry and later some more of that Unicorn show. I started soup for lunch and took a shower while it simmered so I wouldn't be too late for afternoon work. I did today's request fine and did half of my project work before my therapy appointment. This was our first private and legitimate appointment although it was exactly the same as on Betterhelp. I laid down in VR and talked about recent happenings and more about coping mechanisms. As usual he asked me some helpful questions about how and why I do certain things. My next appointment won't be until a little over 2 weeks from now. After that I finished my drawing work by completing a drawing of a 1st grade soldier from Craig of the Creek. It's something I don't expect to get any traction with but it was fun and good practice for different subjects. Then I finished my Christmas Tree avatar and was chilling until Daisy asked to get in VR. We hopped a few places and I said something stupid that made her upset and want to hop off for the night. I feel terrible and have been trying not to overthink or spiral because of it. I made an honest yet hurtful mistake and intend to keep in mind what I did and make up for it as best I can. I calmed myself down watching Burkeblack play a building game while I searched Deviantart for Christmas dress models and then tried Starfield for a bit.

Today I felt good despite the challenges ahead and wish I had more time with my therapist to cover everything I mean to. The evening was turbulent but I handled things and myself as best I could.

#journal #diary #therapy #stress #work #hurtful #ruined

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seaphoam-writes · 1 year

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A Father's Duty (1/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Full Disclosure: A) This is 100% a "PIcard finds himself a father as a result of wacky quantum reality shenanigans and he learns to deal with it (with the help of his crew)" fic B) The target audience is me.

The first two chapters may be a bit heavy on the technical aspect just to establish what the actual hell is going on, but then it will settle into the human side of the story. I have no real plans beyond the first few chapters, I'm just going where the story takes me. This is something I dreamt up 15 years ago when I did a TNG re-watch in college, and my current TNG re-watch has me itching to finally write it down so I'm just gonna do it *shrug* Enjoy!

Chapter 1

There’s a shuttlecraft exploding on the view screen and a strange boy battering him with his fists, sobbing and screaming, “Send me back! Send me back!” and all Data can think to do is the Vulcan nerve pinch, rendering the boy unconscious.

That effectively solves one of his problems, but it immediately creates another.

Data looks at the boy lying crumpled on the floor, then up, at the skeleton crew of the night shift. They’re all staring back at him, perplexed, and Data finds that he shares their confusion.

Touching the comm badge on his chest, Data summons the one person who can help correct his error. “Dr. Crusher to the bridge.”

-/-

Jean-Luc Picard had only just fallen asleep when he’s hailed.

“Captain?”

Beverly’s voice jerks him from a nightmare, but it’s not until he hears her voice again that he’s certain he’s actually awake.

“Captain?”

“Go ahead,” he says quickly.

“Captain, I need you in sickbay.” After a brief pause, she adds, “It’s urgent.”

Picard allows himself only a moment of disappointment before he sits up and swings his legs off the bed. According to the computer, he slept for 5 hours, a fact which contradicts the ache in his bones and the pounding in his skull.

Dropping his head into his hands, he sighs.

He tried to tire himself out, put in a few extra hours during the swing shift, practiced with his flute, had a vigorous fencing session with Guinan, but it seems that the more exhausted he is, the more restless his dreams are—it’s been that way since Gul Madred, and lately his nightmares inspired by his time with the Cardassian have become twisted up with images from his assimilation into the Borg.

It's sheer force of will that has him in his uniform and walking from his quarters in three minutes flat, habit that guides his steps to sickbay. He walks more unsteadily that he cares to acknowledge, his limbs leaden, his mind firmly back in his quarters with a cup of earl grey.

Fortunately, it’s the middle of the night shift and there’s no one in the corridors.

Just before sickbay he pulls himself together, takes a deep breath and draws himself up, shoulders back, chin up—he doesn’t want Beverly concerned, doesn’t wish to have his physical or mental state questioned.

(Doesn’t wish to be assigned more hours with Deanna Troi, much as he appreciates what she does for his crew.)

The sickbay doors whoosh open and Picard enters. He’s surprised to find Data there, as well as three security officers. Beverly and Data are standing on either side of one of the beds, upon which lies a boy, fast asleep.

Picard can’t imagine what this has to do with him. Or why they’d seen fit to wake him. Or what could possibly be urgent about a sleeping child.

“Report,” he says gruffly. Perhaps there’s a chance this will be over swiftly and he can return to his quarters to snag a few more hours of sleep before the day shift.

“Captain—” Beverly begins, at the same moment Data says, “Sir—"

They look at each other, and it’s Beverly who cedes. “Go ahead, Data.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Data turns back to Picard. “Sir, at approximately 0300 hours, there was an incident.”

Already sensing that this will be no simple matter, Picard resigns himself to his duty—familiar, comforting duty—and steps away from the doors. “An incident?”

“Yes, sir. The sensors detected a minor subspace disturbance off the port bow. I ordered a full stop and an analysis, which concluded that the anomaly was a fissure in the space-time continuum.”

Here, Picard perks up. As far as he’s aware, a quantum fissure is only theoretical. There are no reports of one ever being encountered.

“Why wasn’t I alerted immediately?” he asks.

“At a distance, the fissure was not dangerous, and so I judged it prudent to conduct further research first before waking you, sir.”

Picard nods, accepting Data’s rationale.

“The anomaly was invisible to the naked eye,” Data continues, “but once enhanced with a warp field, it became visible. We were in the process of launching a probe to investigate the fissure when a shuttlecraft appeared.”

“A shuttlecraft?” Picard’s mind skips ahead. The boy on the bed must have been on the shuttlecraft. But he appears too young to have piloted a shuttlecraft on his own, a mere 8 or 9-years-old.

Suddenly, he feels Beverly’s gaze on him and looks to her. There’s an expression on her face that he can’t quite interpret, as if she’s watching him, waiting for something—he frowns and her eyes widen slightly, urgently, and then a crease appears between her brows.

What’s she worried about? What is he missing?

Data’s voice snaps Picard out of his thoughts, and he focuses on the remainder of the report: the shuttlecraft appeared to come from the fissure itself, but it was badly damaged and it exploded moments after its appearance. Before the explosion, however, the boy on the bed—the boy potentially from another quantum reality—materialized on the bridge, beamed onto the Enterprise by whoever else was on the shuttlecraft.

Beverly takes over the tale from there, relating how she attended to the boy on the bridge, tasked a small security team to help her carry him to sickbay—how the security team proved doubly useful when the boy came to and grew hysterical, begging to be sent back, attempting to fight his way to the doors and ended up unconscious again, this time by Beverly’s hand and a well-aimed hypospray.

Picard moves closer to the bed, his curiosity getting the better of him. The boy’s clothes are singed, and there’s a bruise coloring one of his cheeks, a scrape on his chin.

“Is he alright?”

“I assessed him for injuries,” Beverly replies. “There’s evidence of a few healed fractures, but nothing recent. I suspect he sustained that bruise during whatever incident caused his shuttle to explode.”

Picard nods, half to himself. The shuttle was very likely attacked, hit by phaser or torpedo fire.

This is shaping up to be a bit of a mystery, he thinks.

He assesses the boy from head to toe, searching for clues, as it were. Wavy, light brown hair, darker brows. Big ears and a dimpled chin. He seems thin. One of his hands lies draped over his hip, fingers curled loosely, but the other is at his side, a fist clenched tight.

Picard points. “Is he holding something?”

Beverly blinks—she was giving him that look from earlier again—and checks the boy’s hand, gently prying his fingers apart to reveal an isolinear chip. She holds it up to the light, and Picard squints at it as if he’s actually capable of deciphering its patterns.

“If I may, Doctor,” Data interjects politely, offering his hand. Beverly places the chip into his palm and he shuffles it neatly to his fingertips, then holds it to the light in a gesture identical to Beverly’s.

After several agonizingly long seconds pass, Picard prompts. “Data, do you recognize it?”

“I do, Captain. It appears to be one of my memory chips.”

-/-

They wake Geordi, who stumbles into sickbay 10 minutes later, holding his visor in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. He murmurs a greeting and goes directly to where Data is waiting, sitting on one of the vacant beds like a patient.

Picard stands at a distance, his arms crossed over his chest. His exhaustion has crept back up on him, the ache behind his eyes intensified, and there’s a new, uneasy sensation in his gut.

Additionally, Beverly’s angry with him for some reason. She’s running tests in the background, and although he can’t see her, he can track her based on the location of the daggers she’s glaring at him, little prickles against his skull. She clearly wishes to tell him something, and he wishes she’d just come right out and say it—he could ask her, of course, but he’s feeling stubborn.

While Geordi prepares Data to receive the memory chip, Picard’s attention strays back to the boy. There’s something vaguely familiar about him.

Who is he?

Picard imagines it’s possible—if the boy truly is from another quantum reality—that he’s seen him before. Does Picard know him? Is that why Beverly’s glowering?

“Alright,” Geordi mutters. “Here we go. Everyone ready?”

Data’s head jerks back, then cocks to the side. His eyes slide out of focus, then flick back and forth rapidly. His head twitches to the side once more, then he looks up, directly at Picard. He appears…speechless, and the uneasy sensation in Picard’s gut deepens, grows claws.

“What have you learned, Mr. Data?” he asks.

“A great deal, Captain.” His eyebrows reach for his hairline. “The boy’s name is Louis Picard.”

The uneasy feeling becomes a great, yawning pit. “Louis Picard?”

“Yes, Captain. He is your son.”

Your son.

He teeters at the edge of that pit inside of him, his heels slipping backwards, gravity pulling him down—

A sounds from behind makes Picard whirl, to see Beverly standing at one of the screens, a triumphant gleam in her eyes despite the sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “DNA analysis confirms it, Jean-Luc. That boy is biologically your son.”

#star trek #star trek: the next generation #star trek: tng #tng #captain picard #tng fic #picard fic

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