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thewordypeach · 1 year

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Flesh Without Blood

Flesh without Blood (Forbidden Fruit)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader, Tommy Miller x fem!reader word count: 5.6k warnings: 18+, smut!, no use of y/n, incest (stepsibling!!!), threesome, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected penetration x2, little bit of voyeurism, maybe some cuckold, mentions of punishment, implied rape, slight uncaring/cold-hearted... summary: There’s something beneath the surface, something that has been waiting to be unleashed. Something dark and feral. author's note: hello, this is my third story I've posted! and oooof, yeah... it is incest. but between stepsiblings (as if that makes it better??!?) i couldn't help myself okay! i know you want to be sandwiched between Tommy and Joel Miller as much as i do. also, i am sorry that the summary sucks - i'm not very good at them lol. umm, anyways, i hope you enjoy because i might have another incest-y story in the works... ;) xoxo the wordy peach <3

Joel Miller’s rough exterior speaks to the life of survival the three of you’ve endured since the cordyceps outbreak. You watch as his chest expands and his shoulders pull back, making his already physically imposing body even more domineering than before. His face, rugged and weathered, twists into a scowl. Meanwhile, Tommy Miller’s exterior is merciful, exuding a softer, more lenient temper. His body language is casual. Less rigid. But his face is stricken with disappointment.

“I’ll give you a cut of whatever I make!” The contrast between the brothers makes you nervous, and you slowly start backing away. A sense of urgency makes you blurt out a new, better offer, “Whatever I make, I’ll give you a quarter - no! Half!”

Joel remains stoically hardened, but Tommy gives a disarming smile and barks a laugh, “What the hell are we going to do with the money?”

You shrug, “Buy some more guns?”

Tommy laughs again, and his entire face lights up. Tommy’s laid-back nature has always made him the easygoing of the two brothers, and even now, as they confront you about your secret business dealings, he seems to trust that you aren’t a threat. You might be slightly stupid, but you certainly aren’t dangerous.

“Oh, Nic,” Tommy shakes his head, and his face darkens as he approaches you. The sudden change in his demeanour makes you confused, and your body stills, becoming rigid and tense. His hand is quick, clamping down around your throat. Your breath hitches, and you reach up, grabbing his wrist. His hold on you is firm, and you struggle to remove his steellike grip.

“You think we’re fucking stupid?” He hisses, voice full of venom. He doesn’t squeeze, but his fingers flex around your throat, sending the message that he could easily choke you out. Your eyes dart to Joel, who isn’t stopping any of this - in fact, it looks like Joel is enjoying it.

“Don’t look at him - look at me,” Tommy barks, “I’m the one who has you by the throat,”

Your eyes snap to Tommy, and you squirm, trying to step back. Tommy glares, spitting out, “Never thought you’d be the one who would betray the family, Nic,”

“I wasn’t -” You grunt, still trying to pry his hand off your throat. By a fraction, Tommy’s grip tightens. “I wasn’t trying to fucking betray you - I was trying to fucking leave this shit hole,”

At the admission of your actual plan, Tommy stops. His face softens ever so slightly, and his eyes, once hard and emotionless, shift into concern. His brows knit together, and he whispers, “Leave?”

You nod, eyes still panicked as they peer at Tommy. You know he’s the one you want to be bargaining with, but it’s still hard to admit the truth to Tommy. You reply, “I-I-I’m joining the Fireflies,”

Confusion floods Tommy’s face, and he presses, “You need money for that?”

Momentarily, you feel bad. It wasn’t money that you were after, but rather, you were gathering supplies for a mission which just happened to belong to your stepbrothers. You shake your head and bite your lower lip, considering your words, before cautiously speaking, “I needed the supplies for a mission Marlene is sending me on,”

“Oh, that’s fucking rich, Nic - stealing from your own brothers,”

“Tommy, no - it’s not like that,” You say, voice breaking in the process. Tommy shakes his head, and the muscles in his hand, still holding your throat, flex and shift.

“Then what’s it like, Nic?” Tommy asks. He sounds hurt; however, his neck is corded with tension and his lips are twisted into a wryly sneer.

“I know neither of you wants me around,” Your voice quivers as you speak, the weight of past rejections and present isolations bearing down on your heart. You know deep down that Tommy and Joel Miller, your brothers only by marriage, have never entirely accepted you as one of their own.

There has always been a palpable tension that never seems to dissipate; something is always simmering beneath the surface. And now, decades later, that same tension remains in a world ravaged by a deadly fungus. Tears gather in your eyes as you confront the bitter wound that has never fully healed.

Tommy’s tongue clicks against his teeth, tsking in disapproval, “Poor little Nicky thinks we don’t want her around, Joel….”

You shake your head, “Tommy - please, don’t,”

Tommy glances at his older brother, “What do you have to say about this, Joel? Do we want little Nicky around?”

From the expression on Joel’s face, you think he is being asked what he thought of the weather because it is so casual, so aloof. Completely unaffected. You watch as Joel’s mouth moves. His voice is cold and detached: “You know what, Tommy? She is stupid for thinking that we don’t want her around, considering all we’ve done for her….”

Joel casually walks over, his brown eyes staring blankly at you. That is until a strange look flickers across his face. It’s a warning - you’ve seen it before. Your stomach drops, and you’re suddenly desperate to escape this situation, so you try to bargain with them, “Just let me go, and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

Still holding your neck, Tommy sweeps his thumb along your jaw and strokes little circles into it. It’s almost comforting. His head tilts to the side, and he peers at you, eyes blazing. It’s the lapse of silence that has you panicking again. His face tips down, and he presses his nose into your cheek, his hot breath cascading across your skin.

“Oh, Nic…” Tommy murmurs, his lips flush against your cheek, “I know it’s hard to believe, but everything we’ve done, we did it for you,”

The implication makes your skin crawl. Lips quivering, you ask, “What are you talking about?”

Tommy’s voice is taut, filled with annoyance, “Stupid bitch doesn’t even know how many men we’ve stopped from ripping her apart -” His hand has moved from your throat to your jaw, holding it tightly between his fingers. He’s gazing at you with expanded pupils. There’s something beneath the surface, something that has been waiting to be unleashed. Something dark and feral.

That’s when Joel presses his body into your back, and you realize you aren’t going anywhere. Your stomach twists and floods with despair, body submitting to him instantly. With a taunting undertone, Joel says, “Oh, Nicky… how can we convince you that we want you around?”

Tommy disagrees, huffing out, “Speak for yourself, Joel - Nicky has always been a pain in my ass,”

“Tommy,” Joel warns. The energy has shifted. It’s no longer hostile, but something taboo between the two brothers is unfolding. Tommy’s mouth twitches, and he sighs, relenting as Joel recounts a memory: “Remember that one summer when she wore that tiny bikini and paraded her body all around the yard? Like some goddamn peacock.”

Tommy licks his lips, smirking at the memory. A prickling sensation shoots up your spine, and alarms start going off in the back of your mind. Frantically, you glance around the room. You already know there isn’t a way out of here, and even if there were, Joel and Tommy would never let you go.

With a gruff voice, Joel asks, “Tommy, how does it feel having your fantasy come true?”

A dreadful expression crosses your face, but underneath, there’s curiosity as bewilderment floods through you. Thinking of the past and present, searching for the signs of their secret desire - can it really be true? Tommy mumbles, “It only took a decade for it to happen,”

You shake your head, refusing to believe such things, “N-no, no….”

Wickedly, Tommy grins, “What, Nic? Are you trying to tell me that you never thought of us this way?” He cocks his head to the side, entertained by the defiant glare you’re giving him. It reminds him of the times he spent teasing you as a teenager; he had fun bullying you in those days.

Firmly, you state, “No, I haven’t.” You’re disgusted by his insinuation: “It’s wrong,”

Tommy scoffs, laughing, “So, you didn’t write in your diary about how badly you wanted Joel to take your virginity?”

You stop, eyes blinking with disbelief. Your jaw slackens, mouth opening in shock. Tommy loves this look - he loves how you’re pretending to be all innocent when you are just as dirty as he and Joel.

“I never wrote that,” You lie. Tommy rolls his eyes and gives you a playful look before his eyes travel down, taking inventory of your body. A possessiveness settles on his face as he hungrily gazes at your chest. He knows you hate wearing a bra, and even now, he can tell you aren’t wearing one. It’s in how your tits bounce and your nipples, perky and erect, poke through the fabric.

Tommy can’t stop himself and just has to reach up and pinch one. The pain is sharp and quick, making you squeal in surprise. You try to twist away, body turning, but Joel’s hands cinch around your waist, and he holds you against his solid body. Your attempt to fight back is futile. Utterly useless. You try to think of ways out of this, but your mind is giving up, and your body is giving in; Joel touching you makes you realize that the infatuation you once felt for him has never really gone away.

“I…I was young and stupid,” You hastily admit to the secret you’ve been harbouring for decades, “I … I thought it’d be hot to fuck one of you - can you blame me, though? Both of you were constantly bringing girls over to fuck -”

“Aw, Nicky. Were you jealous?” Tommy coos as his finger completes a circle or two around your nipple. The sensation is causing pressure to build in the crest of your crotch, and you hate yourself for it. It’s wrong, totally wrong -

“If I’m being honest, Nic… I was jealous of your little boyfriend - what was his name again? Gregory? Geoff?”

Joel says, “Garret,”

“Ahh, yeah. Garret. He’s the one who popped your cherry,” Disappointment lines Tommy’s voice, and he pouts, jealous that it wasn’t him. Unhurried, Tommy drags a finger down, down, down and slips his hand underneath your shirt. You inhale sharply as Tommy’s hand dances across your stomach, tickling you. Goosebumps explode across your skin, and you struggle to remain indifferent, but his touch sends mixed signals to your brain.

Teasingly, Tommy presses, “Whatever happened to Garret? Hmmm, Nic? What happened to him?”

You bite your lip, trying to remember. Garret was your first boyfriend. Your first love. Or so, that’s what you thought. Teenage boys can be so fickle. “He… he broke my heart - cheated on me with some dumb whore,”

“Do you regret him being your first? Do you wish it was Joel or me who took your precious little flower?” Tommy circles back to your old diary entry. You refuse to admit it, mouth clamping shut. But it’s the way your body presses into Joel’s body that gives your secret away. Intrigued, Tommy studies your subtle movement. He knows that you’ve always had something for Joel - after all, Joel is the protective older brother who’s reliable and stable. Always has been.

“Well, Nic…” Tommy’s voice fades off. His hand underneath your shirt trails up and cups your breast. It’s soft and pillowy, exactly how he imagined. His voice is low, but his intentions are evident as he speaks: “What if you got the best of both worlds? What if Joel and I take you….”

He’s massaging your tit, kneading the plump flesh. He tweaks your nipple, softer this time, and a little gasp escapes from your throat, betraying you. Traderous sparks begin to envelop your body. Your breath hitches as you ask, “And what happens if I refuse?”

You know you won’t be backing out of this because Tommy’s words are true. You’ve been lusting after Joel for years, and if the world hadn’t gone to total shit, you wouldn’t be standing here, considering Tommy’s insane offer. But in this post-apocalyptic world, nothing matters, not even the familial bonds you share with them. Your eyes shutter closed as you try to steady your breathing. The anticipation and nervousness are unbearable.

“Nothing bad, if that’s what you’re wondering, darlin’...” Joel assures you in a calm, steady voice. His hands haven’t moved from their spot on your waist. The grip he has on you is gentle, reassuring. It's as if he’s trying to comfort you, and in some weird, fucked up way, it’s working. There’s no aggression or force in his touch, and the proximity of his body makes it hard for you to ignore the bulge pressing into your back.

“Nothing bad?” You repeat.

“Nothing bad,” Tommy and Joel say in unison. Their words soothe your nerves, but only a little. You take a deep breath, trying to settle your racing heart. You know that you can trust them and that they won’t hurt you. But still. The idea of being intimate with them is overwhelming -

“Get on your knees -” Tommy instructs.

Joel interjects, “Go slow, Tommy - we have all night with her,”

Tommy scowls, annoyed with his brother. However, you are already sliding down to the floor. A smug look flickers over Tommy’s face, and he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans. To your surprise, he’s not wearing underwear, and his cock falls out. It’s big, and it points right at you. You peer at it, frozen in shock. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, but suddenly, you’re left wondering if Joel is also blessed with a gift of this size. Or maybe, Tommy is the one who lucked out in the genetics department -

“You’ve sucked a cock before, haven’t you, Nic?” Tommy asks as his fingers touch your chin and his thumb swipes across your lower lip, opening your mouth. You nod, and slowly, Tommy’s cock replaces his hand. He makes a soft hissing sound as your lips slide down his shaft.

“Fuck,” Tommy threads his fingers through your hair as you babble around his cock. It’s a bit too deep for your liking, but a switch gets flicked, and all you want to do is prove yourself - you want to prove to your brother that you can suck cock. You hold his hips and bob your head, working your tongue against his arousal. But apparently, it’s not enough for Tommy because he starts thrusting in and out of your mouth, his cock reaching a dangerous depth, which causes your eyes to swell with tears.

“I’ve dreamt of this filthy little mouth,” Eyes narrowing into slits, Tommy completely immerses himself into the fantasy. He can’t believe you are here, on your knees, sucking his cock. Joel loves it too, admiring how well you are doing, but he doesn’t like how rough Tommy is - he’s practically yanking your head down his shaft, making you gag and sputter. However, you don’t seem fazed by it.

Joel can’t help but wonder if you’re genuinely enjoying it, and he knows the answer lies between your thighs. He kneels, hand snaking around your stomach and shoving into the waistband of your pants. You let out a muffled gasp of surprise but continued to gag and sputter around Tommy’s cock. Joel’s fingers are slow, but they move with purpose, and he teasingly presses them into your panties. He whispers into your ear, “You’re so fucking wet… does sucking your brother’s cock turn you on that much?”

He taunts your clit, fingers circling it but never quite touching it. You’re gasping for air, hot tears tracking down your cheeks. Tommy quickly wipes them away, a tender action that leaves you feeling cared for as he continues to fuck your face. Joel senses your discomfort and tells Tommy to ease off.

“Fuck, just let me -” Tommy groans, a familiar ache in his balls. He’s so fucking close; the tension is becoming unbearable. However, Tommy has to resign himself because he still wants to fuck you, and hastily, Tommy removes his cock from your mouth, groaning as a trail of spit dangles between your mouth and the tip of his well-sucked cock.

You greedily suck the air back into your lungs, chest heaving. Your eyelids flutter as Joel continues to apply pressure through the fabric of your panties, but you need more. You need him inside. Daringly, you ask: “Can we move this to the bed?”

Tommy and Joel share a look. It’s so quick that you almost miss it. Joel stands, lifting you in the process. He twirls you around, places his large hands on your hips, and kisses you like a man starved. Joel doesn’t give a damn that you had Tommy’s cock in your mouth because Joel has been waiting for this and doesn’t want to hold back. He gives it all to you, nipping and sucking your lower lip. When Joel’s tongue touches yours, you groan.

As your heart thrums wildly inside your chest, liquid heat pools in your core. It’s so wrong that it’s right. Any morals you once had are long gone. They don’t exist anymore. Joel cups your ass, gripping the fleshy mounds. You gasp, and Joel smiles before his lips travel down your jaw, planting kisses down to your neck, where his teeth graze your collarbone. His hands move up and play with the hem of your shirt, and in one swift motion, he lifts it off your body and tosses it to the side.

Joel’s mouth continues to travel downward, and he closes his mouth against your tit. He’s all teeth and tongue with continuous suction — meanwhile, his other hand twists and tweaks your other nipple between his thumb and finger. Little mewls spill forth from your mouth, and your hands are groping Joel’s bulge through his jeans, desperate to feel his cock.

“Take your pants off, Joel,” You demand, and to your surprise, he obeys. Joel strips and tosses his clothes. Unlike his brother, Joel wears underwear with a humorous pattern of hearts. It’s quite the contrast to his imposing physical ruggedness. It makes you smile and giggle - Joel’s eyebrow lifts quizzically. You shake your head, and the next thing you know, Joel is helping you out of your pants and lowering you down to the mattress where Tommy is already lying, waiting. His clothes have already been discarded.

“I want to taste you,” Joel murmurs. You watch as the slightest tinge of pink rises to his cheeks. It makes you giddy. Only in your dreams has Joel said such things. Joel hovers, pushing your thighs open with his palms, kneeling between them, sliding lower and lower. He hooks a finger on your panties and glides them off your hips; they join the rest of the forgotten clothes in the room.

Joel marvels at your glistening pussy that’s so swollen from having been kept in a state of anticipation. His fingertips sink so easily into your folds, parting them and gliding his digits through the slickness of arousal seeping out. Your head tilts back, eyes closing from the pleasure steadily streaming through your body. Joel lowers his face, inhaling your tantalizing scent, which unleashes a throaty moan from his chest. He’s gentle when carving a path through your arousal with his tongue, noting how your thighs twitch ever so slightly when he glides over your throbbing clit.

“Mmm, how does she taste, Joel?” Tommy asks, voice breaking through the silence between the three of you—Joel answers by grunting. He’s a man of few words, even now. The vibration makes you clench and groan as your hands thread themselves through Joel’s hair because you need something to hold onto. His tongue circles your clit before licking downward and dipping into your wet hole.

You hiss at the intrusion, “Fuck, Joel,” Never fucking ever did you think your brother would be this fucking good at eating pussy -

“Joel has quite the tongue, doesn’t he, Nic?” Tommy hums as he shifts his body, lying down next to you. His mouth hovers above your shoulder, and his warm breath strews across your skin as he lowers to your breast, tongue flicking your nipple. You groan as your brain goes hazy at the dual pleasure that is coursing through your body.

You don’t know what to focus on: Joel, who is ravaging your pussy, eating it like it's his last meal on earth, or Tommy, who is manhandling your tits, biting, sucking, and marking his territory by breaking your skin’s capillaries.

Your chest heaves, and your teeth sink into your cheek. Liquid heat blossoms in your core, and your fingers grip Joel’s hair, practically ripping it out as his tongue takes a long, broad stroke up to your clit. You gasp as he sucks it into his mouth, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“You like that, Nic? You like it when Joel sucks your clit?” Tommy has quite a filthy mouth on him, and you nod, eagerly agreeing with his statement.

“Need more, though,” You murmur, and you watch as Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, yeah? Little Nicky needs more?” Tommy teases before instructing Joel to add a finger or two, and just like that, Joel’s middle finger is circling your tight, wet hole. Tapping at it, applying the lightest pressure before it sinks inside. You’re shifting continuously, trying to adjust and make room - you can't remember the last time someone penetrated you, and Joel’s finger is so thick.

“Relax, Nicky,” Joel rasps out, “I’m not going to hurt you….”

You order yourself to relax, but Joel can tell it’s still too much for you because he has to hold down your hip, stilling it, with his other hand. Once more, Joel latches his mouth to your clit, and twirls bud tongue around it. When Joel adds a second digit, you give a half-yelp. And when Joel curls his fingers, hooking them inside, pressing against that sweet spongy spot, heat floods your body.

Your hips grind into his face, desperately wanting more - no - needing more. Joel knows you are close to releasing because your walls clench around his fingers, and your moans have become more frequent and erratic. You’re begging, pleading, to cum.

He closes his eyes and plunders his way through, lapping and sucking your every fold. He’s tuning you to a rhythm that has your hips rising to meet his pistoning fingers, and that’s when Joel hits that perfect combination, unleashing a wave that swells and rolls across your body. Your back arches off the mattress, squealing, “Oh, fucking hell, Joeeeeel-”

Your core tightens, and your toes curl as bright lights burst across your shuttered eyelids. Sticky wetness pours out, covering Joel’s finger and mouth, but he doesn’t stop until you’re thrashing beneath him. Unable to take any more, you gently push him away; otherwise, you know he won’t be stopping anytime soon.

Having denied his meal, Joel gives you a sullen look with pouty lips that glisten with your nectar. You shudder at the sight and reach for Joel’s body because you need him and his cock. You tug off his boxers, springing free a heavy and lengthy cock, similar to Tommy’s. At the sight of pre-cum dribbling down from his slit, your mouth waters.

“Like what you see, Nic?” Joel rasps as his hand reaches down, closing his fist around it. He pumps it once, twice, and you swear, it’s bigger than before. Your eyes widen, thinking it’s too big - this is something you haven’t considered before. Your past partners definitely did not measure up to what your brothers are packing.

“It’s so big….” Your voice trails off, heat blossoming across your cheeks. You feel silly for asking, “Is it even going to fit?”

Joel smirks, “Oh, darlin’... that’s why Tommy goes first -”

“That’s fucking right,” Tommy growls. Suddenly, Tommy’s hands groped your body, pulling you up the mattress so you’re in its center. Joel sees your disappointment. He knows you want him to be the first, but Joel and Tommy prefer it this way. It’s not only better for them, but it’s also better for you. Tommy’s cock is the perfect starter. Meanwhile, Joel’s cock is the perfect finisher.

Tommy looks elated as he positions himself between your thighs, cock in his hand as he nudges it through your slick, wet folds. A deep, throaty moan spills out of his mouth, and he pushes his cock into your entrance. Your cunt is pliant now but still not loose enough, he comments, “Ah, what a tight fucking cunt you got, Nic,”

It hurts, but it’s a good hurt. The type that makes you want more, and so you open your thighs, making room for Tommy. His body vibrates with tension, and he glides his cock forward, sinking into wetness with a sudden thrust. Your mouth falls open, “Shit, Tommy -”

“Fucking hell, Nicky,” He groans, rolling his hips back and snapping them forward as your velvety hole welcomes every inch of him. His throat bobs, sucking in a sharp breath, “Fucking better than I could’ve ever imaged,”

“Yeah?” You reply breathlessly. You hate to admit it, but dirty-talking Tommy is doing inexplicable things to your body and mind. You need to hear more; his encouragement alone could easily drive you to another orgasm.

“Yeah, Nic - fucking perfect cunt,” Tommy drops his head against your shoulder, his cock nuzzled deep in your cunt. He’s trying to catch his breath, and he’s trying not to spill his entire load right then and there. But having you in this position, your walls suctioning all around him, is making him disintegrate.

His stomach flexes, struggling to remain composed - fuck. The lack of pussy has him weak, skirting the edge of an orgasm all too soon. He’s barely even fucked you. He’s disappointed in himself. You feel Tommy’s embarrassment, and you wrap your arms around his torso, whispering into his ear, “C’mon, Tommy… don’t you want to make my pussy feel good?”

You start rocking your hips, needing more friction than what he can give. He hisses at the movement, body trembling against yours, “Fuck me, Tommy - fuck me,” Your legs shift around, locking Tommy in place as your pussy clenches around his cock, coaxing him to move. To do something.

“You feel so good,” You lick and nip at his earlobe. He hisses in response, his hips slowly bucking to meet yours. He’s trudging forward, head hanging low, trying not to blow his entire load.

“Mmm, do you like my pussy -”

“No more talking,” Tommy tries to quell you. Eyes closed, jaw straining, “You’re gonna make me cum, talking like that,”

Cockily, you continue to spew filth at him, “Oh, yeah, Tommy? Are you gonna cum in my pussy - are you gonna come in your sister’s pussy?”

Heart pumping wildly inside his chest, Tommy’s body seizes, and his orgasm punches through. A shaky groan, gritty and low, escapes from his chest. The room fills with ragged breathing as he ejaculates his sticky seed in your cunt. As his cock twitches and empties, Tommy shudders and gasps into your shoulder.

His body presses against yours, needing momentary support as he wrestles with himself, feeling mortified at his lack of stamina. He used to go for hours; hell, girls would line up for a chance with Tommy fucking Miller. So, it takes him an extra moment to convince himself that this was just a one-off.

“Next time?” He whispers, hoping - what is the likelihood you’ll be down for another round? You plant a tender kiss against his chin, hands sweeping across his sweaty temple, repeating, “Next time,”

His eyes, full of potential, snap to yours. He gives you a sheepish smile. You know you will want more after tonight because what else is there to do in this post-apocalyptic world?

Tommy moves, and as soon as he does, Joel is there to replace his brother. You barely have time to think before Joel is raising your knees, angling them apart. Joel’s movements are quick and precise. He’s been restlessly watching you get fucked, and he’s relieved that Tommy only took five minutes because now, it’s his turn. Joel feels like he has been waiting his entire life for this moment; now, it’s here. It’s actually happening.

A giddiness rushes over Joel, and his stomach flutters with anticipation as his eyes hungrily glaze over. He’s ready, so fucking ready to give you what you deserve. Teasingly, Joel glosses the tip of his cock past your poised entrance and rubs it against your delectable wet folds that have unmistakable evidence of Tommy. Your response is a throaty groan, watching Joel mix the precum leaking from his cock with Tommy’s leftovers.

You’re feeling lightheaded, dizzy with desire. Oh, how you’ve craved Joel. You spent decades yearning for him; you went far too long feeling like a depraved little slut for wanting to fuck your step-brother. Your perverted little fantasy is finally coming true - you have him right where you want.

Joel takes the plunge, his cock nudging into your cunt. It’s almost too much. Without Tommy’s cock to start you off, Joel would’ve never fit. You peek at the point of penetration; the sight is better than anything you dreamed of. Except his cock isn’t entirely inside - not even half. Joel definitely has an extra inch or two than Tommy. You wiggle and squirm, breathing out a scattered whimper that exudes impatience.

“Joel,” You mewl, hands groping his neck and chest. You need something to hold onto because he’s starting to push against the resistance. Joel grunts as your tight velvet walls keenly greet his cock, welcoming him inside. He doesn’t stop until he has bottomed out, cock buried to the hilt. Splitting and spreading you open, almost until a breaking point where you’re gasping at being so filled. He barely moves an inch, and your walls automatically clench, sealing around him.

“Shit, Nic - Tommy’s right. Your cunt is so fucking tight,” Joel pulls out, and his hands slide to the small of your back, lifting into your body as he pushes back into molten wetness. He does this over and over, rubbing against the spot in your velvet channel. Your thighs tremble as a blissful pleasure travels up your spine. However, you ache for more friction.

Noise pitches from the back of your throat, “Harder, Joel - fuck me harder,”

And he does. He pushes your knees against your chest and tilts his hips, snapping forward with such force that you cry out, your nails digging into the side of his torso. In a matter of seconds, Joel’s thrusts have become exploratory - going from shallow to deep, reaching a point of no return as he plunders forward.

Your entire body begins pulsating, a feverish wave rolling through. A second climax is upon you, the throes of euphoria building inside your body as Joel swiftly continues, elated that he’s about to give you what you deserve. You are panting incoherent nonsense as Joel relentlessly drives his cock in and out, in and out.

He slides a hand between your bodies, quickly finding your clit and tweaking it between his finger and thumb. Your pelvis canted upwards to meet his touch. Urgently, you gasp, needing more pressure because it’s insufficient. Joel, somehow an expert in your body, does precisely that.

Joel palms your clit, sending continuous shocks across your core, making it impossible to ignore the building pressure. When you hit the peak, it’s an endless stream of obscenities. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You thrash beneath him, thighs squeezing shut, but Joel rips them open. He charges his hips into yours, riding your orgasm out; he loves how your smooth walls flutter around his cock, milking him. Cock drenched with your juices, Joel plows, his thrusts becoming shallow and rough. He grabs your hips, trying to control them, but you continue to undulate beneath him, desperately trying to meet his rhythm because you want Joel to fill your cunt with his cum.

“Fill my pussy, Joel, fill it -” You coax him, voice reedy, hitching on the last word. Joel’s eyes shuttered close, his lashes like dark half-moons against his skin. Your pussy is persistent, swallowing his cock without resistance now.

A rush of ecstasy flits through Joel’s body, and within seconds, the tension of the coil is snapping. He loses control, and his strokes stutter out, cock surging with a powerful load of spunk that paints the inside of your cunt.

“Holy fuck, Nic,” Joel’s head snaps back, his throat shuddering as he tries to calm the carnal rush raging through his body. His cock twitches and convulses as it continues to empty weeks' worth of pent-up frustration. You marvel at the feeling of being stuffed with your brother’s warm seed, legs locking around his waist because you need every single drop.

As it ends, Joel’s energy drains. The excitement has dulled into the tranquility of release. As he gently pulls out of the warmth, his movements are sluggish. You feel the remnants of your brother's love seeping out of your gaping, used hole. Your taboo appetite has been satiated, and you’re excited about the prospect of what will happen next time. You are thinking of taking both their cocks at the same time when Joel’s voice interrupts the daydream: “Still thinking of leaving us, Nic?”

You give a breathy giggle, "No, I'm thinking about what it feels like to fuck the both of you at the same time,"

#Joel Miller x fem!reader #Tommy Miller x fem!reader #smut #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tommy miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x reader #thewordypeachwrites #wpw

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lookwhatyoudidithasanxiety · 2 months

Text

Harvest Character Ref

5'5 separate, 6'0 as BloodMoon; controls right half of BM; doesn't regress

he/him; they/them as BloodMoon

Paws and hands and feet, retractable claws on both

Two fangs in the top row of teeth (elongate when feral), flat teeth throughout the rest.

Saliva can excrete both myotoxin and healing agent/anti-venom.

Left eye white with black pupil, right black sclera with red star pupil

Has a long, whiplike tail

Lost his right arm during an ill-fated interaction with Sun when he lost control of his instincts. Because of this, BloodMoon's right arm is shorter than their left.

Shocked at the instincts his body exhibits while he's with Kill Code (ie scruffing him makes him go limp, he doesn't want anyone to mess with his belly, etc.)

Suffers from deipnophobia. He can eat in front of Bloody just fine, but he doesn't like to eat in front of anyone else. He'd rather go hungry and wait until everyone is gone before he'll eat at all. (That's if he's even willing to eat, period...)

Struggles with eating. He went so long not feeding himself out of guilt/wanting to care for his brother before himself/not feeling like he deserved to eat that now he has difficulty eating. Somedays he does fine. Other days the others are lucky to get him to drink half of a bloodpouch.

Suppressed his instincts for far too long and fed his brother over himself. Eventually lost control and couldn't control himself. Sun was caught between either letting Harvest attack and potentially kill him or shooting a barrel at him. The blast destroyed most of his arm and was unable to be repaired.

Addition since I found this helpful: this is a video showcasing how a three-legged cat runs, which is how I imagine he runs on all-fours after the accident.

Speaks in rhyme when feral/part of BloodMoon.

Bloody and Lunar call him Ves and Vessie

"Brothers hide things, so we do not worry." "Sometimes we must accept what we learn and...move on." "This can't be the end. This won't be the end. I will NOT die." "I'm holding you back!...I shouldn't be alive, I should be back where I was!" "I do love [Bloody]! I love him more than myself! He's everything to me!"

Relationship with Lunar: Him and Bloody were the first to realize that Lunar regresses. They became incredibly protective of him once they realized that Eclipse hurt him too. Harvest is one of the main caregivers for Lunar, and he usually oversees playdates between him and Bloody.

Moon: Knew that Moon was suppressing his kill code, but didn't say anything because he knew that he was going to talk with Sun. Him and Moon usually just sit quietly together, enjoying the peace and calm.

Sun: Didn't like him at first, especially because he saw how distant Sun was being with Lunar before he realized he regressed. Him and Bloody threatened to harm him if he ever hurt Lunar, but...that threat was unnecessary. Now he sometimes likes to spend time with him and Solar when they sit and gossip over tea. Sun is also the one that initially taught him to knit.

Bloody: Would do absolutely anything for his twin. When he realized how much he wasn't able to do after he lost his arm, he tried to run so Bloody would have a better chance at success. Like Moon, he'd sacrifice himself for his twin. Bloody and him are working on being honest with each other, and Bloody is working on helping Harvest with his habit of foregoing food.

Kill Code: Harvest doesn't trust him. Especially since he took over control from Moon, and he's the one that Moon was trying to suppress (just like he was trying to suppress his own instincts). At the same time, Kill Code is the one who healed him and brought him back to life...

Solar: Sometimes Bloody makes Harvest join Solar and Sun on their mandated self-care days, so he's been spending more time with the two solar animatronics. He and Solar bonded surprisingly well over their appreciation for poetry and Edgar Allen Poe. The gossip tea time sometimes turns into book club or knitting circle.

#lwyd harvest #character ref #character reference #em speaks #mun speaks

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multi-twentyone · 2 years

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not to martian this but i was gonna be like "2010 seb pavloving mark so badly with his long pullable hair he still gets a reaction 12 years later!!" delighted in correcting myself: mark is pavloved simply by seb's proximity. but anyway um yes please elaborate on ur thoughts why would u threaten to delete the gospel truth

PLEASE you are so right about it just being Seb's proximity. I am never EVER getting over any interview of them over the last few years but especially Silverstone 2017 Channel 4 interview where Mark is all gooey eyed touchy. See Seb -> Brain Function Re-Diverted immediately kinda deal (mood). Bless you for seeing this vision immediately as Martian because.,,, YEAH me too ;-; & THANK You for allowing me to talk about this some more 🙏

seemore-ing this simply because I am 300% certain I'm going to go off on several! tangents. sebmark ramble ft. pink hair bobbles below the cut (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

weeeee i am not good at collecting my thoughts into coherent writing unless I spend several hours plotting beforehand ALAS this needs to be said from my desk whilst I should be working;;

Something something exactly Mark being absolutely feral for Seb's long curls in 2010. there's just so much to grab there y'know !!! So much availability to shove his fingers through it and pull. Not just when Seb is expecting it too? He's just easy to tug around by his hair a bit :( It's easy to make Seb look at him if there's a fluffy mop of curls right there to grab at and yank :( And there’s this one time that 2010 Sebi GIGGLES and ties his hair up and it’s just a joke that he ties it up because it’s not really quite long enough for that and he ties it a little too high, so it sticks up at an odd angle like Sebastian was expecting when he did it - but then he’s sat between Mark’s thighs and the joke isn’t really funny anymore. (And then he does it a few more times for good measure. Because it makes cleanup easier if they’re on a schedule and Seb doesn’t really have the spare time to be washing Mark out of his hair before he goes out in public. Because Sebastian actually sort of likes it, grows his hair out even more just to be able to tie it better. And now every time Mark sees that little hot pink hair bobble Sebastian's suddenly got dozens of in his vicinity, even just on his wrist, or when he’s fiddling with it in his fingers in a press conference or debrief, or he inevitably finds one hiding in his own pile of laundry, he twitches and sighs and zones out.)

And now cut to 2022 when Mark gets to watch Sebastian's hair start to slowly grow out through the season, at first sure that eventually he's going to show up one day after not seeing Seb for a week or two or more - both caught up in their own lives with work, on different time-zones and they get that, it's part of the business - and he's going to see him again in photographers Instagram posts, or discussion with other people, or grabbing some spare time with Seb, or upon arriving at the paddock himself that Sebastian has cut his hair and it's shorter again. But that day just never comes? His hair just gets longer and longer every time Mark sees him!!! And Mark just doesn't say anything. Because it's whatever, and he absolutely definitely isn't thinking about it every free moment (and NOT free moment) he gets.

Sebastian's hair keeps getting longer and now Mark's fingers are twitching every single time he's in close proximity to Sebastian. They do a lot anyway, an itch to touch, to close any space between them, but this is different. His fingers start to curl a bit at his own thighs rather than just twitching fingertips, he absentmindedly threads a hand into his own hair like he's just slicking his hair back but he tugs a little on the way, and that only ever leaves him feeling... unsatisfied and a little hollow and not realising the correlation.

Sebastian's curls start to fall over his forehead, down the back of his neck, and get in his eyes. Mark's fingers twitch all the more, even seeing Sebastian on the big screens when he's working distracts him. and he still hasn't put two and two together? that oh- moment hasn't arrived!

Sebastian shows up with a headband, eventually, and Mark misses the curls that had started straying over Seb's forehead. Especially misses watching Sebastian pushing his hair back behind his ears, a move that always looks bashful to Mark even when it's not. Mark decides quietly to himself that he does not like the headband.

It’s when Mark sees Sebastian brush his hair back with both hands as though he’s about to tie it up in a little ponytail that he gets his aforementioned oh moment. Except it’s sort of more of an oh shit moment because he feels like the bottom of his stomach drops through the floor in that moment that he’s convinced Sebastian is about to have a little pullable ponytail and Mark is almost certain he’s about to see Sebastian fish a little pink hair tie out of his pocket. The headband comes back out again instead though, and Mark isn’t sure if he’s more devastated or relieved.

AND HONESTLY this is where my plot making skills fall apart because I write all the pining and then inevitably fall apart at the final hurdle. But perhaps Mark shows up one day and it’s after a comfortable slow build up where Sebastian just about has him out of his jeans, that Mark stops him and takes the same coloured hair tie out of his pocket that Sebastian used to use religiously, drops it into Sebastian’s open palm, and asks him if he would, just for old times sake? Just for him?

YEAH. JUST. Sebastian in hair bobbles :( Mark LIKING Sebastian with his hair tied up and not realising how much he’d missed it :( 2022 Mark at the place where instead of ruminating on it alone he just. Asks Sebastian :(

#soph.answers #SORRY this sat in my inbox for a while because i had to immediately turn my pc on to type a landslide of words #i don't write anything publicly like. ever. so this is. this #also ames if u want me to answer this priv rather than public lemme know!!!!#AM I SUPPOSED TO COMMUNITY LABEL THIS? WHO KNOWS NOT ME #userxoames

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frenchfrywrites · 2 years

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Answer as many as you want pogchamp, cuz I got a lot in mind... 3, 4, 10, 12, 13, 18, 19, 22, 24, 29, 30, 31, 32, 35, 37, 38!! From: obey-r-us

:O thank you for sending in so many hehe!! I answered the ones I felt like I could genuinely/actually answer under the read more

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed? Cursed because I don't think I have a (consistent) writing ritual.. like I just open up my puter or phone and go at it :P

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? I think right now it's "gurgled" because I've been writing a lot about spit 🥵

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you? Yeah a lot of my popular fics haunt me. I tell myself I peaked and won't make something better than them.

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? I wish I could always find the word I'm thinking of. I wish I was aware of what's unique about my writing (so I can capitalize off it hehehe). I wish my spelling was perfect 😭

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy? Ahhh this isn't like.. a subject matter so idk if it counts, but it's always very very hard for me to start writing for a character (worrying if theyre ooc or inaccurate). And sex is an incredibly easy subject matter for me to write about. Clearly.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. ooh let me do something from your latest commissioned fic!

Reese looks at him from across the large bathtub in his house, and notes how his lover looks completely tranquil. Trein had finally decided to take a vacation with Reese, and after much worrying about both Lucius (who currently has Sam watching over him) and Night Raven College’s state without him (essentially running the school) Trein finally released the tension he was holding in his shoulders and laid back.

Started this with having Reese and Trein be at a hotel, drinking wine. Cut the wine because while I love the idea of a wine mom Trein, writing intoxicated people is gross and weird for me. Also changed it to take place at Reese's house, because from what you told me about him I figured he'd feel more relaxed in his own house rather than a hotel.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going? Umm started writing a million years ago because my mom is a writer who encouraged me to do it. Ofc there's been bumps along the way lmao. Concerning tumblr I think my biggest bump was getting over the shame/fear of writing the kinks I like. No idea where I am now, but I'm going on and continuing with what I'm doing jhgkdgaskj

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud? I recently became more organized when I created two docs, one for hc wips and the other for fic wips. I also have a commission specific doc. That's it..

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it? Depends on the subject matter and fandom! But I'd say I do quite a bit of prep work, as I enjoy it. I usually do a vague outline of my work, and if there's something I know I don't know I like to research it (for example I recently looked up the symptoms of puking for my most recent fic.) even if it doesn't show up in the fic I like to know what's up.

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry? I suppose the characters I write for are my muse. When I'm uninspired I read. I get ideas from my past fics, or others fics, or even draw things from whatever book I'm reading. Or I just step away from what I'm writing altogether for a sec.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens? Any rule about the length of sentences/paragraphs. Look at the passage I pulled. That's two sentences. lmfao.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you? God damn this guy is horny as hell.

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us? Not sure it's part of the process, but I think it's weird that I write so much.

#omg thank u for sending in so so many questions ^^ <3 #french fry replies #ask game #obey-r-us

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hqcult · 3 years

Text

EYELINER ## suna rintarou

trying to apply his eyeliner would've been easy if only rintarou can keep his hands to himself.

. tw smut, dom suna, established relationship, fingering, oral f receiving, edging, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, mind break, unprotected sex, pwp . wc 4k

"ugh, he's gonna do it again." you mutter, eyeing suna's hand as it skims around your vanity desk for his favorite brand of eyeliner. for some reason everybody naturally finds themself drawn to suna rintarou, even if he was always so stoic and detached.

you hate how girls would flock around him in parties as they stare at his kohl-lined eyes or at the painted black nail polish whenever you disappear to get a drink, knowing full well what kind of thoughts are running in their heads because you, for sure, thought of him the same way. alright. we get it. your boyfriend can be a hot mofo if he wants to be and his idgaf attitude just adds to the whole appeal.

we get it.

because you love him more than the stars in the galaxy combined, sometimes you can't help but feel jealous when people get too close to him. you really didn't want to be that type of girlfriend but sometimes you just like the assurance that he's all yours and nothing's wrong about that, right? plus, suna seems to exceptionally love when he gets you jealous and feral. he may always pretend otherwise but he loves staking his claim on you just as much as you liked being claimed by him.

"are you done yet?" you say, staring at him from your bedroom door frame.

atsumu was throwing a party tonight and you were all dressed up and ready to go, just patiently waiting for your boyfriend.

suna replies a beat later, not bothering to meet your eyes. "just a minute."

you just want his attention all on you. you don't even want to go to this stupid party and see all these people shamelessly flirting with him even if you were right there by his side. you just want to have some alone time with suna rintarou.

and you may or may not have just come up with an idea to make that happen.

"where's the eyeliner? the one i always use?"

"it's not there? i know i left it there. wait, let me look."

you straighten up, walking towards him in your red leather mini skirt that can make any man's eyes sliver down to your ass.

suna is sitting on your swivel chair, leaning back in a man spread as he clicks his tongue impatiently. he looks good even in a plain shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, his athletic and tall build enough to make any outfit look good.

"are you sure it's not in the drawers?"

"yes, i already checked."

you pout, making a show of muttering "i swore i threw it in here," under your breath as you maneuver around his spread legs to stand in between them, bending forward as you rummage around where he's already looked twice.

you know he's staring at your ass. suna was never lowkey with how much he loves you in this leather mini-skirt. it's a miracle he hasn't landed a rough spank yet after getting a face full view of your ass.

"wait a minute, maybe it rolled under my vanity."

so you get down on your knees, making sure your butt grazes the front of his jeans and just like you predicted, suna was half-hard already.

it was truly such a stroke to your ego but you focus on the task at hand.

you arched your ass up as you bend down to look for the little tube of eyeliner, slightly shaking it side to side as you "struggle" to get the eyeliner out from underneath the table.

when your hands feel the cylindrical plastic, you retreat, sitting up straight again and proudly showing your boyfriend the eyeliner in your hands.

you made sure your eyes were as huge and innocent as they look, kneeling in between his legs, shins tucked in and hands in your lap like a good girl.

"i found it!"

you could've sworn you've seen his left eye twitch as he stared you down. you've been with him long enough to notice that look in his eyes. what are you playing at, huh?

you wait for him to speak but you can see all the gears turning in his head as he continues to stare at you.

you wait anxiously for what he's going to do next. maybe he'll make you suck him off, or he'll throw you on the bed, or spank your ass because you were clearly teasing him—

"why don't you put my eyeliner on for me?"

you stand up, opening the tube in as he shuts his eyes. you try not to let your disappointment show too much. fine. maybe you can just have a quickie later while drunk in one of the rooms in the frat house.

"why are you standing? come sit on my lap while you're doing it."

you were too busy removing the excess product off the brush to notice his eyes had taken a dark turn, contradicting the gentleness of his warm hands as it snakes around the back of your bare thighs pulling you closer.

"no, i'll mess this—"

"i said sit."

delicious shivers create goosebumps on your skin.

you know that tone. he only uses it when he's horny and he wants to bend you over. so maybe your game plan did work after all, yet you're staring at him dumbfounded with the eyeliner brush in midair.

"come sit. i won't repeat myself." he leans back against the chair, manspreading as he waits for you.

you scramble to straddle his strong thighs, muscles a manifestation of his hard work and dedication to volleyball. it was great to see him in action on the court but you'd rather he flexed those muscles when you ride his thighs.

you cup his face, getting all up in his personal space to apply the eyeliner.

you've long grown out of the honeymoon phase but why is your heart beating so damn fast right now?

your hands were shaking, perspiration was building up in your forehead, and you were holding your breath.

"are you nervous?"

"shut up, rin. 'm not."

when the brush first touches the lid of his eyes, a nimble finger traces the expanse of your whole slit over your panties.

you pull the brush away, hissing in surprise.

"rintarou—!"

"what?"

his sharp tone isn't what shut you up, it was the hand cupping your sex. the heel of his wrist slowly grazing against your sensitive clit. you drew a sharp breath. he smirks.

"go on. continue, doll."

you want to hate the teasing lilt in his voice but you know deep down you love it.

you held your breath, diving in once again to the task at hand whilst trying to ready yourself from his ministrations.

your hand slightly shakes as you start in the middle of his waterline, slowly tracing the bottom part of his eyes before making a small wing at the end.

you've seen him apply his own eyeliner so much you have this down to an art form. everything would've been easy if only he kept his hands to himself. you try to ignore the digit still feathering over your slit or the hand wrapping around you to bunch your skirt up around the waist.

for someone whose eyes are closed he's doing a damn good job navigating. but maybe that's how he shows you're his. he knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows what makes you tick, what makes you pant, what makes you moan in ecstasy.

"i can never resist when you dress up all pretty for me. you know that, right, doll?"

applying the eyeliner to his waterline had been fairly easy. the lash line, on the other hand, proved difficult. especially when suna's upgraded from tracing your pussy lips to dangerously toying with the elastics of your panties, slipping his finger under before stretching it to slap your skin.

as you try to connect the upper part of the eyeliner to the small wing you made from his waterline, you hissed.

"why don’t you pull them down?"

he chuckles at your impatience and you slightly pull the brush away as he finally shoves the fabric down. you gasp when the cold hits your wet cunt. the scent of your essence unmistakable and you know suna's holding back from teasing.

"as you wish, baby."

as suna grows bolder, the more your hands shook as you worked on his other eye.

just as the tip of the brush touched his left eye's waterline, he pushed two fingers inside of you, dragging them against your walls in a lazy manner that was so distinctly him. he curls his fingers when he fucks it in before dragging them against your walls when he pulls it out, slightly scissoring you. he uses his other hand to draw figure 8’s against your clit.

you swallow, trying your best to keep your hand still as a surgeon but you see the jagged little curves where your jolts of pleasure were too strong.

you never should've provoked him to shove your underthings down, at least then you wouldn't have to suffer through his fingers. they were just so long, so thick, and so experienced when it comes to pleasuring you that you can never touch yourself anymore without craving suna's own fingers instead.

you bit your lip, the hand that was cupping his jaw tightening as you try to fix the little mistakes here and there, hoping suna won't see them when he inspects your work in the mirror. it doesn't matter that he purposely set you up to fail. there'll be consequences if he isn't satisfied with what you did. may god have mercy on your horny little soul if rintarou thinks you were a bad girl.

"you just hate losing, don't you?" you hiss, jolting when you feel him slap your cunt. your knees nearly buckled and you almost fell off the chair if not for his sturdy hand on the small of your back.

"what are you talking about? i'm just fingering my girl like a winner."

just as you started outlining his left lash line, suna shoves a 3rd finger into your sopping cunt. loud squelching noises fill the room as your walls pulsate around his thick digits. the metal rings he wore brushing against your pussy lips as he fucks you knuckle-deep with three fingers. involuntarily, your own hips started moving to match his pace, shamelessly thrusting up everytime he shoves his fingers in.

he knows you so well. he doesn't even need to look at your face, he can feel you out by the noises you make. so good. so good. his fingers feel so good. fuck. fuck. fuck.

until he pulls them out of your sopping pussy.

"rin," you whine, folding into his shoulder as you struggle to balance your kneeling self on the chair. you blindly reach down for his hand, urging him to put his fingers back in. "rin, please don't stop. please please please—”

"i told you to put my eyeliner, not fuck yourself on my fingers," he leans back on the chair, eyes still shut close while licking his digits clean.

your lips press into a thin line, eyes dilated as a whine starts to threaten to pass your lips. you're sick of whatever game this is, you just want him to fuck you silly already! but as if sensing your thoughts, suna clicks his tongue and speaks. "hurry it up. we have a party to get to."

without his fingers to plug your cunny, your slick runs down the insides of your thighs. it's slow descent against your skin making goosebumps run up your arms, shivering as the cold hits your bare cunt.

suna must've known your anguish, he could feel his jeans getting soaked but he didn't care and you wish to punch that smug smirk off his pretty face.

your fingers stilled when you cupped his cheeks and leaned in to start applying a thin stroke of eyeliner to his water line. with a simple flick of the wrist you ended it with a little wing, just like how your boyfriend likes it. now, you just have to do his lash line and—

you let out an audible gasp when his fingers started feeling around your thighs, having an inkling idea of what he's tryna look for. true to what you expected, he traces the line of your dripping slick up your inner thighs until his fingers graze your nether lips, successfully collecting your essence.

you stare entranced when suna brings them up to his lips, eyebrows furrowed and almost moaning aloud because of your taste. the fact that his eyes are closed made you want him even more. his fingers pop out of his mouth, but you get the feeling it wasn't enough. he wants more. suna wants you under his mercy. he wants to taste and ruin you until you're fucked out and lying in a pretty mess on the bed sheets.

"so fucking sweet, my baby. you're this desperate for me? for my fingers?"

you snapped. you threw the makeup elsewhere in the room (though not before screwing it shut) before diving down to kiss him on the lips. all lust-filled and rough as you both channel the desires you have for each other. maybe suna was at his tipping point too, noting that he doesn't even bother to push you away.

with his strong arms he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his torso, never breaking the kiss before literally throwing you down on the bed, knocking the air out your lungs.

"rin!"

"whoops."

he's kneeling before the bed, the sheets ruffling when he pulls you to the edge by your calves, hot breath against your sex making you squirm.

"my pretty thing," the kitten lick against your pussy drove you crazy, desperately bucking your hips up and suna chuckles condescendingly. "but such a bad fuckin' girl, aren't ya?"

you yelp when he slaps the side of your thigh.

"who said you could kiss me?"

he pinches your clit hard as he enters your line of sight. suna has never seen you this pretty and desperate for him before. sweat making your skin glow, lips raw from your biting, eyes conveying your every lust-filled thought about him. the sight of you so riled up makes his dick ache and he wants so badly to fuck you already but bad girls don't get what they want just yet. you have to earn it.

"i asked you a question. who the fuck told you that you could fucking kiss me?" the acid in his voice contrasts the gentle way he caresses the spot on your thigh where he had hit you.

"no one."

you sob in pleasure when his hot tongue licks a stripe up your pussy before suckling on your clit. once. twice. sucking particularly hard on the third. before running his tongue swiftly over the bundle of nerves and kitten licking his way down your pussy lips. your thighs were shaking so hard he had to pin them down. he knows it's a sign that you're close, not that he's surprised, he's been stimulating your body for minutes now it was amazing you haven't cummed yet.

but then he stops.

a thread of your slick dribbling down his chin as those cat eyes of his stare you down. he watches, enchanted by how your chest rises and falls. another sweet release he snatched away from you.

"i thought so. what does that make you?"

amazing how he manages to sound so normal, conversational even while he's literally edging you like there's no tomorrow. what do you expect? it's his favorite punishment. he gets to see you sob and beg for him like there's nothing in your mind but his cock and he loves it so much. loves seeing you bend and break for him to please.

you sniffle, arm coming up to hide the frustrated tears in your eyes. "been… been a bad girl."

a hand slaps your thighs, brutal. eyes on rintarou when answering his questions. your eyes shoot up.

"and who's bad girl have you been?"

"yours."

this time he reaches forward to tweak your pebbled nipples. the sudden cold of the pads of his fingers making you gasp and spasm. your boyfriend straddles you and you shiver at the head of his glistening cock leaving trails on top of your thighs. but he doesn't make another move. when you sneakily try wiggling your hips for your sex to graze his dick, he slapped your thigh without holding back. you doubt it won't start leaving a handprint. you wait with bated breath when he grabs hold of his cock, the head angry and dripping, the only proof of his also growing desire for you.

when he directs the head for it to graze your nether lips, you almost cried another fresh batch of tears. his hand quickly brushes up to wipe it away, though not before feeling his dick twitch. you know how much he loves seeing you cry from the overwhelming pleasure he can give you.

"last time i checked, my name isn't yours. didn't i tell you to answer in full sentences when i'm fucki—"

"suna! suna rintarou! i've been sun-suna rintarou's bad girl!"

suna ducks to mark your neck and torso. he feels the goosebumps forming on your body. the heat enveloping the two of you as you both quickly shed any remaining pieces of clothing. he kisses you. sloppy. nothing but teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance as he cradles your face with his big hands, feeling the mushroom head of his cock grazing your thighs.

usually he'd appreciate you not cutting him off mid-sentence but he too has reached his own limits and right now all he can think about is drilling you to the mattress. "rin, please!" you sob, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"shh. yes, doll. i hear ya."

you were dripping wet enough that all it took is one deep thrust for him to bottom-out. usually you're quite hesitant when rintarou's rawing you but at this point right now, you doubt fucking with a condom would've felt this good. no thin plastic whatsoever that's separating you from him. when he starts to move, you both moan in ecstasy. the bed creaking under the weight of you both as he pistons his dick inside. "you feel so good, doll. so fucking wet and tight. look how wet you are. dripping for my cock, huh? this all for me? answer me!"

you hardly register his voice, the pleasure you've been craving since minutes ago now being crashed down upon you. it's overwhelming and you don't want it any other way.

"yes," you pant. the tears still leaking from your eyes as you claw at his biceps. "yes. all-all for you, r-rin! just for you!"

he stubbornly keeps hitting the spot that'll make you keen and whine, suna forcing your hips down and sitting up with his palms at the sides of your head. he wants to see you come undone, he'd love to grab his phone and make this memory permanent but he doubts his camera can capture the real deal. your moans and pleas reaching his ears, spurring him on, the beautiful way your back arches of the mattress, the way you physically shook in pleasure and you screamed and worshipped his name.

"rin! oh my god, rin! fuck. 'm close," your voice breaks, hiccuping from the onslaught of tears you can't hold back as blinding pleasure grips you in a tight vice.

suna comes down to snake his arms around you, pulling you infinitely closer as one of his hands supports your lower back, manually moving your hips to match his frantic thrusts. "why you crying? bad girls should be tough, right? aren't—shit—aren't you a bad girl? hmm? bad girls like you shouldn't be crying."

you shake your head, looking pretty and desperate as you meet his eyes. "no, i'm not a bad—"

"yes. you are," you groan, his thrusts particularly hard to shut you up and make a point. "you're a very, very bad girl. you don't listen to me at all. bad girls don't even deserve to cum."

"no! no! rin, please!" you say, a blubbering mess as you bury your forehead into his neck, licking and suckling at his skin to get in his good side. "i'll be good. i promise! please, let me cum. rin! please, i'll be good. i'll be good! only your good—ah."

"you fucking bet you're my good girl," he hissed, biting your shoulder before moaning, pitched and wanton as it threatens to snap the stretched cord inside of you. but not yet. you can't. not unless he says so. "it's me that's making you feel this good. this is my pussy. my plaything. repeat what i said—doll! repeat what i said."

you cried, screaming in frustration as his cock stills inside of you and you know he won't move until you oblige. "this is…" you hiccup. "rin-rintarou's pu-pussy. i'm rintarou's play-plaything."

"what was that?" he asks, hips starting to rut against you again in full force. the headboard violently hitting the walls. when your hands scramble to cling onto something, you accidentally shove something off the bed but you couldn't care less. "louder, doll. i want the whole fucking neighborhood to hear you."

"this is rintarou's pussy. i'm rintarou's plaything." you say in your normal speaking voice, albeit shaky and almost incomprehensible as he holds you firm against him, his cock embedding it's shape and size into your sopping walls.

"louder!"

he hoists you up into a sitting position, his hips fucking up towards you and you only realize he did it when you see the window situated meters behind you two. curtains-drawn, open for the night breeze to billow in. he wasn't kidding. suna rintarou wants the neighbors to hear how good you're getting rawed. he wasn't kidding. he was not kidding.

"go on," he whispers, breathy and teasing. "you'll do it. you're a good girl for me arentcha?"

fuck. "this is rintarou's pussy! i'm rintarou's plaything!"

he licks a stripe up your neck, hands coming around your neck as he whispers into your ear the words you've been dying to hear. "cum, baby."

and your orgasm surges through your whole body in violent jolts, thick ropes of cum squirting out your pussy as you distantly hear him groaning, your walls tightening and sucking him in with every aggressive thrust. rintarou quickly finishes after you, teeth embedding themselves into your shoulder as he groans. you knew bruises will form and you're going to be sore as a bitch but you don't fucking care.

"rin, i love you." you say, grabbing a hold of his face as you stare deep into his eyes. and you don't understand why there's doubt clouding in your head when he takes a beat later to answer, when really, he just can't help the sudden wave of emotions festering in his stomach as he meets the gravity of your gaze. the love and devotion in your eyes as he can only hope that he could translate his emotions through his eyes, too.

he smiles, leaning in to give you a kiss. it's sweet and gentle, completely unlike the one he gave you a few minutes ago when in the throes of pleasure. no. you feel every bit of his love for you in this one kiss and you don't know why you ever doubted yourself, doubted him. you've been together for so long and you're it for him.

"i love you, too."

but leave it to your darling rintarou to ruin the moment.

"but you'll never apply my eyeliner ever again."

. a/n » this was so self-indulgent im sorry lmao

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castiel-left-his-mark-on-me · 3 years

Note

Hi, Ary, very inactive ex-mutual(i think???) here. Good to see you thriving! ♥ It's been a while since I've dipped my head into cockles stuff. Could I perchance maybe ask uuuuum tf is going on??? lol I see Mish apparently confirmed he used to stay over at Jensen's in Van, and heard newbs were apparently freaking out about it and getting a bit messy, which I get that, business as usual. But I'm also seeing shit about spin-offs? And Jared getting in a twitter fight with Jensen, causing/resulting in stans to going feral and sending hate?? I know you're not as big a fan of Jar, but that's part of why I figured I'd ask you, you usually have a really level head about this kinda stuff. If you don't wanna answer publically, or at all, that's totally chill!

Hey, Rhi! We're still mutuals! Of course we're still mutuals! When I saw the notification of your ask, I was like "Hey! I haven't seen you in a while!" and my husband was like "???" and I said "Tumblr" and he said "Oh."

It was a wild time haha.

In any case, welcome back to the dumpster fire! We are obviously still a mess. So to catch you up, I guess I will start by summarizing both before and after the finale (not sure where you left off so this might be redundant for you) ... basically, it became obvious as the end of the show neared that Jensen was not on board with the plan for the finale; although Jared never stopped singing its praises.

We got confirmation of this during a zoom interview where Jensen said that he actually went into the writers room as well as called Kripke to basically voice how he didn't agree with the direction the final season was going, but he was shot down on all fronts. In another interview, he was asked "What would you tell your younger self going into this career?" And Jensen responded with: "I would tell myself to just keep your head down and do the work" meaning, "Don't try to change things because you can't." I also think that this whole situation is what he wrote "Let Me Be" about for his first Radio Company album, but that is just my own speculation. All of his reluctance, even though he always followed it up with "But I eventually saw the value in the script" or "I came around in the end" (which never sounded sincere, and I don't think he was really trying to sound sincere) made us all very nervous about what was to come for 15x20; and of course, when the last two episodes aired, we saw just how badly they fucked it up.

After the awful finale, the entire fandom became aware of the CW's heavy handed role in the thing, basically squeezing all the life out of SPN to shape it into a ramp from which Walker could launch itself. They not only erased all the love and joy and representation that Cas's love confession gave us, they also tore apart the things that made sense about the bond between Sam and Dean, making it really just about Sam-- and therefore Jared, which of course, Jared seemed to be fine with ... even though no one else was. Misha barely said anything during the finale, and a few of the other actors talked about the show ending in various posts, but Jared tweeted up a storm ... and Jensen? Jensen just sat in sexy-silent resentment of the whole thing. He didn't tweet, he didn't post, he didn't say a word once he no longer had to, and I think that's because he was already going full-steam-ahead on his plans for redemption.

Which brings us to Chaos Machine-- Jensen and Danneel's new production company that is being run by a queer creative director and has a mantra of inclusivity and representation woven throughout it's fabric; and apparently, the first story that Jensen wanted to tell through this new platform is the origin story of Sam and Dean's parents; so last week (?) he announced the upcoming production of "The Winchesters" -- the untold love story of John and Mary. Obviously, John is not the most likable character from the show, so the idea was met with a lot of resentment when it was first announced, but Jensen has gone on to say that he is excited to take on the task of telling the "true" story behind these characters-- the one that makes sense with the pre-established canon and doesn't reject it. So, given that, the idea is being mulled over with a bit more optimism from the fandom.

Who isn't being optimistic though?

Jared Padalecki.

When Jensen made this announcement on Twitter, many of his friends and coworkers congratulated him, but not Jared. Jared responded with a passive aggressive: "I'm happy for you, man, but I wish I didn't hear about it through Twitter." This of course, sent all the die-hard Jared fans into a tizzy and they immediately began asking him if he was serious (hoping it was just a joke-- we all hoped it was because there would be fallout no matter what one's opinion on Jared is). Instead of leaving it there though or just deleting that tweet, Jared went on to tweet some more, saying that he was being serious that he didn't know about the plans for the prequel, and that he was "gutted" that Sam apparenlty wouldn't be included (mind you, this a prequel to SPN... meaning BEFORE Sam and Dean were even born, so how could Sam be included? But Dean is apparently narrating this story so maybe Jared thought Sam should be helping to narrate it? I don't know). But Jared being Jared couldn't just leave that there, he then went on to tweet at Robbie Thompson who was announced as a writer for "The Winchesters" so then Jared went off on him too, calling him "Brutus" and a "coward" acting like Robbie betrayed him (speculation is-- Robbie refused to write for Walker, so Jared is pissed that he essentially chose Jensen over him). He did fairly quickly, remove that tweet attacking Robbie, but of course the damage was done at that point. And it truly only took his first tweet calling out Jensen for some people to be like "Jared-- that sucks if you didn't know but why are you saying any of this publicly?"

As you might know, Jared has had issues in the past with posting hurtful things on social media, and has even used it as a tool for attack before-- calling out customer service agents and public workers that he felt have wronged him, which is bad enough ... but for him to then do the same thing to his best friend of well over a decade? Many people who had once liked him or at least gave him the benefit of the doubt (I used to ...) stopped after this latest twitter tantrum.

However, some people have suspected for some time that J2 had a falling out either shortly before the finale or just after. Their public/social media interactions have seemed awkward, stilted or even non-existent in moments that they normally wouldn't be. In the past year, when Walker premiered, Jensen didn't say much about his friend's new venture other than a "Congrats. buddy" here and there. Later, we learned that Jensen refused to work on the show ... Jared said he make him do it, drag Jensen to the set "kicking and screaming" which made many fans quirk up an eyebrow because, why would Jensen put up a fight unless the two weren't as close as they used to be? And then Jensen moved his family to Colorado (either permanently or for an extended period at least) which is notable considering how he moved to Texas seemingly to be closer to Jared, even buying a house that was near his. All this was just speculation though; but it wasn't until Jared's tweet complaining about not knowing about the prequel that the theories behind them falling out, became less theory and more fact.

The day after his twitter tantrum, Jared tweeted again-- not retracting his statements or apologizing, but instead saying that he and Jensen "talked" and were "all good". Jensen then tweeted too, parroting this statement to some degree, which only made the whole thing even more sour in the mouths of the fans. The fact that Jared didn't apologize for his outburst and throwing his friend under the bus, and also the fact that Jensen-- Mr. Sexy Silence, Mr. Never Tweets, Mr. Tech-Ignorant-and-Proud, actually had to POST SOMETHING saying that he and Jared made up, it just screamed OPTICS. It was obviously the work of agents and PR firms and lots of people going "Look, if you two keep beefing, that will mean the death of both of your projects. Even more people will stop watching Walker, and this SPN prequel will never get picked up due to the scandal." So, the two "made nice" publicly to quell the chaos, but in my opinion, it's all too little too late. Jared started a storm that he can't contain now with a little tweet, and it seems like he knows that too because before he talked about him and Jensen making up, he asked that people "not send threats". He could have just as easily said that he shouldn't have made this a public issue and that he's sorry, but instead, he continued to play the victim and stoke the flames by alerting us all to the damage he's done.

Now, like I said before-- I used to give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't think he's an awful human or that he deserves to be attacked or anything, but he is an adult man with very poor judgment and an obvious selfish-streak a mile wide. He should know better, and he should have more respect for his so-called "friends" and "brothers" than to make them targets to public ridicule. I have a hard time believing that Jensen still sees Jared the way he used to, and I wouldn't blame him a bit for wanting to pull away-- especially when he's moving on to so many new and exciting things. Jared certainly deserves happiness just as much as anyone else, but he went on twitter and basically asked for a scandal, and he got one.

The question is now-- was there a motive behind it? Was just looking for a reason to bring his and Jensen's falling out to light-- while making himself looking like the victim in the process? Or did he genuinely not know about the prequel and just decided to go about "not knowing" in the most toxic and hurtful way he could manage?

In any case, that is the drama ... that is the J2 insanity in a rather lengthy nutshell ... that is the tea ... and I hope it all makes sense.

But the good news out of all of this is, Cockles is thriving-- they are happy and in love and Jensen calls Misha "Babe" and Misha misses waking up to see Jensen in the morning, and they are just as cute and wonderful as can be.

So, I will end that there. I am so glad to see you back, and I hope I answered all your questions in a way that made sense ... I tried anyway!

💖💖💖

#omg #I don't even know if this makes sense #this took way too long to write #j2 #cockles #long post #spn family #so glad you see you back again my dear #welcome to hell #it's hotter now

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ticklygiggles · 3 years

Text

Skyward Harp | Venti & Childe

Collab with @otomiya-tickles

A/N: Hi hi hi~ sweet Ginny and I worked so hard this time writing not one, but two fics together! *cheers* this is the first time we write two at the same time and it was so much fun~ we hope you enjoy them both!

This genshin fic was inspired in this lovely art!

Summary: Aether comes back with a big surprise: the Skyward Harp! But some things get out of control and now Venti and Childe are fighting over it?!

Words: 2k+

Skyward Harp… The sky-piercing lyre. A beautiful greatbow, a tangible symbol for the connection between the Anemo Archon and the Wind Dragon…

At last, Aether had obtained the weapon, and Venti wrapped his hands around it, eyes full of wonder as he admired its beauty and its grace. This was a weapon meant for him. Not just because he was Barbatos, but because the bow would match his skill like no other in their team.

Aether had not even officially given it to him yet, but Venti spoke gratefully, “Thank you, with this weapon I will ー” Venti gasped when the bow was suddenly grasped from his hands, and he turned furiously to see Childe hold it smugly.

“I’ll take this one,” Childe chirped, tossing his former bow to Venti as he admired the Skyward Harp. “With me, the almighty Tartaglia wielding this weapon, we can be sure thaー” Childe also didn’t get to finish since Venti snatched it back.

Childe widened his eyes as he stared at Venti. The Anemo Arch- ahem, the bard was holding the bow with all his might as he stared back at Childe.

"Are you out of your mind, Tartaglia?" Venti asked, arching a perfect eyebrow as his lips twitched into a smirk. "I'm pretty sure you saw with your very own eyes that Aether specifically gave this bow to me. Do you even know the story behind this weapon?"

Childe's smirk was pretentious, mockingly and ridiculously feral; it made Venti's eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

"I don't care about the story, little bard," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I know my abilities and I'm sure this bow and myself would make the greatest team."

"Guys, I didn't say-”

"Huh," Venti interrupted Aether, not giving him a chance to speak up in this battle. "Funny, I don't think you are worthy of wielding this amazing bow. Let the grown-ups take care of these things, child."

Rather than insulted, the Harbinger only looked more smug, and with his everlasting smirk on his face he chimed, “Oh really? Funny, since I don’t think this bow is supposed to belong to a tone-deaf bard like yourself.”

There was a brief and intense staring competition before both of them suddenly moved, Childe giving chase as Venti held onto the weapon. With the bow in his hands, Venti jumped out of his reach and sprinted away, quick and nimble, before Childe could snatch the bow back again.

“Ha! You want this? Why don’t you come and get it~!?”

Ha, Venti felt good. He was faster, he was better, he… Didn’t see Fischl coming in.

“Your Prinzessin der Verurteilung has returned from her expedition duty and is ready to embark on a new adventure!” she said dreamily and dramatically, spreading her arms and not looking the slightest bit confused when Venti had to dodge in order not to run straight into her.

The sudden move gave Tartaglia the ideal opportunity to catch Venti’s arm, and the two went rolling over the ground, with Childe ending up on top.

“Give that here!” Childe hissed. Venti only wrapped his arms around the bow, his body curling protectively around it as he refused to let go. “Never!”

In the background, Aether didn’t seem too bothered with the two males literally fighting to get the bow, as he was casually engaged in conversation with Fischl about their recent adventures while Childe and Venti continued their frantic struggle.

"Let go!" Childe growled, trying to snatch the bow away from Venti's grip, but damn, he was holding tight and Childe didn't want to pull too hard, scared that he might ruin the precious weapon.

"Never! Can't you see that I have to use this bow?!" Venti growled back, turning his head a little to catch a glimpse of Childe from the corner of his eye. "Not only will I be able to get the best out of it, but it also looks incredibly prettier with me!"

Childe snorted, pulling at Venti's arm. "Prettier? Do you think a bard like you that only worries about 'looking pretty' should wield this bow?!"

Venti nodded frantically as he clinged onto the bow with all his strength.

Childe couldn't help but think this was ridiculous. The last time he checked, they weren't kids! However, this whole situation looked like something extracted from his childhood memories, where he was hovering over a younger Teucer, trying to take back one of Childe's own belongings.

Now, what did he do back then to get his things back?

"Eek! Dohohon't tohohouch mehehehe!" Right, exactly. Tickle attack, Tartaglia style. He smirked.

“What was that?” he said casually, and he grabbed Venti’s sides firmly, fingers digging in and making Venti bark out some of the loudest laughs Childe had heard from him so far - which said a lot.

“I sahahaid don’t touhouch mehehee!” Venti tried to defend himself with a gust of wind, but Childe wouldn’t budge as he was steady on the ground, holding onto Venti’s slender body firmly while continuing to effectively tickle him.

“Give that here and I might stop tickling you, because you’re a ticklish little bard who doesn’t deserve a glorious weapon like this. Give it to me!” Emphasizing the words was somehow always a way to get Teucer all flustered, and it worked the same kind of magic on Venti who blushed like mad and shook his head, more giggles and squeals slipping past his lips.

“AAHahah! Nehehever!” he cried defiantly despite how flustered he was.

Luckily, Childe was a patient man, in addition, he knew all those secrets that only an older brother, experienced in wrecking his little brothers, could know. He simply chuckled, smirking even though Venti couldn't see him.

"Fine, ticklish little bard," he said, moving his wiggly fingers to Venti's ribs. "Suit yourself."

"Ahahahaha! Tihihickling is not fahahair!" Venti cackled, moving his arms down a little to try and protect his ribcage, but Childe really knew all the secrets and his fingers quickly wiggled, massaged, prodded and poked each rib and spaces in between, looking for the right one that would probably drive Venti crazy.

"Huh?" Childe said over Venti's laugh. "So sprinting away with a stolen weapon is fair?" He asked, giggling to himself when Venti's laughs turned even more frantic the higher Childe's fingers went.

“I dihihidn’t steheheal ihihit! It belohohongs to mehehe!” Venti cried, creating some more chaotic wind blows, only to see it do frustratingly charming things to the Harbinger’s hair.

“Still sticking to that nonsense? Well then~~” Venti’s eyes widened when he felt how Childe’s fingers reached their higher destination in the hidden tickle spots under his arm, no matter how much he fought.

“NO WAI- AAHAhaha no not thehehere! Chiihildeheh! Pfhaahah!” Venti cried, his legs kicking and his arms moving off the bow finally to protect himself, to no avail. Despite the weapon being free for grabs now, Childe grabbed Venti’s arms and pinned them skilfully up above his head while torturing his armpits like the villain he was.

“AHHAHa-nohoho! Aeehe-Aetheheher! Fihihihischl!” Venti laughed hysterically, but no Aether or Fischl appeared in his field of vision for now. It was only Childe hovering above him with that dangerous smirk while he tickled him to pieces.

"Oh no, poor bard. No one can help him!" Childe taunted as his nimble fingers exploited Venti's armpits, focusing on every little spot that made him jump and let out howls of laughter. "I think this powerful Harbinger will end him~!"

Even Childe had to chuckle at his own teasing, especially after he saw how Venti's cheeks, already pink from laughing so much, turned a little red, flustered by Childe's words.

Venti could only shake his head and weakly kick his legs as he laughed and laughed and actually thought that he was going to die, but to Childe's surprise, just as he was massaging deep circles against the very center of Venti's armpits, he was suddenly pushed away with a strong burst of air coming from the little bard.

A little tornado successfully sent Childe flying at least one meter away from Venti, the precious bow also affected by the sudden air blast. But it was not the bow that had the Anemo Archon’s attention at the moment. Right now he had one goal, one purpose, and it was all about:

“Revenge! Take this!” Venti cried, jumping on Childe who was just trying to sit back up after landing flat on his back, and he jumped on his stomach, making him let out a loud “oof!” as he bounced back onto the floor, and in an instant, Venti’s fingers found Childe’s upper ribs and started digging mercilessly.

Childe’s eyes widened first before his surprised giggles came out: “Hehehey quihhit thahahat! AAahahaha!” He flailed his arms and ended up grabbing Venti’s arms, but his strength got sucked away by Venti’s fingers that wiggled viciously against the sensitive tickle spots right below his underarms.

“Thought that was funny, hmm? Well let me show you what happens to children who mess around with me,” Venti taunted, and he hopped down a little bit, his light body moving flexibly on top of Childe, and he started poking Childe’s tummy and lower sides ruthlessly.

Childe burst out in a loud laughing fit, lifting his head but ending up falling back down, and there wasn’t much else he could say except, “HOLD OHOhhon! Nooooohahaha! Vehehenti! T-that’s--! Aahahah!” He shook and struggled heavily, but Venti really did have the upperhand.

Of course he never thought Venti would tickle him back because- well, Teucer never fought back! Childe could easily overpower his little brother, but now that he was under Venti's merciless fingers' attack, he realized that Venti was not, in fact, Teucer and he might be in more trouble than he initially thought.

“NAHAHAT THEHERE!” Childe shrieked, wrapping his hands around Venti’s wrists, or at least trying because Venti’s hands were right under Childe’s shirt and was clawing his nimble fingers against the Harbinger’s stomach. “Vehehenti!”

“What now?” Venti asked and Childe couldn’t see him, but he was wearing the most lethal smirk ever. “You’re not having fun now that you’re on the receiving end? Poor ticklish Childe, thinks he can use that amazing bow, but here he is laughing his head off because of a few tickles.”

Childe’s cheeks turned bright red at Venti’s words and he kicked his legs harder, trying to escape from under the tiny bard.

“You ahahahare ju-just as bahahahad!” He laughed out, squeaking when Venti’s fingers reached for his lower ribs. “Ahahahaetheheher! C-Cohohontrol y-your bahahahard!”

There were no sounds of responses, but Venti didn’t even look over his shoulder and merely continued to tickle Childe to death, all the while giggling playfully.

“Hehe! This bard can’t be controlled~ So why, why won’t you just accept this and let this be my win, m’kay? Are we clear?” Venti teased, leaning so close against Childe that his little braids were resting against him as his fingers continued to dig viciously into Childe’s torso.

“AHHAHA! Thahahat’s-NOho!” Childe cried when Venti clawed his way down his ribs and sides and found a particular spot at his waist where he lingered, causing him ot buck heavily, and he bounced his head wildly.

“STahahaap iiihiit!” he warned. At last there came a sound from their friends; a loud whistle from Aether’s side.

“Guys! We’re going,” he said casually. Venti looked up to see Aether waiting for them, and he gasped. Fischl stood there as well, still in deep conversation with Paimon, and…. He finally released Childe and backed off of him, floating smoothly back on his feet.

“What is the meaning of this? Aether~?” Venti asked with a smile as he saw Fischl was carrying the Skyward Harp. Childe stood up as well and stood beside Venti, still panting and wheezing, casually grabbing Venti’s shoulder for support as he gathered his breath.

Aether hummed, looking at the mess Venti and Childe had become and then at Fischl. He shrugged his shoulders as he took out a map of Liyue.

“I think I clearly said it wasn’t for you,” Aether said casually, looking at the pair over the edge of his map. “Aren’t your bows working perfectly fine? We recently enhanced them, did we not?”

Venti and Childe looked at him with wide eyes. Childe’s breathing was back to normal and he didn’t hesitate to speak up: “They- They are, but-”

“Fischl did need a new bow, so I brought a new one for her,” he said, gently pointing at Fischl.

The girl took the bow and graciously fired an arrow, whistling at the strength of the Skyward as Paimon and Oz applauded and praised her. Childe’s and Venti’s mouth watered at the sight.

“The Prinzessin der Verurteilung promises to take good care of this precious weapon!” Aether smiled at her, before turning to look at Venti and Childe with rather an annoyed expression.

“Now, if you two are finished playing around, let us continue our way to Guyun Stone Forest. Or did you have any more questions?” he asked, the sass dripping from his voice and cute face. Venti and Childe, both of them pressed their lips together and shook their heads.

No. No more was said. Nothing more, as Venti and Childe - embarrassed and still a little tired - obediently followed Aether and Fischl towards their next destination, the sound of both their own and each other’s laughter still ringing in their ears.

#Genshin Impact #Venti #Childe #Tartaglia #ticklish!Childe #ticklish!Venti #collaboration #collaborations #tickle fic #tickling #mia's things #mia's fics #ginnycakes #💕#had so much fun writing these with you sweeetie

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

Note

Dialogue prompt 42. "I'm only here to establish an alibi." Lambert/Aiden :) May the inspiration fairy visit you!!

It’s been a shit night. A shit night, a shit week, a shit month.

The rain that’s started up again every time he finally managed to get dry from the last round for the past three days has turned torrential, and between the thunder and the fucking hail Lambert’s not quite stubborn enough to try to ride through it. So he sits in a shitty inn still a day’s ride from Ellander, drinking shitty overpriced ale and ignoring the stares from shitty villagers who whisper to each other with their eyes glued on him. He’s too far from the fire for any hope of it drying out his soaking layers of clothes and armor, and he doesn’t have the coin to manage a bowl of stew if he wants a room.

All in all, another fucking day in the paradise that is the Path.

And because Lambert thinks that tonight can’t possibly get worse, the door slams open and another fucking witcher steps through it.

Fucking perfect.

Common folk are uneasy with one witcher, nervous and on edge and wary. Lambert doesn’t mind. Geralt would probably go out of his way to put the people’s minds at rest, make himself smaller and softer and friendlier than he is, the way Vesemir taught him, taught all of them. Fuck that. Lambert doesn’t mind that they’re afraid, that they pull their children behind them, that they give him a wide berth. Makes it easier to get them to fork over their coin after he’s dealt with their problems if they remember he’s not their friend.

But two witchers, two witchers become a threat. Two witchers together seem to remind people that they could wipe out a village like this without breaking much of a sweat if they were so inclined, and that tips that helpful apprehension into something a lot more reckless, a lot more lethal. One particularly memorable contract where he’d teamed up with Eskel ended with a dozen snarling, terrified villagers cornering them with pitchforks, and they’d’ve both been fucked had it not been for Eskel’s freakish strong Axii holding the crowd long enough for them to get the hell out of dodge.

(This was before Geralt’s fancy bard started his quest to single-handedly rehabilitate the witcher image, of course, but still. That shit stays with you.)

Every eye in the inn’s common room is fixed on this new witcher, and then, seemingly in unison, they remember Lambert.

The other witcher’s gaze follows the crowd’s, and when their eyes meet his face breaks into a dangerous smile. He slinks over, every movement full of a graceful precision unusual in a man his size. He’s smaller than Lambert, though not by much: his lean frame is lithe and sinewy, his shoulders broad, the arms bared by his short-sleeved jerkin defined, solid. His skin bears the same telltale scars of the profession as Lambert’s does in shades of pink and red and white.

A cat medallion hangs on his chest, swinging casually as he slips into the booth across from Lambert as though he belongs there.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, Cat?” He pitches his voice as low as he can without a whisper dampening the impact of his growl. The less the onlookers hear of their exchange the better.

The Cat sprawls out as though he owns the place, an arm draping over the back of the booth. “Drop your hackles, Wolf, I’m not here to spirit away your contracts.” He gestures, beckoning the barkeep and Lambert nearly laughs at the audacity, as though that would possibly...until he notices that the man is heading towards their table with a mug of ale, which he sets before the Cat with a nod and nary a word about payment. The witcher takes a swig, tossing wet, shoulder-length brown hair out of his eyes in the process. A striking white scar intersects his sharp-angled eyebrow. His face is all sharp angles: strong, squared off jaw, covered in dark stubble; aquiline nose that looks to have been broken once; high, distinctive cheekbones.

Look, just because Lambert’s sure he’s up to no good doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the view.

“The name’s Aiden. And you are?”

“Not about to fall for any horseshit. What do you want, Cat?”

The Cat fixes him with that feral smile again. “To drink with a colleague.” At Lambert’s huff of disbelief, Aiden sighs. He drops his voice to a deep purr. “Relax, Wolf. I'm only here to establish an alibi. What could be more memorable than two witchers from enemy schools sharing a drink? It’ll be the talk of the town.”

“Rather not be the talk of the town. Rather put my head down, do the job, and avoid cocky assholes like you like the plague. Don’t really care to be part of some intrigue that’s gonna get me skewered.”

A flash of recognition lights Aiden’s handsome face. He nods, considering his words before he replies. “Spent a good while working jobs in this area last fall. Had some pretty grisly shit on their hands; a clan of wraiths haunting the woods just outside the village, cutting them off from the nearest fresh water source and slaughtering dozens every month. Then all those fresh corpses bring…”

“Fucking necrophages.” Lambert winces. It’s not an uncommon problem with wraiths. Unlike many of the monsters he hunts regularly, wraiths don’t consume the corpses, which has a tendency to attract secondary issues.

“Fucking necrophages,” Aiden confirms. “Ghouls and alghouls, mostly, but graveirs too, nests and nests of necrophages sprung up for miles in every direction. Job took over a month to wrap up. I stayed here at the inn, got to know most of the locals. Not saying we’re pen pals, but we’re safe here.”

A petite barmaid with wispy, dirty blonde hair approaches the table, setting a steaming bowl of stew before Aiden. “Me da says it’s on the house, master witcher,” she says as Aiden reaches for his purse, a comely pink flush spreading across her freckled face.

“Your father has my thanks, Brea, as do you.” The girl blushes deeper at that, ducking her head. “Might I get another bowl for my friend? I’ve the coin.”

“Me da says I’m to take no coin for you, master witcher, you’re our guest here. Be back with the stew in a flash.”

Lambert stares.

Aiden smiles, and somehow it seems a little softer, sadder. “Brea’s brother was one of those the wraiths slaughtered before I arrived. They didn’t have much coin, not enough for such an extensive job, but they were upfront from the start, and they kept me housed and well fed until the job was done. Didn’t get the warmest welcome from the whole village, but Keller—” he nods toward the barkeep “—and his family were always good to me.”

“Never seen anything like it.” The girl flits back beside the table, setting a thick, warm bowl of stew before Lambert with a quick nod before scurrying away again. He looked at Aiden appraisingly, slowly picking up his spoon. “Name’s Lambert,” he grunts. “Thanks for...you know.”

Aiden waves it off. “Eat.”

They do.

Conversation flows a little easier as they eat. They talk about the shit weather that brought Lambert to the inn, the ealdorman a few towns over that tried to stiff Lambert after he wiped out a cave full of endregas, their best hunts this year, the closest they came to dying this year. It’s been almost a year since he was last in Kaer Morhen, last around people who understood, who would have a real conversation with him, but it turns out Aiden’s surprisingly easy to talk to. He listens more than he speaks, watching Lambert with bright eyes through each story only to interject a thoughtful question here, a devastatingly witty quip there.

They’re on their third round of ale, courtesy of Aiden’s apparent heroism, their supper long finished, when Lambert leans forward on his elbows, fingertips lacing together. “Riddle me this, Cat,” he says slowly, watching the pretty face before him break into a grin, scarred eyebrow jutting upward. “If you’re just here so you have an alibi—and don’t think I forgot about that shady shit, by the way, I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to but I haven’t forgotten that—then why’d you come sit here with me? Yeah, yeah, two witchers are more memorable than one, I heard you, but not here, where they know you by name and keep the ale coming and treat you like a damn king. There’s a room full of people who’d vouch you were here even if you weren’t, seems to me. So why?”

Aiden stretches, hard lines of his body on languorous display. He looks relaxed, at ease. “Needed to assess the threat.” His voice is casual, but his golden eyes miss nothing. “You Wolves have a reputation as a prickly, self-righteous bunch—no, hold your protests, I assure you I know all about our reputation. I like to think we’re both more than the worst traits of our guilds, don’t you agree?”

Lambert nods, reluctant.

“There’s also,” Aiden continues, and although his body remains lax, long limbs still splayed out gracefully, his voice lowers carefully, “the fact that you want me. Smelled it on you the minute I walked in, strong enough to cut through your misapprehension.”

Lambert doesn’t deny it, just watches him, silent.

“It was flattering,” Aiden murmurs, leaning in, long fingers tracing patterns on the table between them. “Strong, handsome witcher who can’t keep his eyes off me? It’s a hard thing to resist. And denying myself has never been one of my strong suits.”

“I can believe that,” Lambert snorts. Aiden’s looking up at him prettily through hooded eyes, long, dark lashes, a quick tongue wetting his lip. And Lambert could deny himself, could walk away from this fascinating man who he doesn’t quite trust, doesn’t quite know but desperately wants to. “So what now?”

“Now I’m going to take advantage of my complimentary room upstairs. What you do is up to you, but I’d welcome your company.” He slips to his feet and fixes Lambert with a challenging smile. “You coming, Wolf? Or are you all bark?”

Lambert follows.

Maybe it’s not such a shit night after all.

#the witcher #the witcher 3 #tw3 #lambert x aiden #lambert #aiden #witcher fanfic #octinary #thank you so much for the prompt! this was fun!#this is the first time i’ve written for either of them #i hope you enjoy!#prompt fill #my fic #(also if anybody's interested in the smutty follow-up...i might be persuaded to write it 👀👀👀)

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dallonm-archive · 3 years

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[image description: a wideshot of the san francisco skyline, tinted orange by a sunset. Above the skyline, in a white serif font reads "REVELATIONS, REVELATIONS." in all caps. below, in lower caps reads "update #2" /end id]

Revelations, Revelations | Update #2

Hey besties! I've got a funky little RR update

I've had a little bit of a love hate relationship with this book in the last two months but I am loving it right now! I think my struggles came from how I didn't really accept that this book is Hard to write. like it's complicated! and it's set in another country in another era like idk what to tell you! And accepting that was such a weight off my shoulders because I'm not putting the blame on myself. I also was really stuck in part one's problems and I had to be like <3 bestie <3 abandon it til post draft editing. So right now it's like:

Part one: I see it as a little stray cat in an alleyway that I kneel down in front of like pspspsp :) and then it hisses and bites me because it is actually a feral raccoon. Definitely not where I want it to be but like I can fix him

Part two: super fun!! A lot of deeper (and messier) elements are introduced here and I feel like the story's ~vibes~ have clicked. It's a lot of fun and it's getting complex. Whilst there's conflict going on in part one there's definitely this false sense of stability and then part two hits all of them like a baseball bat

My drafting has been much more chill and non linear too, just writing the scenes I want to and then connecting them together. I've been focused less on rich prose/descriptions and more on prose that explores character and it's been very refreshing! I love my flowery prose but I think it's easy to get caught up in. I'm also no longer going to do chapter by chapter updates, both for plot privacy but also because this story is very delicate both in content and the drafting process and I don't just want to expose the bare bones of that, you know? So I'm just gonna do some sectioned rambles and talk about a couple chapters under the cut!

also no longer doing multiple taglists because i can't keep up so! general taglist, ask to be added or removed! ; @kowlazovdi @avi-burton-writing @ryns-ramblings @kitblogsthings @ezrathings @aetherwrites @radiomacbeth @bijouxs @bookphobe @haldimilks @alicewestwater @bookpacking @shaelinwrites @onlyganymede @theelectricfactory @write-like-babs @oceancold @veiliza @sidhewrites @wolf-oak @oasis-of-you @coffeeandcalligraphy @cecilsstorycorner @howdywrites @keira-is-writing @flip-phones @svpphicwrites

Only major change to report is I switched to alternate POVs instead of multiple chapters at a time in one POV because I'm insane <3 I had a lot of fun braiding POVs in Life Cycle of Massive Stars and wanted to try it here and it works much better! Though at this point I am simply ignoring the existence of part 1 because it really was the guinea pig part LMAO i experimented so much with structure and form and now it's a mess but it's <3 a future problem <3 i'd rather have one messy part than a whole first draft that's behind on my growing ~vision~ of the story.

[image description: a slightly purple tinted photo of two arms extending from the top and bottom of the photo, cropped to only show their hands. Their index fingers touch. in the middle, in a white serif font reads "dorothy" /end id]

Not a chapter, I had a lot of trouble with Dorothy in part 1 but I still love her so instead y'all are getting a mini character ramble! I felt really bad about her for the longest time because I've only been writing her since last summer whereas I've known Felix since like 2018 so there's naturally an imbalance, but I Do Not like that!! And she's really taken her time revealing herself, but I am ~fascinated by her.

I feel she's best summarised by this disillusionment for her life but mostly herself, because she's framed her whole identity by illusory perceptions of other people: a mother she doesn't remember, a girlfriend she breaks up with every six months but still shares a bed with, a twin brother she hasn't seen in person for four years and still sees as a teenager drenched in religious manipulation. It's a lot! She assumes that she feels dissatisfied with her life because she's without her twin, but then Felix returns to her life and shockingly this does not fix all of her problems??? She also doesn't know how to be alone, which definitely will not get better after Felix returns oop

The day her brother decides to leave, Dorothy is home alone.

Her San Francisco apartment is hollow like a hungry stomach. Three days ago, she drove Jolie to the airport then came home to cover the bathroom mirror with towels. On the first day she took an extra shift at the book store, drove through Sea Cliff at sunset, bumped into Mona on the stairwell and joined her and Margot for wine and slipped out when they began arguing over rent and office interns, started then discarded a portrait of a fictional girl and slept from two to five in the morning. On the second day she worked and spent an extra hour designing a window display on science fiction that she put together on the third day. Cut and painted a rocket ship on cardboard that she’ll have to scold kids for tugging, then get scolded herself by their mothers.

The day I finalise a design for their apartment it's over but I call this trick Trying To Get Around The Fact I Made Characters In Their Earlier Twenties Live In San Francisco (cw: drowning)

The apartment is nicer than her, but it’s been home for three years and they get $100 off rent each month because Jolie tends the garden and looks just like the landlady's daughter that drowned in the Pacific.

I don't think I've talked about Jolie much here which is funny because she is probably the most well-received amongst my friends! They love her so much and it's because she's a hot but slightly toxic lesbian smh, I'm like no seriously she does some fucked up things and they're like you promise?? Some funky facts:

Her real name is Jolene and she hates it except when the Dolly Parton song came on, that gives her a god complex

We are going to ignore how I accidentally named two characters after words for beautiful and pretty in French we are going to pretend it was intentional because when this gets published a uni student could get some good analysis out of that in their Intro to Literature class

She joined the cult with her mother at 13 and left as soon as she turned 18 LMAO. She was Dorothy's only connection to the "outside world" and the only reason she was able to leave

Her dream job is gardener/florist! We get it I watched Bly Manor last November. She's also a bartender

would probably have this on her car /j

[image description: a close up of a car sticker of a frog above "MILF" in green caps. below "MILF" reads "Man I Love Frogs" /end id]

Dorothy and Jolie have always been on and off and building tension but Dorothy realises this can't keep going when Jolie gets into a barfight at work and Dorothy feels Insane because she's the only one concerned?? (cw: blood, mild violence)

“You’re lucky it’s not broken.” She angles Jolie’s face, hand under her chin. Even with red blotted around her nostrils and lips, mulberry lipstick smudged, she still smiles like her bruises are a trophy. It’s a surprise she doesn’t dwell on it: it’s just some blood, doll, nothing to worry about. She didn’t even strike that good. Her technique was all off. If she shows her face back here I’ll just teach her how to punch properly. The worst part is over and I’m a big girl. Do I look upset? Am I crying? When they drive home, she’ll ask to stop and see if she can get free cigarettes or beer by holding her nose and making herself cry. She’ll probably ask Dorothy to hit her so it starts bleeding again. But she’s quiet, leans against the basin and lets her dab damp towels on her face. It doesn’t take long to clean up. It was just some blood.

“Nursing,” Jolie says.

“What?” “You keep saying you want to go to school but don’t know what for – nursing. You’re too good at taking care of people.”

That ending is like Top Three dialogue lines that made me really Concerned for how this character arc is gonna go :) but don't worry about it y'all. I do think Jolie genuinely loves Dorothy but that does not mean! the relationship is healthy!

Basically I love her a lot now that I know her better and I am excited to see where she goes! I think the biggest part of her arc is motherhood/daughterhood and TBH as a recently realised trans dude it took me a Minute to feel entitled to write her story? But being a cis woman shaped my life for two decades and getting to navigate that and being a daughter from a perspective that's totally distanced from myself is very helpful. It's about the inherent admiration and pain that comes from being a mother's daughter! (cw: blood, diet culture/disordered eating)

She lies next to the table and presses her forehead to the glass corner and imagines what would shatter first: the glass or her skin. And she imagines being a girl again, with French braids and too much baby fat in her cheeks and being picked up by a mother before the blood stains her hands and then her dress. She’d tell the mother she just wanted to read her magazines, the dog-eared articles about divorce and top tips for menopause and the benefits of eating half a grapefruit before your calorie-counted meals. And the mother would just brush the bangs out her face, press a pack of thawed peas on the wound and let her choose between the band aid with hearts or the band aid with flowers. And maybe the mother would know she did it for attention because they both know a daughters cry slices oxygen like glass to skin, but she’d still detangle her curls in the evening and kiss her forehead goodnight and serve her breakfast in the morning with half a grapefruit – the other half on her own plate, untouched and left to rot.

[image description: an orange firework exploding against a black sky. across the photo, in a white serif font reads "the last 10 hours of 1986" /end id]

This is technically two chapters, one in each POV and they close part one! Title is v explanatory and they're meant to be framed like a countdown - my plan was for the scenes to get shorter as it gets closer to midnight and that didn't really work but? The twins def get messier as the countdown goes down and THAT is what we like to see. This is also the only end of a part where the twins are separated but don't worry about it hehe :)

Dorothy

This chapter is like the First Time Dorothy does something for herself and. Good for her!

She’ll publish poetry under a pen name and horror short stories under another. She’ll paint indigo mountains and magenta oceans and not care when the colours stain her clothes. She’ll teach Felix how to blend acrylics and he’ll teach her how to remember piano notes and they won’t argue about who abandoned who. When Mona and Margot break up, she’ll go down to comfort Mona or Margot and then kiss Margot or Mona. She’ll move out and tell neither of them. She’ll find a landlady with a dead daughter and get a discount on an ocean view apartment with wall-length windows. Isaias will move in next door and they’ll have weekly dinner parties with wine that costs more than $10. She’ll go vegan. She’ll be so in tune with herself she won’t need to read magazine horoscopes or pay $50 for a psychic reading that assumes she knows her grandparents. She’ll know when she’s happy sad angry and why. She’ll take portrait commissions so she can afford a therapist. She’ll love her life and ignore that there’s no space for Jolie because she wants there to be. She’ll need nobody except herself. She’ll try and make things with Jolie work. She’ll kiss a random girl at midnight to see if it’s any different. She’ll go home after the countdown.

I had the revelation (aha) of Isaias and Dorothy as besties and I am OBSESSED! I love Isaias but struggled with his role so I'm really happy about this. Like he practices calligraphy and writes poetry titled after his favourite plants is he not the ideal character!! Hoping this will make it easier to learn about him so we can get that fun content

Felix

Felix's is fun because he makes the best decision of his arc but also the stupidest fucking decision of his arc. He truly has the range NOBODY is doing it like him. Here's a part that mirrors the excerpt above because even when they're apart Felix and Dorothy are like hmm we Will Be Intrinsically Connected (cw: drug, vomit and sex mention sorry he's going through it!!)

Two hours before midnight and Felix is alone in the bathroom. The party he abandoned synths through the ceiling. He plays Love My Way on his Walkman. Highest volume. Eyes closed. Imagines 1987 and decides he’s going to be honest about everything and nothing. He’s going to tell strangers at bars that he studies Literature at Stanford. He’s going to date a girl and pretend he has parents to introduce her to, that he grew up on a farm in Ohio and was secretly raised atheist, lie about what lies his parents told him. He’s going to grow out his hair and and blend cyan on his eyelids and send polaroids to his father with no return address; burn his fingertips on a candle flame like Michael will burn the photos of his son. He’s going to adore himself. He’s going to quit smoking and start jogging. He’s going to fuck Pacific Heights husbands whilst their wives sleep in the master bedroom and maybe they’ll angrily call him when they’re served divorce papers and hang up when he laughs. He’s going to get promoted to Assistant Manager and not care that his job is dead-end. He’s not going to kiss anyone at midnight because he doesn’t want to. He’s going to flush the cocaine because he doesn’t want it. He’s going to stare at his reflection until it moves for him. He’s going to vomit in a minute. He’s going to pierce his right ear with a sewing needle.

Felix at the end of part one: I give no more fucks!!! I am going to do whatever I want!!! Life is too short!!!

Felix at the end of part two:

[image description: screenshot of a tweet by @/idksomedumbshit. the tweet reads, "i can't mansplain manipulate manwhore my way out of this one boys" /end id]

I do think it's iconic that this time last year Felix was a repressed Christian boy and now his dream is to be a homewrecker THAT is growth. I also got to write Felix and Jolie which was fun because they do Not like each other <3 but they respect each other <3 but only sometimes <3 They have their first little bonding moment where Jolie pierces his ear in their bathroom but then Felix says something to piss her off so Jolie is like hmm okay time to chose Violence. This dialogue is funny because Felix does not really hate himself at this stage Jolie just knows she's gonna fuck him up by saying that !! My life would be so much easier if these twins had a normal relationship with the concept of being a twin but also this story would be very boring

The needle pierces his skin and he doesn’t feel it. Only the tequila swirling behind his eyes. The sting of the light-bulb. Jolie speaks again, “but she looks just like you, doesn’t she? Not the same of course, but enough to see each other in each other. That’s the worst part, right? To see the person you hate on the face of someone you love?”

[image id: a photo of the ocean with cliffs in the background, tinted orange by sunset. in the middle, in a white serif font reads "1/10/1987" /end id]

This chapter is so CUTE and also my first successful attempt at a different form that I can consistently keep in the narrative <3 I really like the idea of a fluid novel form that's adaptive to how the character's perception of the world would change which? Idk how much I can maintain that but this definitely follows it. I need to fine tune the execution but the concept is shots and transcript from a camcorder recording and playing with what the camera sees/doesn't see. The title is what the tape would be labelled, and on 1/10/1987 (american dates throw me off omfg) Beau takes Felix to a seaside town for his birthday and yes it's gay <3 but it's also just a lot of stupid dialogue which was very refreshing because I overthink dialogue so much I always think it has to have deeper meaning when sometimes its like....characters can sometimes...have Fun together. They are simply displaying Relationship Dynamics!

BEAU: Okay, give me a second…(the camera zooms on Felix) There we go! Right, okay, so it’s Saturday, January 10th, 1987, what’re doing out here today?

FELIX: What is this, an interview or something? You sound like a TV host on those morning shows.

BEAU: Oh my God no they’re so annoying, don’t compare me to those.

FELIX: No but I can imagine it perfectly. You’d just be all (holding a pretend microphone) Gooood Morrrning from sunny San Francisco! My name is Beau Teixeira and—

Beau: (laughing) Shut the fuck up!

I love this chapter a lot because you can definitely tell that their dynamic has Shifted but also! They are still just friends being friends and I really want them to just kiss already but also I love the natural progression of friends to lovers....falling in love and not realising it and then suddenly it all makes sense...

BEAU: You wanna try filming? It’s easier if you hold it on your shoulder. Like this. Put your hands where mine are.

[How their fingers whisper against each other. How Beau’s cologne smells of lime and tangerine. ]

Beau steps back into view, runs a hand through his curls. Leather jacket flutters in salted wind. Behind him the sunset flickers over waves like a candle flame. He smiles at the camera.

BEAU: I think you’re a natural! You’re definitely gonna be first choice for cameraman on my shitty morning show.

[How Felix smiles at him.]

(cw: next paragraph talks about the AIDS crisis)

Whilst this is a Fun And Cute Chapter there is more depth to it since the last time we see Beau and Felix before it is the first time they open up about the AIDS Crisis and their fears surrounding it. I have a lot of complicated thoughts about writing this part of history that I could write about all day but it boils down to the fact that "so many queer stories are centred around queer trauma and tragedy and queer people deserve to read stories centred around love and happiness" and "with a queer novel set in 1980s SF it'd be just as bad to completely ignore what happened" are two things that can coexist. I definitely think stories centred around the crisis are necessary (recently read The Prettiest Star by Carter Sickels and highly recommend! Also has a similar camcorder function and an emphasis on preserving. Also made me cry) but shouldn't be the default, especially in a story that if published would have a queer readership, so whilst it's something I want to explore I want to do it in a way that ultimately celebrates queer happiness, love and life. Definitely way more that could be said about this and the function of queer trauma in queer narratives but! Both Beau and Felix feel a need to not only capture as much as possible, but to capture it specifically with the intent to look back in the future, as well as a general We Are Going To Try And Find Happiness Wherever We Can. Also feel like a lot of Beau's character clicked whilst writing it which was very fun!

[How Beau wouldn’t say where they were going but cracked before they left San Francisco because he had too many stories to tell: five year old burning his tongue on café tea, six year old falling into waves and being unbothered, seven year old plucking chrysanthemum petals from stranger’s gardens. How Beau has an orange car freshener and missing headrest on the passengers seat. How Beau drove a longer route because it was closer to the coastline. How Beau played Pet Shop Boys’ Please and knew the words to every song. How Felix realized that he did too.]

[image description: a man and a woman sit next to each other on a bench. the photo is taken from behind them. in the background, you can vaguely see water, hills and the golden gate bridge. across the image, in a white serif font reads "everything the same about dorothy and felix" /end id]

Little title explanation: part 1 has two chapters, "Everything Different about Felix" and "Everything Different about Dorothy" which introduce their relationship + impression of each other after not seeing each other in person for four years (and also how they have images of each other in their heads that are false but they're attached to and it's really not helping the whole complicated twin relationship thing but don't worry about it) and I'd like to expand on that in part two so! An attempt was made. This takes place the day after the above chapter on the twins' actual birthday, the first one they're celebrating together since they were 18 and the first one in the "outside world" so it's a moment!

I'm not happy with how this chapter came out but I think it's just because it's an important one to me! Partly because it helps cement the idea that in spite of their complex relationship, Felix and Dorothy never stop being twins and they never stop loving each other even on the days they dislike each other. But mainly because: these are two adults who lost their childhood to trauma and they finally have the freedom to live their life and! Sometimes that means living for the inner child that never got to be a child. As a certified Adult With Childhood Trauma having a chapter like this was v important because trauma never leaves you but that doesn't mean you can't be happy!! Also it's just. cute. They run around San Francisco, bake a really shitty birthday cake, talk about whether or not San Francisco is real, I want what they have. There is underlying conflict because hoo boy there is Shit simmering rn! But it was nice to have this and the previous chapter as just like. Two little golden moments you know. Calm before the storm if you will

Midnight. Dorothy lies on a mattress on the floor in an apartment in San Francisco. Her brother’s head in her lap. “You know what’s crazy to me? Nobody ever asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. That just wasn’t something we were allowed to think about. I know it’s depressing, I just think about that a lot.”

Felix keeps his eyes on the ceiling. The clock ticks. “Well, what do you wanna be when you grow up?”

“Astronaut, of course.”

“I was gonna say astronaut.”

“You definitely weren't,” she says. “Besides, I already claimed it.”

He looks at her. “I was thinking it. Before you said it, I claimed it in my mind.”

“That’s not how it works. I can’t read your mind.”

Felix sits up. “Wait, you can’t? Gee Dotty, some twin you are.” He grins. So does she.

Usually I am like. I don't think they would care too much about the twin thing. But I also think they would definitely joke about it, like if someone asked a stupid question Felix would be like "well of course we can read each others minds, dont you know how twins work?? like right now my twin sister who is my twin is thinking about giving me, her twin brother, $200" But lets end this on an excerpt where Dorothy doesn't give him $200 but she does think Oh How Did I Spend Four Years Without My Brother

(cw: death mention + missing persons mention, plane crash + boating accident mention)

Dorothy is used to his presence, has been for a year: coffee stains on the table, cupboards left open in the kitchen, clustered ashtray in the living room, hair gel and Jazz aftershave behind the bathroom mirror, Queen or Bowie or Alphaville sifting from his room. His voice. How he always knocks on her door to say goodnight. How he weaved himself into the ecosystem like air but tonight she watches her brother do nothing but breathe and she remembers waking up every January 11th in 1983, 84, 85, 86, and chucking a towel over the bathroom mirror. How she told strangers at bars that she’s an only child; or that she had a younger brother, but he died in a plane crash or a boating accident or went on a hiking trip and never came back, was likely immortalised as a John Doe in Oregon or Nevada records. How she went four years without coffee stains and open cupboards and goodnight knocks and Queen or Bowie or Alphaville renditions when he forgets that she exists in this space too. How hollow those four years were.

And that's all I have to share! I'm not sure when the next update will be, but I much prefer this format of talking about the story! If you read this far I love u <3

#revelations revelations #atlastracking #writing update #i wrote most of this update at 5am so ignore any typos god bless

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thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny · 3 years

Text

Welp...I did it. I made yet ANOTHER Silm OC, and I'm not sorry about it (the silver hair/brown skin combo is my aesthetic, don't judge me).

Anyway, this is Aranmír Edlothion, also known as the Prince of Flowers in his wedding attire. I came up with the idea of him from doing a fantasy RP with a friend of mine, and my absolute obsession with enemies to lovers so...here he is! My lovely boi, I hope y'all love him as much as I do! Facts under the cut.

Name Translation:

Father-name: Aranmír- "king's jewel" (I know in Quenya it'd be spelt with a double m but I dunno if that's how Sindarin works)

Mother-name: Edlothion- "blossomer, bloomer, he who causes flowering"

He's the third and youngest child of Thingol and Melian after Luthien and Daeron (cuz I see a lot of people making Dae Luthi's brother in their headcanons and I figured "why the fuck not get in on the headcanon fun? I mean Tinfang would've been her brother too in another version")

He's a botanist and horticulturist who has a stronger relationship with plants than people. He's cultivated several varieties of flower and fruit, hence his nickname. Practically lives in his greenhouse.

Can make a shit ton of drugs, poisons, and alcohols from his plants, my guy is a walking pharmacy.

Looks sweet and nice and poised, is actually batshit feral and will fuck you up.

Horny on main but also a nerd

Will go days without sleep getting caught up in his research.

Loves his family to death and they're all really close-knit, but inferiority complex like a MOTHERFUCKER. Being in this family will do that to you, I mean he’s like an actually cheerful Caranthir.

With Thingol being the greatest of the Sindar and Melian being a literal angel, Luthien being literally the hottest thing to walk the earth (also stupidly magically powerful) and Daeron being the best singer of all time, Ara is just the “weird plant kid”.

His Maiarin magic takes the form of being able to manipulate and magically affect plant growth.

Married Celegorm to forge an alliance for peace. Basically Morgoth is a bigger threat than he is in canon and in order to defeat him, the Sindar and the Noldor have to kiss and make up...literally. Both groups would rather die than join forces but they really have no choice because the Valar are sitting on their glittery asses not helping (at least not yet)

Agreed to the match out of duty to Doriath (and also to say "hey, I'm useful guys. Be proud of me"), Thingol is pissed. "HELL NO, I'D RATHER FACE MORGOTH BY MYSELF THAN GIVE MY CHILD TO THOSE WILD DOGS!"

Luthien is ALSO pissed, especially considering what Celegorm and Curufin tried to pull with her. She is NOT happy about letting her little bro "be sold to a pit of vipers"

On their wedding day there was crying. A LOT of crying. But Ara would die for his people so he sucks it up, and also to protect his brother and sister from being selected.

Those flowers braided into Ara's hair are red anemones, symbolizing protection against evil (he's gonna need it)

To say that he and Tyelko do NOT fuck with each other would be the understatement of the century.

Tried to poison his "beloved husband" once, having a huge knowledge of plants he knows which ones are poisonous af. He was basically in cushy jail (watched like a hawk and confined to his rooms) for like the next two years after that.

Unfortunately for him, Celegorm also knows his plant stuff cuz...hunter, hello. So yeah, that didn't work. He thought it was cute, but told Ara in no uncertain terms that if he tried that shit again, he'd make his life hell.

Turning point came when they were stuck in a survival situation and forced to work together to literally not die.

It's cliche AF but they bonded a little over nature and shit..

Another cliche: It was raining, they were cold and hubby is attractive...so yeah.

Their interactions consisted of VERY sporadic friendly moments interspersed with veiled insults and hate sex. (Ara threw up their first time, feeling like a traitor to his dead kin)

Before they realized "we're stuck with each other forever, may as well try not to be miserable for the rest of eternity"

So they tried to get along and shit and discovered they had a lot of similar interests.

Curufin kinda gets jealous of their friendship because Tyelko's his fave brother (and also Ara tried to poison him)

It literally took them like 300 years to move from enemies to semi-friends.

Ara saved his husband’s life once by brewing up an antidote for a poisoned arrow wound (he didn’t poison him this time)

Celegorm comforted Ara over his grief at Luthien's death (he blamed him at first, of course) and this led to them becoming even closer.

They like to hang out together in the woods, sometimes not coming back for days.

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fiddlesolo · 4 years

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I'm in a feral Esme mood... Do you have any little snippets about Esme just going absolutely buckwild and being the the definition of chaotic. I love your version of feral Esme!!!

thank you !! feral esme isn’t always happy go lucky esme it’s being more than one dimensional. it’s being able to do more than just take up space, to struggle with her early vamp days 🥺

“I’m going for a run.” Esme nearly growled, turning away from him and heading toward the door.

Carlisle reached out and grabbed her arm, his grip gentle despite the tension between them. “Esme, you shouldn’t-”

She spun to face him again, jerking her arm out of his grasp. In a move that was the definition of bravery, one that almost made him proud considering her past. “Can you, for a moment, pretend that you have faith in my ability to leave this house without harming someone?”

“I do have faith in you!” He fired back. “You know I do!”

“I’m not doing this right now, Carlisle.” She stepped back from him. “Just go to work.”

So he did. He went to work and she sprinted off into the woods. She wasn’t sure how long she had been running but eventually she climbed up into a tree and just sat there until she almost couldn’t remember why she’d needed to run so badly.

She’d never fought like that with anyone. Not her parents and certainly not with Charles— she’d never had to freedom or the security to do so. Sometimes it hit her like a brick wall how different things were. She and Carlisle didn’t argue often but they could. She could push his buttons and fire back at him without fear. He’d never hurt her and she was finally starting to get that.

Esme hated arguing with Carlisle but she was just so angry sometimes. Both Carlisle and Edward had insisted that the anger would fade, that as her newborn days dwindled her overwhelming emotions would as well. The anger was a result of pent up energy from her change.

She slumped back against the trunk of the tree. Carlisle hadn’t really done anything wrong. She’d accused his concern as hovering, as lack of faith when it hadn’t been anything more than his way of expressing his love. She knew him, knew how hard he loved but the whole day had been intense for her. She’d nearly been knocked to the ground by grief for her son and then the irrational anger...

The young vampire sighed and reached out to fiddle with the hem of her skirt. She’d ripped it again.

“Esme?” Came the sound of his voice from miles and miles away. She must have been out for longer than his shift at the hospital.

She looked up at the sky, the stars confirming the length of her forest venture.

“This way.” She replied, knowing he’d find her in a matter of seconds.

Just as she predicted, Carlisle appeared at the bottom of the tree. He’d changed out of his work clothes because he knew how much she hated the smell. More than that, she hated the look on his face, that she’d hurt him. He’d probably spent his entire shift worrying about her.

“There’s room for two up here.” She murmured.

Carlisle scaled the trunk and took a seat across from her on the branch. “Hi.”

Esme leaned forward and brushed his hair back, fixing the piece that loved to flop over his forehead at the end of a long day. “How was work?”

“It was fine.” He told her, lifting his hand to wrap it around her wrist. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her first two fingers. “How are you?”

She shifted closer until she could wrap her arms around his middle, letting out a sigh when he pulled her in to rest against his chest. Her eyes slipped closed. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

His lips pressed against her hair as his hand moved up and down her back. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I yelled at you.”

“And I made you feel as though I didn’t believe in you.”

“I was just angry...frustrated with myself and the mess in my head.”

He kissed her hair again. “I don’t mind being yelled at, love. I’d much rather take it than have you locked away in your room.”

She let out a breath, the memories of her first few days with them flashing through her head. She’d been so consumed with grief, with fear and pain— she’d hidden away from them and cried dry sobs.

“Don’t do that.” She murmured. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I know you’re trying to make me feel better but I don’t want to be treated like this.”

He nodded slightly. “Alright. Perhaps yelling wasn’t the best way to handle the situation. Next time, we’ll talk through it and give each other space if we need it.”

Esme nodded against him, sinking into the wall of his chest and relaxing for the first time in hours.

send me fic prompts

#esme cullen #carlisle cullen #carlisle x esme #twilight fanfiction #twilight

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jafndaegur · 4 years

Text

Noise of Rain | Chapter Three

Without Forgiveness, Rather than Rusted by Falsehood

Sesskag

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

A holy arrow split the moment away, surging forward in a torrent of electric blue power.

Sesshomaru’s sword lashed out, too fast to see, and yet it was not he that felled the arrow. Kagome's eyes glowed haunting and bright crimson, a cruel and pained smile on her face. The holy arrow hovered mid-air, grasped by the inky tendrils of dark energy.

"Oho? Glad to know Kikyo is using her newfound humanity the same as she always had." She glared and the arrow flipped around, hurtling back to the earth.

Below they could hear Inuyasha shouting—Sesshomaru could see his brother dive and deflect the arrow intended to attack the priestess. His brow furrowed. Plenty of resentful energy spurred the returned projectile, but none of that dazzling bright pink purification Kagome kept unfiltered.

"Think it's high time I say hi?" Her voice fluttered through the air innocently. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He didn't answer her. Refused to answer her. Maybe once long ago, he would have given her his thoughts, maybe. But that'd been because she was different. Not a creature that sought unlimited power like this—unlimited, unclean power—but someone who would make a change her own way, through hard work and her own practice. Pointing out at the darkness, even when she traverses it.

Not this.

She descended slowly, almost ethereal, her outer layer billowing, her yukata delicate and graceful. And yet the splatters of Naraku's blood marring the green and grey cloth said otherwise.

Her shoes are dirtied—

"Kagome!" Inuyasha rushed to meet her, his feet trudging through the battlefield sludge.

Kagome landed gracefully, a few slow strides before she made it to her stumbling hanyou. The others followed close behind him, while Sesshomaru took up vigil behind her.

She reached out and embraced the hanyou in a surprisingly gentle hug. He held onto her, no words needed, only a trembling grasp.

Yet the scathing and cold voice still cut through the air. "Get away from her Inuyasha. That thing is not the Kagome you know."

Kikyo's tone perusal was scant of emotion, save her usual mocking righteousness.

Kagome's chin tilted up and she took a step back while Inuyasha whirled around to protest.

"I shouldn't have to explain myself," the priestess hummed. "But even your monk and demon slayer can sense the demonic aura coming from her."

Sango said nothing, her gaze cast to the ground.

Miroku on the other hand fumbled with his words a bit before mentioning an amendment. "It's not evil per say. Just dark."

Sesshomaru’s golden gaze narrowed. So—without her notice—the little miko had scared all of her little friends.

Kagome rested her hand on the fife tucked into her thin obi. "It isn't evil, believe it or not."

"If you let me purify you, I'd be more inclined to believe you," Kikyo bit out.

"Damn, Kikyo—it's just Kagome, what's gotten into you?" Inuyasha's brow was furrowed, and he was clearly disgruntled.

"Were you not just undead?" Sesshomaru ran his fingers through his hair. "It seems you hardly have room to speak."

Inuyasha drew in a sharp breath.

Kikyo smiled half-heartedly and drew another arrow. "And now look at my reincarnation. Fitting she took my place."

"Kikyo, what the hell are you trying to start?" Inuyasha moved to appease her.

She refused and released the arrow.

Sesshomaru was quick — and yet again something else was quicker. The ringing clang of metal struck the air and warbled, and in a blink, the fight was over.

A small boy with pulled back hair and angered eyes withdrew his scythe.

"Kohaku!" Sango shouted, pushing past the belligerent miko and mostly-confused hanyo.

"Sister," the young demon slayer offered a weak smile. "I'm happy to see you again."

No time was wasted in the barreling hug. Sango pulled her little brother close, and this time, he returned her embrace.

"How is this possible?" She looked from him, cupping his face and gazing at Kagome and back to him. "The Shikon was destroyed."

"I revived him in a sense," Kagome offered. "He's not fully alive. But he's not fully dead. We bumped into each other a month or so back. And I pulled the shard from him. Once he was dead, I brought him back."

Sesshomaru’s brow twitched. A miko wouldn't, and shouldn't, have a power as such.

"Kagome…" Inuyasha's voice offered everyone's hesitance and discomfort.

"Explain," Kikyo bit out.

Kagome crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "But of course. There's a tea house not far from here. Our little group will make for quite some clientele, but I think what I have to say will be ill suited if we stay on the battlefield."

That much it seemed, everyone could agree on.

-‐-

Kagome despite her earlier sardonic tone, seemed on friendly basis with the teashop owner. He welcomed her with a bright smile and familiar call of her name. He waved their little group over to a nice secluded spot, away from regular patrons enough to not be egregious, but close enough to feel included with the surprisingly light atmosphere.

"The regular?" The owner asked.

She waved him off with a friendly laugh. "An extra pot and a plate of bean buns."

He nodded and scooted away.

"I helped him start this place," she pulled the fife from her obi and twirled it lazily. "This entire area was under Naraku's influence three months ago. He's from the mainland and wanted to bring a little taste of home. Once this place was cleaned out of miasma and...other obstacles—I've deceived these memories in my mind over and over again to remember just quite what they were—we built this place."

"You built this place?" Shippo echoed with a little bit of awe.

The fife waved back and forth with a sheepish giggle. "Well I decorated the place."

Inuyasha huffed.

Miroku and Sango chuckled lightly.

Even Sesshomaru, who really did seem out of place with their little pack, rolled his eyes.

The only one not bemused was Kikyo. "So you did not help with any construction."

Kagome grinned and lifted her brow, the look almost sultry. "I wouldn't be much help there, I don't have nearly enough strength for heavy lifting. But the feral undead in my control handled it just fine."

Kikyo's brow twitched and Inuyasha's amusement turned pale.

"Oh I'm sorry. Undead strikes a nerve I see," Kagone continued. "Corpse. I think that's what I would call them. They don't think much."

She pointed her flute at Sango and her brother. "Kohaku is my only and greatest exception. A feral corpse who thinks and acts almost entirely for himself."

Kohaku looked down at the table and wrinkled his nose a little.

"Corpse?" Sango's whisper was half broken, staggered.

Decorated with lies, Kagome winced. "Zombie may be better. Not really alive, not really dead. An odd mix in between."

The teashop owner brought their order and swept settings over the table quickly. He seemed to sense the tense mood and left. In the stiff silence, Kikyo graciously poured everyone a cup of tea save for Kagome, Shippo, and Sesshomaru.

Sesshomaru didn't even bat an eye, and the little fox demon busied himself with forking bean buns to care.

Lounging back, Kagome draped her arm over her knee.

Inuyasha pushed his teacup in her direction, his ears flattened apologetically against his head.

It made her heart twinge, she'd missed her best friend.

"What right do you have playing with their lives?" Kikyo hummed, staring over the rim of her mug. "It is both the unorthodox and unethical path."

"I wish I could've seen you complain about that earlier," Kagome tapped the fife against her brow. "Tell me again, how long have you been a living human by now?"

The two mikos then engaged in another quiet round of glaring.

"The flute Kagome," Miroku piped up, trying to keep the conversation going. "What does it do?"

"This?" Kagome offered her instrument to him. "It's just an ordinary fife. However I use it to channel the resentful energy, that's what summons and brings the feral corpses to life. I named it Kangaimuryo. Like it?"

Miroku took it in a ginger hold before his eyes widened and he observed it more carefully. "There's no evil aura. There's an aura, but it's not impure."

"It's an ordinary object." Kagome took it back once he'd finished his inspection. "Although it's sturdy and can hold its own in a fight. Kohaku and I have discovered more than once that it's decent at blocking a blade."

The young demon slayer gave a reassuring nod. "Lady Kagome has been steering away smaller yokai from the Burial Mounds for months now. She uses it to both channel resentful energy and deflect physical attacks. She's skilled."

There was silence. A lingering hesitance blared the looming question that no one wanted to ask. Well, almost no one.

"Why don't you just purify them?" Kikyo rested her chin on her hand, relaxing forward. "Such a simple task for a miko."

An exasperated sigh caused Kagome's bangs to puff up before she stood and wiped off the front of her yukata. "Kohaku, will you return later?"

"Kagome…" Sango was the first to vocally protest.

Kagome smiled gently at first before sending a cruel imitation to Kikyo. "I love myself far too much to waste my reiki on small fries."

Her voice hitched just a bit. "This is easier."

"Oy Kagome!" Inuyasha stood, the table screeching as he pushed it forward.

Sesshomaru rolled his eyes.

"I'll see you guys around," she told him gently before waving. "I have some things to settle back home."

"Home?" Came the hanyou's echo. But there was no response.

Kagome strode out of the tea house long enough to appear proud. Once out of eyesight she slouched and panted, her hand resting on her chest. The demonic energy had risen painfully with each biting nag from she-who-should-probably-not-be-named—it lashed and made restraint difficult. It had taken everything for Kagome not to react negatively.

Leaving was her best response.

"It is not easy."

The deep tenor surprised her and she twisted to see Sesshomaru standing nonchalantly beside her. A lazy flick of his eyes told her he feigned boredom. But if it was his mask, why was he interested in seeing her.

She walked forward, straightening herself out and walking evenly. "Not like it's a walk in a park."

He kept pace, even steps with no trouble maintaining stride. "And yet you walk."

Kagome hummed, well wasn't he talkative today. "You were at the Burial Mounds today. I have talismans there to let me know when anyone arrives there. So why did you go?"

"Hn."

Maybe not.

"You ever get tired of living in someone's shadow?"

The daiyoukai's brow twitched.

"Yeah, figured that's a yes." Kagome exhaled, resting her hand on the fife tucked neatly against her side. "What happened…helped with that. I'm not in her shadow anymore."

Sesshomaru’s gaze met hers.

"And that's what I'll tell myself is for the best. With the jewel gone, there's no need for me to walk the widely paved road anymore."

She didn't say why. She doubted he cared. But speaking to him and admitting she would keep on the demonic path, lightened her heart—as if Sesshomaru’s troubled silence offered acceptance.

#sesskag #sesshomaru x kagome #kagome higurashi #sesshomaru #au: mo dao zu shi #chapter song: roll the dice by takanori nishikawa #inuyasha

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writingismyhappytime · 5 years

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I'm thankful for friends, making new friends, meeting the band in two weeks, and road trips ❤️ hope this works in a magical way as a fic

You squeeze your arms around Chris, a warm, fuzzy feeling settling over your shoulders as you look around the home you’ve made together. It’s perfectly decorated for the holidays, much to his dismay, but it’s important to you to get into the spirit. You want to wake up every day to the smell of gingerbread candles or pumpkin spice, shove your feet into warm slippers and walk into a livingroom prepared for Christmas despite Halloween was two days ago.

“This is going to be such a good year,” you say excitedly, pleased at the Christmas tree looming in the corner of the room, decorated in reds and golds on one side, blacks and silvers on the other --- neither of you could agree on the colors, so you compromised.

Honestly? You kind of like it, it shows both of your personalities, both of your tastes.

“You’re not going to try to get out of meeting my parents this time, right?” You ask after a moment, twitching your eyes up at the tall black-haired man beside you who was looking at his phone rather than at the decorations you’ve been laboring over for days.

“Last time was an accident,” he mumbles defensively; it’s not his fault that there was an emergency band meeting about the album that he sort of planned as a way to get out of meeting your very country-bumpkin parents for the first time. He just knows they’re not going to like him, and you’ve only been dating a year! Isn’t it a little fast to meet the family just yet?

Sure, you might be living together, you have for the last six months, but that’s different! Sure, you might also be in one of his music videos, and on one of his bank accounts just in case there’s an emergency, but --- well, those things had all seemed natural to happen at the time! No rush, no force, not like this whole parents thing.

It makes him uncomfortable.

He’s an adult, technically old enough to be a parent himself now, but that doesn’t make the impending situation any less doom-filled. Maybe he can say one of the band broke their leg and he has to go to the hospital, and make one of them limp around for six months in a cast when you’re around. That seems like a more logical thing to do, actually, maybe Ricky would ---.

“Chris.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop plotting for a way out of this,” you wag your finger firmly at him as you step away, gathering errant tinsel decorating his black livingroom suite. “You can’t bail on me this time, I won’t allow it. I don’t care if someone is dying, you’re meeting my folks.”

Folks.

“Ugh.”

“Do I have too?” He grumbles unhappily, sitting down heavily in the armchair, grimacing as he realizes he’s squishing Rudolph. He’s not near as into the holiday spirit as you are, and it sort of irks him to come home and see all this nonsense hanging around, but you were just so excited to decorate he couldn’t exactly tell you no. He frowns down at the reindeer he holds in his tattooed hands, the bright red nose he has the sudden urge to rip off.

“They’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time, Chris, so yes! We’ve been together over a year now!’

Not quite a year, Chris thinks. He tosses Rudolph away from him, not caring where he lands as he looks at you. “Yes, but we don’t want to rush anything. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind giving us more time before they meet me.”

“Are you afraid of my parents?” You frown at him, garland hanging from your neck as you try to gather your holiday supplies. You have some glitter on you from who knows what, some ornaments are hanging off your fingers by their delicate strings, and under one arm is apparently sticks you can buy to apparently stuff the tree and make it look fuller? He’d never heard of such a thing before. “Is big bad frontman of a metal band afraid of meeting two old people? My mom crochets and my dad runs the local bingo, they’re not exactly feral.”

You look... amused.

Chris face sours. “I am not afraid of meeting them! I just --- well, I don’t know. It just seems soon. Why don’t we wait another year?”

“Why? Do you plan on breaking up with me sometime next year?” You quirk a brow at him curiously, slowly putting your ornaments away. “Is that why you don’t want to meet them?”

“No.” Chris squirms.

“They’re just people, Chris, you meet new ones every day! There’s nothing different and nothing to be worried about,” you sound exasperated, struggling too get the tinsel off of you and into the designated box.

“But it’s different,” he replies, getting to his feet to help you. He lifts the tinsel off of you, tossing it into the box already overflowing with decor. "It's your people."

"They're going to like you," you say, brushing at your ugly, obnoxious cat sweater. He swears you've pulled out a box that has a sweater for every single day until the holiday, and now you're talking about making him wear some! He does have a reputation to uphold! Although, it would be a funny card to send out, both of you wearing horrid looking sweaters.

Actually, that would be cute, he's not quite so opposed now.

"Are you sure they're not going to think I'm the devil luring their little girl to the dark side?"

You roll your eyes. "No. If anything, I think I'm more devious than you are, you just look the part. Don't let my cat sweater fool you, Mr. Cerulli, I'm quite the devil myself."

"Oh really? Chris chuckles, feeling your arms curling tightly around his waist again as you snuggle into him. He holds you, giving you a light squeeze as he presses his lips into your hair.

Yeah, still doesn't want to meet your parents.

Still will try to find a way out of it.

Just won't mention that detail to you.

"Oh, and when we sit down at Thanksgiving, we have this tradition of going around the table saying what we're thankful for because we really are that basic, but you're going to have to play long. Say something cheesy, my mom will love that," you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. "It doesn't matter if you really mean it or not, but that'll make them like you more. Which I also don't think you have anything to worry about. My mom keeps telling everyone she slept with a member of Motley Crue back in the day, so I don't know how true that is or not, but be prepared for that story since she knows you're in a band."

Chris chuckles, his lips curving. "Sleeping with the band runs in the family, huh?"

"You could say that." You reply, shrugging your shoulders. You nudge him until he's taking a few steps back, falling back into the armchair still warm from his occupation earlier. You sit down in his lap, curling your cold toes against his leg as you snuggle into him, his warm arms keeping you against him. "Do you want to practice what you're thankful for?"

"Not really."

"Oh, come on," you shuffle a little, letting your head rest against his black-clad shoulder. "Humor me."

Hmph.

"I'm thankful for --- you being my girlfriend. Baking lots of cookies, making it smell girly as fuck in here at all times." Chris glances dubiously at all the lit candles.

"Well, there's a start," you bite your lower lip, cheeks pinkening. He started off so well.

"I'm thankful for --- all that we have together," you say after a moment. "Our apartment, the things we do together."

Oh, are you going back and forth now? Crap, what else can he be thankful for?

"Uhh --- I'm thankful for... um... I don't know." he grimaces. This is a lot harder than expected. What is he thankful for? He tries to think, but his mind is just completely blank.

"Well, I'll go again. I'm thankful for friends, making new friends," you chew your lip thoughtfully. "Meeting the band in two weeks." You haven't met any of them, not because you don't want too, your life is just busy and they're his work buddies, you don't think it's important to meet them until he wants you too --- turns out now he does, which made you so happy to know he wants you more involved in his life! "And road trips."

"Road trips?"

"Yep. We're taking one next year, remember? You might have got to see all fifty states, but I'm still lacking seven of them! I need to finish my tshirt collection."

Oh god.

Chris forgot about that.

"I can always buy you one when I go through the state."

"It's not the same! I want to see it for myself. You did promise me, remember?" You boop his nose lightly with your finger, amused when his pale cheeks turn bright pink. "I want us to go together for the experience. It'll be fun. You can take a week off work, and we can just spend it together."

Ahuh.

"Like... are we driving or flying?"

"Well, we can rent an RV, really spend some close time together," you say, pretending to be thoughtful and not ignore his horrified look. "You remember that movie with Robin Williams? It'll kind of be an adventure like that! It'll be fun!"

Absolutely not.

Chris has not sunk that low!

"Doesn't he get run over by the RV?"

"I'm sure you'll be fine, honey." you pat his shoulder reassuringly.

Chris sighs.

Sure he will.

"You know what else I'm thankful for?" You say after a moment, snuggled in his lap in your warm sweater, his arms keeping away the chill of the room. You love little, simple moments like this when it's just the two of you, when it's quiet and peaceful, all you're missing is the crackling of an open fire.

"What's that?"

"You." You press a soft kiss against his chin, smiling. "Putting up with me and my holiday obsession, letting me decorate this space and tease you about RV's but going along with it anyway. I love you, and you're important to me, I'm so thankful that I met you and that we've been able to spend all this time together."

Chris blinks, his cheeks a nice rosy hue as he absorbs your words.

"How am I supposed to top that?" He mumbles, and you smile warmly at him, snuggling close again.

"You're not supposed too, so long as you feel the same."

His arms around you tighten. "I definitely feel the same."

He gives it a moment, then, "But were you serious about the RV thing? Because we can seriously just fly to whatever state you want to start in and rent a car or something."

"Well, I'll guess we'll find out next year when we start planning for our trip, won't we?" You say lightly, drawing circles with your fingertips along the lines of his dark shirt. "After you meet my parents."

He frowns.

Why do you have to keep reminding him about that?

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moiraineswife · 6 years

Note

Hey! I've been looking at your short stories and I think it's amazing so I thought you could do something about Philippa and Sheala, please? Something like Sheala comforting Philippa about something ³ haha I'm already grateful ❤️

As it happens I’m on another witcher/Philippa kick atm. so pls take this from me. (I haven’t read the books in a little bit, some of this might not be strictly canon but like, we will all just deal with this for The Lesbians)

All The World’s Escapes

The evening was quiet, peaceful, precisely the way that Sheala liked it. There were many reasons that she chose to live at the very top of a very tall tower, and the silence was just one of them. All that could be heard was the soft scratching of her favourite pen against her favourite parchment, and the crackling of the fire she had lit in the background for warmth.

All of it was shattered by the sound of smashing glass, and instant cursing. She recognised the cursing at once as Philippa, naturally, as there was no-one else present in her tower, save the ghosts that would never leave it, and they rarely made sounds. Though she thought she might hear them now.

Getting to her feet and leaving her present research, she moved into Philippa’s study.

The moment she had known they were simply perfect for each other, was the moment Philippa had requested the construction of her own space.

Sheala couldn’t abide living on top of other people all the time, even a person she happened to be very much in love with. It was simply too much.

Everyone needed their own time, and their own space, in Sheala’s view. The mistake other couples made was believing they had to live in one another’s pockets all day, every day, in order to somehow prove their devotion to each other.

She was, frankly, too old for that bullshit. And Philippa was simply too frank for it.

Pushing open the door she found her partner with both hands braced on her work bench, with a grip so tight Sheala was quite impressed it hadn’t splintered beneath it. Glass shards were littered across the floor, and Philippa was shaking, her teeth clenched to hold back the further stream of curses Sheala was quite certain were on the very tip of her tongue.

Moving into the room, she placed a gentle hand on Philippa’s shoulder. It was thrown off almost at once, with enough force that, had she not known better, she might have thought indicated hate.

Philippa would not look at her, let alone speak to her, but she did not really have to. Sheala was quite sure she know what had happened.

“You’re expecting too much from yourself far too soon,” she told her quietly. “Come to bed with me now,” she offered.

She was not in the least bit tired and, if truth be told, was itching to return to her research. But this was a time she judged Philippa most certainly did not need to be alone. She needed someone. She needed Sheala.

“Come on,” she coaxed, when Philippa neither moved nor answered her.

“I cannot come to bed,” she gritted out, between clenched teeth. She turned on her, her expression twisted with fury and frustration.

She had left her usual band from her face, and the empty pits of her eyes seemed to condemn her, and threatened to drown any who looked into them for too long in the hatred Philippa herself was bathed in these days.

“I cannot see,” she hissed, “I cannot restore my eyes. I cannot perform a spell to rid myself of the pain of them,” she went on, and Sheala flinched slightly at the venom in her voice. She moved a little closer to her as she spoke, clawing her way along the bench like a feral cat stalking its prey. “I cannot mix a tonic for sleep as I used to. I cannot even cast a basic spell to light a candle, which a five year old could master, because I cannot do a thing in the state that he has left me in, and you wish me to come to bed?”

“Philippa-” Sheala began, though without any real hope of stopping her. There was no stopping this, and Sheala’s heart broke for her, and broke again with every word she spoke, but there was nothing to do but let her speak them.

“Is that supposed to fix everything, Sheala?” Philippa spat, viciously, “If I sleep tonight, will I wake tomorrow with my eyes? If I rest, will my hands stop shaking, the way they’ve been shaking since I left that place? The way they’ve been shaking for a week, so badly that I cannot work a single somatic spell? If I come to bed will I be myself again? Or will I be stuck this useless, powerless, weak creature that I have become until death takes me?”

Her voice rose to a shout with her last words, and she lashed out blindly. Bowls, mortars, delicate glass tubes, vials, and instruments were flung across the room as though tossed by a sudden hurricane, shattering, and causing Sheala to cover her ears from the sudden, deafening sound.

When Philippa spoke again, however, she would happily have lived the rest of her life with that unendurable noise, rather than the haunting silence left in the wake of her words.

“Because if so, she cannot come for me soon enough.”

Sheala opened her mouth, to say what, she had no idea, but she never got a word out before Philippa had shifted into her owl form and bolted for the window.

She had spent more time as owl than human, since she had returned. The owl did not have eyes, any more than she did, but the rest of its senses were far keener than her human ones, and there was no pressure to cast spells, no pressure to speak, no pressure to eat, or to sleep, or to care for herself, while she was in that form. It had become her crutch, and there was little Sheala could do to stop it.

Sighing, she used magic to clean up the mess that Philippa had made. She repaired the instruments she could, and destroyed the ones that she could not.

It would be some time before she saw Philippa again. She had become quite used to this, to Philippa fleeing this tower in a futile attempt to flee her frustration, and her problems, and had developed the perfect routine for it.

She returned to her studies for as long as she could. When she judged it would be a little less than an hour before Philippa’s return, she used magic to begin warming their bed, went to select one of her favourite books from the library, before returning it again, cursing herself, then began to make Philippa’s favourite tea, infused with some lavender.

Just as she was pouring that into two cups for them, a bright flash of light in Philippa’s study announced her return.

She walked in, trembling from the cold now, not just her injuries, soaked to her skin. Sheala stood without a word, and helped her out of her clothes, and into the soft, dry ones she had looked out. Then she guided her towards the fire and sat her down.

Her head was lowered in shame, and it was that, more than anything else, that showed Sheala how low she had sunk this night.

She pushed the tea into her hands, but Philippa would not drink it. She simply sat, holding it between her frozen fingers, staring into a fire she could not see, but could no doubt feel the warmth of it upon her face.

After a long moment, she spoke.

“This world is so large, Sheala,” she said, her voice rasping a little from exhaustion. “It is so big, and getting bigger all the time. Yet no matter how far I fly, no matter how fast, or for how long, I can never escape the things he’s done to me.”

“No,” Sheala replied, briskly, and brutally, as was her way. Philippa turned away from the fire, back towards her, frowning slightly. “You cannot run from your ghosts, Philippa, any more than you might run from your shadow, or your bones, or your soul. You must carry them with you, as must we all.”

She reached out and took Philippa’s empty hand in her own, “The only place you can run is to your home. To me.” She squeezed her hand gently, “Where you will be reminded that all of your burdens, all of your demons, and all of your ghosts have a home here, too. They all belong to me as well. And you do not have to carry any of them alone.”

Philippa was silent for a long moment. Then, more surely than Sheala had seen her move since her return, she set down her cup of tea, got to her feet, and held out her hand.

Sheala took it.

“Come to bed, Sheala,” Philippa said, softly, turning and leading them towards their rooms without another word.

Philippa smiled softly and followed her without a word.

The tower was quiet once more. Her peace had returned to her. But more importantly, Philippa had.

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veridium · 6 years

Note

Theia bringing a kitten home from Crestwood. Josie's reaction. I'm here for the sappy shit

Writer’s note: okay so I went a little more slow burn than sappy with this because I thought about the chronology of it, so I’m sorry if it’s not as much of a jelly-filled doughnut as I usually write (lol). But, I still think it’s pretty sweet!

Crestwood happens whilst Theia andJosephine are still flirting with each other, but there’s been no action fromeither of them and for as much as they both feel intrigued, everyone elsebelieves it to be an affinity between two clever women.

So, the following ensues:

The returning grouping from Crestwood looked as if they hadtrudged through too much mud and dirt to feel any more willingness to travelfor the rest of the month. Horses’ legs were drenched up to their elbow joints,carriage wheels aching and some half-broken, hastily repaired on the road. TheTroops that had accompanied the Inquisitor’s contingent were cursing undertheir breath, lamenting that it would take months for the stains in theiruniforms to be washed out.

So, seeing the Inquisitor arrive with a careful andtender-hearted grin on her face, the Advisors wondered what semblance of moraleshe had managed to hold onto during the journey.

Swiftly dismounting from her ride, the Inquisitor promptlydug into one of her large saddlebags. She looked as though she was reaching forsomething fragile, but was too excited to be slow. Seeker Cassandra had alreadydismounted her ride and made her way around Theia’s horse in order to see ifher precious cargo had survived. Two women, hardened and revered for theirpower and stature, unabashedly attentive to whatever it was the Inquisitor wasstowing in her bag.

“Is it an artifact of some sort?” Leliana leaned into herfriend, the Ambassador, who was also eyeing the harmless sight with intrigue.

“Would she carry it on herself if it was that important?”

The two women looked at each other, both remembering thatone incident where Theia tossed – or tried to, anyway – the axe she hadrecovered from her “duel” with the Avaar prince to Iron Bull. She went with itinstead of letting go, and fell rather clumsily. Ego slightly bruised, Theiahad resolved to levitate it into the Bull’s hands, much to his dismay for suchpomp.

Now both slightly concerned for the Inquisitor’s ego oncemore, they returned their keen gaze down to the courtyard. The Inquisitor washolding something close to her chest, as if it were an infant, but too small.The Seeker was smiling with disbelief, marveling at how much the Theia hadprioritized this after all they had endured in Crestview.

Down on the ground, it was a teasing match between Cassandraand Theia.

“Come on, Seeker, she came to me. This fortress is toolonely between the people and the horses.”

“Cullen will be livid, his request for five Mabari dogs wasdenied by Sister Leliana.”

“Yes, well, five dogs versus one barn cat are two differentordeals.” Theia was amused to feel like it was Leliana managing all of theInquisition’s leaders as if they were children wanting pets of their own.

“Fair enough, though, I will be curious to see how it bondsto you whilst you travel across all of Thedas more often than not.”

“Cats are different. They do not hunger for the same closecontact as dogs do. They are independent, and self-sufficient, like us.”

“Be sure to be as persuasive when you bring it to the WarCouncil,” The Seeker patted Theia on the shoulder, seeing herself off towherever she needed to be. Cassandra always seemed to be needed, andintuitively knew it. Theia felt as if she just stumbled into situations whereher power and role were implicated as soon as she appeared.

Making her way up the stairs towards the Hall, she finallycame to see both Leliana and Josephine standing observantly at the top of thestairwell. Holding the tiny, and slightly mal-nutritioned kitten, she couldn’thelp but feel like she was about to be reprimanded and sent to her room withoutsupper. The kitten had been found all alone without a soul to care for it,muddied and dirty. Surely it could have fallen and drowned into a puddle if itwanted to. But, the Inquisitor, coming across it during a ride with her allies,had softened herself enough to make one less infamous rescue.

Approaching two of her three advisors, she adjusted the wayshe was holding the small little creature, hand underneath its chest in orderto support its body.

“Inquisitor, I see you have made more than one gesture ofheroism in your travels,” Leliana greeted, holding her hands characteristicallybehind her back.

“Indeed, though, I think this little one has no money orweapons to yield the Inquisition as thanks,” Theia warmly replied, lightlypetting the back of the kitten’s tabby-colored head. The little thing gave asoft mew, making the Inquisitor’s heart ache. “She will be my personal charge,so there will be no concerns as to where she will belong or if she will causetrouble.”

“Inquisitor, you are hardly a sedentary individual. Perhapsit would be best to give her to one of the kitchen or barn staff, so that shemay better preoccupy herself?” Leliana was the one who had a vested interest inthe welfare of animals. Her ravens, after all, were just as much her people asher human staff was.

Josephine observed the conversation quietly, a rare thingwhen it came to the Ambassador’s proclivity for mediating discussions.

“When she is recovered enough I will let her roam as shepleases, but I wish to oversee her care myself. A small joy for myself,” Theiaheld the kitten closer to her chin as she tried to appeal to Leliana’scompassion. It was working, though begrudgingly.

“Alright, but do not tell the Commander. I still receivenotes on reports about my refusal to take on a legion of Mabari.”

“Deal.”

Leliana turned and made her way back into the hall, wearinga cordial facial expression as she did so. That left the Ambassador andInquisitor, both standing as if they felt obligated to continue a conversation,but it had not started in the first place.

“Lady Ambassador,” Theia spoke first, “It is good to seeyou. Are you not fond of cats?”

Josephine smiled politely, shaking her head. “Of course Iam, Your Worship. My Mother keeps no less than seven Antivan rough-coats in herwing of our home. I am merely…surprised,” her voice chimed.

“Surprised?”

“Yes. I did not think such a…preoccupied person, such asyourself, would be inclined to such endearments.”

The two women started to walk slowly back into the hall, andwhen they reached the entryway they had come to a stop.

“The Circle was restrictive, but we had certain feral catswho would come visit the kitchens for scraps. We were very kind to them inreturn for some companionship whilst the fed on bones and drippings,” Theiareferred to her time in the Circle rarely, and even less-so to divulge intimatememories. People assumed it was the violence, or her political disagreementwith Circles. However, for Theia, it was a lot more complicated.

“I see. Well, I do hope she provides solace to you in thecoming days,” Josephine’s voice was diplomatically opaque, though, her curiousface keyed into a different motivation.

“I hope so as well, but who knows, she may bond to someoneelse in my absence. Who am I to stop her?” Theia played, smirking out thecorner of her mouth as she scratched behind the kitten’s ear with her finger.

“Surely, you saving her life will inspire some loyalty?”Josephine’s chin tilted, now slightly surprised at the casual nature of Theia’saffection.

“Yes, but one should not spend their lives indebted to thebasic decency of others as if it were exceptional.”

Theia’s reassured and most political response caughtJosephine’s eye. There was a confidence and conviction below the surface ofTheia’s demonstrated self-consciousness and kindness. She had been letting itshow more and more as time passed and she filled into her leadership, but, itseemed as though when Theia would finally let that side of herself show,something would make her slip-up.

“Well, since you feel so ardently about it,” Josephine wasgoing to say something more exact and precise, but her mind trailed off as sherealized she hadn’t really formulated an opinion in advance. It was off thecuff now.

“I most certainly do, but that hardly is something to beafraid of,” Theia chuckled. “I shall retire to my quarters for a moment. If youneed anything of me, Ambassador, as I suspect you do, feel free to send word.”

As the Inquisitor nodded and sought out the door to herbedchambers, the Lady Ambassador watched her go. There were increasingly moreins and outs to their leader than she had originally suspected, and they werecontinuing to catch her off-guard.

“Do take care, Inquisitor,” she wished after her, though shefelt it arbitrary. Turning away, she was resigned to her status of being alonein that moment. Until, echoing back from the halfway point of the hall, sheheard the voice she had been conversing with.

“And you, My Lady Ambassador!”

Butterflies plumed in Josephine’s gut as she kept hershoulders turned away from the Inquisitor’s direction. Putting the tips of herfingers to her lips, she stepped out the entryway more so as to continue eyeingthe unpacking efforts. Though, in her head, she was paying attention toanything but that.

My Lady Ambassador.

#oc asks #Theia Trevelyan #Theiaphine #oc prompts

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