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gepardling · 11 months

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How about top!Gepard? Now, now I know he seems more like a bottom but sometimes the most quiet are the most freaky (okay, maybe he isn't this freaky). Perpahs a service top? That would do anything to bring pleasure to his love? Yeah I could see this. I do believe though that he has so much pent up energy that sometimes he goes out of or track and he is so drunk in the pleasure that he ends up apologizing after in fear that he caused harm to his love. Yeah I can kind of see this. (Love your writing by the way <3)

de-stressing w/ gepard.

desc. : in hindsight , i got so lost in the "pent up energy" and "off track" aspect that i hyperfixated on those. like geppie-becoming-a-different-person-during-sex possessed me and my hand was forced... ( wc : 1k )

tags / cw : nsfw, afab!reader, gn!reader (no pronouns used), cunnilingus, crying :((, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!), top!gepard and bottom!reader, praise, reader is basically a ragdoll (u don't do much), aftercare, overstimulation

Everyone has their dark secrets, even if they’re not yet aware of it themselves, and Captain Gepard was no exception. Though he appeared innocent and sweet on the surface, beneath his gentle facade, a beast thrived amidst his stress and pent-up frustrations. He did a pretty good job at hiding it though, but sometimes he could get a little… Unhinged. Gepard didn’t really have any “healthy” outlets to rid himself of all this bottled energy, either.

That's when he turned to you, his loving partner, who bore the weight of it all. Gepard's way of unwinding after a stressful day involved seeking solace in you, indulging himself without restraint. He gave and gave until your senses blurred and clarity faded. Once he began, he found it hard to stop, driven by the allure of your soft, inviting body.

His pleasure found its home between your legs, and he pursued it relentlessly until he was satisfied with your release. It seemed selfish, but he would claim it was all for your pleasure, leaving you spent and overwhelmed while he's still fully dressed and composed. It was nothing short of unfair, yet resisting the relentless force that lurked deep within Gepard was futile. The irony was that he himself remained oblivious to this fact.

Tonight was no different, having returned home late from another stressful frontline expedition. Gepard wasted no time in getting you on the bed, head nestled between your thighs as his tongue worked diligently on your hole. He doesn’t let up, and the feeling of your heels digging into his back only sends him further into your dripping core. He pulls orgasm after orgasm from your weary body, saturating the sheets with your release.

When his mouth finally releases its grip on your abused sex, the clinking of his belt fills the room, and before you can react he’s plunging his hardened member into you. In moments like these, your once-sweet Gepard fades away, and he’s replaced by a voracious beast that chases your pleasure over and over. The warmth of his gaze is replaced by something darker, an insatiable hunger that only you could sate.

He’s too drunk in the warmth of your cunt and the way you keep sucking him in to realize he has to stop eventually. He also doesn’t remember when you started pleading with him to slow down, too focused on the fiery sensation of your nails scratching down his back. His eyes are shut tight as he thrusts deeper, harder. All you can do is let him take what he wants, allowing him to consume you until his pent-up stress is exhausted.

The overstimulation burns, and your face is a wet, sobbing and drooling mess. Your throat is too sore to keep up with the waves of pleasure he’s forcing down on you. At one point, his hand travels down to your thigh, pushing it up over his shoulder to grind deeper into you. Fresh tears grace your reddened cheeks when the stretch becomes too much, but Gepard’s oblivious to the way you claw at his arm, eyes fixated on the delicate strings of arousal that tie you two together with each thrust of his hips.

It’s not like he himself hasn’t cum yet, he’s on his fourth or fifth by now. Yet he continued to draw the sweet honey from your core, his pretty cock decorated with a creamy ring, all because of you. Gepard’s low grunts in your ear are nothing short of carnal, singing praises of how good you’re being for him, how well you take him. His lips trail down your jaw and onto your neck, where he sucks and bites little marks wherever he could reach first.

Your mind swims with pleasure and praise, thoughts hazy and blurred. Gepard’s dick is the only thing you can think of, and rightfully so. But luckily your job is easy enough. You just have to lay there and look pretty, let him have his way and assure him he’s doing a good job. Any previous pain has long since been numbed, and you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care anyways...

Gepard gives you everything he has, desperate to empty his heavy balls deep into your awaiting cunt. Eventually, he reaches his final climax, burying himself deep into your core, his face pressed into your neck. Desperate pleas of your name escape his lips as he ruts into you, riding out his high. His warmth engulfs you from within, and by now you’re so spent that you could fall asleep then and there.

But as his afterglow fades and his senses return to him, Gepard pulls his softened cock from your wet folds, only to witness the state he’d left you in. Little bruises littered your body, small imprints on your thighs and waist where his grip had been a little too tight. He’s overcome with an intense guilt, like someone who’d broken their mother’s favorite porcelain doll. It was as if the beast from earlier had vanished, and he’s back to his old gentle self in a heartbeat.

Gepard loves and respects you too much to intentionally cause you harm. He can't stand the idea of letting you down or hurting you. So, when it does happen, especially during your vulnerable moments, he feels like a ton of bricks crash down on him. There's a sense of panicked fear in his tone as he meticulously checks you over, ensuring that he didn't inflict too much pain during his little... Session.

Apologies pour from his lips, and despite your reassurance that it was fine (and likely some of the best sex you’d ever had) it did little to soothe the overwhelming guilt he faced. He immediately prepared a hot bath for you, gently cleaning you up with a damp cloth and placing tender kisses on any marks he may have left. He even takes great care to massage any stiff muscles you might have, gracing them with apologetic kisses.

After all, he loved you far too much to let his inner beast overshadow the tender affection he held for you.

i am currently undergoing oshi no ko brainrot so im srry if dis was written wit half a brain bc omg. oshi no ko. but do not fret !! i went 2 the extreme length of rewriting dis whole piece n hour b4 posting it JUST BC i didn't want 2 release smth i wasn't happy wit ♥︎ all 4 u loves

#gepard smut #gepard x reader #gepard x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #gepard landau #gepard hsr #♥︎ | milky writes #♥︎ | request

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yuri-is-online · 18 days

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More asmo thoughts:

angels are all focused on "inner beauty" etc (or at least this is what makes sense to me) so generally all angels are considered beautiful no matter what and it didn't matter what asmo looked like because his soul could harmonize with basically everyone (also a hc for why hes one of the more helpful & agreeable brothers generally)

but now, as a demon, other demons are more selfish, cruel, etc. and value appearance and what you can DO for them, how you benefit them, and newly fallen asmo feels up shits creek in terms of his appeal.

so he gradually recreates his niche in hell (in a more corrupted version of it) by just forcing himself into whatever form he needs to be to be most appealing.

ENTER THE HUMAN who yes, humans can also be selfish, but this isn't a guarantee the same way it is for demons. and This Human doesn't like ANYTHING he's doing to gain their attention! hes saying all the right things, telling them all the ways he can be of Use to the human, spends so much effort to try different pleasing forms, all because it has been So Long since he's been around people who just want him to be there as himself that he can't FATHOM it.

Anyway anytime something genuine slips through his mask and the human reacts POSITIVELY?!?! absolutely bamboozled. he either thinks it's a fluke or that he has to lean into whatever they saw to an EXTREME because they can't just... like when hes real with them right???

so in the original ask I answered I was talking about a personal project of mine that's completely unrelated to Obey Me, but I do believe that is what you are talking about and because this is a very nice headcannon you chose to share with me I am going to talk as if I am thinking about Obey Me! Asmo and not my own o.c. Asmo.

I feel like an angel's soul would be less focused on beauty and more focused on taking on the appearance of what a person would find trustworthy. "Be not afraid" is the constant mantra of an angel's soul and Asmo is especially good at clicking with people and putting them at ease.

Like I said in that original ask, Lust is about projection of desire, so as a demon his soul can't reach out to other demons in the same way. It's not enough to simply put people's inner turmoil at rest, he has a role to fulfill, a million and one separate fantasies that are not interested in how he feels about things so he becomes hardened against being accepted for himself. After all if that's a lie then he has no reason to want it.

I had this idea jotted down for a fic I never wrote (for a fandom I have ever mentioned being in to on this blog) where a character essentially did what we are saying Asmo is doing here, but it was not something they could control. That character was under the impression no one had ever seen what they truly looked like, could not see it because who would want to see them for who they were? It's the same with Asmo, he's so used to playing a role that when the human mentions they love how he doesn't feel the need to hide how brown his eyes are he chokes.

What do they mean he doesn't need to hide it, how did they even see it in the first place? And when he angrily asks them to describe how he looks they enthusiastically describe and praise every plain, boring, hidden feature he has almost forgotten he had as if it was one of the forms he had specifically crafted to tempt someone to sell their soul.

"A person is at their most beautiful when they are most like themself!" There isn't a shred of irony in your voice, or a lie in your breath. He doesn't know what to do with you, really. Do you mean that or is it just that his truest form is what would please your tastes best? He doesn't know but he's so exhausted from trying to break himself into pieces, please say you will find him beautiful if he rests a while with you, won't you?

#<3 asks #obey me #obey me asmodeus #my oc is a very different character than obm asmo i feel like i have said that a lot #idk i think i have a very different take on the sin of lust than obm does because to me #the way they've written asmo is less like lust and more like a mix of pride and envy #but i also didn't make it as far as i could have so i would not be an expert #now solomon on the other hand...

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lucienarcheron · 9 months

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Instincts - I [ Elucien ]

Prompt: A lovely anon sent me this: "Could I please request a fic based on elain reading a really sad book where 1 of the characters dies and she's absolutely torn up over it and Lucien sees her sobbing but he doesn't know what to do cause he doesn't get being invested in fictional characters (plss the irony has me ded) like she does, so he just sits with her and follows his mate bond instinct." So I took the idea and ran with it lol. |

This takes place post-ACOSF. | Part II

Lucien had been rooted to his spot in front of her bedroom door for about ten minutes now.

Ten minutes of him listening to her sobbing — sobbing.

He had been invited to stay the night after visiting Feyre and baby Nyx. Exhausted and rather than make the trek back to Jurian and Vassa, Lucien stayed. He stayed knowing he was spending an evening with his mate avoiding him like the plague per usual. But it was alright. He tried not to hold it against her. He let her have her space.

When she excused herself after dinner, Lucien’s eyes followed her as she left the room but with a quiet sigh, he returned to his meal.

“You know she doesn’t actually dislike you, right?” Feyre said with a small wince.

“I know.” Lucien replied, schooling his expression not to show his continuous disappointment. It needn’t be anyone else’s problem but his. “I’m pretty sure if she did, I wouldn’t be able to set foot in this house.”

“Now, now Lucien. You are a friend. You’re always welcome.” Rhys said then laughed when Lucien flipped him off.

“As mates, you both know exactly how well I can feel her emotions.” he said, his eyes on his plate. “I know she’s still going through things. So am I. We’ll eventually work through it.”

He didn’t bother to glance at Rhys or Feyre as he also excused himself. What Lucien didn’t add was even though they were both working through it, consistently being around her without properly talking to her left him in a constant state of agony.

But he’d dealt with worse. It would be fine. He’d had his eye carved out. He could handle Elain not wanting to talk to him until she was ready.

It was as Lucien started settling in for the evening that he sensed her distress. He was in his own rooms, upstairs, and on the other side of the house when a surge of emotion washed over him. The book in his hand immediately closed and he was on his feet and out the door before Lucien could stop himself.

The bond had yanked him here, rooting him in front of her room staring and wondering what in the devil was causing her to be this upset.

His face suddenly fell. Was it him being here? She had never reacted this badly to him. If this was how she really felt, he would free her from the bond right here, right now. He would never want to be with someone who fucken sobbed at the idea of being with him. He deserved better than that. So did she.

He’d reject the bond and his own psychological well-being be damned if it freed them both from the misery he was apparently causing her.

But then —

“I’m going to kill her.”

And Lucien straightened at the venomous tone and words very clearly not about him.

Her door suddenly flew open and a rage like he’d never seen before was found on Elain’s tear-stricken face.

“I’m going to kill her.” she repeated and it was as though she hadn’t seen Lucien at all until he cleared his throat.

“I’m unsure who it is you’re referring to, but I would probably rethink your murder plan.” he said gently. “It won’t do much for your soul.”

Finally seeming to realize who stood before her, Elain immediately straightened with a sniffle and wiped at her tears hastily. He watched her in slight amusement as she wrapped her robe further around herself and with a final sniff, looked at him with a stoic expression.

“What are you doing here?”

Lucien pursed his lips at the clipped tone. “I sensed your extreme distress and wanted to make sure you were alright.” he replied dryly. “Seeing as you’re planning a murder, I guess you’re fine.”

Elain scoffed. “Fine. Of course, I’m fine.” she choked out and Lucien raised a brow. “When am I ever not fine?”

Lucien blinked. Interesting. This development was interesting. She was actually talking to him in full sentences. And being snarky.

He gave her a once-over. “We both know you’re not fine. Which is why you avoid me so much because I know the depth of that.”

Elain’s face flushed and her lips went into a thin line. “There’s no need to bring that up.”

“Yes, of course.” he replied immediately, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Because that would mean you’d have to talk to me, and Cauldron forbid that happen.”

Elain blinked at him, surprise flashing across her face as her flush deepened. Lucien’s own face heated at what he’d said but shaking his head and taking a deep breath, he forced down his contempt. He had been two minutes away from rejecting the bond for her. He had to leave her before he said something else that was stupid.

Turning away from her slightly, he waved a hand. “Since you’re alright, I’ll take my leave then.” he said quietly. “Apologies for disturbing you.”

Lucien slowly walked away, clenching and unclenching his fists to calm his heart. He had almost reached the end of the hall when her voice called out to him.

“Do you read?”

He froze then turned to her slightly.

She was still standing in her doorway, a book now clenched tightly in her hands and looking at him like — Lucien swallowed. He wouldn’t read into her expression.

Turning, he slowly made his way back to her, his hands in his pockets and when he was one bedroom door away, he stopped to keep a healthy distance between them.

“Yes, I do. I enjoy reading.” he answered. “Do you?”

Elain looked down at the book in her hands and frowned, her lips trembling slightly. “Nesta was always the reader. I enjoyed reading here and there but…” she began and looked up at him. “Now that I seem to have forever to do things, I wanted to start reading more.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Based on the emotional breakdown you were having, I would wager you didn’t enjoy that particular read.”

Elain watched him quietly and Lucien tried not to read into the whirlwind of emotions seeming to charge out of her, especially when her lips trembled again, and her eyes started watering.

“He dies!” she blurted in a wheeze. “Six books! I've been reading this series for six books and after everything they’ve been through! Everything that has happened! They’re barely happy for two chapters and then he dies!”

Lucien blinked as she started crying. Or rather, tried not to cry as she sniffled and then sobbed.

“Oh.” he said stupidly and as understanding washed over him, his lips twitched.

“What’s the point? What’s the point if they’re not happily together in the end?!” she continued, her rant clearly not over as she angrily wiped away tears still streaming. “I’ve been rooting for them for six books! His death has no meaning!”

“Was it an important character?” he asked and the fury in her eyes almost made him take a step back.

“He was one of the main characters and the main love interest!” she growled. “I have been waiting for them to have their happily ever after for six books!”

He prayed to whatever gods were listening that he didn’t laugh.

“I see.” was all he could manage. “He was a favorite character of yours then?”

“He was the best.” she said with a small whine and quickly sniffled, glaring down at the book in question. “He was kind and loyal and he loved her so much! He was her perfect match.”

Lucien paused and the way she had said the words ‘perfect match’ erased his urge to laugh. Elain had clearly been committed to this fictional relationship. Should he...pat her on the back? It wasn’t like he could give her a hug. How does one mourn the loss of a fictional character?

“Well.” he finally said carefully. “The death was definitely done for shock value then.”

“Which is the stupidest reason to kill a character!” she snarled, and Lucien blinked rapidly, trying desperately not to let his amusement show.

“I agree but I mostly read nonfiction, so this is an uncharted territory of investment for me.”

“Nonfiction?” Elain said with a blink then sniffled. “That seems so boring.”

Lucien’s ears heated. “Nonfiction books are the easiest way to educate yourself on things. There’s nothing boring about that.” he said defensively. “Funny enough, some would say gardening is boring and you’ve invested all your time in that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, the look not really having the desired effect with the tear streaks on her face. “Don’t you go there.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Those gardening books you have count as nonfiction, you know.” he said with a snort and she squinted at him.

“Fair point, I guess.” she mumbled, and he watched as she glared at the book clenched tightly in her hands again. A moment of tense silence passed then Elain added, “I hate this thing. If I find the author, I will kill them.”

“I’d offer to burn it for you, but it seems the emotional damage has already been done.” he said, a small smile finding its way to his face as Elain continued to glare at the book. “May I ask, who suggested this series to you?”

And Elain glanced up, tear-stricken face furious. “Nesta.”

“Ah. So that’s who you planned to murder then?”

“Yes.”

And Lucien really couldn’t stop his smile from widening in amusement. “Might I also ask, how do you plan to do that?” he asked and her gaze snapped to his. “I’m only asking so when they question me, I have an alibi ready.”

Elain sniffled, wiping at her face but a ghost of a smile tugged on her own lips. “People underestimate gardening tools, but they hurt if you know where to strike.”

Lucien’s brow went up and then a quiet laugh slipped from his lips. “Unexpected answer but seemingly very you.”

Elain looked down at the book in her hand again. “And how do you know what I am or not?” she asked quietly.

“I’m very observant.”

A heartbeat of silence passed between them before Elain finally said, “Too observant.”

Lucien only shrugged, his heart going at an erratic rhythm. Their conversation had gone on longer than he had anticipated, and he didn’t want to do anything to risk spooking her. It was a strange dance between them. He wasn’t sure what tone it would take next.

But Elain surprised him once more. She frowned then without warning, stepped out of her doorway and whirled the book with all her might down the hall. It landed with a soft thud on the other side of the house.

Lucien blinked, eyeing how much closer she stood to him now.

“I’ll grab it tomorrow. I can’t stand it being in my room.” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “I’m going to beat Nesta over the head with it in the morning.”

Lucien’s lip twitched again. “I would support that plan as it would be a better one than murdering your own sister.”

Elain snorted. “After letting me get invested for six books only to have the main love interest die in the end?” she said, her eyes flashing. “She’s lucky I won’t.”

Lucien gave her a teasing smile. “As terrible as it is to say this, I’d pay good money to see you whack Nesta with a book.”

“I know she’s faster and stronger than me, but I’ll at least get one hit in.” she said, determination in her eyes. “The element of surprise will help.”

“I’ll cheer you on.” he said with a chuckle. “But also have Madja on call just in case.”

Elain looked at him curiously, a small smile on her face. “That doesn’t sound incredibly supportive.”

“If you’d like the fight to be fair, you’d probably need to train just a little.”

“I don’t want to be a fighter.” she snapped immediately, and Lucien’s brows shot up.

“I know.” he said simply. “Basic self-defense doesn’t require you to become a warrior.”

She glanced at him and her lips went into a thin line. “We’ve barely spoken in two years. How could you know that I don’t want to be a fighter when both of my sisters are? Why would I be different?”

“Because you are not your sisters. And again, I’m observant.” he replied curtly, and the familiar contempt flared up. “The only reason we haven’t spoken much in two years is because you don’t want to. I’ve respected that decision.”

The fight in her vanished at his response and instead, Elain shot him a slightly annoyed look. She crossed her arms again and the two stood there, in awkward silence. After a moment, she spoke.

“So what, you’d be willing to teach me basic self-defense?” she asked and Lucien quirked a brow.

“If that’s what you want, I’d be happy to do that.” he replied, crossing his own arms.

Elain assessed him and Lucien allowed it. It had been a long time since she’d stood before him and actually looked him in the eye.

But Elain ended up shaking her head and Lucien watched her expression shut down. “They’d just laugh at me if I suggested it.”

Lucien’s expression softened. “No one will laugh at you. I’m sure they’d love for you to learn to defend yourself.”

But Elain shook her head again and sighed. “I can’t win. I’m mocked for wanting a quiet life and then shut down if I try to take chances.” she said quietly.

Lucien’s hands dropped to his sides and his fists clenched. “I will tell you this once so please listen,” he began, and Elain’s brows furrowed. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to make changes to your life. You get to decide that and then just do it.”

Elain glanced at him. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, what do you want, Elain?” he asked and watched as her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment when her name slipped from his lips. His fists clenched again at his sides.

“What do I want?” she repeated, eyes still closed.

“Other than your favorite fictional character to have survived the series?” he said and smiled softly as a small smile emerged on her face.

“I want —” she began, eyes still closed, expression focused. “I want so many things.”

“Like what?” he asked softly, taking the time to memorize every inch of her face.

“I want to train a little. I want to travel. I want — I want to get to know you without everyone’s involvement.” she said quickly. “I want my choices to matter in everything.”

His heart started racing and when Elain opened her eyes, the flush in her cheeks matched Lucien’s, who could only stare at her with a barely managed intensity.

It took Lucien a few moments to find his voice again. “I’m not going to coddle you.” he said firmly. “If there is something you want to do, you can do it. You don't need my support to do anything but you will have it.”

Elain took a breath, her eyes scanning his face. “Good.”

“Great.” he agreed, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Without everyone’s involvement huh?”

Elain flushed. “You’re a mystery to me and everyone has opinions. I’d like to form my own.” she said then quickly added. “With zero expectations between us. Whatever happens will happen.”

Lucien nodded slowly. “Whatever happens will happen.” he repeated then gave her a small smile. “As soon as you’re done mourning your loss, we can begin. My condolences by the way.”

With an eye roll, Elain huffed a small laugh. “Oh, shut up.”

And Lucien smirked. “You’ll have to talk to me much more when we train, you are aware of that, yes?”

“Push your luck with your teasing, I dare you.”

Lucien’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “Don’t tempt me, I barely started.”

Elain fought back a smile then looked away from him with a sigh, curling a hair behind her ear, “For training,” she started, licking her lips. “Will...I need pants? Because I don’t have those.”

And every thought seemed to slip out of Lucien’s mind at the statement. The sheer innocence in it. The self-consciousness. She had no idea Lucien was barely holding on to his sanity as is.

He swallowed. “I’m sure Feyre can help you buy some training pants.”

“No!” she said immediately then flushed at his expression. “I don’t want anyone asking questions.”

Lucien chuckled. “Buying pants is a very normal thing, Elain. You shouldn’t be this worried.”

She bit her lip and Lucien had to look anywhere else until she very quietly asked, “Will you go with me then?”

He blinked at her, then swallowed. “To — to buy pants?”

“You said we haven’t talked because I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready.” she said and looked him in the eye. “I want to change that. Shopping allows some of the best conversations.”

He tilted his head, taking in the question and the challenge in her eyes. With a small smile, Lucien nodded. “Shopping it is.”

“Good. We can go tomorrow.”

“So demanding.”

“I’m making decisions.” she said with a firm nod, a small smile gracing her face.

“I can work with that.”

They watched each other for a few moments in silence before Elain finally looked away shyly again, making her way back to her bedroom door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow.” he confirmed with a nod. “I’ll even grab the book that shall not be named and hang on to it for safekeeping for you.”

Elain laughed softly. “Thank you.” she said then added quietly, “And thank you for checking on me. Even when you didn’t have to.”

He waved her off with a good-natured smile. “I was only following my instincts. It brought me to the right place.”

It brought me to you, is what he wanted to say but held back. They balanced a delicate line and Lucien didn’t want to burden her. But the small smile on Elain’s face as she waved goodnight and gently closed her bedroom door gave him the impression she heard it anyway.

Feeling lighter than he had in quite some time, Lucien made his way back to his room, stopping only to pick up the now-cursed book and taking it back with him. Closing his bedroom door behind him and leaning against it, Lucien realized then, he only had a few hours to mentally prepare himself to see Elain in pants for the first time.

Gods above, he was barely going to survive it.

#elucien #elucien fanfics #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #acotar fanfiction #I present to you: two idiots who don't know how to emotion around each other #Cue Lucien finally going back to Jurian and Vassa and just melting onto the couch #Lucien hoarsely: she wore pants for the first time #Jurian and Vassa: ?????#Lucien in a panic: PANTS. SHE TRIED ON SO MANY #Jurian just laughing himself to death.#Vassa trying to get him to tell what he said so can assess his flirting #fic: instincts #gfics

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wallpaper-inside-my-heart · 10 months

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You're losing me - Ianthony

Okay, so I know that I already rambled a bit about this one over on @beanie-twink s blog 😅

However

Listening to “You’re Losing Me” after that letter video hits even worse, so I need to talk about it again, in more detail!

"You say, "I don't understand," and I say, "I know you don't"

We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won't"

→ Anthony feeling the rift between them growing but also not really finding the tools to repair it

→ also the irony about this part of the letter

“But I don't think there is a point of no return for friendships as deep as ours was. I am reaching out to you as an ex-best friend. I want to talk about things and lay them all out there so we can possibly mend things.”

→ and him never actually reaching out to fix it

(not meant to blame him here, it was obvi very complicated; just pointing out the parallel)

"Remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light

Now, I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time"

→ just the whole image of them creating smosh together, sharing their apartment for a while and then also the office space that Defy made available to them when they sold the company to them and how amazed they were at the professionalism back then

→ and all of that just turning more and more bleak over the years, as the work demands and exhaustion accumulated

→ but also with him now describing Ian as the sun! and the room loosing its light just like he was loosing his friendship with Ian!!!

(I am so normal about all the metaphor opportunities Anthony has created for us with that simple comparison!!)

"Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?

I'm getting tired even for a phoenix

Always risin' from the ashes

Mendin' all her gashes

You might just have dealt the final blow"

→ so while part of this chorus still fit Anthony so well!

→ like him mourning leaving the company behind that he built with his best friend

→ I also want to talk about how well this fits Ian again!

→ not at the same time, but especially during the defy collapse

→ like in such a short amount of time he had lost both his best friend and it was looking like he was going to loose his company as well

→ just imagining how much it must have hurt for the universe to treat him so horribly back then

→ and how he had to keep fighting and reinventing both himself and the channel → aka a sort of rebirth/phoenix situation → again sun/fire symbolism!

"Stop, you're losin' me

I can't find a pulse

My heart won't start anymore for you

'Cause you're losin' me"

→ I don’t even know what to say

→ like to me this just summarizes the letter and Anthony’s apparent emotional state prior to leaving really well

"Every mornin', I glared at you with storms in my eyes

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?

I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick

My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick"

→ this verse just explaining all the resentment that was building up in anthony and how he wanted Ian to actually react to what he was doing

→ especially regarding the part where he mentioned the failed conversation attempt about his bad ex-relationship

→ and Ian just not knowing how to react and in general continuing to act (and maybe even believe) that they were still fine

"And the air is thick with loss and indecision"

→ the perceived loss of the friendship and him being unsure whether he should finally leave or not

"I know my pain is such an imposition"

→ Anthony writing in the letter about worrying if he ever put Ian through emotional turmoil

"Now, you're runnin' down the hallway

And you know what they all say

"You don't know what you got until it's gone""

→ I feel like the last line can be both read towards Ian → in the sense that he didn’t realize what it would be like without anthony around or more precisely him not expecting them to just “looe” all contact with eachother

→ and also how valuable Anthony was to him as both friend and creative partner

→ but it also fits so well with Anthony saying this to himself

→ since he talked about how he didn’t realize “how important Ian really was for what smosh was able to accomplish” until he managed to get some distance from the situation

"[...]

"Who only wanted you to see [him]"

→ all this time Anthony just wanted Ian to recognize what he did without ridiculing it

(again, no blame either side, I’m just referring to the following line: “The snide remarks about anything I made that put my true emotions out there for the world”)

"And I'm fadin', thinkin'

"Do something, babe, say something"

"Lose something, babe, risk something"

"Choose something, babe, I got nothing"

"To believe, unless you're choosin' me""

→ Anthony asking Ian to leave smosh with him; to risk just leaving it all behind

→ and then seeing Ians refusal to “choose him” as the sign that the friendship he had once believed to exist between them had now faded beyond recognition...

#I need other ppl to feel these emotions with me!!#so I'm finally getting this one out of the drafts it's been sitting in since the letter video was posted #ianthony #taylor swift #lyric analysis #☀️🔎#ianthony song rec

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atsadi-shenanigans · 4 months

Text

Feeding Alligators 22 - Swamp People

Rated M for language and violence (eventually for smut)(this puts the slow in slow burn).

On AO3.

Morning greets you hunched and miserable on your bedroll. Your hands tremble and your head aches even worse than usual. But that, at least, is from a known source: the six cups of tea you’ve had in the last three hours.

Gale’s chatting still makes sense, so you’ve got that going for you. Neither of you are sure how long it’ll hold, though.

Your tunic is, indeed, fucked beyond all saving. You’re glad Shadowheart helped you out of your stays before you fell asleep.

Your head buzzes when you stand. You have to walk carefully over to seat yourself properly in front of the fire, closer to where Gale putzes around with breakfast. Some kind of eggs thing. You’re both insanely wired, and insanely head-empty exhausted. It’s a peculiar blend that means you spend all of breakfast quiet and by yourself. You rouse only long enough to glare at Astarion when he emerges, fucking chipper as hell. Bastard.

Once everyone has downed their eggs and potato hash, and are taking a moment before gearing up, you say, “Thank y’all. For, y’know, not letting me die.”

“So long as it doesn’t happen again,” Shadowheart says, glancing over to where Astarion has plonked down on his pile of pillows with a book.

“I’m just sorry it came to that,” Gale says, again. And then he piles more food onto your plate and gives you a look.

You take a few bites—using your hands, because silverware is too slow. He seems really caught in that net, and his guilt makes you feel guilt and you know how vicious this cycle can get. You’re bemoaning the need for another outrageously expensive tunic when the idea strikes.

You’ve been pretty quiet and pretty serious around the others, for the most part (Astarion being the exception, because the bastard has a way of getting under your skin) (the irony of that thought is not lost to you). They still seem fine with you. Haven’t kicked you out or made you feel small or stupid. Hell, they were ready to force Astarion out when they thought he mauled you in the night. Maybe you can let that facade crack a little. Maybe you can test the waters.

“So you’uns knew about the whole vampire thing and didn’t tell me,” you say, keeping your voice level.

Shadowheart chews her food. Looks to Gale. Who coughs into his hand.

“I wasn’t, ah, entirely sure how you would react,” he says. “If you could keep a secret.”

He hems and haws. You have a pretty good idea what he wants to say next, and trade a look with Shadowheart. Neither of you bail him out.

“Or that you could, if we’re being strictly honest, could contribute in a fight should it come to that,” he finally manages. Bless his little heart.

You nod and chew. “So you let me be the bait.”

Ooh, that’s a wince. You don’t want to push it too far, though.

“As I said, I take full responsibility. If there’s anything I can do to make up for it, you only need to ask.”

You hum. Can feel Shadowheart’s full attention. “Anything?”

Gale blinks. Frowns. “I may have left that statement too open to interpretation.”

“How about an ‘I’m sorry’ in the form of twenty gold pieces?” you say. Which was enough to buy your currently ruined tunic. The one you owed Gale for.

He looks at you, and the Dread starts to writhe in your guts. You pushed it too far. Were too demanding and obnoxious and arrogant. Been too much again.

Then he chuckles. Lifts his eyebrows. “A clever dealmaker, you are. I believe I find that more than fair, good lady. Would you like the payment in coin, or shall I simply forget about your tab?”

“Tab, please.”

And just like that, you’re free of debt. And you get to watch Shadowheart smile. If she were less reserved, or if it was a thing in Faerun, you’re pretty sure you could give her a high five.

“That’s the spirit!” Astarion hollers from across camp because he’s got fucking super hearing. “Always press your advantage!”

“You would know!” you holler back. Asshole.

Still. There’s warmth in your chest for the first time since you woke up on the butthole ship. The first, baby shoots of tentative connection to these people. If you’re careful, if you nurture this and nothing goes wrong, you might be able to grow this into—maybe, possibly—potential friendship? Hopefully you’re not reaching too far there.

***

So of course things go immediately wrong.

The swamp is nice. Full of light and flowers and frogs. No leeches, and more shockingly, no snakes. There’s even some sheep roaming around for some reason. You find one standing in the path. Only once you get close, you catch how the thing moves. It’s wrong. A weird jittering, discombobulated tremor. That thing is seriously diseased.

The sheep looks at you. It bah’s.

And that is the most fucked up sound you’ve ever heard come from an animal. Something is desperately wrong. The tadpole in your brain jigs like a worm on a hook, and you’re pretty sure it bites your optical nerve. Because after your skull lights up in pain, the swamp warps.

No sunlight or butterflies here. It’s entirely gray and green, hazy and reeking of death and methane. And that’s not a goddamn sheep, but some ugly fucking gnome or something, standing there, staring at you with beady eyes and needle teeth.

“Uh,” you say. You don’t think it realizes you can see it. So you do the only thing you can think of, and go “baaah” back.

You catch Astarion’s little giggle from the back of the group.

The fugly gnome scowls and spits (literally sprays) a louder, “Baaahhh!” before stomping off. Leaving y’all ankle deep in muck and flies.

“Everyone else saw that, right?” you say.

“Only too well,” Gale says.

Then the wind shifts and something reeks.

***

The man is alone. Pointy beard, long hair braided on the sides. The stink roils off him. He slows as y’all near, and stops outright when he catches glimpse of all y’all. His hands are empty, but the butt of a crossbow peeks over his shoulder.

“Hello there,” he says. Lifts a hand in greeting. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else around these parts.”

You try to nod and wave while not breathing. He must notice the struggle, though, because the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile. “Sorry about the smell. Powdered ironvine. Helps any monsters to think twice before taking a bite out of me.”

“A monster hunter,” Astarion says, suddenly at your side. He gives the man a look over, and his nose wrinkles in disgust. “And a Gur.”

He’s usually, well, polite isn’t the right word. But more subdued to people he thinks are a waste of his time—he spends that time stealing pillows from refugees, apparently. You’ve never seen him so upfront about his hostility before. At least not directly to someone’s face.

“Gur?” you say.

“Oh, the absolute worst,” the man says. “We sneak in during the night to spoil your crops, sour your milk, and steal away your daughters.”

“And here I thought you merely settled for being vagrants and cutthroats,” Astarion says.

You shoot him a what the fuck look. This all sounds depressingly familiar.

The man sighs. The eye crinkles smooth a bit, but don’t disappear entirely. “I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I’m a simple wanderer and monster hunter. No cutthroats here. My name is Gandrel.”

Astarion still hasn’t lost his sneer. Pretty rich, him getting so snobby about this random guy when y’all’s party had a secret vote on whether to kick him out or kill him.

“You hunting a swamp monster?” you say. Because y’all are, in fact, in the middle of a swamp. And Faerun has demonstrated quite painfully that there are literal monsters that will literally bite you.

Astarion gasps theatrically. Even covers his mouth with the tips of his fingers. “Oh, it must be something terrifying, darling. A dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?”

Why does that last one have a tone? And why the hell is he being such an ass?

“Nothing so dramatic I’m afraid,” Gandrel says. “I’m hunting a vampire spawn. His name is Astarion.”

The words slap all thought out of your head. You stand there and your hands begin to tingle. Turn just enough to make out how very calm Astarion looks. In face, that is. His right hand hitches up towards the knife at his belt. His grin has gone all brittle around the edges. The man is practically vibrating. Then he looks to you. And there’s a question in his eyes. One tinged with worry.

“I fear he’s gone to ground,” Gandrel says, completely oblivious to the internal cataclysm he’s just caused. “I hope the hag of these lands can flush him out. If I can afford her blood price, that is.”

You’re so tired. The weak tea caffeine is a flimsy barrier between you and crushing exhaustion. You can feel it closing in, squeezing all around you like a submarine at too great a depth. The exhaustion searching for some weakness, the tiniest crack to crush you.

“Hag?” you say. When in doubt, make people explain.

A rustle as Lae’zel shifts behind you. She’s angling to get a clear shot between her and the man without taking you out in between.

“You’ve never heard of a hag?” Gandrel says.

“I was really sheltered.”

“Ah, I see.” His face says he clearly does not. But he goes along with it. “Terrible creatures, hags. Very powerful, and very cunning. You’d best steer clear of this one. I would leave myself, if I weren’t truly desperate.”

“Why would you be so intent on a vampire spawn?” Astarion says.

“Orders from the headwoman of my tribe.”

You wouldn’t notice Astarion’s twitch if he wasn’t right beside you. The sneering, biting Astarion is gone. He’s been replaced with what you’re beginning to suspect is his favorite mask: casual confidence papering over intense wariness.

“You here to kill him?” you say.

You feel Astarion’s glance burning the side of your face. He left you high and dry last night. Didn’t even apologize this morning. The group has already demonstrated how willing they are to cast him out, and the last thing y’all need right now is more trouble.

Gandrel shakes his head, though, another, easy chuckle on his lips. “Not this time, no. I’m here to capture, not to kill.”

“And bring him where, exactly?” Astarion says.

“Baldur’s Gate. My people wait for me there.”

Everyone has a life outside of this shitshow. Families and friends, cultural networks and enemies and histories. And a tribal man, a hunter, is dispatched specifically for Astarion.

“Please, there’s no need to be so alarmed,” Gandrel says, mistaking y’all’s tension for an entirely different kind. “At least not during daylight hours. We’re safe enough for now. But do know this: though a spawn is weaker than its master, that’s only in comparison to a true horror. Come sundown, you couldn’t seek out a more dangerous quarry. They’re vicious, starving creatures with the full intelligence of a thinking creature. You would do well to take this threat seriously.”

“Indeed, they are,” Astarion says. His voice has gone all silky in a way that lifts the hairs on the back of your neck and sends alarm bells clanging. “We should do something about this threat.”

He’s going to kill this guy.

You are bone-achingly exhausted. Maybe a minute or two from sitting right down in the mud and conking out whether you want to or not. Your eyeballs feel dry, and you have to keep blinking just to keep them open. You do not have anything in you for some stupid fight with this man.

And this Gandrel has a tribe, has a headwoman. Those might not mean the same things as where you come from, but they strike close enough to home. You do not want to see this man dead.

You smile at Astarion in your best PTA mom-supervising-a-toddler benevolence. And it’s enough that his eyes narrow.

“We’ll trust you to take first watch,” you say. “In case the threat wanders to our camp.”

Not here, you’re trying to say. Not at all, unless he actually comes after you.

“See that you do,” Gandrel says. “The wilds can be exceptionally dangerous, even without spawn on the loose.”

“Thank you.” You angle yourself between him and Astarion. Hope that can soothe Astarion’s ruffled feathers enough he doesn’t start anything. “We need to be going. But good luck with that hag. Don’t give her your hair or your teeth, yeah?”

Because a hag sounds a lot like a witch, and not the White people pagan kind.

Gandrel smiles again and nods.

“What?” Astarion says far too loud for your liking. “That’s it? We’re just walking away?”

“Unless you’re volunteering to go with him? Watch his back and all? He’s got his own business to deal with, and it sounds like it’ll be nasty. We’ll all be careful.”

He settles into a glower. His jaw works a few times. The, “Fine. But if this comes back to bite us, it’ll be on your head.”

“Go in peace, my friends,” Gandrel says. Gives you a look you know, a sort of recognition. “I’ll be sure to keep my hair. I pray our paths cross again in good luck and good bounty.”

“They better bloody not,” Astarion says. This time quiet enough that you don’t think Gandrel—who appears to be human—catches it.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #it's a goddamn isekai #i'm not sorry #no betas we die like men #feeding alligators fic #tavstarion #slow burn #plus size tav #demisexual tav #dumbasses #they're doing their best

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fakeosirian · 1 year

Text

post-school school/career headcanons (non-exhaustive, will make a part two eventually), for your consideration:

nina goes to undergrad for literature with a concentration in creative writing. hasn't picked a medium yet, and regardless it's not like making it in screenwriting is that much easier than traditional publishing, so she writes by night and is an office temp by day (she is aware of the irony of being the "permanent new girl" as a job description. it was funny the first time someone pointed it out. the first time.)

fabian gets a bachelor's in history and immediately goes to grad school for...library/information science. he has to spend a good bit explaining to people that yes, that's a real major, and no, "the books don't start reacting with each other -- a science is a system of ideas, not just when something blows up." he works as a TA and is torn between if he wants to stay in academia or find more "practical" work (this is where i mention this is background work for a story where he goes back to the school to teach <3)

amber might go to a post-secondary fashion school, but even if she does, she's absolutely going for the connections and dropping out the second she gets an industry job, most likely in nyc (which considering how well off she is...probably didn't take long). idk she's thriving (though if she's surrounded by work/kind of by herself socially i could see her getting to a breaking point and claiming she needs roommates to afford rent (lie) just so she can have people around lol)

patricia actually DOES become a guidance counselor. LOL. i can't resist this one -- more specifically, i could see her going to a liberal arts undergrad without a direction in mind but knowing she "needs to figure one out," taking a couple psychology classes, realizing She Cares, declaring a major in psych, and after discounting the clinical track (too close to med school) and the research track (too creepy), she ends up working on an MA in social work

alfie seems like a guy who would have his fingers in like 5 different pies at all times -- depending on who he's talking to/if he feels he needs to impress them, he says one of the following: "business partner" (jerome's business -- more on that later -- alfie's more of an ideas/production guy than a """business guy""" but you don't need to know that if he's telling you this), freelance film crew (prop master/art department), Professional Artist (has a studio where he makes the stuff he uses for his various pursuits), comic author (i feel like he has a weird janky webcomic he makes for himself. i can't explain it. he has a couple thousand readers), etc. he's always picking up a new thing and finding a way to use it until he gets bored and does something else. he just tells his dad "jerome and i are making A Profit" to keep him off his back

speaking of jerome: i've always been fond of the idea that he and his dad go into business together at some point, so it'd be some sort of thing they could do together that alfie's artistic skills would be of use for. despite the fact that jerome very much would like to bend some rules here and there, his dad is not keen on the idea of going back to prison so unfortunately, no white collar crimes for him. (for now.) they're doing well all things considered, but jerome refuses to get a job to fund the business ("what's the point in doing all this if i'm going to let someone else be my boss anyway"), so he's definitely having to find creative ways to squeeze more money out of the business to, y'know. Survive

i'm not 100% settled on this joy idea but communications/PR? definitely gets her start somewhere more corporate, but i could see her getting creeped out by stuff she'd have to spin/help cover for, so she switches to nonprofit (which is also depressing, arguably moreso sometimes, but it's a bit easier to stomach). isn't directly involved in jerome's business, but she does "consult" (not without something in return. preferably, y'know. Money. but sometimes she starts a casual conversation without realizing she should have written up a contract first, and that's the only way that jerome will actually pay you)

#house of anubis #hoa #hoa headcanons #will add mara mick eddie kt willow later i have ideas but theyre not fully formed and this needs to get OUT of my drafts

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beetrootbug · 1 year

Text

So maybe you can relax a little?

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

i've come back from my cave to support a friend here, @tide30 (bare with me, i just got back from a long trip)

Now i'm not in the owl house fandom, but my friend is. They recently made a post about how they disagree with a ship, not because of the ship inherently, but rather those who ship it, as they tend to be a bit weird about it. The ship in question was hunter x willow. Now as i stated, i have no connection to the owl house fandom, so i don't think it's appropriate for me to comment on the ship per say, but i wanted to talk more about how people reacted to my friend's statement. They were very adamant about the fact that they weren't hating and this was simply a criticism of the fandom, and yet those who liked the ship got really upset and excused them of being a "straight ship hater". Which, i don't think i really need to address how much of a reach this is? I think my friend has since deleted the post (and i don't blame them) but the post they made essentially proved their criticism of the fandom, that they were being weird about this ship. This is a reminder to all that if you come across criticism you absolutely can refute it, but you mustn't confuse it for hate, and i know that this is hard. But if it really made you that upset, just keep scrolling, please. The more you interact the more you shall receive, so try to stay away from it. Also, you could be hurting someone greatly through your reaction, so please keep that in mind if you do choose to comment. Also ALSO try to remember that a of people post here more so as a void to scream into, it doesn't justify if they've said something wrong, but it does in fact give context.

if you want my personal take: shipping is exhausting when it's in a fandom. And i try to stay away from it. I generally try to ship things as a joke, and as far as genuine ships go, i'll try to do that only for my ocs. Of course there are ship i end up actually being fond of, but it's always a hint of irony in there

Also i'm a raging ace aro, so that also has something to do with my certain dislike of shipping.

okay byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

#shipping discourse #this is tiring #tw #toh #hunter x willow #please be civil i beg/srs #i honestly want to make a post about all the ships that leave a sour taste in my mouth and why that's so but i'm scared i'll get crucified #sorry tide for not doing this sooner i was completely unaware of all of this #stay safe and have a wonderful day!#DRINK WATER TOUCH GRASS/hj #please dont hate me but if you do i dont blame you tbh/hj #ace aro #found a way to incorporate into an unrelated my sexuality lets gooooooooo /hj

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cdreamscumrag · 6 months

Note

“No, no, no. It’s a good plan, Wilbur,” Tommy said, idly kicking at the sandy dirt around the burger van, “You just look like a dumbass building a road no-one will use.” He looked up and waited for a reaction. The afternoon was hot and the sun was high in the sky. Wilbur sweltered as he placed metre upon metre of black, bubbling concrete powder into the desert sands. The thermostat was his enemy and the city in the distance shimmered like a mirage. It was a simple plan in his mind. To build a diversion away from Quackity to his burger van, a more appetising meal for the tired wanderer in the deserts of Las Nevadas. Served hot, medium rare and non-fungible. The people would simply rejoice, flocking from far and wide to get a taste of the succulent steak, grilled with american cheese, crispy red onions, lettuce and a single tomato. At least he hoped it was. Wilbur had tried Las Nevadas’ burgers before and they were good. Very good. Ranboo would surely be able to compete but he needed the correct marketing and to devote his energy to the right places. He would show Quackity who was really the mastermind figurehead. The only problem he faced was inaccessibility and infrastructure. “Shut up, Tommy” He spat, kneeling as he smoothed out another air bubble from his road “People will use it. I asked around, everyone said they’d come buy from Wilburger they just didn’t know where it was." “It’s because they don’t want you to fucking blow them up again.” Tommy muttered. Wilbur chose to ignore this. “It’s because they don’t want Quackity to have a monopoly, actually, Tommy.” Wilbur was visibly exhausted despite little work progress “They understand the dangers of an uncompetitive economy.” “You’re an uncompetitive economy, prick.” Tommy retorted proudly, his smile wiping quickly off his face as Wilbur turned and looked up at him, his eyes casting daggers. “What‽” Tommy whined, “Jesus Christ I’m so bored. You haven’t even served a single burger in the entire time you’ve been doing this van thing.” Wilbur paused his progress and dropped his weight onto both his palms pressed into the sand. “Just get me more concrete, Tommy.” He said quietly. Tommy did not respond. Wilbur turned his head sharply, squinted up into the sun behind Tommy’s silhouette and waited. The silhouette nodded and scampered back to the supply tent down the hill. It had been 4 hours but felt like 10. At least a dozen scorpions had been disturbed in Wilbur’s construction and a king cobra almost brought a sour end to the efforts but still Wilbur persisted. The road would be phenomenal. Wilbur’s Jacket and socks sat in a damp sweaty pile on the junction as he worked smoothing out a stubborn bulge on the edge of the road. Tommy brought him his concrete. Tommy also brought Wilbur a glass of water. Wilbur took both and said nothing. Tommy paused and walked quietly back to the van.

Across the sands in the city, Quackity would watch Wilbur from atop the needle restaurant. He wore a suit, no tie and idly fiddled with a poker chip he took for his own during the casino’s construction. He saw no threat in Wilbur’s activities. So why did he still feel a twinge of stress in his temples whenever he would set up his next competitive venture? Quackity could not determine whether it was guilt, jealousy or simply annoyance at this proverbial fly buzzing ‘round his soup. He chose to hatch a plan. You see, the mind has a strange way of making one want to react even in situations where to remain idle would benefit it. The mind always wants to throw water on the grease fire, pull-up into an aerodynamic stall and pick at the scab. Quackity always felt a desire to react to his nemesis. Wilbur would receive Quackity’s summons not long after laying the halfway point of his road in early evening. The irony that Wilbur would be invited inside into a cold Las Nevadas restaurant just as the sweltering sun crested over the hill and began disappearing into the horizon was not lost on him. He smiled and chuckled into a cough before hoisting to his feet and strolling up towards the city lights.

Girl I’m not reading all that

#wish the freaks could be creative #amber answers

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moononastring · 3 years

Text

Instincts [ Elucien ]

This takes place post-ACOSF.

Lucien had been rooted to his spot in front of her bedroom door for about 10 minutes now.

10 minutes of him listening to her sobbing — sobbing.

When she excused herself after dinner, Lucien’s eyes followed her as she left the room but with a quiet sigh, he returned to his meal.

“You know she doesn’t actually dislike you, right?” Feyre said with a small wince.

“I know.” Lucien replied, schooling his expression to not show his continuous disappointment. It needn’t be anyone else’s problem but his. “I’m pretty sure if she did, I wouldn’t be able to set foot in this house.”

“Now, now Lucien. You are a friend. You’re always welcome.” Rhys said then laughed when Lucien flipped him off.

“As mates, you both know exactly how well I can feel her emotions.” he said, his eyes on his plate. “I know she’s still going through things. So am I. We’ll eventually work through it.”

He didn’t bother to glance at Rhys or Feyre as he also excused himself. What Lucien didn’t add was even though they’re both working through it, consistently being around her without properly talking to her left him in a constant state of agony.

But he’d dealt with worse. It would be fine. He’d had his eye carved out. He could handle Elain not wanting to talk to him until she was ready.

The bond had yanked him here, rooting him in front of her room staring and wondering what in the devil was causing her to be this upset.

He’d reject the bond and his own psychological wellbeing be damned if it freed them both from the misery he was apparently causing her.

But then —

“I’m going to kill her.”

And Lucien straightened at the venomous tone and words very clearly not about him.

Her door suddenly flew open and a rage like he’d never seen before was found on Elain’s tear-stricken face.

“I’m going to kill her.” she repeated and it was as though she hadn’t seen Lucien at all until he cleared his throat.

“I’m unsure who it is you’re referring to, but I would probably rethink your murder plan.” he said gently. “It won’t do much for your soul.”

“What are you doing here?”

Elain scoffed. “Fine. Of course, I’m fine.” she choked out and Lucien raised a brow. “When am I ever not fine?”

Lucien blinked. Interesting. This development was interesting. She was actually talking to him in full sentences. And being snarky.

He gave her a once-over. “We both know you’re not fine. Which is why you avoid me so much because I know the depth of that.”

Elain’s face flushed and her lips went into a thin line. “There’s no need to bring that up.”

“Yes, of course.” he replied immediately, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Because that would mean you’d have to talk to me, and Cauldron forbid that happen.”

Turning away from her slightly, he waved a hand. “Since you’re alright, I’ll take my leave then.” he said quietly. “Apologies for disturbing you.”

Lucien slowly walked away, clenching and unclenching his fists to calm his heart. He had almost reached the end of the hall when her voice called out to him.

“Do you read?”

He froze then turned to her slightly.

She was still standing in her doorway, a book now clenched tightly in her hands and looking at him like — Lucien swallowed. He wouldn’t read into her expression.

Turning, he slowly made his way back to her, his hands in his pockets and when he was one bedroom door away, he stopped to keep a healthy distance between them.

“Yes, I do. I enjoy reading.” he answered. “Do you?”

Elain looked down at the book in her hands and frowned, her lips trembling slightly. “Nesta was always the reader. I enjoyed reading them here and there but…” she began and looked up at him. “Now that I seem to have forever to do things, I wanted to start reading more.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Based on the emotional breakdown you were having, I would wager you didn’t enjoy that particular read.”

Elain watched him quietly and Lucien tried not to read into the whirlwind of emotions seeming to charge out of her, especially when her lips trembled again, and eyes started watering.

Lucien blinked as she started crying. Or rather, tried not to cry as she sniffled then sobbed.