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astroboots · 6 months

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period sex with soft marc☹️☹️🥺🥺 him being so sweet n praising you😭😭😭😭 hed take such good care of you<3 i need him

Take Care of Me

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Content: explicit as fuck. Period sex, Marc's competence in overdrive.

Word count: 3k words

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS' MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

Painful is an understatement.

If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human biology this is how you might describe it:

Imagine a battalion of tiny sumo wrestlers duking it out inside your uterus.

Imagine a never-ending game of tag between a horde of stomp-happy elephants using your stomach as the running ground.

Imagine the two allegories combined, but multiple it with three, and imagine having it every month from the time you're a young adolescent until (if you're lucky and god is merciful) it will end when you're in your fifties.

As you lie in your bed, curled up with a hot water bottle tucked to your lower belly, and whine into your pillow, you are convinced that this is some kind of divine punishment. You must have been bathing in virgin's blood to retain youth in a past life. Because you don't know what else you could've done to deserve this. And if you weren't, then if there is a god in heaven, they had better beg for your forgiveness when you get there.

"Want me to make you a cuppa love?"

You drag your face from where it's buried in the pillow to peek up at Steven's worried face.

Big brown eyes gaze down at you with so much concern, he must think you are on your death bed. He's been taking care of you all day. Pampering, coddling, and fussing over you.

He's been refilling your tea before you have time to even empty the cup. Reheating the hot water bottle every twenty minutes before it even has a chance to drop in temperature.

It's incredibly sweet. But you're so tea-ed out at the moment, you think 90% of your body composition is tea at this point.

"'m good."

He frowns, biting down on his lip, and you can sense his worry from bed. "If you don't want tea maybe some hot chocolate? I can even toast some marshmallows on top and I have a packet of biscuits."

You consider his generous proposal for a second or two.

In all honesty, you feel too sick even for chocolate, but you have a feeling that turning down chocolate will truly make Steven think you're dying and try to call the ambulance. So instead you answer, "that sounds lovely Steven."

His whole face brightens up, and he leaps to his feet and darts towards the kitchen.

You close your eyes to the raucous sound of pots and pans being pulled out. In the background, the sound of something crashing clanks out from the direction of the kitchen. It's followed by Steven's familiar comforting voice cursing "bugger" and "oh no," but you're too tired to check for yourself what's going on, as you drift off to sleep.

In your dream, you're wrapped in a comforting warmth. There's a gentle pressure on your stomach and limbs that takes all the pain away. Strong and tender, all at once, you want to linger in this sensation forever.

It's not forever, of course. But your nap lasts long enough that you get a bit of respite from the pain. When you wake again, it's to the distinct smell of burnt sugar lingering in the air.

Strong hands traverse over your hips and stomach, kneading at your sore and aching muscles with a perfect pressure that feels like heaven.

He's sitting at the foot of your bed, with a posture so upright, it's almost militant. The man doesn't need to open his mouth with his Chicagoan accent for you to know it's Marc who's sitting next to you right now.

"Where's Steven?" you ask.

"Put him on a time out. Nearly burnt down the place, trying to torch some marshmallows."

You smile at the image Marc is painting for you. That explains the burnt smell.

"How are you feeling," Marc asks. His hand roams from your stomach to the plane of your thighs. It has everything tingle pleasantly inside of you.

"Better," you tell him. "It feels really good when you do that."

His hand stills for a second, eyes drifting to his own hands. "Want me to keep going?"

You barely have to nod before he starts up again. Large hands covering the insides of your thighs as he presses down with just the right amount of strength.

The sensation spikes across your nerves and rides up your spine until the tense knot in your stomach that has been terrorizing you all day unfurls.

You gasp at the sensation, back arching into his touch for more. "There, there, don't stop."

It's maddening how good it feels. Marc knows your body like a map of a continent that he's explored every corner of. His hand drifts ever so slightly, fine-tuning his touch that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

It's the relief you've been begging for all day. Each press of his hand erasing the blunt ache that's been digging into your flesh since you woke up this morning.

That large hand of his, smooths over your bare stomach. The sweet warmth of it soothing any leftover pain that is still there until he cups over the soft fabric of your underwear and replaces it with an altogether different ache that has you squirming and squeezing your legs together.

His hand stills. "You want me to stop?"

"No!" you shout, louder than you intended or expected.

You clutch at his wrists to keep them on you. You're pretty sure that if Marc stopped touching you, you'd combust and die from frustration on the stop. Pretty sure that whatever the equivalent of blue balls is for ovaries is about to descend upon you.

"No, I just..." you flounder for a minute, not entirely sure what to say. Face warm as you say try to find the words. You don't know why the thought is so mortifying to you.

"I'm on my period." You manage to mutter out.

Marc cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. He looks genuinely puzzled at what you've just told him. "I know...so?"

"It'll make a mess," you tell him, and you don't know how he's so casual about this. God knows your neat-freak of a boyfriend hates a mess. "I don't want to ick you out".

Ick him out? Why do you sound like a kid on the playground talking about cooties?

There's no worry in Marc's eyes as he observes you. None of the big round doe-like eyes of Steven. His eyes are narrowed, honed in on your face.

"Fuck the mess," he says.

There's a simmering heat in his voice as he says it that makes everything between your legs slick and achy as he leans even closer to you. "I want to make you feel better. You okay with that?"

You nod and the tip of his fingers skirts the edge of your panties before slipping inside. Despite your earlier embarrassment at the idea, your breath stutters with anticipation.

You're so fucking wet. Slick and hot, as his thumb presses down and has sharp electricity crackle down your spine. You find yourself spreading your legs wider for him, and Marc is more than happy to take it as an invitation.

Two fingers slide inside you, filling you perfectly, until you realize you feel a slickness trickle down the heel of Marc's hand.

"Fuck, Marc-- wait, it's--" you squeak in alarm as you feel it drip between your legs. "It's gonna get on the bed."

He doesn't stop, fingers continuing its languid pace on your clit, as he keeps stroking it to the pace of his liking. His mouth is on your neck, hot and humid as he murmurs into your skin.

"You really think a little blood is gonna keep me out of that pretty little pussy? Open up for me baby, let me take care of you."

And god...

You do. Of course you do, you'd do anything Marc asks and wants from you when he speaks to you in that tone and register. Your legs spread even further, tilting into his doting touch as he slides his fingers deeper.

Heat simmer all along the length of your spine, brandishing it with pleasure that has you struggling for breath.

His other hand comes to cup your face, while his fingers are still busy circling and gently strumming at your clit. He makes it seem so effortless as he does it.

There's no hesitation in his movements, two fingers bracketing your clit and he gently slides and teases you there that has that all familiar warmth already furling in your lower abdomen. Insistent and never rushed, you feel his fingers everywhere, until he brushes over something devastatingly good that has your vision go white for a brief moment.

"That's it baby, you're alright. So good for me, you don't have to think about anything else. All I need is for you to feel good. Come on my hand," his voice rasps in your ear.

Smooth and calming. Loving and commanding.

You don't stand a chance.

It's all it takes.

You drown in it, your climax claiming your limbs as the sensation streaks down your legs and wraps around your bones. You shake and jolt in his arms but he holds you there to him, not letting you pull away as you squirm away from the overstimulation and makes you ride the high against the palm of his reassuring hand.

He comforts you through it. All gentle caresses and soothing hushes as he presses his soft lips on your forehead.

"That's my good fucking girl."

Through the haze of your bliss, you reach for him. One finger hooking onto his belt to drag him closer.

You're too out of it to fully register what you're doing or properly express what you want. All you know is you want more of him. More of Marc. More of his sturdy firm weight on you. The warmth of his skin pressed against you. Of him, inside you.

"Want my cock baby?"

You nod, and much like before, Marc immediately complies.

He always does. Never does deny you of anything.

One hand comes to the front of his jeans, and you don't have to wait long for him as he pulls himself free of his jeans. Cock hard, and jutting up proudly that has you salivating at the sight of it.

Gripping his cock in one hand, Marc kneels over you, notching the fat tip against your entrance. The moment you feel him, you forget about any shred of hesitation you had just moments earlier about making a mess.

Because right now you don't care if you ruin Steven's sheets and leave a crime scene behind you. Every single thought in your mind has been replaced by the overarching need to have this man inside you.

He leans over, arms bracketing you in as he presses into you, stretching you, inch by perfect, beautiful, fucking, inch that has you seeing stars even in the daylight.

You feel him everywhere, every slow thrust and cant of his hips pressed so deeply into you, you're not sure you can breathe. You cling to every inch of him, legs wrapped around his waist, not wanting to let go but not sure you can take more of him either.

Full, you feel so fucking full.

"Too much?" Marc asks, eyes examining you, making sure you're alright.

You don't know how to answer him. It is a lot. So much, with all of him, every perfect inch of him filling you to capacity. It's too much and yet you want all of it and more. Want more and want him to never stop. So you tell him exactly that.

"No. Don't stop, don't stop," you beg. "Keep fucking me, please."

One big, warm hand settles low on your stomach, before it wanders, brushing teasingly through your folds and oh-so-gently over and around your clit until you think you might scream.

You bite down on your lip, worried that if you actually do scream, he'll stop out of worry. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to calm yourself but it only makes it all the more intense.

Behind closed eyes, the pleasure surges through your chest, and you can feel every careful and calculated movement that Marc makes as he slowly drags his cock out of you, until only the fat head rests inside you. Then he pushes back inside again, just as slow and it has tears stinging your eyes.

Slow and thorough. Deep and controlled. He's murmuring in your ear the whole time, his voice low and rough.

"Relax for me baby," he tells you, "I'm gonna take care of you like I always do. Fill your pretty pussy with my cock until you feel all better, okay?"

Better doesn't begin to describe it. You feel good. Feel so good you're overripe with pleasure that seems to be bursting along the seam of your skin.

The hand on your stomach, presses and holds you in place as you start to squirm against him to goad his fingers to where you need them.

But even when he complies, giving you what you like he always does, zeroing in on your clit, his caresses stay light and gentle. His thumb barely brushes over you, as he keeps the pace agonizingly slow and soft that have you shivering and shaking in his arms.

The taunting pleasure builds ever so slowly in your core. The light and teasing touches too much and not enough all at once, and your oversensitive, overwrought cunt clenches and flex endlessly, squeezing down around the thickness Marc’s cock.

You can feel his body jerk over yours each time, and you revel in the soft grunts and gasps you’re driving from him, because surely, surely now he’ll let go and fuck you fast and hard until you're crying.

But he still doesn’t. Doesn't lose control. Just presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring over and over again. "It’s okay, I got you, Going to make you feel so good".

He says it like a promise. As if he isn't already doing exactly that. He's making you feel so fucking good. So good that you can hardly stand it. So good that you're writhing in his arms, clutching and clawing at his arm and hand and wrist, not sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer. But it doesn't matter, he might as well be a stone statue for all the hope you have of moving him anywhere he doesn't want to you be yet.

You can feel the all too familiar tension in his body. Those strong thick thighs as hard as iron between yours. You swear you can feel the furious pounding of his heart where you're pressed back against his chest. Or maybe that's your own pulse pounding loud and frantic in your ears, but it doesn't matter, because you know he's close too.

"Fuck you feel so good," he murmurs into your skin and if you didn't know better you'd think he sounded shaky.

The pleasure builds, streaking up your torso in little lightning bolt pulses that tighten your nipples to achingly hard little points and steal the breath from your lungs.

The heat of Marc's body against you is unbearable, his hot breath and lips sliding over your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw, and all the while, his fingers, those clever, competent fingers keep up their slow, ruinous circling, driving you higher inch by devastating inch.

You can't breathe anymore, can't see, can't think to the point you're pretty sure you can't feel your feet. Do you even have feet anymore? The only thing that's grounding you is the security of Marc's arms wrapped around you, the quiet cadence of his voice, whispering low and soft and still oh so sweet in your ear.

It's too much. Everything in you winding higher and tighter, filling you so full of pleasure that you swear you'll burst, but somehow still you don't. Can't. You need–

You clutch at Marc, gasp out a garbled sound that might be his name. You want to tell him that you can't stand it, that you need more, need all of him, everything that he has to give, but you've lost the ability to speak.

Instead, your body tells him for you, your cunt squeezing down around him, and refusing to let go. All of you drawn tight, tighter, tightest.

There's a breathless, "Oh. Baby. Fuck." in your ear, and Marc's hips jerk against you. Just once, the tiniest upward hitch. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

The unbearable, blissful tension holding your body hostage shatters, and wave after wave of unparalleled rapture roll though you, sharp and sweet and endless. The breath you didn't think you had left leaves you in a loud keening cry, that's echoed by a low, pained groan, and you can feel Marc's cock swell and pulse as he spills inside you, unable to resist the calling of your body's climax.

You ride out your orgasms together, your hips grinding needily into his, his fingers gripped harshly into your flesh, until the seemingly endless pleasure finally releases you both from its grip and you collapse back against Marc's solid bulk.

The arms around you relax, his clean hand smoothing over your belly and thighs. His voice hoarse and low, but still so, so syrupy sweet and gentle as he reassures you that you're okay, that he's got you, that he'll always be there when you need him.

You're boneless against him. Arms lying limply by your side on the damp mattress. Every bit of tension wrung out of you, like an old flannel that been wetted and twisted dry one too may times; worn out, but warm and cozy and relaxed.

"Feeling any better?" Marc asks eventually, arms tightening ever-so-subtly around you.

You don't have it in you to answer him with words, but you manage a small, contented giggle, snuggling back further into his embrace and tilting your head back to nuzzle his jaw.

That seems to be enough for him. He cranes his neck to press a soft kiss to your lips, then settles back, and the two of you stay there, cuddled together, warm and content and sated.

Content... just so fucking content, except...

Content is an understatement to what you're feeling wrapped in Marc's arms like this.

If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human emotions this is how you might describe it:

Imagine snow falling outside and you are wrapped up safely in a heavy blanket around your tired limbs.

Imagine the smell of freshly made pancakes and coffee brewing (just the way you like it) in the morning after a hangover.

Imagine all of that combined and it still wouldn't even begin to do it any justice.

A/N: Thank you nonny for this ask, literally when you sent it I was having the period from actual hell and was in tears and wailing and crying in bed. This was a really nice escape to write this oneshot with TWP.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 months

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Hi hi! Have you seen the new Rook and Jade cards?

TWST REALLY SAID HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR (they dropped these card designs when it was still Christmas day in my time zone www) 🤡 IMAGINE THE PURE DISTRESS AND TERROR I FELT WHEN I SAW THE NEWS FOR THE FIRST TIME, I ALMOST CHOKED ON MY BREAKfAST The New Year Attire card artwork looks fantastic this year!! zs,j bdhjvkas3t77135f38odwOYdtSIvyiadiyisa I THINK THE tHIRD ANON SAID IT BEST, TREY, ROOK, AND JADE LOOK LIKE YAKUZA DRESSED NICELY TO USHER IN THE NEW YEAR 😭 and Ortho's there to be their cute and innocent errand boy nephew (when in reality he's committing just as many crimes as they are); I KNOW this kid's not above pulling out a laser beam and threatening people to get what he wants.

Trey finally gets another event SSR (man deserves it after like 4 Rs OTL) and not gonna lie, he kinda looks like my grandpa in that outfit... I really like the pattern on his rose print scarf and the flowerpiece though; you can also see the classic Heartslabyul solid sleeve-checkered sleeve combo. The parasol he's holding is nice too, it makes me think about him whimsically twirling it around as he walks through confetti.

This isn't one of my favorite looks for Ortho, but again I really appreciate how the designers and artists used their creativity to reinterpret the traditional NY garb into robotic parts! You can tell Ortho's "clothes" are more blocky and rigid than the others', yet it still retains the festive feel of the line. There seem to be cables and wires attached to the piece pinned to his chest, and, of course, three doggos at his waist to symbolize Cerberus~

Trey and Ortho being on the same banner... It feels like Ortho was dropped off for Trey to babysit, and Trey's the kind old grandpa who dotes on his grandkid.

... Okay, that's enough of being civil 😇

t315751vAUVgddfiyCUvILNDADFFIYAIBFQEOBNABHOACsdaafjkuc??F<>>Mw/q12yft7BLINJZ>?????m,A'PSCPK[QJNsn;nbegquo PLEASE, I'M SCREAMING AND CRYinf aG ON THE GORUNDA RN OTL Of course TWST would release a new Rook SSR not too long after I said Rollo has replaced Rook in my heart as the superior pseudo French anime boy, OF COURSE. WHY DiD THE YM HAVE TO GIVE hiM SUCH A SMYSTERIOSYF SMU g FACE TOO..... . . . ........ . . . .... . . . . AND THAT LIGHTING??//????? ? ?? ? ?hELLO??? ?? ? ?? ? ????? ? GORGEOUS 😭 THE FAN??? ? ?? ? ? ? ?? ? ?? HOW HE's POSED AEJQWHLBIWQ WIHT IT, weL,Ccopmaifn G YOU INTO YHTE SHOP... I'M GOIBNG TO DUCKIUFN G CHEW HSis FINGNERS OFF, HOLD ME BACK BEOFRE I DOn kqw fhgutiuqfvwofueiyviHnsoguewtqtbwipFFQEGFVIVOQE8?>vLM;N;AEGFLQMJEINP I'm not super into Rook's outfit though; the peacock imagery incorporated into his robes and stuck in his hat are kinda... too much for me? The colors are also weirdly blocked out; it looks odd to have the hat as being the one prominent part of the outfit in red. I would have expected... I don't know, more red throughout the entire outfit? BUT IT'S OKAY, ROOK'S FACE STILL LOOKS GOOD AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS HERE

ADKJBLBSLiyfiysafvoyvgad8fVEFQGIYUOVBVADLM;vsomjvsM,.38920TH??:vL;,AD'PGDMA'PFSm J WORD, NEW YEAR'S J WORD IS HERE 🤡 I'M SO GLAD HE';S NOT THE SSR, I CAN EAISLYR MAX HIM OUT BLESS YOIU MCIUAHRD MOUSE 🙏 ABSHLDVUYADVOQDWADOLBIPfsp ip BIG FAN, HUGE FAN OF HIS POSE HERE OTL rUBINGNG HIS HANDS TOGETHE R AND BENDING SLIGHTLYT FORWARD, INCLinING HIS HEAD TOWARD YOU...... .. ............ . .... . .. . . . . . . .... I CAN SMELL THE USED CAR SaLESMAN ENERgy COMING OFF OF HIM it's working on me He looks like he's still wearing a suit and threw extra shit on top... THAT'S LITERAELLY THE SAME HAT HE WEARS FOR HIS OCTA dORM UNIFORM, HE JUST SLAPPED ON A DIFFERENT HATbaND ACCESSORY. AND SAME WAY OF weARING THE SCARF, JUST USED A DIFFERNT SCARF THIS TIME

I love the fact that Rook and Jade are on the same banner this was made specifically to target me/j, shady bitches deserve to be next to other shady bitches 🤣 Imagine how much pettiness and fake smiling will be had between them????? ???? ??? ? I’ve been dying for more interactions between these two, so this is really a treat for me!! 😋

To summarize: yeaaaaaah uh my rolls are in trouble come 2024 🪦

#twst #twisted wonderland #Jade Leech #Rook Hunt #Jade Leech thirst #Rook Hunt thirst #Rollo Flamme #Ortho Shroud #Trey Clover #notes from the writing raven #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers

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bluesylveon2 · 8 months

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Can't Help Falling in Love with You

Summary: When Yuu expresses concerns about the future, Malleus shows her just how much he loves her.

Note: royal au (sequel to "A Chance Meeting") fluff, some angst, and oc children mentioned. I'm aware my timeline of these fics are all over the place. It will make sense later on

Warning: not beta read, fem Yuu/reader, making out, and possible ooc characters

Word Count: 948

Masterlist: here, Series Masterlist: here

"Malleus, can we talk privately tonight?"

Those words have been stuck in Malleus' mind all day.

Why?

They sounded off.

Malleus knew something was off about his wife's request. She had been acting differently lately, not the one he knew since she became queen. Of course, he cannot forget how she had changed more to accommodate their growing family.

It was the youngest child's 3rd birthday when Malleus noticed it. As he and his extended family sang to the boy, Malleus caught his wife's face turning sad for one moment and happy the next.

He did not want to pry about it since it was their child's big day. As Malleus headed to the master bedroom, it was time to address it.

Malleus opened the door to find his wife sitting on the bed, staring at the family portrait hanging across the room. Malleus remembered when that was done. It seemed impossible for him and his wife to wrangle four kids to sit still. Luckily, his retainers were nearby to help out until their own children joined in on the fun. Malleus smiled at the memory. It was one of the best things to happen in his life.

"Child of Man, you wanted to speak to me?" Malleus asked as he kneeled down on the floor beside his wife. She smiled as he took one of her hands and kissed it.

"Yes, I want to talk to you about something."

"I'm listening."

Yuu opened her mouth but hesitated to say something. Malleus, noticing her distress, rubbed her hand in comfort.

"Malleus, I want you to promise me something." She stopped again, feeling tears forming in her eyes. It was as if Malleus read her mind, and he immediately joined her in bed and wrapped his arms around her. Yuu hugged him back and rested her head over his heart.

"Yuu, you do not have to force yourself to tell me. I can wait until you're ready." Malleus ran his fingers through Yuu's hair.

"I think I can do it now." Yuu took a deep breath and pulled her head away to look at Malleus' green eyes. "I want you to promise me that, when I die, you will find a new queen to marry and help raise the children."

The room was so silent that Yuu was surprised a thunderstorm didn't happen yet.

"No."

"Malleus-"

Malleus picked up Yuu's left hand and held it up for the both of them to see. The big black diamond (about the size of a pinky nail) and peridots around it sparkled in the moonlight. Malleus felt proud of his ring choice. He thought the gemstone colors with the black band suited his queen as she deserved the best.

"I put this ring on your finger because I chose you. I wanted you by my side, and I do not see anyone else sitting there."

Yuu still held her stance. "But what about the future? Malleus, I think having someone there would be the best for the kids. They need a mother figure. What if I die when the kids are still young?"

"They have plenty of aunts to see as a maternal figure. My grandmother did not have that luxury, yet she ruled by herself just fine until I was ready. I would do the same for them, too, especially our daughter. She is receiving the best teaching from Lilia." Malleus let go of Yuu's hand and pecked her lips. "But she and our children still need their mother, not someone to replace you."

Malleus leaned his forehead against Yuu's. "You might see yourself as part of my life, but you are my entire life. Focus on what is happening now instead of later. I will always love you even past death." Malleus kissed Yuu's ring finger. "You are my wife." He kissed her cheek. "My best friend." He ended it with a kiss on her lips. He made sure to pour off of his love into it. "And the best thing that has happened to me. Do not doubt my devotion to you."

Yuu smiled and pulled Malleus back to her. Her lips met his in a passionate dance she knew all too well. Malleus' hands wandered around her body and caressed any exposed skin he could touch, sending shivers down her spine. Yuu pushed Malleus down to lie on the bed. She pulled away, breathing heavily, and stared into Malleus' eyes. She always loved how he looked at her like she was a star in the sky.

"Have I ever told you I always find a way to fall in love with you every day?" She whispered.

Malleus smiled and pulled Yuu closer to him. "Yes, you have, my love. You always tell me that."

Yuu smiled before placing one more kiss on Malleus' lips and relaxing. She let her head rest on the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms around his body.

"Goodnight, Tsunotarou."

"Goodnight, Child of Man."

Later that night, when Yuu's breathing had steadied, Malleus lay awake staring at her beauty. His heart broke seeing her distressed face earlier. He wanted her to be happy until her last breath. Malleus' finger glowed as he quietly whispered a blessing to his wife. "My Queen, I shall bestow the gift of eternal happiness. If you see the next life, may your soul find happiness forever. May you see your descendants rule the nation with your happiness influencing their hearts."

He pressed his finger against Yuu's heart, causing it to momentarily glow, but not enough to wake her up. Her lips curled up in a smile instead. Malleus finally let his body relax, and his eyes closed.

A/N: I wrote this because of new Book 7 content :) (do not spoil it for me)

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2 2020-23. DO NOT modify, republish, or plagiarize my work.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus x yuu #malleus draconia #malleus x fem reader #malleus draconia x fem reader

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skipper1331 · 8 months

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Surprise // Deyna Castellanos

a/n: based off this request.

"Did everything work? Are you on your way?" Alex asked your girlfriend.

The two of them came up with a plan to surprise you.

Ever since the World Cup started, you missed Deyna. Talking to her over the phone was just not it. Due to the time difference and your busy schedule, you only had little time for each other. Either it was for one of you early in the morning or late at night which made it difficult to have a real conversation. Most of the time it was just written messages that the other person would answer a few hours later. It was hard. You missed her so much.

Every time the lionesses would play she would send you a picture of her wearing your jersey and comment on the game. She knew you wouldn‘t answer because you were literally playing but it was important to her to let you know that she was supporting you.

"Yes, I’m at the airport" she replied, about to take a plane to Australia, to you. "Good. She‘s already in bad mood since you texted her that you‘ll be busy the whole day and won‘t have the time to text her," the defender explained, thinking back to the situation where she saw how your face fell as you read Deynas text, "i need to go but I’ll see you soon."

The call ended and about 20 minutes later, your girlfriend sat in the plane.

Your day went on without a single text from Deyna. She said she couldn't message you but you were still hoping for it. She didn‘t even say what she had to do.

You spent the day with the team, preparing for the upcoming game against Australia.

Standing in the tunnel about to play a World Cup semi final was a whole new experience. You were nervous but you wanted to win. You wanted to win for yourself, for the team, for your nation and most all for Alex and Lucy who never made it past the semifinals. You've known both of them for a while, played with them at City and for the lionesses. They were great players and role models, they deserved to make it to the final.

While walking out on the pitch your eyes were looking everywhere and nowhere. The stadium was full with yellow jerseys, supporting their home country. It was nice to see the matildas getting so much support but you were also grateful for the english fans who were there to do the same for you. It's great to play in your own country with a nation behind you. You had experienced the same thing last year at the home euros.

Deyna sat in the friends and family section with your jersey on as she watched you.

In the 36th Ella scored the opener but Sam Kerr equalized in the 63rd minute. The score 1-1, about half an hour left to play. Your girlfriend was nervous she wanted to see you win, to see you happy. England retained possession, little to no missed passes. Australia got hungry. They wanted to win as much as you did. You fought till the end, you wanted to help your team win.

You didn‘t know how you did it but as the long shot from Millie came to you, you tangled away from Ellie Carpenter who kind of stumbled away from you and then your foot hit the ball.

Goal! You scored in the semi final, making it 2-1 for England. Some team mates jumped on you while others hugged you, the bench going wild.

Your girlfriend cheered for you, celebrating with the english fans. There was only one task now: defend. And score If possible. Australia had their chances which stressed you out but you fought. When you had the ball you started running out of your own half, no one was attacking you. Before the australian defender could reach you, you passed to Alessia who then scored.

3-1

All England supportes celebrated while your team mates ran to the bench. You‘re feeling energetic.

Finally, the whistle blows - England made it. They‘re finalists, you‘re finalists.

Despite the win, the first thing you did was thank and comfort every opposing player. It was important to you. As you finished your conversation with the last australian you ran straight to Alex, jumping on her, your legs around her waist, "We did it!" you screamed. You felt so happy. As you celebrated with your friends you still had no idea your girl was in the stands.

Sarina held a little speech before everyone swarmed out "There‘s a suprise for you" Alex said while her arm was around your shoulders. "What‘re you talking about?" you looked at her confused.

"Look" she pointed her finger towards the stands, family and friends section, following her finger you saw it or rather her.

Deyna.

You looked at Alex, then back to Deyna. Was this real?

"Go!" Alex pushed you away from her, in the direction to the stands. Your legs started running, wanting to be close to your lover. When you were finally within reach, you wrapped your arms around her, your head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. "What‘re you doing here??" you asked, leaning back yet not letting her go.

"Surprise!"

With one quick motion, you pressed your mouth on hers. You hadn‘t seen her in weeks, couldn‘t feel her touch or anything. You just had to kiss her. "I missed you so much" you whispered between pecks, happy to feel your girlfriends touch.

Next stop: final

————————

#deyna castellanos #deyna castellanos x reader #man city women #lionesses #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #wwc23

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l1tw1ck · 1 year

Text

Cyno's "Responsibility"

Bottom!FTM Cyno x Top!Masc Reader

↳ [Event Request] | AFAB Language Used

considering cuck tighnari

CW: Non-Con to Con, Somnophilia, Victim Blaming, Choking, Cheating, Objectification, Creampie

📝 W.C 922

You walk into Cyno's office, upset about the fact that you work overtime more than anyone else and about to put in your two weeks, only to find him fast asleep on his desk. He's drooling on whatever papers he was working on and mumbling a familiar name.

He looks so easy to take. You desperately need some release, and with the way you've been working all week you deserve it. It's not really your fault, it's his for giving you so much work to do.

You walk over to him and move his body onto the desk to have him bent over, moving the chair aside so you can stand behind him. You slowly slip off the clothes on his lower body, revealing his wet pussy to the cool air of his office. You briefly wonder what he's dreaming about, or who.

You don't bother getting him ready as you're venting your frustration out on him anyway, he deserves some pain. You take out your hard length and push yourself inside him.

“Ti- Tighnari..” Cyno grimaces in his sleep. You hold back a laugh, he must be dating that forest watcher. That makes this even better.

You slam into him, not caring if he wakes up. He feels too good to not move anyway. You run your hand along his back before spanking his plump ass. Cyno lets out a loud moan, gasping before calming down and staying asleep. You wonder how the General Mahamatra can sleep so deeply with a job like that, does he even know how vulnerable he is right now? You wonder how many times this has happened to him, if any. You hope you're the first, his reaction would be perfect.

“Hu..hurts…slow..” He mumbles.

You go faster in spite of him, grabbing his hair and pulling him back. He breaks out into loud moans and finally wakes up.

He can't even make a proper sentence, all he can do is grip the table and moan like a bitch. “Ah~!” “Uh~~!” and “Ooh~!” are three of the few sounds that leave his lips. You can make out some "slow down"s and a "wait" but they're overshadowed by his moans.

You fuck him so hard that anyone from outside could hear how much of a whore he is. He's crying but they're not tears of pain, that you know for sure.

“Fucking whore, do you even want me to stop? Do you like my cock that much?” You spank him. “Do you even care about Tighnari, General?”

Cyno finally realizes it's not Tighnari inside him, he was too sleepy to process that you're much bigger than he is. He feels too good to deny you so he shakes his head.

You chuckle. “You’re a slut, you know that? A cheating cock slut.”

Cyno rolls his eyes back, legs shaking as he comes. He’s completely out of his mind.

You turn him over and he finally gets to see you, the person who's making him feel so good, his subordinate. “You like being called that? A dumb good for nothing slut?”

He gives you a loopy smile, choking out giggles when your hand grips his neck. He's still in a dream world.

“What would Tighnari do if I came inside? If you turned out pregnant?” Your other hand plays with his bottom growth. “If he found out you were whoring yourself out to your subordinate?”

Cyno doesn't respond, too preoccupied with his own pleasure to even consider what you said. He does respond to you coming inside him though, happy babbles leave his mouth as he feels your hot spend flooding his insides. You haven't had much time for yourself thanks to him, so you let out a lot while still retaining a lot of stamina. Meaning you can keep fucking him despite having come already.

“Gonna turn you into my little cumdump, baby.” You lick your lips.

“Ye- yes~!” Drool dribbles down his chin.

“You want that? You wanna be used as a fucking cocksleeve, Cyno? Just a hole to stuff my cum inside?”

Cyno only grins wider.

You scoff. “How are you so easy?” You slap his tiny dick. “How many guys have fucked you like this?”

Cyno doesn't respond, feeling himself getting close again.

“Answer me, slut.” You spit on his face, landing another slap to his dick.

“O- one- Nari~!” He answers, voice increasing in pitch. So zero, you note. Tighnari doesn't count since he's his boyfriend. “Gon- uh~ uh~!” He squirts on your cock.

“Gods, what a slut.” You shake your head and let go of his neck. “I kind of feel bad for Tighnari. Kind of.”

Cyno brings his hands to his nipples, pulling and twisting them around with his eyes glossed over.

You smirk. “What do you love more, Cyno? Tighnari or my cock?”

“Yo- your cock~! I wuv yo- your cock~!”

“Wuv?” You laugh. “Poor Tighnari, he has no idea his boyfriend is at work getting his little pussy destroyed and acting like a stupid, braindead slut.”

You fuck Cyno in multiple positions, sticking to your word and using him as a cum dump. You come inside multiple times, so many that his stomach is slightly bigger than normal.

After almost two hours of fucking, you finally pull out and force him onto his knees, cum dripping onto the floor.

“Clean it.”

Cyno quickly does as you say, sucking your length clean.

You make yourself look presentable and leave the room. “Maybe we can have fun again tomorrow.”

#wicks🕯works #wicks🕯requests #wicks🕯️events #top male reader #genshin impact x male reader #male reader smut #male reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x male reader #genshin x reader #cyno x male reader #cyno x reader #cyno smut #sub cyno #dom male reader #🕯️cyno #🕯️genshin

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throwaway-yandere · 10 months

Text

Misaligned Strings (Jing Yuan/Reader)

A/n: The reader is AMAB at the beginning (nothing angstier than gender norms–) and gn in the time skip. If there are incorrect translations, please comment!!!! I’d be very happy to change it :DD and im very happy with how my drawing turned out ngl-

For the sake of flashbacks: ████████ = prince reader's previous name, ████ = jing yuan's previous name

Synopsis: He held his feelings back once for you were his prince and he was but a knight. But for Jing Yuan, he doesn't care if you're a human prince or a foxian, you are always worth the wait. Even when it literally took a lifetime. He's not so different from Snowmoon, you know?

CW: none. slight angst and fluff so don’t worry. Prolly the cutest and lowkey proudest work I’ve done in a while. I was actively whispering "me when" while writing lmao. This one's for you, 😋 anon.

遠在天邊，近在眼前，千里姻緣一線牽.

From the Most Distant Horizon at the Ends of Where the Heavens Stretch, to Right in Front of One's Eyes, the Single Thread Crosses Unfathomable Distances to Draw in those that are Tethered to it.

In silent whispers and inaudible footsteps, a taizi and his ménkè would stroll about in the crack of dawn. The Crown Prince of the old dynasty seldom ever initiated conversations, but his servant didn't venture to strike up an exchange. Since the prince wasn’t one to like entertaining large sums and enjoyed the comfort of nature, he has a habit of dragging his favorite retainer alongside him when trekking woodlands. The white-haired servant was perfectly content with this as he listened to the sound of the streams of the nearby water bank and the morning birds’ humming.

But most of all, the retainer couldn’t think of spending his mornings better than to be by Prince ████████’s side. Deep down, he knew his calloused hands did not deserve to touch such an expensive fabric. The decorative embellishments embroidered in such as gold-laced threads, jades, and ████████’s birthstones mustn't be soiled by a commoner like him. He thinks his hands, which frequently danced with blood, are cleaner than the stains that mud had left on his prince's long robes.

And yet, the retainer feared he loved his prince too much to stop.

“My Lord…” the white-haired man mutters gently, daring to tug the noble’s robes. The (h/c) haired man peered in his direction.

Atop the prince's head was a mianguan that further accentuates their difference in social status. Despite it being a rare ceremonial headdress only to be worn on sacrificial events, the prince had one custom made by a famous jeweler for his daily use. His fashionable headdress chimed for a brief moment as he turned, but he did not stare him in the eye.

Still, the prince smiled so sweetly.

“Yes, baozi?”

The retainer’s breath hitched.

He knew he shouldn’t harbor such emotions– he knew it shouldn’t make him happy that the prince would call him his treasure. However, there was not a trace of deceit in Prince ████████’s voice.

“Be careful,” the retainer heaved, staring at the ground. “There’s a fallen trunk nearby, you would’ve tripped.”

“O-Oh?”

The prince’s smile faltered before he regained it in a concerningly quick but regal fashion.

“My apologies, it was not my intention to make you worry,” he laughed, but there was no joy to be conveyed. “I’m afraid I will have to depend on you once more.”

The prince's laugh, once filled with warmth and adoration whenever they met, now sounded distant. It was veiled sorrow, yet not to the point where the prince would be willing to sever whatever thread bound their fates together. During their quiet moments, ████ would catch glimpses of that sorrow lingering in the prince's demeanor.

It was as if a shadow loomed over their secret rendezvous. The retainer wondered if his suspicions were true— if the prince's noble lineage would soon bind him to political arrangements. A duty that will tear them both apart.

But he didn’t wish to entertain those thoughts.

The retainer nodded while speaking. “Anything for you, My lord.”

The prince turned back to the lying trunk.

Everyone in Asia knew of Prince ████████’s impaired eyes.

The Emperor’s heir lacked vision in a battle he somberly forbids any to reminisce about. It was the very same battle his beloved retainer first fought in since he was a new hire at the time. This led to several concubines shoving their children to the feet of the emperor, but satisfyingly, none could beat the prince in any aspect. Their attempts to weaken both the prince and the empress’s political hold were grounds for concern. Ultimately, that resulted in nothing.

That does not make the prince any less bitter about it, but he never held ████ accountable. His presence was the royal’s only comfort, even if he never saw his face at least once. The prince never trusted his parents with any of his inner turmoil.

Although, the retainer wished he saw his prince’s eyes at least once. His Highness had always wrapped a red cloth around his eyes like half a mask. This is why, in the humble servant’s prayers, he wished for his master to be more secure with his body

“Prince ████████…” The white-haired retainer starts again, this time, his voice was laced with mischief. “Have I ever told you that you are the most gorgeous man in the land?”

“W-Where is this coming from?” The prince laughed heartily. Prince ████████ knew that his retainer wanted to cheer him up, but he’d rather hear him say it.

“Nothing,” the retainer smiled. “I just wanted you to hear it. You’re incredibly handsome.”

“Stop!” The prince chuckled, hiding his face with his silk clothes. “You are embarrassing, ████.”

The white-haired man chuckled.

“Only for you, my baobei.”

It was silent for a moment. Suddenly, the prince exhaled. The retainer quietly noted that it was not the same sound he’d hear whenever they would peacefully stroll in the woods as they usually do. This one sounded stifled as if he wanted to trap it in his throat.

He may not be able to see, but he still looked away.

“████, I have something I need to discuss with you.”

“What is it?”

Silence again.

Despite being warned that there might be a trunk in his way, the prince took small steps forward. As though he hoped to trip– as though he hoped someone would catch him.

Yet, the words spoken next were delivered unlike a damsel in distress but a man in solitude.

“I am to be wed around the coming months.” He stuttered. “I-I’m afraid I can no longer remain both blind and deaf to my mother and the Emperor’s nagging.”

Time stood still.

The solace of nature faded into insignificance, leaving only the sound of cracks inside ████’s head. In that silence, unspoken words passed between them. Only the sound of their restricted breathing remained. It was a poignant acknowledgment– an unspoken promise of love that fate had cruelly denied them. Swallowing his pain, the retainer fought to maintain a facade of unwavering loyalty. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

The dynasty would burn before their union would ever be accepted.

The retainer stood tall, a pillar of fortitude even as his heart fractured with each beat. As always, Prince ████████ was the image of his unattainable desires. He will always play his role as the prince's retainer, his heart bleeding in silence, forever locked away.

In the depths of his being, ████’s cherished stolen glances and clandestine touches— precious moments of tenderness concealed beneath the weight of their stations— will remain hidden but never forgotten. He will carry their shared memories as he vowed to “only” protect Prince █████████ on the surface.

The prince continued. Tears welled up in his eyes, but as his father has stated, a man cannot cry. Much less the next emperor.

“████—”

“It is alright,” the retainer spoke, voice already jaded. “We both knew that this is how it ends.”

“Would it be selfish of me to ask you a favor?”

The retainer took a deep breath.

“Do not make this harder, Your Highness.”

It pained his heart to hear the prince gulp in anguish. No use of “my”, just an unpossessed “your”. Even the retainer could not forgive himself for calling him by his title so distantly and without so much as using any honorifics that he is his prince.

He was his prince.

But the prince was not deterred.

“Can you promise me that you’ll find me again?”

He cupped his retainer’s hand with his eyes closed peacefully. The retainer paused before also placing his other hand above his prince’s. Prince ████████ quietly sobbed. “Please…”

“Promise me– promise that you’ll find me in the next life.”

The retainer nodded weakly.

“I promise.”

“Soon, I shall take the Imperial Princess Consort as my Empress, but–”

The prince tilted his retainer’s head down and gently kissed him. The white-haired man felt his knees giving in as the prince then kissed his upper left cheek, just below his eye. That had always been his favorite spot to pepper. Even in the end, his highness will always cherish planting feather-like kisses as though it would soothe his troubles. The prince’s smile never left his face yet unbeknownst to him, a couple of his tears had already fallen.

“Why don’t we talk about a life we could’ve had, even for just a small fraction of this ephemeral life?”

The conversation that followed was regrettably sweet. Throughout their exchange, they remained seated on the fallen tree as the prince gingerly ran his fingers through his retainer’s white hair. They both ingrained every detail of this memory in their head for they knew this would be their last intimate moment.

Their conversations lasted as if the outside world never existed. They talked about the places they could’ve been, a kingdom they should’ve had until they reached the topic of their true desires:

A domestic life.

A life where they could say ‘Baobei, I’m home’.

“What about a little lion?”

“Your ideas for a housepet are very peculiar,” the retainer humored him, but his voice echoed how cautious the thought made him. “Had I been in your position, I would’ve been tempted to care for timid endangered animals instead.”

“Well, you sounded disinterested when I brought up carps. So, what about little lions?”

“Are you referring to shih tzus?” The royal has an affinity for trying new things so the white-haired man already knew he’d never refer to a simple dog.

“Perhaps,” the prince laughed. “But not quite.”

“You don’t mean to imply you want a genuine cub now…?”

“What if I do?”

“You have a dangerous habit of giving your retainers more reasons to worry,” his lover muttered.

He pretended not to hear it, “what would you name it?”

“Hmm…how about…”

“Snowmoon.”

Caelus looked up at the General who was focusing on the bustling streets of the Exalting Sanctum.

After the events that unfolded in the Xianzhou Luofu, he and Jing Yuan had grown closer. To him, the general was a good role model and a nice change of pace after being dragged along by Clara’s adventures in the robot settlement and Serval and Natasha’s heartbreaking familial tales. Caelus was appreciative that the general messaged him to ask if he wished to accompany him to buy meat for Mimi. The trailblazer simply wished for something he can sign as a “day off” in Pom-Pom's log book without incurring any physical damages. For now, he doesn’t want to think about how Blade is running loose.

Now that he’s hanging out with Jing Yuan though, it seems as though he miscalculated everything. He didn't expect emotional expenses instead.

“That’s your old lion’s name?”

The trailblazer pretended not to know. It was a rather heavy story and he didn’t want to seem like a person who relied on gossip. Besides, Qingzu wasn’t a reliable storyteller.

As they talked, they walked past both merchants and pedestrians. There must be an event or an ongoing flea market since the ratio between sellers and consumers was staggeringly unequal. There’s a nosier place they haven’t traversed yet; there must be a sale going on. Although Caelus had more than enough money to his name (thanks to his latest deal with Sampo Koski), he did not tempt himself with a glance at any merchandise. His eyes were on the attractive “dozing general” instead.

“Yes, he was a loyal one…” Jing Yuan smiled softly. “I had a special connection to Snowmoon.”

“I heard it waited for 300 years.”

“Ah, so you are aware of what this story is about already.”

Caelus laughed awkwardly.

“Yes. Yes, Snowmoon did wait for me,” Jing Yuan said. “And I will forever understand that undying loyalty. That’s when I knew I’d truly reconnected with the lion.”

“In its final moments, all I thought to myself was how much the little cub and I were so much alike,” he recalled with a sad smile on his face.

“For him to wait for so long to see a loved one return– and to lay in his arms. I wonder what that would be like for me.”

Caelus blinked.

“You’re waiting for someone?” Caelus tilted his head. “I see you doing more sleeping than waiting. But who’s the lucky person?”

“I’m afraid you would not understand,” Jing Yuan said. “It’s rather difficult to explain. My mother and father did not comprehend it– then again, they didn’t understand my decision to be a soldier either.”

“Is this person the reason why you’re a general now?”

He stopped and raised an eyebrow.

“Spot on. How did you figure?”

Caelus shrugged, uncommitted. “Just a guess.”

The general chuckled.

“I’ve been waiting for him since I was reborn.”

Jing Yuan looked at their surroundings again as they resumed their walk. His hands were both behind his back as they took in the atmosphere. For him, the experience was not unlike his strolls with Yanqing– and for Caelus, he had compared him with Mr. Yang.

“There is a Foxian custom wherein very young children would figuratively carve their future career path by choosing between the objects their parents had laid down. Unsurprisingly, I grabbed a toy sword in hopes I can find him.”

The general rambled as though Caelus would understand the context. The trailblazer can only nod along, reminded of how old people do whatever Jing Yuan was doing at present.

“Alas, maybe he didn’t reincarnate as I had hoped,” Jing Yuan breathed in shakily. “I’ve traveled far and still, nothing. I’m afraid at this point they won’t be able to recognize me. While my voice was similar to how it was in my previous life, it had deepened with age. And I won't have any luck with my appearance either.”

Caelus frowned for him.

Jing Yuan was optimistic when Jingliu had taken him in as an apprentice– he thought it was an opportunity to find him again. There were numerous thoughts that maybe he will thread a similar path to his first life. In the realm of Xianzhou Luofu, where long and short-life species coexisted, he thought he glimpsed his baobei several times. With each encounter, his heart would skip a beat, hope blossoming like a new leaf, only to be shattered in the next breath. Jing Yuan had grown weary, not unlike Snowmoon. He's now somber and wiser.

If only he had not died so early. If only he didn't save the Imperial Consort when the palace burned. Would he have lived enough to stand at the prince’s side if he didn't put his duty as a soldier first?

Then again, none of that matters now. Today, he is Jing Yuan, the “Dozing” (and sometimes “Glutton”) General and not ████, the Crown Prince’s retainer. He should not burden himself with the regrets of a failed servant. But the thought of dying without ever seeing ████████'s face again... Jing Yuan hopes it will not happen again in this life. The General would continue searching for he had faith that one day, his prince would find his way. It may not be a popular tale in this realm and era, but he still believes that the red string binds their souls across the ages.

At the mention of reincarnation, Caelus’ ears perked up.

“Reincarnate…?”

“To live again in another form.”

“I know what it means. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Based on what Mr. Yang had told me, I’m inclined to believe that your situation is nearly synonymous with that phrase.” Jing Yuan teased.

“Come to think of it,” Jing Yuan looked at his phone. “It is ██/██ today, is it not?”

“Huh? Yeah. Do you have other plans, General?”

Caelus tried to keep up the pace with Jing Yuan. They were nearing the especially crowded and noisy area they saw before and he was worried he wouldn’t hear his response.

“No, none of the sort. On the contrary, I often take a day off on this particular date,” Jing Yuan answered nonchalantly. “Truth is, it’s ████████’s birthday–”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUU!!!”

The crowd roared and the two halted. As it turns out, there was no sale in the area, but a celebration. The both of them stopped specifically at certain familiar voices in the crowd. Caelus was certain that he heard both Qingque and Tingyun,

but Jing Yuan’s intuition spoke for something else.

“Hey, isn’t that Miss Tingyun– woah, why are you running?!”

He left Caelus and immediately dashed to the noise. A couple of restaurant staff glanced over in confusion as the man pushed the door farther open. Some servers had made way upon recognizing the general and others who weren't quick on the uptake tried to stop him from meddling with the event. But when the staff had caught on that he was a man they cannot dismiss, a questionable scene had begun unfolding before anyone could control it.

The song died as soon as everyone saw the general standing near the middle of the tables and seated chairs. There were familiar faces just as Caelus had mentioned— Qingque and Sushang's presence can be felt. He stared, shocked at who sat beside Tingyun.

The Foxian amicassador then guardedly placed a hand on top of the person's shoulders, looking at Jing Yuan as though he was an animal ready to strike. He didn't know what her look meant, but everyone else in the room concurred that it didn't appear as though he was there to make small talk.

"Can we help you, General?"

"... My Lord?"

Jing Yuan whispered weakly.

"Prince ████████... Is that truly you...?" He laughed, sounding nearly defeated. “I have not reached geriatric psychosis so soon, have I?”

The man had both his knees down on the ground, looking up at the birthday celebrant.

You.

Prince ████████– rather— (Y/n) (L/n), a Foxian now aged 250, sat amidst the room wearing robes embroidered with relatively inexpensive jades and gems gifted by friends and family. You were at a loss for what to do and looked to colleagues for advice before gazing back at the strange white-haired person kneeling on the ground.

Before he had made himself known, you appeared slightly uncomfortable. He wagered it had something to do with the crowd. The others must’ve thrown this as a surprise makeover and party, but as much as you wished to understand and be more in touch with your friendships, you likely found this situation rather difficult. And Jing Yuan was not helping.

You’d have to forgive him later. He just can’t help himself.

Your vulpine ears stood up straighter, alert as he reluctantly reached for your hand. If you could postpone this birthday “party” and finish all these tiring exchanges later, you probably would. You were taken aback at how fast his movements were– you swore that in one second he stood by the door and in the next he knelt near your chair.

You still look so wonderful…

“Y-Your Majesty…”

He grabbed your hands.

“████████…” Jing Yuan gasped for a strip of breath. “You have no idea how long I have waited. I-I have waited for you for s-so SO long– I had nearly thrown all hope I had of finding you several times but I knew we’ll find one another again…”

He looked up, hope in his eyes.

“It’s me, My Lord. I have fulfilled my promise.”

The general’s heart raced as he finally laid eyes on his reincarnated lover, sitting before him in all your ethereal beauty. His eyes lingered on your face, speechless at the softness that remained despite the passage of time. Your features held a timeless allure, radiant– and will forever enrapture his poor old heart.

His gaze respectfully traced the lines of your figure, adorned with jades that only accentuated your presence. The vibrant gems seemed to mirror the regalness of your past self– as if the jades themselves will always choose to highlight your inherent grace.

But it was in your eyes that General Jing Yuan found himself lost. The eyes that he never got to see a lifetime before. That calming sense of expression in your (e/c) eyes held a depth that stirred his soul. They sparkled with a familiar light, revealing the person he had loved throughout the centuries. In your stare, he had grasped the solace he had been waiting for– the emotion Snowmoon had felt in his 300-year-long return– the "reconnection" that eased the most troubled of spirits.

Amidst the confusion that surrounded you both, Jing Yuan remained on bended knees, cherishing the sight, grateful for the opportunity to witness your enchanting presence once more.

He finally saw your eyes.

And you finally saw him.

With a heart brimming with emotions, Jing Yuan whispered:

"You are as stunning as ever, My Lord. Even in this new timeline, your beauty is unmatched– the most gorgeous person in the universe." His voice carried the weight of longing.

You jolted. There was something in your expression that made his hopes bubble up more. Was it a glint of remembrance? Did you retain your memories since birth as he did? He was uncertain but his grip on you tightened.

“I missed you so much,” he said almost inaudibly. “It’s overwhelming.”

No one spoke as the general looked at you without any intention to be the first to break eye contact. Everyone invited was too stunned to move or resume the song. Most notably, Qingque was preparing to sneak out in fear of more work while Sushang took out her notebook, scribbling notes on how to "paralyze" onlookers in what she dubbed as "The General Jing Yuan style". Only Tingyun was animated in the sense that she was willing to hand the intruder a phony smile and mouth the words "What are you doing here?" behind your back.

But there's always a true oddball waiting to bounce amongst a sea of people. And in this case, it was the "not born yesterday" trailblazer, Caelus.

Unpredictable as he is, he joined in on the “farce.” He puffed his chest and strode large steps to reach where Tingyun, you, and Jingyuan were. Caelus fixed his sleeves and coughed loudly, which brought nearly everyone's attention to him except for the lovestruck General.

And then, he brazenly declared:

“AND I AM DAN HENG,” he mimicked his crewmate’s voice. “ALSO KNOWN AS COLD DRAGON YOUNG.”

Pause.

People started snorting, no longer stiff. Qingque quietly muttered with a hand slowly letting go of the doorknob that it must’ve been just a “bit” to liven up the party. Eventually, that became everyone's final interpretation.

That… effectively switched the mood.

“W-What?” That flicker in your eyes was gone in an instant.

You shook your head.

“Seriously? What’s going on?! Stop! You’re all being silly!!!”

For a moment, you contemplated throwing a spoon in Caelus’ direction but decided against it. Caelus is a friend of yours and you will not put a strain on that relationship on your birthday. But this guy? Who?

You tore your hands away from Jing Yuan, which effectively broke his heart.

“And WHO are you anyways?!”

Tingyun laughed, hard. Both you and Jing Yuan didn't notice her, so she brought attention to herself. The amicassador, whom you nearly forgot was with you from all the ruckus, tapped your shoulder with a shrewd grin.

“Love, I have a guess as to why he introduced himself like that, but for now, that’s General Jing Yuan.”

“Okay, Mister Jing Yuan–” you started, barely threatening despite your hesitant intentions to make him uneased. “Let’s talk outside– wait.”

Your head snapped back at Tingyun.

“Babygirl, did you just say General Jing Yuan?” You gawked.

“Like, THE Dozing General, Jing Yuan?” You turned your back on him, discreetly whispering and pointing. “The one you sold overpriced photocards of?”

Tingyun hid her mouth behind her fan.

Sure, you’re not a big fan of draining your social battery so much that you’ll remember everyone’s faces, but how come you only remembered who he was based on how Tingyun exploited his looks?

“Pff– Yes, that’s him. That's the one, love. Welcome to (Y/n)’s birthday party, General!”

Caelus stood beside Jing Yuan, shaking his head. “No. That is not General Jing Yuan! That is–... Err– I didn’t get his new name. What did you say your name was, General?”

“No, no way,” Sushang cut in, slightly pushing the trailblazer. “You’re not Dan Heng! And that’s definitely General Jing Yuan, one of the seven Arbiter-Generals!!!”

Sushang then bowed to the general, spouting apologies and greetings in one incoherent jumble. Since it was Sushang who said it, you were 100% convinced this man is an important figure… and you also 100% got yourself a headache.

"Haaaaah…?!"

You brought your attention back to Jing Yuan, who diligently awaited any of your instructions like a pup. You squinted as you tried to make out what a general could possibly want with you on your birthday of all days. Then, you recalled what he called you.

That's... Not your current name.

"Weird..." You muttered.

You took a deep breath, terrified of your next course of action but deemed it necessary for the festivities to resume. The chair squeaked as you stood from your seat, staring nervously at the general. You seriously don’t want to talk to a stranger one-on-one.

"L-Let's talk outside."

Jing Yuan perked up.

"Of course, My Lord."

"Why are you calling me–" Whispers started making rounds as soon as Jing Yuan spoke those words. You shouted, panicking. "I'M NOT HIS LORD OR ANYTHING IMPORTANT, I PROMISE!!!"

That didn't seem to clear any suspicions but at least you made an attempt. You grabbed Jing Yuan's hand and led him outside, failing to see him smile like a dog as he thought about how you were both holding hands.

Outside, it was silent.

The party went on without its birthday celebrant and "heckler." Notably, Tingyun's playing host, and her voice can be heard from your location. Jing Yuan crossed his arms while you leaned on the wall. Both of you were waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. Although you can start the conversation, it’s not something you prefer to do. Eventually, the general couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"████████–"

"Sir–"

You both awkwardly paused. Honestly, you weren't planning on saying anything, you spoke by mere instinct.

Jing Yuan shook his head.

"You go first, My Lord."

"... W-Why are you calling me that?"

For a moment, his lips curled into a frown but he was not quick enough to hide it from you. He smiled politely and bowed with a hand on his chest.

"Because you are my prince–" Jing Yuan added with a mutter. "At least, you were mine for just a small fraction of that ephemeral life."

You swore you heard those words from somewhere.

Did you say them before?

"... Which one?"

He stood up straighter. His posture was enough to indicate that he is indeed a general. "Which what? Would you kindly elucidate me more?"

"Which one of my retainers were you?"

Jing Yuan's face brightened.

"You can recall–!"

"Not much, to be honest," you laughed, strained. "And I'm sorry if that question was rude. Tingyun– well, we both knew her as my Empress– told me that our physical attributes are very similar to the ones we have in our previous lives, but I was blind before. And your voice is unfamiliar."

Tingyun's… the Imperial Court Princess?

The same woman he sacrificed his life to save?

“... I see… So that’s why you called her ‘babygirl’...” Jing Yuan spoke bitterly.

Who is he kidding? Of course, you've moved on.

And he's here. Foolishly awaiting no one. A lion had more luck than him in both lives.

You continued.

"So… forgive me for my lack of– whatever words I used to have back then. I'm just not royal as I used to be. I-I like being casual.” you chuckled nervously. “But w-who are you? A-Are you ██?”

“... I have never heard that name before.”

“W-Welp, I guess you’re not my childhood babysitter huh?” You joked, mildly disappointed. “Poor ██, I hope you’re not dead yet in this world.”

Jing Yuan’s face crumpled in confusion.

“Why would you assume that I’m ██?”

“Same hair, and you reincarnated waaayyy before me and Tingyun s-so I was just trying to figure out who died before we did.”

“████.” Jing Yuan closed his eyes, pained. “████ died before you did.”

Why haven't you mentioned his old name?

“Yes, ████…” Your eyes softened and your next words sounded broken. “Of course, that’s… unfortunately… true…but if you knew him, I guess that just means you’re someone I knew in my late twenties.”

You smiled. “████… I still hope he’s out there. I miss him a lot.”

That smile.

That was the smile he had not seen in his last days. From the last secret meeting they shared, the prince’s smile and laughter seemed rather distant, devoid of life. This time, it was the polar opposite. He felt the same affection the prince once gave to his beloved retainer.

With eyes looking back at the party, your tone has shifted from tender to authoritative, truly deserving of the title once bestowed upon you.

“Jing Yuan, I do not know who you were in my first life, but I will say this–

“Back then, I couldn’t reveal this, but I will tell everyone I will reunite with now. There’s no one else I loved romantically more than ████.” You glared at him. “He has always been there for me– and he will forever be someone dear to me.”

You were no longer nervous. You did not care that he was a stranger– you didn’t care about the prejudice that might follow. You were going to speak your truth. No matter what.

“I don’t give a damn if you’re an Arbiter-General. If you cannot respect that love, then do not call me your prince. That’s all.”

…

You were expecting another rant about honor like what another reincarnated nobleman whose name you never bothered to remember had done or a “who cares” and an “I knew since the beginning” like your royal jade specialist, ███ or Qingque, had said.

But his response baffled you more.

“Thank you.”

Seeing Jing Yuan smile proudly with tears forming in his eyes was the last thing you expected.

“A-And I still love you too.”

…

“Baozi…?” Your eyes widened.

“Baobei…” Jing Yuan reached for your hand again. “As I announced proudly earlier, I fulfilled my promise.

I found you again. In another life.”

You wish you could say you had a brilliant time after that revelation. You wish you could say you went back to Tingyun and giddily told her everything. You wish you could say you returned home with a smile on your face.

But no. You were too mentally and socially spent as a result of the unanticipated events. It brought back vivid memories of how, in a previous life, you would retreat to your room after banquets to avoid further conversations. Realistically, the only course of action that could have been taken after that was for you to ask him for his contact information and request some time to gather your thoughts because despite how wonderful it was to see the person you loved most after 250 years and more, the mechanical hands continue to haunt you.

Jing Yuan has existed and will continue to exist for a very long time. The same cannot be said for you.

But despite delaying all interactions, his invitations never ceased. On the first day, he tried to invite you to the Divine Seat of Foresight using Qingque– but she forgot about that task and only told you about it in the middle of a game. On the second day, he wrote you a letter stating that you were always welcome to visit him and that you have full access to all rooms (his trust for you concerned Yukong.) And yesterday, Tingyun implied that Mimi wanted to see you, joking about how it’s about time you adopt a lion.

And today, he is at your door, holding a bouquet.

You can't delay this anymore.

“I-I’m sorry, baozi, but I don’t think we should talk.”

“How so?” Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow, not irritated but genuinely confused. “We’re finally together– you and I— unless…”

He looked down. In an instant, you knew he was thinking about Tingyun– rather– your past Empress. Who you never had feelings for and never consummated the marriage with. And she’d say the same about you.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” you shook your head. “We’re not together. Nope. No way.”

“Are you certain?”

“Obviously, duh!” You said. Curiously enough, you sounded very annoyed at that. “If it’s because of that babygirl thing– dude, I swear, that was a joke cause everyone thinks we’re in love so we’re just playing along as a joke like we used to when we were quote-unquote ‘married’ and– man, why am I explaining this? Welp, I’ll try to shut up now.”

You put your head in your hands, which would’ve normally made Jing Yuan laugh, but he was more concerned than anything.

“Then why are you being deterred?”

“It’s just,” you sighed, giving up. “I’m a Foxian.”

“And so?”

“My life… is relatively brief compared to yours.”

You held his hands, slowly tracing his palms.

“I’ve heard of snippets of your life on the streets. I heard you got statues of your deceased lion when it died.”

You looked up, smiling sadly. It reminded him so much of the expression you’d wear when the ministers have shared intel regarding casualties. He never enjoyed gazing at that look.

“Other than the fact I kinda don’t want a statue of me inside the Divine Seat of Foresight,” you joked. “I don’t want to make you feel the same pain or worse.”

“I’m 250 years old. If I’m lucky and if I take care of myself better, add 150 more and that will be the end of it.” You explained. “Just that... You're a human that can live for millennia, and I can only live till 400."

You took a sharp breath. At the time, he could only hear you and your movements, the sounds of your neighborhood were non-existent.

"Wouldn't being with me just make you sad in the end? My life is just like Snowmoon. I don't want to know that being with me will just make your heart break." You laughed cheaply.

"Wouldn't that make me selfish?"

Jing Yuan did not speak. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist and encircled his strong arms around you. In an instant, you felt the urge to cry. You had never been attached to a person quite like him and to know that he feels the same feels painful somehow. Aware of your weakness, you know that emotions can be sometimes hard to understand for you, but that doesn't make you unemotional.

"No. No, you're not. And you never will be for wanting to love again," he spoke, sounding breathy yet low. "It would be more selfish if you to deny this happiness for the both of us."

"Did you fully comprehend how long I've waited for us to reunite? Do you understand how every action I've taken that led us to this point was so that I could see you again? Speak to you again? Touch you again?" Jing Yuan shook his head slowly.

"No. Letting me go on living without you is not only selfish, it is cruel. There is no competition, being with you, even if our time together is but another brief moment like our last rendezvous in the forest, is much more preferable than never seeing you again."

In those excruciating three days of reluctance, those were the words you were hoping to hear from him. And he delivered more.

Your worries were for nothing. You were trying to be “mature”, steeling your resolve for when he’ll “inevitably face the music” and “live to be happy” without pursuing you in this life.

You can’t hold it back any longer. Tears of happiness trickled down your cheeks, and you buried your face in his chest, holding him as tightly as he held you. In that quiet moment of reconnection, your love was reciprocated, and the fear that had held you back was gone, replaced by a profound sense of contentment and belonging.

“Y-You know…”

You had a wet-faced yet wide grin as you slithered a hand on the back of his head, untying his red ribbon. You were kind of proud of yourself for nicknaming him Baozi. With that white hair, he does look like a steamed bun.

Slowly, you cupped his cheek and tilted his face slightly downwards.

“I’ve heard from my fellow Foxians that moles are where your lover from a past life enjoyed kissing you,” you traced his left cheek with your thumb. “What do you think?”

Jing Yuan blushed.

It was unspoken, but it made him happy nonetheless.

You’re letting him love you.

There is no greater joy to be had in his life than to be yours again.

“W-Well, I’d say we proved that myth to be true–” he cleared his throat. “Given how obsessed you were with kissing the spot below my eyelid.”

“So true,” you hummed. “You’re very pretty, Jing Yuan. I wish I could’ve seen how beautiful you are before.”

He was meant to joke about how he would always guide your face to his lips so that you wouldn’t “miss”, but Jing Yuan couldn’t help but melt at your words.

“You’re too wonderful, baobei.”

“I know.”

Jing Yuan chuckled heartily.

“I see your sense of humor is intact.”

You scoffed and quickly stuck your tongue out in a playful quip.

"My humor didn't remain– it evolved– and you got a character arc too didn't you? You went from not liking lions to owning TWO. T-W-O. Way before I got a hand on one as well. Don’t think I forgot about that bet, Mr. ████. You seriously owe me 200 wu zhus."

"I've certainly grown mundane–" Upon realizing what you fully said, he paused and laughed. "–Haha! Sharp as ever. Unfortunately, my lord, finding the old currency would be a tall task. How about 40,000 strales?"

“Hmm… Not a very convincing equivalent exchange.” You shrugged. “You know what? I may not be the brightest math person since I’ve been skipping it for music lessons, but with a bet taking this long, surely we have to consider the interest rate, right? How about adding a wedding ring? ”

His heart skipped a beat.

Jing Yuan pulled you closer.

"... Always with a follow-up argument, but I shall go along with this. After all, I’ve always fantasized about saying…"

The general smiled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, locking your hands together with his. Jing Yuan, ████— whatever his name is— felt safe and warm in your presence as he kissed your neck.

Finally, a domestic life. A life where they can both say:

“Baobei, I’m home.”

有情人终成眷属

The Lovers are Finally Together; All Shall Be Well.

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tequiilasunriise · 10 months

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Annabel Lee & Fears: A Short Essay Based On Ep70

Here it is, folks, the truest crux of Annabel’s character, her deepest fears is not going mad or even people discovering she’s not as put together as she tries to appear, but rather:

Was that gambit of constant scheming and using others worth it, Annabel? Was always trying to think ten steps ahead and always keep yourself in a position of power and control truly worth it, because how can you ever be trusted when all you do is play 5D chess with everyone?

There is is, folks!!! Just like her greatest strength- her cunning willpower- is centered around a certain bright moon, Annabel’s greatest fear is rooted in Lenore. The deepest, darkest trenches of her soul, the one thing that would shatter her heart and send her lungs choking fer breath? The killing blow that would end her and make all these charades worthless? It’s Lenore seeing her constant conniving and asking Annabel, “Why would I be any different? You already have no problem using everyone else as a pawn, how could I ever possibly trust you, Annabel Lee?”

The way Annabel is SUCH a great morally grey character, y’all tell me you love hot villains yet many a time I’ve seen people calling Annabel too heartless. She’s the opposite! She cares!! SO MUCH!!! She would burn the world down if it meant kissing Lenore one last time, to the point where her deepest fear is losing Lenore in the process of trying to protect her. All Annabel knows is using manipulation to gain the upper hand because simply being born a woman in the Victorian era she was so throughly disadvantaged by such a horribly misogynistic society that girlypop had to scrape together any form of control she could. Annabel wants so badly to protect Lenore but all she knows are her own methods of protecting herself, which involves plausibility deniability and facades and sometimes sheer cruelty, and that’s where the conflict arises. From the start Annabel assumed Lenore and her had the same understanding of this ‘fake enemies’ ploy going on but surprise surprise babygirl, not everyone is overthinking four parallel universes ahead like you do. This boils over into her lover having doubts on what’s real and what’s not, which then culminates into Lenore asking if Annabel is using her affections as empty currency to get what she wants, and Annabel’s first move to tell Lenore to fucken kill her????

“To you alone, I have left myself completely defenseless.”

The drama of it all!! The shattered facade leading to exploding vulnerability of it all!! The dim sun sparking out into a heat death just to prove her sincerity of it all!!! The exposed innermost organs ripping out my heart with my bare hands and begging you, “Do you see it now? Do you see the way it beats for you and only you? Tell me you see it, tell me you see me…” of it all!!

Oh baby the way Annabel still retains this deep fear of Lenore not truly believing in the “only thing that’s real” to her, the way her lover’s ghost still lingers and haunts her and is then ripped up from her innermost psyche like a desecrated grave and given form by Ada’s power. The way, after all this time- and I mean all this time from Lenore’s constructed resurrection, to their relationship blossoming into a wedding, all the fucking way up to that bell tower scene, the fucken way Annabel still never truly let go of her fear that Lenore doesn’t see her, doesn’t see how she alone bashed through all of Annabel’s walls and made a home where her heart laid. I’m sure during their living relationship all the way until the wedding Annabel’s fears were greatly settled, but it’s the fucken way these panels implied that this wretched heartache never completely left Annabel’s guilt-wracked soul.

I just know, okay I just KNOW, that even up until she was putting her wedding dress on Annabel still questioned if she even deserved this happy ending because she still feel phantoms of guilt fer this betrayal. This comic only furthers this implication of unabsolved guilt when it’s made clear as day that Annabel’s biggest fear is Lenore not believing in her love. And before anyone argues how Annabel can currently feel guilt fer betraying Lenore when she hasn’t recovered the memory yet, I’ll argue back that from the very beginning of the comic these two were inexplicably drawn to each other even when they had NO memories. Therefore, even if she doesn’t have the explicit memory, I highly doubt Annabel’s subconscious would ever let go of something as huge as deeply hurting the one person she truly cared about in such a wretched way.

Fuck, dude, I mean Annabel’s greatest fear wasn’t even Lenore dying- which was already a huge thing if y’all remember her tearstreaked, panicked, “What is left? If she’s not here, what’s the point?”- no her greatest is Lenore!!! Not!!! Believing!! Her!!! Like yeah losing Lenore physically definitely would’ve cut so deep even her bones would bear the scars, but losing Lenore in the form of the other woman walking the same ground as her but choosing to stay away?? Call her fucking selfish because some people would rather have their other half still be alive even if they’re not by their side, but Annabel ain’t one of them that’s fer sure. Babygirl has spent a lifetime perfecting the craft of deceiving others fer her own gain, but the ONE TIME she’s genuine her heart is to be called nothing more but empty??? Oh babbyyy that’s gotta fucken hurt.

The thing is, I don’t think Annabel really loves herself all that much. I really don’t. A huge focus on self-preservation doesn’t necessarily mean one really loves themselves, and when we add the aforementioned guilt she carries? Plus, the fact that Annabel being forced to swallow down her anxiety attacks from a young age could easily lead to her having a rather sour view of her 'not normal' self? Yeah no yeah, I truly don’t think Annabel loves herself that much, if at all. So really, this line is adding immense insult to already grievous injury. Not only does Annabel deeply fear Lenore not believing her affections to be true, she also fears the New Yorker misconstruing her as nothing more but a shallow as hell, prissy, little pampered damsel, a role pretty much everyone else regulates her into whether she wants it or not (right from the beginning, before she even set her schemes in full effect, Annabel was already explaining, “Ada wanted a queen, so I gave her one”). Lenore, the only one Annabel had believed to ever really see her fer her, is now discrediting Annabel’s vulnerable affections AND seeing her as that unloving ice queen like everyone else?? Horrible terrible horrible!!! She may have a ribbon threatening to strangle her right now, but it’s clear that ghost!Lenore’s words are what truly cut her down to size. Y’all seeing that fucken pain in Annabel’s eyes? Her worst fear is just so… personal.

Which actually leads me to my next point, which is how just before Annabel’s worst fear is revealed in stark, horrifying detail, we see Prospero’s. Lemme just preface this by saying what Prospero went through is n o t any less terrible and is a super fucken mega valid fear/trauma, but let me cook y’all just hear me out. Prospero’s fear seems to be about medical malpractice and/or being conscious during a painful operation that likely went south (aka ‘oh shiiitttt he fucken DEAD-‘), and that’s fucking tragic as all hell. Yet, okay let me cook here, it’s more… I don’t want to say general, because that does NOT mean his fear is any less significant but it’s like. Way back when, death via medical bullshit was more or less fairly common, especially during wartimes (which is the era I headcanon Prospero to be from); meanwhile, Annabel’s fear is so uniquely hers, it’s borne of a culmination of specific experiences tied together by her relationship with Lenore.

By contrast of a more common fear vs something so deeply personal and specific to this one person- because it’s not just unrequited love, it’s being so vehemently denied and misunderstood by the ONE (1!) person who you wholeheartedly trusted in your entire life who also oops mega died on you- this distinction gives way to an almost more raw, more visceral feeling to Annabel’s fear sequence. Again!!! I am not undermining Prospero’s own trauma, I promise!!! But you have to admit that there’s something, from a narrative standpoint, that hits so much harder with how deeply personal Annabel’s fear is. The contrast is even more great when you look at how Prospero’s involved a buncha bloodied hands not really tied to any faces or even any indication of personhood like accessories, scars, etc etc. It could’ve been a group of anyone holding him down hurting him; on the flipside, Annabel is being restrained by one very specific person we see in full view. The faceless crowd who could’ve been anyone at anytime vs the lone perpetrator whose history you know like a second name. It’s just!!! So personal!!!

In conclusion, on the surface level, one would think a character so deeply ingrained in using deceptions and manipulation would have her greatest fear tie into having her true nature revealed to everyone she’d fooled, but then it turns out it’s the complete fucking opposite. What homegirl fears the most is her truest, innermost self not being believed and accepted by just one (1!) person. The way it’s framed is just so heartstabbingly personal, especially when you parallel it to a previous fear sequence just a few panels preceding it. This is it, your honor, this is Annabel’s deepest driving force broken down to its bare essentials. To hell with whatever reputation she’s carefully crafted! Who cares what anyone else thinks of her if she doesn’t believe her, if she doesn’t SEE her. Really, truly see her. Lenore is the defining point that Annabel has revolves around so wholeheartedly, and there’s no point to anything anymore if Annabel loses her. This crux of her character, OHHH BBAAABBYY it’s just so well done because we, as the audience, have been given clear evidence to build up this narrative of Annabel’s characterization fer so long now and to finally see it come together in a fiery explosion of lesbian angst with this latest chapter??? Gods, the writing of Nevermore will never not drive me absolutely insane in the membrane.

#if yall think this essay went crazy i need yall to kmow i once wrote a legit MLA cited college research paper about mf Bumbleby #and I got a high grade and everything yall heard me it was 12 pt new times roman and had literal academic sources to back up my points #i had to cut it down from 15 pages to like 10 bc of a max word count my prof set it was so sad #so yeahhhhhhh your girl may or may not just go crazy on the fictional analysis #which makes sense when u know that imma character-driven writer #anyways in conclusion i be clocking in to fight fer annabel as an amazingly written character like its a 9-5 job #to all the ppl who doubted her how yall feeling rn hmmmmmmm #annabel lee whitlock ur just so much fun to dissect like a lesbian lab project #nevermore webtoon #white raven #annabel lee whitlock #lenore vandernacht #prospero nevermore #<—i swear i care fer the rat man guys i rlly rlly do #but man. the way annabel’s shit was just to personal. it rlly got me okay???

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eganmont · 4 months

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Dagger: "Hey don't you think some of Vivi's children feel... eerily familiar?"

Zidane: "... Nah it's probably fine."

I've seen the concept of Vivi being a Black Waltz, but what if the Waltz were Vivi-fied?

*Ahem*, excuse me while I briefly obsess over an AU for minor characters who only show up like once from a 20+ year old game:

So anyhoo, I present an FF9 epilogue AU where Vivi accidently and unknowingly reincarnated the Black Waltz alongside his other sons. Assuming that Vivi used traces of mist to make his kiddos, I suppose it could be possible for the Waltzes' mist/souls be recycled back into life again by the same method. Made more likely by the fact they all originally perished during a time when Gaia's souls weren't properly passing on... (Hopefully I'm understanding ff9 lore right)

Neither of the 3 can fully remember their past lives, though they still subconsciously retain their memories. It's enough to influence their personalities, but you know, since they are no longer living weapons their violent tendencies get toned-down a lot and they properly get the chance to develop morals and stuff. At worst they probably just act like typical spoiled brats or trouble makers. I'd think they surprisingly get along well with Zidane too.

They're unofficially known as the Encore Trio, and get actual names now, from left to right: Waldren, Walter, and Wallace.

(The names just sort of came natural to them, I wonder why lol)

I can't help but feel the original trio deserved so much better, and couldn't pass up the idea of them getting a second-chance to live life and pursue non-evil and non-princess capturing related interests.

And despite what had happened in the past, I'd think Vivi would be happy for them too…

Ok ramble over for now!

#black waltz #black waltz 1 #black waltz 2 #black waltz 3 #final fantasy #final fantasy ix #vivi ornitier #ff9 #final fantasy 9 #ffix #black mage #encore trio au #wizards

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outerexpanse · 1 year

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downpour headcanons + designs :)

Thoughts on each under the cut, some contain direct spoilers. (Lots of writing)

Note for pronouns listed: These are just my HCs, use whatever you prefer or see fit. :)

Gourmand: She/He/They Full of love and oh so happy with life. Simply went out into the world for FUN and to learn more, why not? Respected and highly regarded at the Home Tree as one of the smartest slugcats around. Coming up with ways to make meals more filling is always important with so many slugcats! Gourmand returns with many regions mapped out, and thus gives way to more slugcats to explore as groups and create homes for themselves. Teaches about the taming of lizards, and to take care when doing so. What was an incredible enemy can make a greater ally. All around a very positive, happy-go-lucky slug to me.

Artificer: She/Her I wanted her to design to be .. fire-esque with the markings like flames in a way. Obviously very troubled, so incredibly lonely because of it as well. She's afraid of connections, what if the past repeats? It would hurt too much. That SAID.. she will find her way to Outer Expanse and be welcomed with open arms. Prior, I think she was apart of a small nomadic family of slugcats so the Home Tree is something else entirely new. Arti could, in this scenario, take on the role of a community mother in a way. There's still fear of the past coming back in new ways, but in this she begins to open up more and becomes adoptive mother to slugpups whose parents have been lost in some form. I just think!! She deserves the world!!! She gets to relax. No more Situations.

Rivulet: She/He/They Somewhat based on how some aquatic animals have a whiter tummy to blend in to creatures below them in the water, and a darker upper body to camouflage to those looking down in the water. (A bit difficult with all the pink, I wanted to keep that on her though..) Very kind :) she loves to bring gifts to Moon, and periodically pays visits to 5P for as long as he still lives. I like to think they also lived with Moon until they passed themselves. Spent a ton of time listening to Moon reading the pearls he found out in the world, and exchanging stories (perhaps via writing..??) that they both have. Softanthiel still hangs around, primarily used as a way to gauge the danger of potential threats to the tree.

Spearmaster: It/They/He Definitely Looks like a slugcat but with something Wrong (on the wrong blueprints in a way). It is taller and longer than the average slugcat. Leaning more into the bodyshape it has in game (bowling pin looking ass) I’d say it has a harder time retaining fat through a liquid diet and constant movement as a messenger. Built quite sleek, I’d picture it with an agility somewhere between Artificer and Rivulet. Spearmaster has nasty little "spots" on his tail so why not give him little freckles too? SRS did not give SM a mouth, so, to me I think that he would be taught sign language. ASL (Ancient Sign Language) would no doubt be something stored and memorized on various pearls. Given its time around an Iterator it would also know how to read/write in the Ancient's language. I feel like they'd be quite a bit lonely.

Saint: They/He To me, they are a distant descendant of Monk. Their fur is very soft, almost like downy feathers in a way. Absolutely vital to their survival in the now frigid wasteland. Keen to grooming themself like a cat would! The echoes are old friends, a familiar warmth. Seeing them is like visiting family, of which Saint no longer has now. Definitely nomadic, never stays in a den for longer than three cycles. Lanterns are tucked into fur for ease of travelling with free hands. :) He's round and spotted because I love him so much!!

WHEW ok thats all. feel free to share your thoughts :)

note that i dont mind these designs being used or designs inspired by them but i would like my art to NOT be reposted.

#rain world #my post #my art #rain world downpour spoilers #rainworld downpour spoilers #downpour spoilers #rainworld dlc spoilers #rain world dlc spoilers #saint #gourmand #artificer #spearmaster #rivulet #slugcat #headcanon #some have more bc i have more thoughts #but i love them regardless if they have less #especially saint .. my fave :)

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clairewriteshaikyuuxreader · 1 year

Text

His kid asks him to stay away (Oikawa, Atsumu)

Inspired by two scenes from Gilmore Girls.

Oikawa is surprised but beaming when he finds his daughter standing outside his hotel suite. "Hey, princess!" He envelopes Yuma (悠真) in a tight hug, which she reluctantly returns.

"I'm sorry I didn't call–"

Tooru shakes his head, squeezing her shoulders. "Nonsense. You're always welcome here. Hey, I made that corned beef that you like. The one with potatoes? I can heat them up right now. Come inside."

"No, that's okay. Listen, dad..." She takes a step back, pulling herself away from his arms. "Mom has a boyfriend."

Tooru blinks. "Oh."

"It's Uncle Iwa."

He inhales sharply. "Yeah, I...I heard."

Japan's team had a plethora of colorful characters, and the more noisy members liked to talk online and post photos of their unknowing teammates, coaches, and trainers. One particular trainer had many candid photos of him and Oikawa's ex wife in the background. You were never active in social media, so Tooru shamefully relied on his daughter's posts to see how you were doing. Her posts were always the same: friends, school, you and her together. You two were like the happier, healthier version of the Gilmore Girls. And there was no other man in your life as far as he can tell.

Everything was fine until last month.

Last month was your first birthday after the divorce. Tooru was in Argentina and could only send a polite greeting and of course, you only sent a simple 'thank you.'

The same time, his daughter uploaded two photos: one was of you two, and the other was of you and his best friend, sitting awfully close to each other.

He remembered that day like it was yesterday. After seeing Iwaizumi so close to you with the faintest red in his face, he had to know, he had to ask.

Three rings before the trainer picked up.

"What the hell, Trashykawa–"

"Are you seeing my wife?"

"..."

Tooru didn't even need an answer. The silence spoke for itself. But he wanted to hear what his friend had to say.

"Oikawa..."

"Please, Iwa-chan. Tell me the truth," he whispers. Iwaizumi had to have known how much Tooru still loves you, how much he wants to turn back time and fix everything. He had to know, because Tooru cried to him the night he signed the papers.

On the other side of the line, Iwaizumi inhales. Then he says, "She's not your wife anymore."

Tooru hung up. He was glad that Japan was an ocean away, because he would've driven straight to Iwaizumi's house and beat him up.

"Dad?" his daughter calls out to him.

"Sorry, sweetie, daddy spaced out for a bit."

His daughter examines his face, her own expression hesitant but determined. She sticks her hands into her coat pocket and speaks up again: "I want you to stay away from them."

Time stills and Tooru feels sick. "You...what?"

"Dad, I love you but...but you hurt mom."

"Honey, I– "

"And it doesn't matter if you mean to or not, you just do. You just do. And before you start, you should know that mom never speaks bad about you, well, not in front of me anyway--"

Tooru should be proud. Even at this moment his sweet Yuma retains his and your snarkiness. But right now he just wants to throw up.

"My point," she continues, "is that I'm not here because mom says you're the devil."

"I know. Your mom isn't like that."

"So then you know that she doesn't deserve getting clobbered."

"... I do."

"She deserves to be happy, dad, and Uncle Iwa makes her happy. I know that you must be mad and hurt but I'm begging you to please let them be."

Tooru can't bring himself to open his mouth as his daughter brushes back her hair, trying to hold back her tears. "I'm still gonna visit you and you can visit me. You can get angry at them and me but don't do anything because... because you should see how mom smiles now."

He understands. Looking back at it now, he couldn't recall the last time you smile so genuinely when you were with him.

His little girl, acting not so little anymore, rubs her face. "Anyway, that's all I got to say. It was nice seeing you."

"Wait–"

"I still have to meet up with my friends."

"At least let me drive–"

"This isn't Argentina, dad," she points out.

He doesn't have a car here. "Right."

She gives him a pitying look but only mutters out a "bye" before leaving.

Tooru silently opens the door to his hotel room.

He heats up the leftover corned beef from last night and sets down his plate on the table, settling in front of the TV.

But he doesn't eat or even listen to the news.

He cradles his head between his hands.

His only daughter, his sweet, little princess who should be free of troubles, came here just to tell him to stay away.

"Dammit." He swallows the lump in his throat as he fiddles with the ring he refuses to take off. "I'm pathetic."

You didn’t ask much. You always supported Atsumu, always defended him from your family when your parents accused him of abandoning you, always made excuses and did everything–everything to keep your relationship happy.

You loved your job and if someone were to go back in time and ask you if you would sacrifice your career for a guy, you’d throw your head back and guffaw, because the idea was insane. But then you met Atsumu, and he wasn’t just some guy. He was the guy. He was sweet and funny and supportive. He adored his mother, he had a good relationship with his brother. He was passionate and he shone brighter than anyone.

And you loved how much he loved volleyball.

So you didn’t ask for much.

You didn’t complain when he had to leave you alone when he was off to Argentina or China for weeks and months.

You didn’t whine when he couldn’t accompany you to family reunions and weddings of close friends.

It was your idea to quit your job the moment the test came out positive.

Sure, you loved your job–love your job–but Atsumu was your whole world. You never thought you’d have someone like him in your life and you were determined to be happy with him and the bundle of joy you two made.

Your son was born healthy. Hiroyuki (ヒロユキ), you decided to name him. Atsumu was there and he showed off the little runt to the doctor who delivered, to the nurses who helped, and your family members waiting outside.

You didn’t expect yourself to end up the way you did, but everything was fine.

Your boys were healthy.

Your husband was doing great. Every week there was always a shower of praise for your genius setter.

Your son grew up nothing like his dad though: while Atsumu was brash and loud-mouthed, his son was a quiet and polite boy who hated conflict; while Atsumu lived for volleyball, his son hated getting dirty and sweaty and preferred academics.

You and Atsumu still wanted him to be healthy though, so you encouraged him to exercise and pursue other hobbies.

Your son only begrudgingly agreed to get you both to shut up.

Everything was great.

You were great. You were content.

But then you saw it, a single message from an unknown number on your husband’s phone.

“I had an amazing night. Call me when you’re in the city.”

Your shining world crumbled in an instant.

You couldn’t remember what you did next. You vaguely recall smashing the device into a mirror and locking yourself in the guest bedroom.

The next six months were a blur, too.

You froze out your husband though you didn’t tell your son the truth, only telling him that mommy and daddy just couldn’t be with each other anymore. Some people were appalled that you wanted to get a divorce. “Because so what if he cheated?” They had asked. “Think of your son.”

You did think of your son. Ever since you discovered you were pregnant with him, you always thought of your son.

The divorce was for his sake as much as yours, because you had no guarantee that you wouldn’t end up murdering his father if you stayed next to him.

So you bought a different house in the next city, got your old job back, and got divorced. Shared custody.

The whole ordeal felt unreal. Every day, you felt like you would float out to space, but you had Hiroyuki, who liked to tug on your pants and remind you: “I’m here, mama.”

You would laugh and give him the tightest hug every time. You wished you didn’t cry so much every time though. You wanted to be stronger for both of you.

And you were strong enough.

With your baby and your job back, you became too busy to even think about your cheating ex.

Fast forward years later and it’s now your baby’s middle school graduation.

“You’re now a man!”

“Stop it, mom.”

“Whatever happened to ‘mama’?”

“Mom.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You kissed his cheek. “Your dad should be here soon.”

“It’s okay, I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t have to lie.”

You gently flicked his forehead. “I made sure to tell him.”

He blinked. “You did?”

“I did.”

“When…when did you tell him?”

“Last week–”

“You didn’t have to tell him.”

“He’s still your dad.”

“Yeah, my dad,” he bitterly repeats. Although the lawyers agreed on shared custody, the man was rarely around. When it was Atsumu’s turn to take care of Hiroyuki, he was almost never at home and the people who took care of the kid were either his mom or his brother. Truth be told, Hiroyuki didn’t care. How could he possibly forget the many days he caught his mom trying desperately to hide her sadness and the many nights she sobbed in her bedroom when she thought her son was asleep? Children weren’t idiots. And Hiroyuki never bought into the idea that kids needed a mother and a father either. Why would he? He grew up with only his mother being there for him, so why would he need his father now?

“I would’ve called him myself if you really wanted him here,” he says.

“It’s not about me wanting him here, it’s about him having to want to be here, and he should be here. It’s his only son’s graduation.”

“Middle school graduation. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“It’s a celebration in mediocrity.”

“That’s a lot coming from the valedictorian and…” You fall quiet.

“What’s wrong?” He turns to follow your line of sight.

He exhales when he sees his sperm-donor walking into the auditorium, dressed in a clean polo shirt and some woman hanging off his elbow.

His Uncle Samu’s right: the man’s an idiot.

“Hey, mom, could you get me a soda?”

“Huh?” You snap out of your trance.

“I’m kinda thirsty.”

You try to protest but quickly quiet down before giving your son a sad smile and walking towards the cafeteria.

Hiroyuki inherited his father’s height so it only took a few strides before he caught up to the man and his plus one.

“Hi dad.”

Atsumu grins at his son. “There he is, the man of the hour. Happy graduation, kid!”

Hiroyuki bites his lip. He hates how oblivious this guy is. He hates how he could smile like this and bring this woman with him like nothing’s wrong and that everything is okay.

He doesn’t say anything else and an awkwardness falls between the three of them.

Atsumu clears his throat and gestures towards his date. “Have you met–”

“–no.” Hiroyuki shuts him down. “Dad, can we talk? Alone.”

The woman looks peeved and makes a face, like she’s expecting Atsumu to get mad on her behalf, but the volleyball player only shrugs and pulls his arm away from her. “Sure thing.”

The two guys walk to a corner in the room, away from prying eyes.

“Hey, I got you some cash but it kinda feels like it’s not enough, so do you have anything you want for today?”

Without hesitation, Hiroyuki speaks up: “Stay away from mom.”

Atsumu’s head swerves and he is forced to look straight into the clear, unyielding eyes of his only son.

There is a pause.

Atsumu lets out a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say that you want me to stay away from your mom.”

“You heard right.” Hiroyuki crosses his arms. “Dad, I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Bringing that woman here? I know you’re trying to make mom jealous.”

“That’s ridiculous! First of all, that woman is named Ochaco.”

“What’s her last name?”

“...”

“Dad, just stop. That’s the best thing you can give me.”

“Son–”

“I know you still love her.” Hiroyuki knows how the man looks at you, because it’s the same look you had whenever you heard his name or saw him on the news. He hates that you’re still in love with your ex, because those feelings blinded you from realizing how his Uncle Samu looks at you; Samu who helped you move, Samu who packed your things into boxes because you couldn’t bear a second longer in Atsumu’s house, Samu who made sure you and Hiro were always fed, Samu who could comfort you in ways Hiro couldn’t because you didn’t want to look weak in front of your boy. “But you can’t be together, not anymore, so please just stop these stupid games and go back.”

“What?”

“I have mom, I have Uncle Samu, they’re all I need.”

“Hiro–”

The speakers blared with feedback before the emcee called for all graduates to find their seats.

“I have to go. Bye, dad.”

Atsumu wants to pull back his son, to talk with him, but seeing his little boy walking confidently away from him broke his heart.

He bites his lip.

He really did f*** up.

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uhardite · 6 months

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manifest with me ♡

before we start: one thing i like to do while manifesting is to pretend to be blair waldorf from gossip girl while repeating affirmations (if you don't know who she is, watch this). now, i'm not romanticizing arrogance or self-centredness, and i would NOT advise anyone to do so. however, i feel that embodying blair's confidence and persona really helps me get into my abundance mindset. this is what i do, but feel free to proceed as you wish!

my fav affs (none of these are mine, add or reduce as you wish ୨୧)

study : - i love being an academic overachiever - my attitude towards studying is perfect - i always understand complex topics easily - i love my efficient time management skills - my mind is always in the best condition - i have sharp memory and i easily understand and retain whatever i study - working on assignments is so fun for me - i feel incredibly focused when studying - my mind is free from any distractions - i love that i can easily focus for a long period of time - any subject i study for, is always far too easy for me - i really enjoy studying and revising - i am always relaxed during exams - exams are fun - getting good grades is natural for me - i pass all my exams with a perfect score

lucky girl syndrome : - i am the luckiest girl in the world - i have the best self-concept - every situation works out in my favour - every day goes by in my favour - everything works out the way i want it to - i'm always at the right place at the right time - only good things happen to me - i only experience the best outcomes - i get the perfect things at the perfect time - everything i want is always following me - i only deserve the best, and recieve the best - everything goes better than planned - good things keep flowing in my direction - i am destined to have everything i desire - everything i want is mine right now - i am so lucky, it's unexplainable - why are things so perfect for me? - why am i so loved? - why am i so abundant? - why do oppurtunities consistently come my way? - why am i so blessed? - why am i so confident now? - why do people love to support me? - why am i so good at creating wonderful opportunities? - why do i attract people who bring so much happiness into my life? - why am i so happy when i look at myself in the mirror? - why am i such a magnet to success? - why is my life getting better and better every single day?

hope you like these, stay tuned for part 2 (will include some additional tips on manifesting effectively) !!

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rilannon · 5 months

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What if...?

Max doesn't know how long he's been sitting there before he hears the footsteps. What's left of his rational brain urges him to stand up, be ready to defend himself, but his limbs are heavy and he just doesn't have the will to go on. Instead he keeps his head down, forehead pressing against his knees to hide his tear-stained face. He listens to the footsteps stop for a moment, as the person clearly spots Max curled into a ball on the floor, before returning with purpose. Max lets himself sag as he submits to his fate; he knows there's a lot of people who would be more than happy to kick him while he's down, he's pissed off a lot of people over the years. He has no idea who the mystery person is, but a list jumps to his mind. Jericho, Roddy, Joe coming back for seconds, Britt, Jack, Kenny, Wardlow, Adam… In a twisted way he almost hopes that it's Wardlow. At least he would put Max out of his misery.

The footsteps are closer now. Max knows he should look up, at least have some idea of what's coming for him, but his neck hurts. He hurts, physically and emotionally. His hip is screaming at him and his chest feels like Joe's chops reached in and carved his heart right out of his chest. Or maybe that was Adam doing the carving, he doesn't really know any more. All he knows is that he's lost everything. The ROH tag titles. The Triple B. His best friend. All gone. Max can't help but feel like he deserves this, that this is karma coming round for everything awful that he's done in his past. His brain was screaming at him that things were always going to go this way, that everyone was going to leave him because that's what people do, and Max just isn't strong enough to tell his RSD to fuck off like he usually does. Instead he spirals, fresh tears flowing as he waits for Wardlow or whoever it is coming towards him to get it over with.

The footsteps stop in front of him, and in the ensuing quiet Max can hear how loud his sobbing is. He tries to hold it in, retain some dignity but even that is beyond him right now. He waits for a kick, a punch, hands grabbing him, anything but nothing comes. Eventually the curiosity becomes too much, and he slowly lifts his head. The first thing he sees are pink wrestling boots, and he feels his eyes widen in surprise. His gaze follows upwards, past the black and pink and white patterned wrestling tights, the obnoxiously pink Trios belt and the Scissor Me vest top, to meet Max Casters eyes. He sees his own heartbreak mirrored in Caster's face, as easy to read as always, and it makes the void in his chest ache that bit more.

As they stare at each other, Max can't bring himself to break the silence. He knows that he's pretty much an open book at the moment, and he prays that that's enough. He's scared that if he does manage to find the words, they won't ever stop. Caster opens his mouth as if to break the silence himself, but he shuts it instead, expression hardening. Max's gaze flicks to the muscle jumping as Caster clenches his jaw, pulse thundering in his ears as he wonders if Caster is going to take revenge for all the times Max has rejected him. Instead, Caster takes a step sideways, moving to sit next to Max on the floor. Max keeps watching him, not quite understanding what's happening, but Caster looks straight ahead, arms resting loosely on his drawn-up knees. The hardness is still in his face, but there's an alertness there that it takes Max far too long to identify. When he does, he sucks in a shaky breath in surprise; Caster is on guard, watching for anyone who would want to hurt Max while he's vulnerable. He's protecting Max, and that realisation is enough for the last of Max to crumble. His breath comes out as a sob, and he lets his head drop again, forehead resting against his knees once again. They're not touching, but Max can feel the body heat radiating off Caster next to him, and for the first time that evening, he doesn't feel so alone.

#fanfiction #max squared #max² #max caster #MJF #this one is angsty #I just want Caster to be the hero in this story #he's the only one that likes Max for Max

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jazzmckay · 4 months

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oh! kiss meme, adoribull, 36 :)

36. …to give up control.

excellent prompt, tysm!! it was a fun challenge :> i totally meant to write smut, because obviously, but then my brain went places and now here's this sort of abstract interpretation of the prompt. i should still write the smut tho. it's what they deserve.

so, featuring: dorian pining and sorting through Tevinter Baggage, and dorian & sera friendship because i love them your honour.

***

Dorian stands at the window of his library nook, a book balanced on one palm to act as a guise. His attention is not on the page of yet another borderline useless tome, but through the foggy glass that grants him a view of the courtyard below. The portcullis has been cranked open, where a couple dozen mounts are saddled and ready, their riders taking their places. At the front, The Iron Bull pulls himself onto his massive Frostback elk, then calls something to the others gathered around him.

Dorian wonders what Bull is saying, but it was his own decision to remain at a distance rather than seeing the Chargers off.

When subtly pressed, Adaar divulged that they would be cleaning raiders out of the Hinterlands. That’s not overly far. Better than crossing Orlais to the Wastes, certainly. They won’t be gone so long.

With a soft sigh, Dorian turns from the window, not wanting to watch them leave. He makes a conscious effort to actually read the passage that his unseeing eyes roved over and over while he was utterly distracted watching the Chargers gear up and get ready to go.

In the end, he wishes he hadn’t bothered with the book. No better than drivel. Dorian pushes the book back onto the shelf, and decides he would be better served finding a different distraction.

The first time Rilienus leaned in for a kiss, Dorian turned his face away, receiving upon his neck what was meant for his lips. He’d wanted to kiss Rilienus, he’d wanted that and much, much more—more than they could ever have together. Dorian already knew what was planned for both of them, and it was only a matter of time.

He should not get attached. (He was already attached.) He should not allow himself to consider what-ifs. (He had already wondered if Rilienus would risk as much as Dorian would for a chance at true happiness.) Giving someone so much sway over his heart is a terrifying, dangerous thing. (Luckily—or unluckily—Dorian does not scare easily.)

Rilienus didn’t push the matter. In time, Dorian still ended up learning the shape and taste of his lips anyway.

What a tragedy, that.

“Bet it takes you so long to get out of those buckles it counts as edging.”

Dorian snorts inelegantly. He will blame that on the crude southern wine they’re drinking tonight. “If you fell asleep in the stables, the horses would mistake your hair for hay.”

Sera wiggles her toes as she laughs. Her foot is braced upon Dorian’s thigh, and he’s trying his darnedest to keep his hand steady enough to paint her toenails with grace despite how sloppy they’ve gotten over the course of the night. It’s more than late; the tavern around them has emptied, leaving them to hide away in Sera’s wonderful little nest.

“Do ‘Vints take classes in school for how to be prissy?”

“As a matter of fact, we do.” Dorian carefully sweeps the brush along the curve of Sera’s nail, finishing off the smallest toe. “At least I retained something of my education.”

She huffs and kicks him with her other foot, upon which the paint is already dry. “Not a good thing! They teach you nug dung!”

Dorian chuckles under his breath as he caps the paint jar and slides closer to her on the bench, repositioning her legs across his lap. He grabs their current bottle of wine to take a mouthful of it, then rests back in the many pillows Sera has amassed over the months. It’s surprisingly comfortable. More comfortable than lying alone in his own room.

As he drinks, she waves her foot around, inspecting it. “Now I’ve gotta act like an elfy elf and walk around barefoot so everyone can see.”

“You do not,” Dorian says. He hands her the bottle back. “They should please you first and foremost, before anyone else. Or you should finally sleep with that Valo-Kas you’ve been drooling over.”

“Oi.” She nudges him with her leg. “Don’t get on my arse about drooling.”

Groaning, Dorian tips his head back into the pillows, closing his eyes. Sera was with them and Adaar when The Iron Bull so casually announced their affairs, completely shameless and lacking in tact, as if he had nothing to hide.

It should not have been stirring. But to hear a man publicly address their budding relationship, and to revel in it? That was new and rousing, even if equally frustrating, as Dorian’s inclination is still to remain quiet about such things. Being open about his affections is a fairy tale.

The Iron Bull didn’t seem to think it so complicated.

The wine bottle gets pushed against his shoulder. “Can see you tying your head into knots,” Sera says softly, half in empathy, half sleepily.

Dorian accepts the bottle and takes a drink. It’s light in his grasp—almost finished. They should probably call it a night, but Dorian is quite comfortable exactly where he is, here with Sera draped over him and the scent of wine and varnish in the air.

“It’s been a fortnight,” Dorian says. I miss him, is what he means.

“Didn’t seem too fussed about him leavin’.”

No, of course not. Despite The Iron Bull’s lack of subtlety, their relationship is still largely a secret—Dorian has no doubt that the knowledge has spread a little, but not too broadly, for which he is grateful. Having attachments, he has learned, is risky, and it is even riskier for those attachments to be known by others. He has made it more complicated by growing fond of a qunari, even if said qunari recently became Tal-Vashoth. That distinction would not matter a jot to people like his parents.

Not that he particularly cares what they think anymore, but old habits die hard.

“Bit daft, if you ask me,” Sera continues. She pauses to yawn, then burrows into the cushions. “You find someone like that, you should be yelling it from the rooftops.”

Dorian’s chest clenches, and he curls his fingers tighter around the neck of the wine bottle. If only it could be so simple to let joy override reason, to think nothing of consequences, to not only let someone have all of him, but to let the world know it to be the case. To be open about one’s affections is to invite everyone else’s opinion, to invite all manner of weakness and vulnerabilities. This is a lesson Dorian learned the hard way.

He lifts the bottle and drinks the last of it, setting it on the floor with the one they already emptied earlier. How nice it would be, to have Sera’s certainty and boldness when it comes to matters of love.

“You are far wiser than your conduct suggests,” Dorian says, as light-hearted as all their jabs at each other.

When Sera doesn’t respond, he glances over at her, finding her with her face squished into the pillows, lips slightly parted as she breathes in an even ebb and flow. Dorian can’t help but smile to himself at the sight. To think she once looked upon him with wariness.

Carefully, Dorian gathers her legs again, slipping out from beneath her and laying them back down on the cushions. He is in no rush to return to his own room, so he simply sits back down on the other end of the bench, removes his boots, and fits his legs up alongside hers, letting the wine and the soft rhythm of her breathing lull him to sleep.

Adaar and Josephine have become sickeningly sweet in recent days. They greet guests and diplomats to Skyhold while arm in arm, and Adaar always leans down to kiss Josephine before they part ways, sometimes on the lips, sometimes on the cheek. Their love is evident in how they smile at each other. Dorian is happy for them.

They make it look so easy.

Feeling wistful, Dorian imagines how it might have felt to have that with Rilienus, if their Tevinter peers cared not for the fact that they were two men, just as no one here cares that Adaar and Josephine are two women, one of whom is an Antivan with status while the other used to be naught but a qunari mercenary.

It’s still a pretty fantasy to think of what might have been with Rilienus, but Dorian knows a little something about falling for a qunari mercenary himself. His imaginings quickly turn to The Iron Bull’s large hand resting against his back, to the way he laughs deep and unrestrained, to fighting beside each other so intuitively, to how he makes Dorian feel like something precious in their private moments.

Dorian would not like to look back on this years from now with yearning, wishing he had allowed himself more. Not when the only thing stopping him from having more right now is himself.

As the week comes to a close, Dorian grows ever more agitated, wishing he knew when the Chargers would be back in Skyhold. It can’t be much longer now, he thinks.

He used to be so much more patient than this. His dalliance with Rilienus had been careful and covert—they couldn’t be seen slipping away together too often, they had to make time between their obligations, they were used to stolen moments and pretending not to care so deeply while in the presence of others.

Dorian supposes he doesn’t find the clandestine nature of it as romantic as it felt at the time. Now, he wants something solid, something he can rely on. He wants to be at The Iron Bull’s side whenever he so chooses.

He wants to let go of the lessons taught to him by his home country.

During a game of chess with Cullen, Dorian maintains a casual expression as he asks, “Is there any word on when the Chargers will be returning?”

Cullen lifts his eyes from the board to regard him, but as Dorian anticipated, he doesn’t question Dorian’s reason for asking, merely says, “They sent a raven when they finished their mission; they’re already well on their way back to Skyhold.”

As someone who doesn’t like others prying into his business, Cullen tends not to do much prying himself, unless he must as Commander. They’re friends, besides—Dorian wouldn’t even mind telling Cullen about his relationship with The Iron Bull. But Cullen doesn’t ask, and Dorian enjoys the opportunity to play at shifting his boundaries without being questioned.

He also takes the opportunity to nudge a chess piece onto a different tile while Cullen’s attention is upwards.

Cullen still takes the game despite Dorian’s best efforts. He was, perhaps, a little distracted with the thought of having The Iron Bull back in his bed before long.

Dorian is sitting in the library with a book open on his thigh when the horn sounds from below to signal a returning party. Without even considering it first, he snaps the book shut, sets it aside, and stands. He has never greeted The Iron Bull and the Chargers at the gates before, always waiting until it would not be out of place, until they can convene in one of their bedchambers for the night, but this time will be different.

He takes the steps down into the base of the rotunda, then into the main hall. No one glances twice at him, no one wonders where he’s going or why. It’s easy as anything to continue outside, into the lower courtyard, where there’s a bit of bustle as the stables are being prepared for mounts that need tending, and others merely wait to see friends return. The Chargers are well-liked. They tend to have an audience when they’re all gathered together like this.

It isn’t a long wait, blissfully. The clop and clatter of horse hooves sounds against the bridge leading into the keep, and then the Chargers—with The Iron Bull at the helm—are pouring through the raised portcullis, looking travel-worn but whole and happy to be home. The Iron Bull is always a sight to behold, but especially now, he is in his element, looking every part the strong, powerful mercenary, all muscle and assurance.

Needing to be at this side, Dorian starts forward, weaving his way through the onlookers. All of them will see him approach the Chargers, all of them will be watching. There is still a kneejerk lurch in Dorian’s stomach at the thought of losing this secret, of having to weather whatever follows, but he intends to be fearless again.

The Iron Bull dismounts and rolls his shoulders back, warding away the stiffness that comes from riding long distances. He turns, almost immediately spotting Dorian in the crowd. He smiles openly, though it’s still restrained, as he knows Dorian worries about what people will think.

Dorian smiles back. He breaks through the throng of people and continues up to the Chargers, who are starting to draw their horses over to the stables. The Iron Bull only stands where he is, at his mount’s flank, and watches Dorian intently.

“Hey, big guy. Missed me that much, did you?” he says when Dorian reaches him, low enough not to be overheard.

Normally, Dorian might make a quip rather than respond with honesty, hiding behind flippancy or even jests. Today, he says, “Very much so.”

He lifts a hand, resting it on the strap of The Iron Bull’s harness, fingertips hooking over the top of the heavy leather. Kissing The Iron Bull like this is always so deliberate—Dorian must stretch up on the tips of his toes, or else tug The Iron Bull closer. He does both, and sees the question on The Iron Bull’s face before Dorian captures his lips in a kiss.

Dorian has always been too aware of those around them during moments of stolen intimacy in public. Every time they end up leaning into each other at the Herald’s Rest, every time they catch each other’s gaze too long to be merely friendly, every gesture that can be interpreted as more—but now, he thinks nothing of their surroundings. The ache in his chest from missing The Iron Bull begins to unravel, smoothing into affection and contentment. The Iron Bull wraps an arm around his back, solid and warm.

It’s like restrictive bonds being cut loose. Like being released from a cage of his own making.

“Dorian?” The Iron Bull murmurs against his lips, asking for an explanation through tone more than words.

“Let them see; let them think what they will,” Dorian says. He cannot control how others will react, nor how this may change others’ perception of him, but he has made the choice to not compromise himself for others before. He can do it again. “Besides, they should all know you’re mine, I think.”

The Iron Bull grins crookedly, slipping his hand lower on Dorian’s back and tugging him closer by the hips. “Is that so?”

“Naturally. I will demonstrate this fact,” Dorian says, “after you no longer smell of blood and horse.”

In response, The Iron Bull nuzzles his nose into Dorian’s cheek, laughing softly when Dorian sighs.

This is the man who holds Dorian’s heart, and Dorian has no regrets, not about their relationship, nor about what others think. It’s freeing to acknowledge that. To no longer hide, to no longer fret, to no longer keep such a firm grasp on a secret that should not need to be a secret at all.

Dorian smiles and squeezes his fingers around The Iron Bull’s arm, finding himself not only unafraid of this public intimacy, but savouring it.

It’s something he’s been missing, and he’ll never have to go without it again.

#ask meme #my fic #adoribull #dorian pavus #the iron bull #sera #dragon age

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