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blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ HAUNTED ❞ + XAVIER THORPE !

+. CWs —» f!reader, switch!reader, outcast!reader, fluff, she/her pronouns, mutual pining, sexual tension, family drama, flirting, manipulation, mentions of abuse, blood, wounds & therapy, flashbacks in italics, supernatural themes ; explicit smut, s & d dynamics, bottom-dom!xavier, cowgirl position; word count-3.5k

+. PRECIS —» Xavier Thorpe has finally found the girl of his dreams after being haunted by her.

+. NOTES —» this is for my beloved sister @zoraedits ’s brainrot contribution.she won't stop making edits on him. && I'm tagging @orchid3a cuz i luv u

you can browse more of my works here. || also available in AO(III). reblogs and comments are very much appreciated.

feel free to send in thirsts and suggestions for this show, Wednesday. This is my first time writing for shows like this; my main fandom spectrum is animanga but I do hope this was a good read for ya’all as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3.

The table calendar was full of red inks all over, dirt sedimented on the sketchbook, and the pencils laid in the case in absolute solitude. Xavier looked at the calendar kept on his desk near his bed in all despondency and a heavy sigh escaped from his lips. It has been days since he stepped into his studio, have not touched his art accessories for almost a month. One thing was for sure, he was plagued by visions in his dreams but this time it was nothing demising.

This time his sketchbooks were not filled by a monster, this time he was not afraid to draw rather he was drawn to it; part of him was stoked while sketching while a part of him was reluctant to draw the whole picture. He had spent countless sleepless nights before, not resorting to sleeping as he was threatened by nightmares. And now his sleep was peaceful as if entering into the realm of dreamland.

Xavier was sure that his mind was captured by a girl who came to visit him in his sleep, never showing her face, only showing herself in bits and pieces. He had spent his childhood receiving showers of praise for his talent for drawing but the origin was never happy. Of course, he enjoyed it and liked to show off his talent for art but secretly he wished his power would vanish into oblivion, for it was never pleasant.

People say that the art of someone reflects one’s persona, one’s raw feelings but Xavier always begged to differ since those memories, those incidents were never his. There always had been a wave of remorse that washed over him after he stepped out of his art studio since the praises he received never belonged to him.

Many were astoundingly taken aback by his knack for drawing and suggested he pursue art, to be a renowned artist but he knew he would lose all the glory once he stopped having those dreams. Moreover, he did not always have such dreams so the possibility of waking up one day and being unable to paint and as a result, staring at a blank canvas scared him to death. Heck! He even considered going to Doctor Kinbott so that his sanity would not be hanging by thread.

For the last couple of weeks, he has been dreaming of odd landscapes. Xavier had never seen them in his life yet he saw how the dusky crimson hue smothered the snowy mountain ranges, how the clouds gathered before the arrival of a rainstorm, how the birds sang songs and all the owes and pangs of nature. One thing he could conclude from those dreams was that whoever it belonged to was a chaser of freedom, that is, was a soarer of the sky.

Xavier had not told anyone about his dreams, nor put them on paper to ease his mind. What would he tell? What would he draw? Last night was particularly odd concerning the regular pattern of his dreams. He dreamt of falling from a high cliff into the water and a broken wing. When he woke up, he was all soaked, even his bed, and his olfactory senses did not miss the subtle scent of stagnant water. He was breathing rashly as if he was the one who drowned as if he was the one to fall.

He closed his eyes and tried to recapitulate his dream, searching for a mark, searching for a recognizable feature, searching for something, anything, anything at all. His desperation knew no bounds when left his dorm and rushed into his studio in the middle of the night since somewhere at the corner of his hopeless heart he knew he found one, a ray of hope.

A lot of crumbled papers surrounded Xavier as he tried accumulating the pieces from his puzzled mind. Around two o’clock he left his studio on his bicycle, the paper where he drew tucked in his pocket. He was sure he had witnessed the scenery before unlike the others. When he finally reached the top of the highland, he witnessed the view from his most recent dream.

The only thing that engulfed his presence was the sound of the waterfall echoing through the woods. He noticed a pond nearby and an adjacent high plateau near it. It was higher from where he was standing. After looking around for a few minutes he figured that there was no way to go there unless one swam through the stream or flew toward it.

On his way back, he felt happy, he felt sane. At least he had proof of the existence of a creature that haunted him, even in his wake. Xavier showered before going to bed just to clear his head before a good night's sleep. He kept a white feather as a bookmark in his sketch pad while a smile smothered his face. He was right. He was haunted by a fairy-like creature.

“Two cappuccinos”, Xavier mumbled as he went back to the counter at Weathervane. It was another event where all the students of Nevermore set foot into the world of normies to carry on the ties between two polar opposite worlds. But no matter how much one tried, the other always tried to retaliate. Their relationship was always on a tightrope, it could snap at any moment. And it certainly did.

“And you did not bother to tell me about this. . .”, Principal Weems trailed off as she left her seat, walked past her desk, and inclined against it, “until everyone in town became aware of it.”

“I thought I was going to be called insane or bullied. Last time I told something about my dreams, I found myself behind the bars.”, he responded, keeping his eye on the ground. Principal Weems exhaled grudgingly. She had no grounds to punish this boy since he was not entirely wrong. Hence, Xavier was dismissed with mere detention.

Xavier was forbidden from the school campus for a week. Everyone felt sorry for him, in his situation but secretly he could not be happier because he had all the time to draw, sketch, paint and think — and it was all about her, y/n.

That day at the café, Xavier was the sole witness of a crime. It happened so quickly, so fast that all she could do was succumb to her fate. A man was standing near the corner of the kitchen with his back facing Xavier. Xavier was not supposed to be here but he had to fetch some ingredients for making pastries and cupcakes.

As the man turned around, Xavier saw a bloodied butcher's knife in his hand. Near his feet lay a girl with a bloodied back the blood quickly spread all over her blouse. She stood motionless, like a statue. The eye contact was merely for two seconds and he immediately smashed the sugar jar on his head, distracting him, to tackle her out of the way.

The other townies turned up for help. Not all people in the world came to be cruel and heartless. All Xavier did was contact Principal Weems so that she could swiftly take care of this matter, which she had to otherwise the reputation of the Nevermore Academy would be in danger. The girl was taken to a nearby hospital.

Y/n L/n was her name. After the untimely death of her parents, she was raised by her uncle, by a normal family. Naturally, when she began to bloom, she was forced to be normal. One would think she tried to run, tried to hide or fight but Alas! none was the case for this matter. She felt indebted to her uncle and his family, for taking care of her, aiding her upbringing, fulfilling the role of parents, and hence helping her to be normal. But Xavier's presence on that day turned her life upside down. She was now a student at Nevermore Academy, funded by Principal Weems’ study forum.

After you recovered within a week, the first thing that dawned on you was to meet him, Xavier, the ‘ hero ’ of your life. You knocked on the door of his studio and waited for a while. There was no answer for a few minutes and when you finally made up your mind to leave, Xavier showed up. He was in his casuals with a teeth-flashing grin on his face.

“How’re you, y/n? The last time I saw you, you were in a hospital bed and now you’re here. in front of me.”, Xavier danced on his toes as he walked into his studio. You followed him and the moment you stepped into his studio you were taken all in awe. The room was filled with artboards, canvases, and sketch supplies, and everything reflected you. Indeed, y/n did not come here to be thankful for what he did since she was not. She was not happy with how her life seemed so devoid of any family. Her uncle was the last of her family and now he is gone. All because of him, Xavier.

“You look better than the last time I saw you.”, Xavier added as he felt the silence between the two of you deafening. You swallowed hard as he tried to ease the tense ambiance thinking how rude of him to remind you of the very wound he was responsible for. There was a desk with a closed sketch pad that caught your attention.

“Your drawings are very beautiful.”, you pitched in opening it and your heart dropped at the sight of your feather that was kept safely in between those rusty pages. A short gasp escaped your lips as the whirlwind of your life hit you.

Xavier was standing behind you, close to your shivering body. “They are all about you.”, a low whisper before he extended his hand to remove the veil from the canvas. The cloth dropped at your feet revealing every bit of dreary in you that you always wanted to hide. You hated how he could see through your pangs and pathos, you hated how he could and would have eradicated all of it, even if it meant being burnt by it. You swiftly tackled out of his towering frame, feeling naked even though you were more dressed than him.

“Stay away from me. You shouldn’t come near me.”, Surprise took Xavier in all proportions. His eyebrows became congested as you continued. “I’m grateful that you saved me but do not do that again, ever.” With that, you walked out of his studio but a firm grip on your wrist kept you from running away anymore.

“Listen, I’m being haunted by you, your pain, your emotions, and everything you feel for the past few months, and all you could say to me was to stay away from you… not even a proper thank you.”, His breath hit your lips as he drew in a sharp breath before his amber eyes landed on you, your shaky lips and pale eyes.

Embarrassment rushed into your cheeks and you pushed him lightly uttering, “Stay away” with a little glare to ward him off but when you vanished out of his sight he was not dejected, not at all. Sure, he was conflicted but the way you told him to stay away whereas your body spoke otherwise made him relish the chase that has haunted him for months now.

They say one can only save people only if one wants to be saved. You neither needed help nor saving but you could see why Xavier begged to differ, wanted to be the odd one out, and craved the crown from saving you from your only family. You always had been a rebel since your childhood, going against the flow of the stream. Somewhere in the corner of your heart, you knew you were different, you would be different.

It was the end of June when you first felt your body ache, back arch, muscles cramping excruciatingly as if someone was poking needles in your skin. Your arms clung to your body as your back bled for the first time. The wailing of such lethal agony submerged amidst the sound of rain as two enormous wings grew with lustrous hues of carmine and amber. Your breathing became regular again, your body stopped hurting as the wings flapped open involuntarily. Every mark, scar, and wound on your body since you were a child began to heal, all by themselves.

Everyone rejoiced when you went through the family ritual and stood in front of your clan as the last phoenix of your bloodline. It was a miracle that a phoenix had been born in the bloodline but just like with blessings it came with a massive price. You were a healer and a destroyer at the same time. Somewhere something has to die to keep you alive, again and again. Every time you were wounded or hurt, your mother had to lose some of her life until she became lifeless, forever. But the family oracle told your father that it is a part of the process, part of a phoenix's journey that every one of their loved ones had to sacrifice in one way or another.

Your father just had a miraculous idea to save you and himself from the bottomless pit of despondency and mutual hatred lurking in his heart because of you. He volunteered to sacrifice himself even if that was against his will. The oracle seemed to be unsure about the idea, saying that the cycle might shorten but not cease. But your father was right, the cycle did cease and you became aware of it when your uncle tried to chop off your wings, uprooting the evil once and for all, and no one in your family was harmed. Still, unfortunately, you were under the radar of an outcast, Xavier Thorpe. ‘What would happen if someone not from your bloodline were to sacrifice? What would happen to your mate if they were not an outcast? What would. . . thoughts would not cease to bombard your mind until a knock disrupted your trail of thoughts.

You lifted your eyes for a glance only to find Xavier inclining against the bookshelf with a saccharine smile on his face. Your stomach turned at the sight of him. ‘How can a person be so forgiving?’ but it seems that he is rather forgetful than forgiving. He picked up a random book from the shelf and sat in front of you.

“You’re hurt. . .”, you murmured to which he responded, “more than you think . . .” while turning the pages of the book and occasionally stealing glances from you. You rolled your eyes and leaned towards the table eyeing his hands that had a lot of scratches. It was probably from a silly fight with other boys, maybe the normies; for him, it was just a scratch yet for you it was an opportunity to apologize for the other day.

“Give me your hand.” As you extended yours, Xavier's reflexively recoiled under the desk. “I’ve no intention of harming you.”, you uttered touching the palm of his other hand that was still on the desk. “Besides, I’m just clearing my debts.”

“Um-hm.”

You inhaled sharply before you flapped those lustrous enormous wings to heal with him, his wounds. Your wings glowed for almost a minute and the hand that was hurt was healed which he was hiding under the desk. It is impressive how Xavier hurt the very hand that can create masterpieces. What a clutz! He interlaces his fingers with yours as he murmured, “A touch . . . is all you need.”

You begrudgingly pulled your hand away standing up and yelling whisperingly, “stop it. stop this. . . and don’t come near me.” With that, you grabbed your book and went towards the exit of the library. Xavier sat like a child who would mourn for the broken toy rather than demand anew.

“Wait.”, Xavier followed you. He kept yelling in the middle of the corridor, “Y/n. wait.”

“Your wings.”, you finally turned your head but not without letting out a sigh of annoyance. “You’re hurt. . .bleeding” and that is when fear crawled underneath the skin.

“I never bleed.”, you retorted.

“And, I never lie.”

If it were someone else, you would have shooed them away. But this was Xavier, who saved you from an inevitable, to whom you owed nothing but the truth. Even though you tried to heal yourself you could not, perhaps because you healed someone and that too for the first time.

Xavier might be persistent but he was not dull. It didn't take him long to connect the dots and hence you had to do the very thing you wanted to avert from the first place. His room was not tidy but not neat and clean either. With Rowan gone he has the room all to himself. You wanted to go to the infirmary, but there wasn't anyone available. Besides, with all the mess you are in you didn't want to risk it.

“I promise I'll behave.”, he said, swinging his hands up in the air in a form of surrender. That made you smile a little as you turned around so that he could tend to the wound. He unzipped your dress and carefully tucked it along your waistline without harming the feathers. Even though you had your camisole on, you still felt naked. His fingers brushed against your skin. It was ice cold. You had to hold your breath as he dressed the wound.

Xavier noticed how your shoulder blades had been marked. He grazed his fingers over the part from where your wings grew that made you instantly shriek and move away from him.

“Are you done?”, you asked, surprise and embarrassment coursing through your skin. Your upper body was barely clad, nothing but an unhooked bra.

“No.”, and within a blink, his lips were already on yours. You could taste the longing and desperation with each suck. Your hands curled around his nape as his hands got rid of the minimal clothing from your upper body. “First time?”, he asked as he moved away leaving you breathless yet craving for more.

“Why? You care?”, you blurted out stepping out of your dress. Xavier eyed you from up and down. You did not flinch but rather smiled as you noticed his astonished face. You had nothing on but just the underwear.

“I do.”, one of his eyebrows jumped as he knelt near you. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”, he murmured grabbing your calf muscles and kissing your femininity over the cloth. He took a glance before tucking the hem of the panty in between his fingers and undid it. Your hand reflexively went over his head as he kissed your entrance, lapping over your pussy lips that made you suck in a sharp breath. He sucked on your skin, followed by a feeble bite into your inner thighs.

“AH!”, you winced pausing his ministrations. “Don’t you taste divine?”, he whispered kissing your lips, wetting them with the blend of his saliva and your slick. He was too dressed. You cocked an eyebrow at him and he took the hint. You co-operated as he became almost naked, and was back up even though you wanted him to continue.

“You won’t hurt me. worry for yourself.”, you said as you felt his hands palming your cheeks a little too long than they should. His hands traveled back to your entrance and you moaned under his slight touch.

“What? Never played with yourself?”, he added that surely turning the cogs in your head. You pushed him onto the bed, sitting on him struggling to take his cock in and he was not even helping. All he did was watch you let out whimpers of frustration as you lazily glided on his cock. He rested himself on his elbows saying, “Look at me.” And as you did, his fingers dig into your plush ass cheeks slowly adjusting you at a proper angle and stretching you. You kissed him so break the eye contact that made you feel naked, even though you were. Both of you jolted as you could feel his cock inside you.

His hands clamped around your waist as you bobbed on him, with greater force and broader strokes but slow. With each sloppy hit you felt his cock twitch inside you; your hands desperately roamed all over your body, heat bubbling as you could feel your body tensing, picking up the pace he was setting you in, and the orgasm lurking underneath. You can tell; a few more strokes and you would cum so easily.

He can feel it too. Xavier winced as he felt you clenching around his cock. His legs folded to support your back while your hands flew to his shoulder blades, his knuckles turning white, his grip growing stronger around your waist and you came right away, back arching and your wings flapping open involuntarily, eyes rolling white relishing the high as your thighs squeezed in.

With your breathing rash and heavy, you felt all mushy in the head and so was he. Xavier could have sworn that he has not seen anything more beautiful than this, than you sitting on him with his cock buried inside you; your skin glistening in sweat with your gorgeous wings at the display.

As soon as Xavier’s breath relaxed a bit he pulled you into his embrace for a kiss. He could not help it, you were too beautiful to look at. Besides, he was not done, not yet.

—

by @blueparadis

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kudzuoath · 6 months

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BG3 Companions and Sign Language headcanons

Shadowheart: she knows sign language. She’s pretty good at it. Why? Being able to communicate silently and without spells absolutely screams of Sharran sensibilities. And this is a skill set that would lean into Sharran things that Shadowheart wouldn’t have any intrinsic need to struggle against. It doesn’t hurt anyone in and of itself. Also I can see her and Nocturne/Renault using it to talk unheard when they were small.

Lae’zel: she’s a soldier and sing language would be very useful on the field of battle — possibly moreso than speech if communicating between dragon riders. That said the sign language she knows is based of Tir’su not common, and is very basic and military in nature.

Karlach: any sign language Karlach knows was picked up on accident and for similar reasons to Lae’zel — she’s a soldier. It would only make sense for her to know a little. It’s not at all good for conversation though, pure utility. And a few swears.

Wyll: Wyll knows a Little sign Language — just enough to help when encountering people who cannot hear or speak in the course of his heroics as The Blade. I cannot see this man encountering a deaf or mute person and NOT taking the time to learn a little in order to be sure no one is left behind in a dangerous situation.

Gale: Gale does not know sign language but he would go out of his way to learn and pick it up quite fast — somatic elements of spell casting and his fascination with words would drive his curiosity and will to learn about it. That said he absolutely will leap before he looks early on and say some astoundingly off the mark things in sign language as he’s learning. (As in mistaking one sign of gesture for another).

Astarion: this man does not know sign language. He knows thieves cant, which is comparable, but not a full language. And it operates on an entirely different “vocabulary” so to speak.

Jaheira: Jaheira knows sign language. She signs it better than you. Don’t ask me why it’s just a feeling.

Minsc: does NOT know sign language. Not even a little. And even if he did I just don’t think he is paying enough attention to pick up on anything you’re saying. Boo, on the other hand, does know sign language.

Halsin: might know a little sign language. I can see it possibly coming up.

Minthara: absolutely knows sign language for similar reasons to Shadowheart. But like Lae’zel the sign she knows is not based off common.

#mun talk #Baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #sign language #shadowheart #laezel #Karlach #wyll #Gale #Astarion #Jaheira #minsc #minthara #Halsin #headcanon

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feroluce · 16 days

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Connecting dots tonight (didn't connect shit, I've connected them, etc) because of this post about item descriptions to do with Sampo I saw a few days ago and! I feel like there are so many interesting things that could be implied from this!! Because the recipe for the High-Tech Protective Gear is given to you by Bronya (before the IPC invaded Belobog!), who says this little interesting tidbit about it:

This is an item from before the Eternal Freeze, 700 years ago. Even to the rest of the universe, it would be SORELY outdated. It cannot be made in Belobog anymore due to the loss of entire eras. It is effectively useless; this recipe had to be somewhere gathering dust, kept around solely for archival purposes. There is no reason for Sampo to know about this item or have any idea how it works and yet. AND YET. He's just running around selling knock offs!!

He shouldn't even know how to make these, but the fact that he does means Sampo either

had the blueprints from off-world before he came to Belobog (most likely but also most boring answer)

broke into Qlipoth Fort and copied down the blueprints (completely plausible - he's possibly shown doing exactly that in his splash art)

found another copy out in the ruins of the old world (also completely plausible - Sampo is astoundingly resilient against both the Fragmentum and the cold, as noted by Lynx haha)

Meanwhile, the Inferior Protective Gear recipe comes from an NPC in the underground, and when she gives it to you, she talks about building robots and the robot fighting scene sorry about the quality I didn't have screenshots for her dialogue so I had to use wiki

Which makes me feel like it's safe to say that the inferior gear is mostly being used in the underground, especially by the vagrants and their robots for fights, because...well, who else would use it? Cocolia has made it illegal to explore too far into the Snow Plains, and besides, it's way too dangerous for most civilians even WITH gear. The Silvermane Guards are funded by official sources, they have no reason to rely on Sampo for armor. So it makes sense for an underground mechanic to know the recipe; there's probably not as much market for it up in the overworld.

And if you look at the descriptions, you can see why this probably wasn't something that could be made in Belobog anymore; it requires a charging system of some sort.

We know it's not a problem with the basic materials because all three ingredients can be found right in the administrative district. But the underground only has two of them; somehow, despite being in the planet's crust, and literally crawling with robots...there is no metal down there. It isn't found anywhere, sold by anyone, or dropped by anything. And metal just so happens to be the one ingredient Sampo replaces in his knock off version.

The Inferior Gear uses trash instead, something which, going by the words of that same mechanic, is MORE than abundant in the underground- any good quality parts are extremely difficult to come by down there.

Anyway, all his shadiness aside, I love the implication that Sampo is smart enough to be able to take this item that no one else on the planet probably knows anything about, and was able to figure out what he could replace, and how, and with what, in order to make it easily accessible to the people of the underground, even without access to overworld resources. Because his version DOES work! It literally gives you the exact same amount of defense boost as the IPC one!

Someone should absolutely still knock him around for it, though, world's most slappable face fr fjkdsjfdkjafk

#hsr sampo #hsr sampo koski #sampo koski #honkai star rail #hsr #belobog #he's such a slimeball fjklsdajfkld #I feel like there is something to be said though about the fact that if anyone in the underground is buying this shit armor off Sampo like.#it's either his armor or it's nothing. the overworld isn't exactly sending them a lot of protective gear.#And I'm sure they'd rather have cheap armor they can make and afford themselves than nothing at all.#I wonder if Wildfire would be one of his customers for this stuff or not?#like I think Sampo would be a lot more upfront with them if they were- he's not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds him.#And Natasha is probably his most important client. We already know Sampo smuggles weapons and is her arms dealer.#It's canon that he brought Seele her scythe-#-and I wonder if it's coincidence that Natasha uses a giant weapon that looks similar to the Silvermane hand canons.#I could totally see Sampo trying to sell his armor to ring fighters to fix the matches in his favor though FJKDLSJAFDKLJ #we already know he bets on the fight club from his About Luka line and his dialogue from the Cyrille the Fool quests #so I'm sure he'd be gambling on the robot fights out by Svarog's encampment too haha #do you think they have penny bets for the kids for that kind of fight #crying imagining Hook tagging along and betting single credits on the fights alongside Sampo's much heftier bets #she still wins more than he does JKLDJSKLAJDS

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throwaway-yandere · 1 year

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"I AM HERE" (Yandere Modern CEO! Alhaitham/Reader)

a/n: btw, the logo's made by Esther anon!!! ❤️ Thank you so much!!!! Ily!!!

Unreliable Synopsis: You got recruited as Alhaitham's assistant... But honestly? You'd rather be a damn idol producer.

Mother of Klee, Alice's note: We (Our cutie pie Lumine and I) just wanted you to know that it wasn't our idea to make you Alhaitham's assistant, ✾... That's all! I'll have Barbara pray for you every Sunday <3

Yandere Idol!1k event masterlist

--------

You didn't get the job.

Technically you did get to work for the company, but you still didn't get the job. It's a strange predicament, truly. It would be comparable to learning how to prepare fried eggs in a culinary class and then being informed that you must serve medium-rare steak with sauce for the test.

Yes. You didn't become an idol's producer.

But anyone can imagine the kind of stress you're under when you found out you were hired as the CEO's assistant.

-----

"Ohohoho, a lost guest! It's always nice to see a new face around here! Can I get you something to drink? I promise you can trust me!" A man approached you with two bottles of iced coffee.

You raised an eyebrow, clumsily scratching your neck.

The taller blonde man beside him sighed exasperatedly. "I don't think anyone in their right mind would accept drinks coming from..."

An idol wearing a weird bonnet? Yeah.

"Geez, trainee, what's with that look? I don't spike drinks. Is that sooo hard to believe?"

"You're Kaveh and you're Venti of 5wirl, aren't you?" It's clear to you who they were after that brief exchange.

"Yep yep!!!" He does a tiny little finger-gun gesture. "The one and only– wait a minute, that's Itto's line."

"S-Sorry to bother you, but I'm quite lost right now..." You stuttered. "If you could lead me to CEO Alhaitham's office, that would be fantastic."

"Aaaahh, so YOU'RE (Y/n)! We heard rumors that you're going to work as that idiot Alhaitham's assistant, is that true?"

Your nose scrunched. Sadly, that does seem to be the case based on TeyvatPro's employees' behavior towards you.

Venti gave you a look of pity, "maybe you'd have a good life if he wasn't the CEO and a cum laude Akademiyan graduate. Unfortunately for you, that guy is both."

But you're also an Akademiyan graduate...

"That bastard's an absolute numbers guy for a linguistics major, if I were you, I'd purposefully bomb that interview," Kaveh said.

Venti shrugged. "Do you even have to try? I'd crumble if I'm stuck with him in a room for more than an hour. He probably got that attitude from his seniors."

But based on the magazine you've read, you were a senior when Alhaitham was a freshman...

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Enough slander, Venti." Kaveh scoffed. "Like, hello? I was Alhaitham's senior you prick!"

You perked up. "Oh? What did you major in?"

Kaveh gazes at you proudly. "Architecture."

You raised a hand and you shared a quick high-five. "Nice! I love to idle around St. Deshret's building back then--"

"Aaaaaaaalright nerds, we're here!!!"

Venti loudly announced, bowing in front of the door.

A closed door, huh? There are unspoken things about doors when it comes to superiors. It's a pseudo-science that when a superior's door is always open, they value employer-employee relationships and are willing to hear out inquiries. Considering how Sir Alhaitham's closed...

Well... You shouldn't make a mountain out of a molehill.

A pink-haired lady opened the door.

"There you are, little one. Come, wait inside."

---

"We didn't expect someone like you to apply here. Your GPA is astoundingly high– what exactly made you want to apply here?"

The money and the location, but mostly the former. You had a similar salary before your old company faced bankruptcy, but the workplace here has some pretty decent coffee and a nice dental plan. Those standards may be low but at least they weren't nonexistent like your newbie self's preservation skills.

Miss Miko smiled slyly.

"You know what, don't answer." She said. "The boss should emerge in 3... 2... 1..."

You heard the door open, but you can't see who it was yet since a bookshelf was blocking your view.

"Well then, I'll be taking my leave~." The ex-idol giggled. "Farewell, little one."

Of course, it was none other than the CEO himself. Alhaitham walked to his desk, ignoring Miss Miko as he sat down, which amplified your nervousness. He's known as a genius businessman for a good reason. With a demeanor imbued with confidence and wit, his face glows in a rather youthful light.

"I'm certain you've deduced why I called you here."

You're wary of how his cologne smelled like money. He smells like he's trying to prove something to you.

"Y-Yes, sir, but I don't think I'd be fit to be your assistant–"

"That's right. You're still incompetent." He deadpanned, "I'm only hiring you because you have neat handwriting, and based on Lumine's analysis, you're something of a realist. My criteria are usually stricter than that."

You know little regarding the full business Alhaitham conducts, but if his standards helped him stay as the CEO instead of Madam Alice, it must be a challenging one.

"But...?" You droned.

"But?"

"W-Why me, then?"

Alhaitham scoffed, "there's no use explaining more than half of my reasonings to you. Let's just say I enjoy how you're something of an odd one out. Uniqueness as an asset is something I value, especially in this industry."

"If I'm not worthy, then may I propose that I'll only be a temporary assistant until you find a suitable idol for me? O-only if you'd allow it, of course."

He raised an eyebrow, not expecting those words from you.

"You're seriously determined to be an idol's producer?"

"I am."

"Even when being MY assistant provides better benefits?"

"Yes, sir."

"How stupidly honest. No, scratch that off the record: you're stupid AND honest."

You laughed uncomfortably. You're not sure why you're so direct with the CEO. Being straightforward with your potential employer is quite a welcome change from your usual practice of masking your true thoughts with formalities. You usually keep your opinions to yourself, but his mere presence implores you to speak frankly.

"I know that look." He said. "You notice it too, right? We communicate rather naturally for an employer-employee relationship."

"Yes, sir. It's a bit strange."

"Hmm. If you look deep within your past, you wouldn't think it's strange at all."

What does he mean by that?

Alhaitham reached his hand out. He smirked as you accepted his handshake.

His strong grip feels oddly familiar... You would think that you've known him from somewhere but you are still an Akademiya graduate. You need more evidence to support that gut feeling of yours.

"I like you. Let's get along for the next 5 years."

"Until you find a suitable idol for me." You answered without malice.

His face clenched slightly.

"Sure. Until you no longer need this company."

At that time, you should've noted that there's a difference between those two sentences.

-----

"I AM HERE." Your phone spoke in an AI voice.

It's been a long time since you had your first encounter with Kaveh & Venti and that interview with Alhaitham. Nowadays, you work hard to please the latter.

You opened your phone. TeyvatPro's app logo is a heart-shaped leaf, but it's anything but natural and comforting. It's corporate and cold. The AKASHA - Device Policy app served as a reminder that you've long abandoned your old job and entered a new business environment.

You miss your old boss. You miss your old colleagues.

You looked around, unfazed. It's just one of many features the AKASHA app has; it allows Alhaitham to make your phone speak whenever he's searching for you. Since you're usually around wherever he is, this tracker sufficed.

The door opened. You committed the painful error of fulfilling his demands at an ungodly hour of the night, and now Alhaitham has sent you more tasks.

Alhaitham pocketed his phone after seeing you. He just used it to make your phone ring. The AKASHA app doesn't allow you to silence his calls. It'll only stop saying "I AM HERE" once your boss turns it off.

"Mx. (Y/n)."

"Here are the files, sir."

Miffed at the exasperation in your boss's tone, you cast your eyes downwards as you passed his folder. However, you have to face him head on or he'll begin his streak of "professional" insults.

You won't let him run his mouth just yet. "Would that be all?"

Alhaitham didn't look like he was in his best mood. As he looked through the folder, skimming through each page with hawk-like eyes, you noticed two strange papers on his desk.

Is that... your file?

"S-Sir, permission to speak?"

"Granted."

"Why is my resume on your desk?" You showed your best poker face because you knew that your next words aren't pleasant.

"Am I fired?"

Alhaitham spoke immediately, not looking up to face you. "You're uncharacteristically confrontational. Is it because it's 2 in the morning?"

He's wrong about the hour– you're always begrudgingly bending your schedule for your bosses– but he's right about your "lack of spine." However, while you don't need another ulcer, you need this job.

Alhaitham continued, now sporting a more pronounced frown.

"How did you arrive at such a conclusion? I took you as my assistant for good reasons and your groundless inference shames this company."

"I... Pardon?" Rude.

"Perhaps it was wrong for me to assume that you possessed a greater aptitude for critical thinking," Alhaitham spoke sardonically. "Take a look at the desk again. The reason why your resume is there should be obvious."

"Is that right?..."

You glanced at his desk again, gaining unspoken permission to touch and move papers on your boss's desk. When you did, the underlying reason became apparent.

Kaveh's file is also on his desk.

With nowhere to turn, you came up with a single hypothesis.

"Does... Does this mean..."

You beamed a wonderful smile at your boss, unable back your excitement. "Does this mean I'll be reassigned as Kaveh's producer?!"

He smirked.

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham was pleased as you started associating his motivations with another cause entirely.

You grabbed Kaveh's resume, grinning from ear to ear as you fan your face. "Holy. Oh my God. I'll finally be an idol's producer!"

"Kaveh is still a trainee," Alhaitham replied but you didn't hear him.

There's no better fit for you to work with than someone as theatric as Kaveh. Visual kei, rock, disco– it makes virtually no difference what Kaveh's idol genre will be; you don't care as long as it sounds nice! In addition to being the only noisy members of the "ABC" or "Alhaitham Bashing Coalition," you both graduated from Akademiya, thus it's impossible for you two to not be close friends.

"I've never seen a person this happy for getting a downgrade."

"Then clearly you don't know what it's like for people who abandoned their engineering careers to pursue art."

"No. No, I don't." Alhaitham said, picking up more folders in his drawer. "Send this to Miss Minci down the first floor and you'll be excused for the day."

As you should've been in the first place. Today was a Sunday.

"Of course! Thank you so much, sir Alhaitham!"

He nodded, uninterested.

"Don't forget to close the door on your way out."

--------

"I'm taking Kaveh off the list."

"No, it's nothing personal– never mind. Yes, it is. Alice, I can't tolerate it. If I could swap out Venti for Scaramouche on 5wirl, I would. They're too enmeshed with my assistant's business. They don't know (Y/n) any longer than I have, yet they act like they've been friends with them since they were young while they can barely recall who I am."

"I've looked at Kaveh's file and honestly, only an idiot would miss that he wants to join TeyvatProductions to spite me. He knows my history with (Y/n). He knows what I did to their old company."

"... Hah. Please. They're not going to resign. I listen to their phone calls– they're not going to leave until they pay off their student loans and other debts."

You swallowed dryly. By now you were supposed to be at home, but Miss Minci instructed you to return Alhaitham's folder with her revisions and now you can't help but listen while hiding behind the bookshelf in morbid curiosity.

Consequently, you are now hearing sounds that were not intended for your ears.

"... (Y/n)? A pet?"

Alhaitham laughed.

A pet...?

Your breath hitched as you recalled a conversation you had with Venti months prior.

---------

"Haven't you ever wondered why the big boss never takes his earphone out?"

Whenever you two are alone together, Venti makes sure you turn off your phone when speaking to him. You never understood the reason why before this talk.

"Nope."

"Seriously?" Venti blew a raspberry. "Bullshit– ain't no way. You've never thought that, hmm, maybe he's listening to our conversations? Not even once?"

Alhaitham looks at you like an ant lining up in a row: with clear indifference and little regard, yet he is confident that you serve a purpose no matter how insignificant it may be. You noticed that the ability to exercise control matters to him. Alhaitham is obsessed with omniscience in the most subtle way. He is slightly despised by his people, therefore he used you as a subpar pawn to observe their behavior.

Deep down, you know he has no need for an assistant; you're only here to boost his pride. Hence, you tossed that hypothesis out the window.

"No, I doubt he has the time for that." You said after contemplating.

"Gosh, you're naive," Venti sighed. "You're book smart but not street smart, aren't you?"

"Hah?"

"C'mon, just admit it, (Y/n)," the idol frowned.

"Isn't it obvious that Alhaitham's keeping you like a pet?"

----------

So that's what you are.

Now that you overheard Alhaitham's phone call, everything pieced itself together and it terrifies you.

"They're not a pet to me. They were once my mentor–" Alhaitham muttered.

You took a step back.

Shit.

He must've heard that.

You didn't mean to snoop around. You're not a bad person. You just wanted to drop a few more folders. You didn't mean to eavesdrop–

"... (Y/n), are you there?"

You didn't breathe as you continued hiding behind the bookshelf.

You can't handle this right now. Confrontations are something you do not trust yourself with.

You stole a glance at Alhaitham as if seeing him for the first time. There sat a man with a veneer of calm. A man you've never met before.

"... Hmph."

Alhaitham pulled out his phone.

His face, his smirk, his breathing... they're now entirely alien to you.

Your phone rang.

"I AM HERE."

Your blood froze.

Anxiety coursed through your veins, not to recede but to possess. Your reaction is almost immediate yet his impinged movements served to make your heart run faster. You propel your heels to the door in a noisy attempt to leave even while you heard his chair drag against the floor, making his way toward you effortlessly.

Then his cold hand was clamped above yours, holding you and the doorknob with intense firmness.

You trembled.

His grip feels like deja vu.

"There you are. Why are you still here, my assistant?"

ANSYTEA: hehe thank you ✾ anon for joining the 1k event <333!!!

#yandere genshin x reader #yandere alhaitham x reader #yandere al haitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #yandere x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere male #yandere #yandere male lead #yandere fanfiction #yandere oneshot #tag: yan!1k idol event #✾ anon #ansy-writes

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copyhanni · 2 months

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what are some tumblr accs that have the cutest works + layouts in ur opinion?

ooo i was so excited to do this one ! ( sorry for the tag ! )

@sincerelyrki — the theme on both her accs are just so elegant, not to mention her works ?! like when i tell you i’ve binge read from both accs you best believe 😭 one of my fav writers frfr

@stariekis — the theme is simplistic but opulent like just the way her acc is structured is so pretty ! she posts the cutest fics i could ever imagine like seriously 😭 ( imysm uri 🫶🏻 take a good rest ! )

@wonifullove — i’ve seen quite a handful of her work and each time, it amazes me how well written it is. like the imagery that she uses paints a whole scene in my mind that is beyond vivid. truly an inspiration to me !

@saursoob — the new theme absolutely slayed !? like soob just looks so pretty and everything about it is just so refined and beautiful ! not to mention that her fics always make me giddy and shi 🤭

@goldenhypen — i haven’t read much her works but from what i’ve seen her works are just astoundingly beautiful and well written. but the themeeeee ! 😫

@lilacnini — absolutely obsessed with each and every work she posts like seriously they have me giggling and blushing 😭 how can someone put together such well crafted content ?!? also i’m in luv with her theme omggg it’s just so cute and refreshing to look at !

@kairoot — her theme is just so iconic and beautiful ??! and her fics are always my favorites like omg 😫 pls i get so scared my mom will think i’m crazy cuz i keep giggling at milan’s fics 😭

@stariikis — pls her theme is just so cute and the riki pics omg they’re killing me 😭 yet another writer who gives me so much inspiration like seriously her work is just so beautifully written i can’t even begin to express how amazing it is !

@atrirose — her theme>>> like genuinely the prettiest theme i’ve ever seen ! and her work>>> definitely one of the best writers ever. like she could write a whole book if she wanted to. i’d buy it, no hesitation.

@okwonyo — her themes always slay and her works ?!!? couldn’t think of a better writter than her frfr. the wonyoung of blr honestly.

@tyunni — the creativity ?! both with the theme and her works like omg ?! genuinely love her account sm omgg 😭🫶🏻

i wanted to add more cuz i absolutely love so many people’s themes and works, like truly ! so i’m really sorry if i didn’t add you to this :(

#. ❀˙— asks !#. ✿˙— rants !

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gen-is-gone · 7 months

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Doctor Who and 2 for the fandom meme?

2. My three favorite characters and why I love them so much.

Hello hi would you like to hear about the best TARDIS team you've never heard of, right as I've fallen back hard into special interest fixation on them :D :D :D

So there's this book series.

After The Enemy Within, aka Doctor Who the TV Movie, premiered to an astounding lack of enthusiasm in 1996, BBC books decided to steal Virgin Publishing's idea to write novels about dr who, and promptly yoinked the license so they could cut out the middleman and do just that, this time starring Paul McGann's Eighth Doctor instead of Sylvester McCoy's Seventh. This novel series was called, aptly enough, The Eighth Doctor Adventures. So entirely skipping over almost three decades' worth of entertaining intrafandom drama and also how nu!who shamelessly stole basically every good idea the EDAs ever had (the biggest being of course the Time War, tho tragically nowhere near as well done), my favorite TARDIS crew:

The Eighth Doctor (as you may have guessed), Fitz Kreiner, and Anji Kapoor.

I love them, I adore them, they're my best friends. All three of them are amazing in their own right, but they're absolutely phenomenal as a team.

Eight, and the EDA version of them specifically, is my favorite doctor bar none. They're flighty and giddy and tactile and deeply affectionate, they're extremely weird and have a number hyperfixations and special interests and other very relatable neurodivergent tendencies. They are very prone to amnesia in a way which starts off as kind of a running gag and ends up being a huge plot point for the entire second half of the series. They're easily the most genderfluid the Doctor ever gets before textually being played by a woman and going by she/her, which is a big part of why I like using they/them pronouns for the Doctor generally. They kiss people often and canonically date people of multiple genders. Being played by (or at least written in reference to) Paul McGann, they are extremely pretty. They also go through the absolute fucking wringer, both in the sense that their arc plots are really dramatic and complicated and dark, and also in the sense that some of the folks writing for the series are pretty unapologetic whump fans lol. Best Doctor. No notes.

Next up is My BoyTM. The ur-blorbo himself, Fitzgerald Michael Kreiner. He's the best and I hate him. He's the worst and I love him. He's a musician from 1963 with appalling fashion sense and truly awful luck. He's canonically bi and in love with the Doctor (and their kiss in the novel Dominion in 1998 was the first kiss between the Doctor and a man in the history of Dr Who). He's a clone of himself because Eight lost the original Fitz 600 years in the future and then he joined cult of shitty time traveling mall goths. The original Fitz lived 2000 years and was filled with hate and wanted to kill the Doctor for abandoning him but never actually stopped loving them. He's a massive idiot. He's genuinely embarrassing so often but also despite thinking of himself as a coward and an asshole he's very brave despite his constant terror and very kind despite his pretending that he's only out for himself. He is such astoundingly perfect tumblr bait it's not even funny. He's one of the longest running companions in the franchise by number of consecutive stories.

Last of my darlings is the myth, the legend herself, Anji Kapoor. The first Asian companion in the history of Doctor Who, she's a stock futures trader from 2001 and to this day the only example I can think of off the top of my head of a woman of color having her white boyfriend get fridged for the sake of her emotional pain and character development. On the surface, she's the one with braincell, but she's so much more than just the white boy babysitter stereotype. She's a massive closet nerd who loves Star Trek but won't admit it, she's got a very weird thought process that makes her jump to the most absolutely batshit decisions while justifying them to herself as being perfectly reasonable and logical and not at all insane, she thinks of Fitz as a brother and the Doctor as a sister, she once called the Doctor a useless otterfucker, literally what can't she do (other than get back to her own time and planet rip).

The three of them have such a wonderful dynamic together. They're best friends and close family despite them being thrown together entirely by chance. They banter and joke and snark together, they riff off each other and enjoy each other's company, all three of them would catch a bullet for each other and all three of them more or less have. They're in a run of I think 25 books, which is a pretty significant time to spend together, and while there are some clunkers in their run ngl, they've also got some truly amazing books together, including one of my favorite books not just in the EDAs or Dr Who, but as a whole, The Year of Intelligent Tigers. I love them so so much I can't even.

I'm... not sure how accessible anything to do with the EDAs is give I fell off the DW deep end solidly a decade ago and at this point I just have to admit I'm in for life, but I have observed that most people who do read the EDAs tend to put 8&fitz&anji in at least their top five TARDIS teams, if not their first pick. Anyway, I love them, thank you so much for letting me gush about the best TARDIS team in all of Dr Who :D

#mihrsuri #eighth doctor #eighth doctor adventures #fitz kreiner #anji kapoor #megan whines into the empty abyss of cyberspace #listen my love is so strong that I was willing to type this whole mess on my fucking phone that tells you how much I care about them

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hyukassubi · 4 days

Text

Subi's Astoundingly Elaborate Review for 'Yuck!'

Let me tell you right now, it feels so good to be on 2024 moablr after witnessing the literal creation of God. The following is a very extravagant and super long review on the 10-part smau series 'Yuck!' by @https-yeonjun which is primarily meant for the eyes of the author (of course) and other fans of this series (@itzzz-yerin I see you👀).

Notice how I did not mention anything about new readers... BECAUSE THIS POST IS FULL OF SPOILERS, SO SHOO! GET AWAY FROM HERE and read the series here before coming back to this 🫶🫶

Kai and reader's dynamic

The reader is an avoidant girlie, Kai is fully committed gentleman.

You can totally see where this goes (and it is the exact reason why I love it so much). On one hand you have this guy who's... Not really desperate if you think about it. He just genuinely loves this girl but this girlie in question is an ✨avoidant✨ which causes her to sort of feel a little yucky (hehe, see what I did there-) at the thought of love but like this trope was done so well and so realistically in this series, it genuinely hit something inside of me (in the best ways, ofc!! I totally did a bit of self reflection after reading the fic 💀💀💀)

Kai is an absolute sweetheart, hands down. Such a cute texter too like- those selfies??? UGH THEY'RE TO DIE FORRRRR. (you'll never catch me sending selfies to other people but kai's texting style here kinda made me think about how absolutely adorable and fun it would be texting using selfies (esp the ones you feel most confident in 🫶🫶))

And the reader is. Tbh, I relate to her alot HAHAHAHA 🤡🤡🤡 BUT LIKE IN A GOOD WAY??? like... She's avoidant in such a way that it doesn't feel pushy for the plot and it actually feels realistic if anything. I got a little pissed that she ignored Kai later on but at the same time it's like ... 'ah girlie I see where this is coming from' YKYK???

Groupchat dynamics

On one hand, you have the slay kings and one queen group chat, and then the other one is just the himbo trio. And then you get to see Kai's and the reader's perspectives while they each individually simp for each other in their respective group chats and it's just... UGHHHHHH END ME NOW THE TENSION BUILT UP??? ITS IMPECCABLE HONESTLY, I CANT BELIEVE A SMAU CAN BEWITCH ME LIKE THIS AND LIKE HYPE ME UP SO MUCH TO READ CHAPTER AFTER CHAPTER AFTER CHAPTER.

My brain turned into mush

Dear author, remember how I said I had no words for your fic at the moment?

Yeah well, I made this instead:

I WASN'T JOKING WHEN I SAID I HAD NO WORDS, I WAS GENUINELY JUST ALL OVER THE PLACE DHKAGSKAGAKAJA

(p.s. notice how in the video compilation I did not add anything after chapter 8 because we don't talk about those tragedies 🫶🫶🫶🫶)

(p.p.s YES I AM TOTALLY GONNA READ 'GROSS!', I WAS PLANNING TO RIGHT AFTER I PROCESS THIS ENCHANTING ALLURING SHOWSTOPPING MASTERPIECE BEFORE I CAN OFFICIALLY MOVE ON)

(p.p.p.s, READ YUCK 🫶🫶🫶🫶)

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owmylasagna-blog · 3 months

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You know, despite Nazz being the most bland and forgettable of the kids, I also think she's (ironically) the most versatile at the same time. She might be both a tomboy and a girly girl, she fits in two trios (sometimes she's hanging out with Kevin and Rolf, sometimes she's hanging out with Sarah and Jimmy- something that hardly applies to the other characters), she has a fair share of interests (sports, studying law, fashion, music, math according to her report card) and actually a good jokes and gags (she eats A LOT, she's poor in music, and according to ''Mission-Ed Possible'' she's also bad in cooking). There so much directions they could took with her... and she's the only nice girl on the show.

I guess since most of the writers were men, they preferred or were more comfortable writing for male characters most of time (or they just assumed most of the target public/audience were boys, like usually happened in that time).

Yeah I actually like Nazz as a character and of all the kids on the show she is absolutely the most pleasant one to be around! Unfortunately given the high octane slapstick, exaggerated personalities, and overall humor of the show she sort of gets lost. Nazz functions to fit some role in service of the plot rather than plots being driven by some key aspect of her personality or interests. Which as a side character makes some sense but I feel like each of the side characters get their moments to shine! When we get a Nazz focused episode it’s really more about how all the boys feel about her. Nazz’s desires, motives, history, and perspective aren’t super fleshed out which is my main critique.

For a show about the awkwardness of puberty she is astoundingly well adjusted. I always assumed she was slightly older than the Eds so maybe 13-14? She’s inexplicably very mature. I kind of wish we got a sense of why that was the case! Like, we know Edd is the responsible one in his respective trio because he has to an extremely independent kid at home (and has mad anxiety). I don’t know what drives Nazz to be thoughtful, kind, and relatively more mature. Does anyone else? In the series bible she is described as “most mature of the kids, or so she thinks” and man do I want to know more what that means! Like maybe she should have been shown being more self conscious about wanting to seem older/ more mature than her age. It doesn’t get explored really!

And then there is just the reality of being a middle schooler! Scott Underwood posted a drawing of Nazz where she has leg hair and I’m kind of mad nothing like that got incorporated in the show!! That sort of character design choice gets relegated to the Kanker sisters (obsessed with that photo of Lee shaving her legs in the fucking kitchen sink, what an icon).

It’s why I find the interface of the Kankers and Nazz so interesting - I risk sounding like a broken record but I’ve been saying the same shit for like 10 years now. And while the Kankers aren’t necessarily the most well rounded either they ARE much more interesting to me because the crew wasn’t afraid to make them unlikable or gross or tackle their pubescent growing pains or their messed up love/hate relationship to men.

Idk this is just my take! I could be missing some things, so I’m curious how other folks feel about Nazz!

#i started ranting sorry #yap yap dribble dribble #Nazz

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sometimesrufus · 1 month

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All the pens inside Rufus' office were carefully switched out with gag pens, each specifically made to resemble the original down to the detail. Those with clicky tops were rigged to give off a small and harmless jolt of electricity, and those with caps or twist bottoms had their ink replaced with ink smelling of vomit.

"D, down!" Rufus barked the command, and Dark Nation promptly sat on her haunches, emitting a soft whine. Rufus frowned at his hound, bemused. Dark had never tried to climb on the furniture before. She was still trying to stretch her nose towards the sparse furnishings of his desk.

"What is it?" He touched her head, tone softer. She looked at him, then back to the desk.

Very carefully, Rufus went through each item on top of his desk, turning out the container with his pens and checking for bugs, sweeping his keyboard, even looking in between the sheets of paper neatly stacked in his inbox. There was nothing.

He opened the drawers and went through them. Nothing.

Shaking his head, he turned to Dark once more. "There's nothing here." He rubbed her head affectionately and told her to lay down. She hesitated, but obeyed.

Finally, he sat down to work. Far too much time had been wasted this morning.

He was a couple hours in when he grabbed a pen for a signature, clicking it without thought and crying out in surprise more than pain when a sharp shock ran through his hand. "What the—!"

Dark was already by his side, looking ready for a command. Rufus shook the numbness out of his hand. "Was that what you noticed?" He was as impressed as he was confused.

Carefully, he set the pen aside. He'd send Tseng a message to have the footage of his office reviewed later. Any number of people might have wanted to cause him a little bit of pain without lasting harm. He smirked to himself and grabbed a different pen. Somewhat cautiously, he twisted it. Nothing happened immediately, but D was snuffling at it and whining. Feeling foolish, he slowly lifted the pen and took a delicate sniff for himself, and nearly choked on the scent coming from the tip.

Unnerved, Rufus set the pen down and grabbed another, and another, getting the same response from Dark Nation each time. He looked over each pen carefully. If they weren't his pens, they were astoundingly good replicas. Too good for the average prankster. This was the work of a professional.

He growled, suddenly quite sure there would be no need to review the security footage. It would be wiped, anyway. He had absolutely no doubt in his mind who was responsible for this. The attention to detail was too great in relation to the childishness of the prank.

He pulled out his PHS, furiously tapping. Reno was getting the shittiest detail for this.

#bitterarcs #reno of the turks #rufus shinra #sometimesrufus answers

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bloomingdarkgarden · 9 months

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Hello,

First things first, sorry for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language.

Second, I would like to say I am beyond happy that I found your page, and the fanfiction. I have been reading since I was a little girl, and this fandom was the first, where I was ridiculed for liking two characters together (Elain and Azriel). So at first it really turned me off from anything relaring to them, since I didn't want to be bullied. But after discovering you, I have to say I love them even more! I actually would like to know what SJM thinks herself about this ship war and how Elriel shippers are being treated and made fun off. But, lets leave it for another time.

Third, I think I have never read anything so lovely as your writing. The world you created, the words and actions you put into these characters are nothing short of breathetaking. What made you love Elain and Az in the first place?

To me I think, it's the potential of the way they would fight for each other. Feysand and Nessian, sure, they're mated and all, but these two, oh boy. The way they burn Prythian to the ground for the one thay chose.

Anyway, thank you for this hope you give us. For this beauty. And I hope one day to read an original book written by you 🩷

'There will come a poet whose weapin is his word. He will slay you with his tongue' 🩷

Hi beautiful,

Thank you for such kind words regarding the story. I’m sorry you have experienced ridicule over faeries. All I can say is that people take these books astoundingly seriously considering how many massive plot holes there are. I don’t have the ammunition for it, only the bandaids. You are welcome to hide under a a rock with me away from it all. There’s tea there. And naked pictures of bat boys.

It’s hard to say what made me fall for Az and Elain. But I love this question.

I think it’s has something to do with defying expectation.

She’s been spoken for and consistently underestimated most of her life. There’s something intrinsically interesting about her staring wide-eyed into her own fate and turning away to choose another destiny entirely. Elain has a tendency to shock people and I find that telling.

There’s truly something beautiful to me in the dark fragility between them. I find it absolutely hypnotic. Something about sharing comfortable silence at odds with their mutually charged need and desire. The delicacy is 🤌

For me it has nothing to do with them fixing one another. But merely existing with their demons, somewhere sweet and dark and entirely their own. I think it really hit home for me when Az was the one out of everyone to recognize Elain’s powers.

All she has ever wanted is to be seen. She said that once, regarding Greyshit. And the day Az recognized her Sight he saw her truly.

"-as if the understanding, our understanding… it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in."

That was the darkest period of Elain’s life. And it was Azriel who saw her and delivered her from it. While her mate was in the room, at a loss. That's not something a girl ever forgets. Ever.

"𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙨 𝙝𝙚, 𝙩𝙤𝙤, 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙨𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙀𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙.”

This raw, organic understanding.

Why everyone has to be mates is beyond me. That sort of pre-ordained shit reeks of conservative undertones / ownership and makes me 😬. Maybe just because I am a polyamorous bisexual faerie myself idk. I would be cool with it if it were one out of every 20 couples in ACOTAR or something. There are lovely fun tropes with it, but also problematic ones.

Why can’t we just have good old fashioned, star defying, cast-system-breaking-jack-and-rose-titanic-etched love affair idk.

If it happens with Elucien I'll be happy too, but that's another bag. I worship Lucien's ass. I just worship elriel's asses marginally more. I want the world for all our character's asses.

In my heart, Elain’s trembling fawn era is OUT. Elain’s dark-laced self-evolved reputation era defying the gods with a very bad bf no one wants her to have is IN.

Damn the Cauldron. Damn the Stars.

Lets 🫰 fucking 🫰 go 🫰

#elriel #elisabeth answers #elain archeron

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pengychan · 2 months

Text

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 6

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Anyone who's ever played Neverwinter can probably guess where this is going. ***

Durge was no stranger to unpleasant welcomes.

There were many things they still couldn’t recall of their life as Bhaal’s Chosen, but it seemed quite likely that their arrival would be seldom welcomed by his victims. Then, of course, there had been more recent events that they remembered well; being caught in Jaheira’s vines right there at Last Light Inn was still, in their opinion, the worst welcome by far.

Until they opened the door to Raphael’s room to be greeted by a firebolt to the face.

“Ignis!”

Sonofabi--

Wyll was quicker to react than any of them; an instant before the firebolt made contact, before Durge could even move to counter, he’d grabbed their robes and pulled them down. The firebolt went right over their head, close enough it may have singed hair if they had any, and crashed against the opposite wall, causing several people downstairs to yell in alarm and more than a few to grab their weapons.

Well, look at that. The bastard could cast, after all. But he wasn’t getting a chance to do it again.

“Dolor!”

Wyll’s blast shot forward in a beam of crackling energy, and Raphael had no time to even try moving out of the way, or conjure up any kind of defense. The blast struck him and it would have knocked him back several feet, had he not been leaning against the wall. Instead, it just knocked back his head. Into the wall.

Hard.

Halsin stepped forward, lifting a hand to cast, but paused when Raphael promptly crumpled on the floor. He frowned and slowly lowered his hand, while Wyll leaned over the rails to let the people downstairs know that everything was in hand.

“... He’s in no state to take on anyone in a fight,” Halsin muttered. “What got into him?”

“Not a clue,” Durge muttered, and stepped in, crouching next to Raphael’s still form. That he could cast was not overly surprising, but he thought the devil more clever than that, picking a fight he had absolutely no chance to win. He could be rash, yes, and overconfident, but never stupid… and this had been an astoundingly stupid decision. “If he wanted to try something, I’d have expected him to bide his ti--”

“Hello, love. I was awakened by the sound of-- oh, hi Wyll-- the sound of chaos, but it seems I missed all the fun. Seriously, did you keep him alive all this time only to end him without me?” Astarion sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m hurt.”

“He’s not dead,” Durge pointed out, turning Raphael on his back and cradling the back of his head in their hand. There didn’t seem to be skull fractures, at least, and he was breathing, if raggedly. That single firebolt must have taken a lot out of him; he probably couldn’t have cast another even without Wyll’s intervention.

“I suspect that’s going to change,” Astarion commented. “I bet someone went to fetch Aylin. You’ll need to be very convincing if you want him to keep that head attached to his neck for much longer.”

Ah, right. She was unlikely to take kindly to the fact he’d attacked them, and that he may very well have tried to attack Isobel if she’d been the one to step in. That was going to require some diplomacy, and definitely a compromise. It looked like Raphael would have to wave that cushy room goodbye.

“... I’ll take him to one of the cells. Halsin, can you help me carry him downstairs? We lock him in, and then you heal him.”

“It sounds like a plan,” Halsin said, and stepped in to help, leaving Wyll to fill in Astarion on what exactly he was doing there.

***

It’s cold.

Cold cold cold and it hates the cold, it’s shrouded in fire and somehow it’s still cold. The walls are made of ice but that’s not what bothers it. Something is cold inside, worse than ice, beneath the hellfire. A hole where something was, a lack of heat that’s unbearable and is never going away. Something is-- missing -- wrong and it hates and hates and hates and doesn’t know why.

It hates it there. It doesn’t know where there is, only that it hates it and has to guard it, or else the cold will turn to pain and it hates that, too. It hates whoever put it there.

It doesn’t know who put him there.

It doesn’t know where it was before. What it was before. There was something. Someone. He was someone, they were someone and it’s all gone now. He is gone and it is all that remains, stalking hallways and rooms beneath vaulted ceilings.

There are beings around, small and skittish, and it hates them and wants them gone, but it cannot harm them. Not unless they touch something they should not. They’re there to serve, same as it is, and if it kills one without reason or permission someone-- Barbas bastard oily bastard I’ll kill you -- will make it hurt.

It doesn’t realize it’s making a noise, a growl deep in its chest and chittering in the back of three skulls, but it does see the small souls working about the place turn, sees them back away, move to keep on their work at the farthest possible corner of the room. They disappear behind thick columns, behind doors.

Only one remains, unmoving before the flames. It has seen this soul before. Almost tore into it. But it did not because… because…

She steps forward, slowly. It can smell her fear, but she takes another step. “Israfel,” she speaks, quietly. “You know that name. He named you that. Did he keep you? Raise you?”

There is a stab of something in the back of its skulls, and one of its jaws clacks once, twice. Israfel. The sound of it, it’s heard it before. It doesn’t know when. But it heard it many times and there is the smell of a new book, the warmth of embers in a hearth, the clack of pieces placed on a lanceboard, the strings of a lyre, the taste of something-- almonds, always liked those almond sweets -- in its mouths. It’s warm as everything else is cold. It’s solace. It hurts. It wants it to stop. It wants more. But it’s gone and it can’t have it back, because-- your Lord father summons you, little duke -- it hurts-- time to join your kind -- and hurts and HURTS-- you’re loved here, promise your Nan you’ll remember that -- make it stop make it stop-- you’re but one of many whelps, the Lord of the Eighth shall see you when he wishes to -- make it STOP HURTING RIGHT NOW.

It steps back, chittering, shaking its heads, the flames within dimming, its knees bending. The soul who spoke the name pauses, staring, then steps closer, slowly. A hand reaches up and almost, almost touches its fused skulls. Almost.

She doesn’t. None may touch it, not if they value their life, and she steps away quickly, before anyone can see, leaving it alone in the middle of the room, shaking and growling, still so cold, a shriek coiling in its throat. It cannot let it out. It will hurt if it screams.

On another Plane, the missing half of its soul screams loud enough for both of them.

***

“Silvanus preserve us--”

“What the fuck .”

Durge wasn’t sure what they had expected Raphael to do once Halsin cast a healing spell on him and he regained consciousness; the fireball earlier had shown he was probably not in his best state of mind. They had sort of expected him to be unhappy about his current predicament, to strain against the robe binding his wrists. However, they had not expected him to scream and scream and scream, wordlessly, loud enough it must be tearing something in his throat. They and Halsin watched, taken aback, and he screamed again and twisted, eyes bloodshot, damn near foaming at the mouth, trying to throw himself at them.

Did I look like this, when the Urge came and I almost killed Astarion?

The memory of that night was churning ice in their gut, and Durge chased it from their mind. Instead they lifted a hand and, with a quick gesture, cast to detect Raphael’s thoughts. They usually came in the form of words, but not always - Wulbren Bongle’s mind for one had shown only a column of fire reaching up into the skies - and this time, too, there were only images.

Walls of ice, priceless artifacts protected by ancient magic-- Mephistopheles’ vaults, they were there there once, when they took the crown --and debtors at work cleaning, the smell of fear overpowering and yet dwarfed by hatred, all-encompassing, fueled by a continuous agony burning cold somewhere at the core of the being through whose eyes they are now looking. Multiple eyes, spaced unevenly, and all focused on a small figure. A word is uttered, a name; the empty coldness within turns into a void, pulling in all light, and everything explodes into pain. Of course it does. Two halves of the same soul will always cry out for one another.

“Get out of my head! Get out get out get out! ”

Raphael screamed again, and Durge was quick to sever the connection. They blinked, head spinning, to see that Raphael had slumped against the damp stone of the wall, trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps through clenched teeth. Halsin knelt beside him, and cast another healing spell; one more shaky breath and some of the tension seemed to leave Raphael’s body.

“Lay down,” Halsin spoke, voice even. “You’re safe here.”

Raphael made a choking noise that Durge could barely identify as a laugh. He opened his eyes, found Durge’s gaze, and sneered. “Why am I still alive, bhaalspawn?”

“There was no reason to kill you--”

“Keeping me for Mizora’s pet to finish, aren’t you?”

Durge looked at Halsin. Halsin looked at Durge. Both turned back to Raphael.

“... What?”

It was almost amazing, really, how quickly Raphael could revert to looking at them so haughtily, like he wasn’t a trembling mess only seconds earlier, screaming his lungs out. “You’re not as clever as you believe you are. You brought Wyll Ravengard to my room so he could end me himself. Tell me, what has my father promised him, or Mizora, in exchange for my head?”

Durge stared. “... Hold up. You think Wyll is here to kill you? Is that why you attacked?”

A glare. “I may be injured in body, but very much unlike yours, my mind is perfectly intact,” Raphael snapped. “I heard him thank you for your help with my own ears.”

Ah. Of course. Durge sighed, rubbing their forehead. “You imbecile," they groaned. “He wasn’t talking about you.”

Somehow, the insult seemed to cut deeper than the notion they had may be trying to kill him. “Don’t you dare mock me! I heard--”

“If we’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. And against my better judgment, you still breathe.”

“What other devil would he come here expecting your help to ki--”

“Zariel.” Wyll’s voice rang out in the cellar, cutting him off, and Raphael blinked.

They all turned to the entrance, where Wyll stood. He smiled weakly. “Hope you don't mind me joining you. Astarion stayed upstairs to smooth things over,” he said, and looked back at Raphael. From his part, Raphael was silent a moment or two before speaking again.

“Zariel,” he repeated, as though trying out a foreign word on his tongue.

“Yes. Mizora said--”

“Mizora gave you the order to kill the archdevil of Avernus.”

“That’s the only Zariel I am aware of.”

Another pause, and finally a chuckle. Raphael shifted to sit more upright against the wall, and laughed. “What have you done,” he asked, the unpleasant smile still on his lips, “for Mizora to come up with such a delightfully creative way to sentence you to a most painful death?”

Well. That was not encouraging. “It is a mission I am bound to complete, or die trying,” was all Wyll replied, arms crossed over his chest. “Her reasons are irrelevant. I have to kill Zariel.”

“You truly hope you have the faintest chance to succeed?” Raphael chuckled again, like the thought alone was hilarious. “Haven’t you learned yet that hope is the greatest lie of all? Zariel will sup with your soul, Wyll Ravengard, and perhaps sample your liver on the side.”

All right, time to put an end to that. “You were keen to sup on our souls as well, and yet we defeated you,” Durge pointed out, only a touch pleased by the obvious annoyance that twisted Raphael’s features. “If we could beat you, certainly we have decent chances to defeat her. Or is she that much more powerful than you?”

A scowl. “Your puerile baiting will not change the facts,” Raphael bit out. “All the power I had I clawed for myself, you contemptible rat. She has been given command over forces beyond your measly comprehension by Asmodeus himself. You may have beaten me, but I almost had you, with naught but a few foot soldiers at my beck and call. She has legions to call upon. She has been fighting the Blood War far longer than you've lived. If you fight her, you shall perish. Of that, you can be certain.”

“That’s why I asked to speak with you as soon as they told me you were here,” Wyll spoke up, and approached the cell. “If there is a way to better our chances - anything to help us succeed - surely, you must know.”

A scoff. “And…?”

Halsin sighed. “I suppose there is little chance you’ll tell us out of the kindness of your heart.”

Raphael tilted his head. “I am glad to see I don’t need to explain the obvious to you. I suppose the next thing you’ll do is threaten to take my life for my refusal - very well. I will die here before I help you. But by all means, go ahead and try, all of you, to destroy Zariel.” He smiled. “Get yourselves killed, lose your souls to the archdevil of Avernus. I hope you’ll scream loudly, rat,” he added, the smile widening as he met Durge’s eyes. “So that even I can hear the melody of it, wherever I’ll be.”

Durge met his gaze and smiled back, all fangs. “I won’t kill you, Raphael. I’ll let the flow of time do it, day after day to the end of this mortal life. After that, I don’t know if there is a place anywhere for the mere half of a soul, but I suppose that’s for you to find out,” they said, and to their satisfaction, Raphael’s smile wavered. They stood. “... Or perhaps we will let Mizora know where to find you, to collect a reward for delivering you to your esteemed father. Either way, we are done here. Good luck and all that. Wyll, we’re ready to leave when--”

“Wait.”

Raphael’s voice rang out a moment before Durge closed the cell’s door behind them. They turned to look at him over their shoulder. They were not surprised: matters of pride were always quick to turn into matters of price when no other options were left. Dealing with devils - this one devil in particular - had taught them that much.

“I believe,” they said, barely holding back a grin, “that this is the part where you make an offer.”

It was.

***

“So, I see you’ve been, uh… reading?”

“Oh, yes. A lot of books here - most of them evil, and I mean, evil evil. But I’m hoping to find out where my sister’s soul went.”

There was the slightest waver in Hope’s voice that would have made Karlach’s heart clench, if it hadn’t been a clinky machine running on oil and sheer spite in her chest cavity. Even so, there was a knot in her stomach. She did her best to ignore it and turned back to what had been Raphael’s archive. Most of the objects on display were gone, but the books and scrolls were still there - many scattered across a long table.

“I see,” Karlach finally said, choosing not to remark on the fact Korrilla had been all right with Hope being held prisoner and subjected to endless nightmares for… Hells knew how long. She had brought it up once, and the look Hope had given her had kept her up at night.

“She’s my sister,” she had said. “And she loved me, once. Love doesn’t just go away, does it? I don’t think it does. I must hope it doesn’t.”

There was nothing Karlach could say to that because well, had she not survived ten years in Avernus thanks to just that? The hope that she could escape someday? So in the end she bit her tongue, and asked something else.

“Did you find out anything?”

Hope sighed, shaking her head. “No. Well, not yet. You see, she was bound to Raphael, right? Meaning her soul was his, once she-- once-- well, after she died. But then Raphael died before he could properly collect it and that doesn’t usually happen, you know. What happens to the souls belonging to a devil when the devil is gone before he can claim them?”

That was definitely not something Karlach had ever wondered. “That’s… a good question.”

“I find that out, and I find my sister. I think. I hope.” Hope gestured towards the scattered books. “So I’ve been trying to find out. The souls have been very nice. I asked them to please not come here so I can read, and they’re keeping out.”

“... I see,” Karlach muttered. Personally, she might have set the entire place on fire herself in Hope’s shoes, destroying everything her tormentor had ever owned, but the slim chance to find her sister again clearly meant too much to her, and she didn’t bring it up. But gods, she was bored. Wyll had been gone for days, and she’d had no news yet.

“Oh! Maybe we’ll find something that could help you defeat Zariel, too?”

… All right, that was a better plan than ‘set everything on fire and laugh over the smoldering remains’. It was a bit of a long shot, but it made at least some sense. Devils were a bunch of scheming bastards, always looking to stab one another in the back or at least someplace painful. They collected information about each other the way one would collect Talis cards, cataloging each and every weak point. If Raphael ever had information they could use against Zariel, then surely this was where she could find it.

Karlach had never been big on reading, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do until Wyll returned with reinforcements. “That’s a great idea, really. Let’s get to it.”

“If I see something about Zariel, I yell. If you see anything on unclaimed souls, you yell. Deal?”

“Eugh, don’t use that word,” Karlach laughed, and turned to the closest shelves. Unlike many others, now empty, they were still filled with rows of books. “What about those? Have you looked there?”

Hope made a face. “Those are not books. They’re Raphael’s diaries going back a long time. But I’m not touching those.”

Considering the absolute bullshit she’d seen in the boudoir, Karlach could definitely understand why. Still - no pain, no gains. Or something like that. “Guess I’ll have to, then. At worst, I’ll get some extra mocking material about the dead bastard,” she muttered, and grabbed the closest diary.

***

“The Sword of Zariel?”

Sitting on the floor against the wall of a cell, hands tied behind his back and forced to look up at that gaggle of loathsome vagabonds, Raphael nodded. That was not precisely how he usually conducted negotiations, but he could bear it if it got him what he wanted. Then, of course, he’d kill each and every one of them.

“Exactly. If there is anything in the Nine Hells of Baator that can kill her, other than Asmodeus himself, it’s that sword.”

“Oh, of course. It sounds so very convenient.” The vampire spawn - when had he come downstairs? - scoffed, leaning against the bars. “A sword that can kill her, so very fittingly named after her.”

Really now? “Did the tadpole take a bite out of your brain before it was vaporized? It is named Sword of Zariel because it was Zariel’s sword, back when she was still a celestial. A Solar, to be exact, until her fall, when she lost it along with the hand that had been holding it. She is as powerful as an archdevil as she was then, but that sword? It can end her. I am certain of it.”

“And you just so happen to know where it is?” Wyll Ravengard asked, doubt etched in his features. Raphael met his gaze, lips curling.

“Isn’t it a happy coincidence? The sword was taken by a Hellrider general and a hollyphant--”

“If you know where it is now, why haven’t you taken such a weapon for yourself?” The bhaalspawn crouched to look him in the eye. “Why hasn’t Zariel? Or your father, ever the collector?”

Ravengard blinked. “His father?”

“Mephistopheles,” the vampire spawn clarified.

“... Huh. And here I thought I had to deal with a cumbersome family relation.”

Raphael elected to ignore them both, and met the bhaalspawn’s gaze. “There is power to that sword, one that protects it from devils - not that devils would manage to wield it even if they got to it. The sword is sentient, and will reject those it deems unworthy. Infernal beings are… unlikely to make the cut.”

“So even if we find it, there is no guarantee we may be able to wield it.”

“I agreed to tell you what can kill Zariel, and I can take you to where it is. Everything else is up to you. I’m not the one sworn to kill an archdevil - or die trying lest I become a lemure.”

Ravengard frowned. “Point taken, thank you,” he said, in a tone that indicated he was not thankful in the slightest. Raphael ignored him, like he ignored the vampling and the lumbering druid at the back. He kept his gaze fixed on the bhaalspawn, who finally, slowly, nodded.

“Very well. That is fair enough,” they said, and stood. “We have an agreement. As soon as you’re able to travel, we’ll be off to Avernus.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “And, ah, how do we know he won’t turn on us the second we’re there? Because that's what I would do if I were a devil.”

“That’s what you would do regardless,” the druid pointed out, gaining himself a shrug.

“My point stands.”

Raphael scoffed, making a mental note to kill the vampling first, possibly before the bhaalspawn’s eyes. “One could argue I’m the one taking the risk, considering your abysmal actions last time I offered you a perfectly good deal. I won’t pretend I wouldn’t love to slit your throats, but it would very much go against my interests. I want something in return if I’m to help you destroy Zariel, and you cannot give me a thing if you’re dead.”

“... The other half of your soul,” the rat spoke. “That’s your price, isn’t it?”

Raphael shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no to Mephistopheles’ head on a silver platter, if we truly get as far as killing one archdevil,” he said. “But first, yes. The other half of my soul.” Then, your lives. “Do we have a deal?”

They did.

***

“So, we’re all going to Hell. In the most literal sense, this time. It’s going to be an interesting experience, I’m sure. And I won’t have to worry about the sun, so that’s definitely a plus.”

“None of you is obliged to do this. I understand it is a lot to ask--”

“Wyll, darling, don’t be absurd. This idiot has already pledged their help and they are, quite regrettably, my idiot. I have to come along. They wouldn’t survive a day without me.”

“I am coming as well, if you’ll have me.”

“Halsin, this place needs you. And the children--”

“This place would still be cursed, and these children would be dead, if not for you. I could not live with myself if I didn’t help you now. They have Isobel and Dame Aylin to look after them in my absence, and-- you might just need a healer, after all.”

A sigh, and Wyll lifted his gaze from his ale to look back at them. “I’m more grateful than I can put into words. I would not have involved anybody else in what is my mission, if not for--”

“Karlach.”

“Yes. This is the best chance yet to win her freedom. I couldn’t live with myself if I failed her.”

“You won’t live at all if you fail, but let’s say I understand the sentiment. So, uh. Have you two, you know…?” Astarion leaned forward on the table, peering closely at Wyll’s face, grinning much too wide. From his part, Wyll pulled back, clearing his throat.

“We have been fighting our way through Avernus-- and as she told you, we have made progress when it comes to her engine--”

“Oh, come now. Even you can’t be that pure of heart.”

“I… well… she is amazing, the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, but…” Wyll looked at the others, as though hoping one of them would bail him out of the conversation, only to be met with looks of very obvious interest. He groaned. “Listen, we’re fighting devils and demons and whatnot day in and day out. We’re covered in steaming blood and guts more often than not--”

“Sounds dreamy,” Astarion muttered, only half-jesting, gaining himself a snort.

“It’s not precisely the picture of romance, is it? No time for-- you know, a courtly dance, or--”

Durge chuckled. “That’s sweet, but she never struck me as someone for courtly dances.”

“Because she never got to try it,” Wyll said, leaning back against his seat. For some reason, he was utterly certain that everybody would love a slow dance if they ever gave it a try. “There are too many things she never got to experience, and I want to give her that chance. Even if she never looks at me that way.”

“You went to Hell with her. Seems plenty romantic to me.”

“That was the only right thing to do. I don’t want to use that to-- I don’t want her to think she owes me something for it. And--” he paused, and cleared his throat. “I, uh. I believe we’re getting sidetracked. We were discussing the mission.”

As much as they’d have loved to prod Wyll a bit further - Astarion, they could tell, was itching to do so - Durge could agree it was time they turned back to more pressing matters. “Very well. If Karlach is safe from Zariel as long as she’s in the House of Hope, I believe a detour to Baldur’s Gate is due before heading to Avernus. The Devil’s Fee was still standing, last we checked, and if there’s any place where we can find supplies to help us survive the Hells, that’s where we should look. The gods know we need all the supplies we can get.”

“And some reliable advice from Helsik, I suppose.”

Halsin laughed. “I assume we’re not trusting Raphael to be our only guide, then?” he asked, only to be met with variations of ‘Gods, no’ and ‘I can throw him farther than I can trust him’. There was some laughter, and a brief silence. In the end, it was Astarion who broke it.

“... All right, since no one else is asking, I’ll bite - figuratively. Do you actually plan to help him take back the missing half of his soul?”

Durge shrugged. “If he holds his half of the bargain...”

“You’re aware that there is no infernal contract this time, yes? Just our word, mortals to mortal. Not having to face another archdevil for his soul after we do in Zariel would be rather nice. We can just… pretend to play along, and then ditch him. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“We could,” Durge conceded. “And I have.”

“And…?”

“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Until then,” they added, picking up their mug and looking down at the dark ale inside, “I’m rather curious to see what happens once the human half of his soul has had a chance to stretch its legs.”

***

“Ugh, what I’d give to kill that creep a couple more times!”

Karlach made a face, dropping yet another diary that was full of stupid long words, shitty poetry, shameless boasting, self-celebratory bullshit and endless lists of people Raphael had cheated out of their souls. All that, and no mention of anything she could use against Zariel.

Of course, the dead bastard couldn’t be useful for once. Karlach made a face, and pulled the last armful of diaries off the shelf in one swoop - causing something to clatter on the floor.

“Huh?” Karlach paused, and looked down. Shoved at the back of the shelf, behind what looked like the oldest diaries, there had been a wooden box. She picked it up, frowning, and blew some dust from it. It looked old, but was richly decorated with a motif she had never seen before. Some kind of… spire? Yes, it looked like a spire, reaching up in the skies to pierce a star. Weird. “Hope, come take a look!”

She did come take a look, popping out from behind a stupid tall pile of books she had been sorting through, but she stilled when her gaze fell on the box. She frowned and, to Karlach’s surprise, she took a step back. “... I don’t think I want to touch it,” she muttered.

Karlach blinked. The box looked harmless enough, but… well, it belonged to a devil. And nothing connected to devils was ever harmless. Maybe something awful would jump out of it if she opened it. “Why? Does this feel evil evil, too?”

Hope frowned, and shook her head. “No. Not that. It’s the least evil thing in here, I think.”

“Oh,” Karlach said, almost disappointed. She was so bored, she’d have welcomed some kind of abomination to smack around. “Then what’s the issue?”

A shrug. “Sad,” was all she said. “It feels sad. I like it best when I’m not sad myself. But I don’t think it’s dangerous, if you want to open it.”

“Huh. I mean-- yeah, thanks for telling me,” Karlach muttered, and just to be on the safe side she took the box to the other side of the room before she opened it. As Hope had said, nothing evil came out of it, no abomination to smack around. Inside was a pendant with the same spire-and-star motif as the box, a book in a language she didn’t understand but was clearly not Infernal, a letter written in what seemed the same foreign language, the black King from a lanceboard set, and… a lyre? A weird assortment, that. Why had it been shoved back there, out of sight?

It feels sad, Hope had said, but Karlach couldn’t say she felt anything about it. She put the box down on the table, and picked up the pendant. She had only meant to look, but the thing opened with a click, revealing a miniature portrait inside. A human woman, it looked like. Dark hair, tan skin, dark eyes - something about the shape of those eyes, and the cheekbones…

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Karlach muttered, but of course once it clicked she couldn’t unsee it. There she was, the human woman who’d forfeited her life to bring a fucking devil into the world. Baby’s first kill, in the most literal sense of the word. Karlach sighed. Whatever she got in return, it can’t have been worth her life - or the evil she unleashed. The price of dealing with devils would always be too high.

“... Sorry, sis, but it was a bad trade if there ever was one,” she muttered, and let the pendant drop back into the box.

***

[Back to Chapter 5]

[On to Chapter 7]

[Back to Start]

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #the dark urge #astarion ancunin #wyll ravengard #karlach bg3 #hope bg3 #halsin bg3 #hell to pay

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adelaidedrubman · 1 year

Note

“How about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” for JohnJess, please? Hopefully whatever sin occurs isn't used to terrorize Mary May for once lmao - fourlittleseedlings

HI MOLLY thank you for sending this in, apologies for what i decided to do with it. everyone give it up for the bad head valentine’s day event! at least mary may is spared.

summary: jessie agrees to finally hookup at john’s place for valentine’s day, he thanks her by bringing his a-game. (“how about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” + john x jestiny | set in the pre/no reaping au (although frankly it doesn’t match the timeline of the “get off my lawn” verse proper) | bad head valentine’s day event )

wordcount: 4.6k

warnings: explicit nsfw. alcohol. verbal berating. johnjess typical power struggles and creepy behavior (including brief references to stalking type activities), general toxicity. bad head. terrible, horrible, no good, very bad head. john says a praise kink and degradation kink can coexist peacefully, actually. love wins

Stepping into Seed Ranch had felt quite uncannily like stepping into the lion’s den.

Or some kind of animal’s den, she had thought with a shudder upon entering and casting her gaze about to pick out each piece of imposing taxidermy placed around the expanse of the main room, the towering bears and hunkered down wolves successfully creating the illusion of being closed in by a viciously tacky pack of wild animals.

Although perhaps the predatory air of the place radiated strongest from the homeowner himself — and the annoyingly victorious grin that had fixed onto his face the moment the doors safely closed behind her, bearing distinct resemblance to an understimulated housecat convincing itself it had caught an impressive prey in the form of a cheap toy mouse thrown across the room.

Because it had been a truly trivial prize; an astoundingly empty victory she’d chosen to hand the man — finally agreeing, after months of stubborn standoff regarding the particulars of where they carried out their ill-defined and ill-advised affair, to for once go to his place.

A concession she’d only granted due to, well, the timing.

And by that she did not — absolutely not, by any stretch — mean because it was Valentine’s Day.

In fact, she hadn’t even realized it did happen to be February 14th until well into the evening, upon strolling into a strangely packed Spread Eagle — and noticing a moment later (as it were too late), after fighting her way to the bar through a crowd of singles flirtatiously offering to buy her a drink, that the back wall was covered in carelessly hung crepe paper hearts, and the man already proudly perched upon a stool at the counter had switched the usual blue tones of his wardrobe (which she knew were a vain attempt to bring out the color of his eyes, by the way) for a dark pink cashmere sweater.

And once she had already found herself situated there and caught directly in the sticky center of the spider’s web of unfortunate timing, its gossamer threads only wound tighter around her to spell her doom. Primarily in the form of Mary May being so backed up running drinks to the holiday crowd that she didn’t even respond to Jessie’s repeated calls for a craft beer, and without drinking there was precious little else left to entertain or serve as a distraction from the man undergoing his usual work in pestering her. And no distractions meant it was difficult not to engage with him, and if she was going to engage with him she was at least going to engage in a manner that proved pleasurable.

And from there the factors compounded, all holiday neutral. There was the relative distance of her house near the edge of the county compared to his just outside of town (five minutes, she thought — perhaps she’d found the address and driven by it on occasion just to see how gaudy the place must really be, only to find equally condemnable evidence of poor taste in the fact it couldn’t even be seen from the main road, although a cheap billboard ad with his face plastered on it could). And the distance was a not so insubstantial consideration given the mounds of powdery white Montana winter that coated every mile of the drive, making the meandering trek to her place all the more treacherous, particularly in her 2003 Ford Taurus with last year’s snow tires.

And the holiday had left the Spread Eagle too full of prying eyes and ears for slinking away still on the property to be a feasible option. And the only other proposed alternative — John’s suggestion they could simply rent a room at King’s Hot Springs Hotel, or perhaps those little chalets along the river — seemed more likely to result in hokey holiday bullshit, foreboding visions of rose petals floating along the frothing surface of hot tubs and room service strawberries dropped into champagne flutes flashing through her mind in dire warning.

And so after a last failed shout for Mary May to bring her a double of McHelen’s and a whisper in her ear that he had a very nice vintage whiskey back at his place, that was how Jestiny found herself nursing a drink at the very place she’d spent upwards of six months stubbornly avoiding.

“Can’t believe this is the only fucking whiskey you have,” Jestiny complained with a disparaging glare towards the tumbler filled nearly to the brim with expensive amber liquid. She brought it to her lips as she ascended the stairs, the rich smokiness lavishing itself along her tongue. “Scotch fucking sucks,” she said decidedly, savoring the lingering flavor as its smooth burn faded. “Get some fuckin’ bourbon, a whiskey fucking worth a damn.”

“I’m happy to start keeping whatever you’d like in stock,” he hummed, curling the fingers threaded in her hair from his place clinging to her back, guiding her through the unfamiliar house while obligingly upholding the illusion she was in lead, herding her through the door to the balcony — she knew he must just want to show off the vista, there was no way he built this stupid place so that he had to go outside every time he wanted to get to the bedroom. “Now that you’re finally visiting.”

“I’m not gonna be making a fucking habit of it,” she spat back, kicking open the door after he’d tugged her skirt to signal to pause at it, without waiting for the additional permission to enter. “This is a one time only thing, a —”

“A special occasion,” John offered in agreement, a laugh falling into the cascades of hair he buried his face in. “For the —”

“It’s not for the fucking holiday,” she spat, shimmying her feet free of her boots and purposefully kicking them into the dead center of the bedroom floor. “It’s ’cause Mary May was ignoring my drink order for some reason.” She punctuated the assertion with a swirling of the scotch in her hand, ice cubes clinking against the glass. “And this place is closer than the next bar.”

“Of course,” he said, reaching to gently pull the glass from her hand and set it atop the nightstand, then flashing her a smile softened in artifice. “But how would you have known that?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, cocked his head to the side in equally feigned confusion. “You’ve never been to the place.”

She shaped the surprised cough catching in her chest into a dismissive grunt, snatching the whiskey back from where he’d placed it. She brought it to her lips, holding her glare at him as she drank in place of an answer.

“Well, regardless of what I have to thank for the privilege…” He paused, the hand that had been hovering in wait now pulling the glass from her again the moment she lowered it, taking a sip from it himself before placing it back on the table — this time pausing to put a coaster beneath it, now that any suave nonchalance of the gesture was ruined anyways. “I look forward to being able to fuck you on a proper bed for once.”

She scrunched her nose. “The fuck you talking about?” she asked. “We’ve fucked on a bed plenty of times.”

The smarmy smile on his face fell with sudden somberness. “We have not.” He shook his head back and forth slowly. “We have not fucked on a bed, not once. We’ve fucked on a mattress —”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ…”

“— on the floor. With no frame and no box spring,” he continued harping, a complaint she thought she would for once be spared by not going back to her place. “We have never fucked on an actual, proper bed, let alone a —”

“How about,” she interrupted sharply, gripping his jaw and pulling him towards her, satisfied to see his eyelashes flutter with sudden pleased deference at the action, “you stop doing worthless shit with your mouth like talking?” she suggested, briefly receiving a look of offense from the statement, before she shifted her hand so that his chin rested in her palm, her thumb sliding along his lower lip. “Instead, how about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?”

Before he could answer she shoved the thumb into his mouth, pressing it against his tongue — and any remaining trace of a glare vanished with the ticking of his eyes back up towards his skull as he wilted forward, reaching hands towards her waist and bunching up the fabric of her skirt as he melded his tongue against her finger and bobbed his head forward to purse his lips around the base of her knuckle.

Her breath hitched, the tingle at the back of her neck sharpening itself into a spark of desire sliding down her spine at the feeling of the plush of his tongue caressing against her thumb as he sucked. She caught herself, pulling it away just as his eyes flicked to her, breaking the seal of his lips with a wet pop.

“Gladly,” he answered breathily, placing a soft kiss to the pad of her thumb as he stiffened the hands at her hips to push her back onto the mattress. “And since we are for once on a proper bed,” he added, shifting the work of glaring back to her yet again as he lowered himself to his knees, looking up at her once he was settled, “I can finally bring my A-game to it.”

He ignored her dismissive scoff, reaching for the waistband of her fleece tights and briefs to slip them down her legs at a snail’s pace. He brushed equally slow creeping and feather light touches along her thighs to push her skirt up past their tops, walking the fingers back down with equal teasing delay. She made a point of having her heel make contact with his collarbone as she kicked off the underwear and tights hanging around her ankle, then gave another kick against his back to push him forward as she dropped the leg atop his shoulder.

“Just fucking bring some game to it already,” she complained, dried gel crunching between her fingers as she pulled at his hair.

“But I was looking forward to finally savoring it,” he replied, hooking an arm around the leg atop his shoulder to stroke up and down her thigh as he paused to make sure the hungry glint in his eyes was sufficiently visible before he place a single teasing kiss at the crest of her lips. He pinched his brow, slanting upward as he widened his eyes to gaze up at her in some half-baked parody of reverence. “But I suppose if you’re so very needy and impatient…”

He batted his eyelashes; dropped his jaw for his tongue to flop out, then stretch down along his chin until its tip reached to tangle in his beard. But instead of craning his neck forward to make any contact with her, he shifted back onto his calves and reached a hand towards his belt, unfastening it and guiding his already fully stiffened cock past the fabric. And he stayed there with tongue out, posed as if waiting to receive a communion wafer as he began to give himself a few slow strokes while she remained untouched.

She furrowed her brow in confusion at the odd display — was this something that had actually done something for someone before? or was it just that no one had ever bothered to tell him he looked ridiculous?

Regardless, she gave two quick snaps of her fingers, a call of hey to draw his attention before pointing her index between her legs in gesture with a few flicks of her wrist, as if reminding him where the tongue he held out was supposed to go.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw twitching in impulse to fire back a retort — seeming to realize a second later that it would require retraction of his tongue, shaking off the urge as he finally bent forward to press against her.

She sighed in some semblance of relief that he had at least gotten started, that she could feel his tongue flush against her. She ran fingers through her hair, closing her eyes as she tried to make sense of his positioning — waiting for the (teasing?) up and down drag of his tongue to come to a stop to be replaced with the familiar sensation of it flexing rigid to dip inside her as a thumb pressed against her clit.

And waiting. And waiting. And —

She coughed, opened her eyes to confirm the only progress that had been made was the length of the arc of his head bobbing each time he glided his tongue along her folds, still never managing to make meaningful contact — rubbing shallowly at her entrance at shortest pulses, the bridge of his nose managing to painfully clip the underside of her clit at longest.

It was one of the latter moves that finally caused her to yelp and shove the heel of her hand against his forehead to push him back.

“Do you plan on actually reaching anything that matters down there?” she hissed. “Or just bashing your nose against it?”

He shot an offended look between her legs. “I’m working up to it.”

“You’re at least two inches under it!”

“Well, I’m getting to it!” he snapped, wiping the saliva from his mouth onto his sleeve.

“Then fucking get to it!” she barked, shoving him back between her legs.

He scoffed, a heavy breath that at least had the mercy of falling against her clit, making her tingle with something close enough to arousal to remember that she had at some point wanted him enough to come home with him.

Enough that she did feel some small jolt of pleasure as the tip of the tongue he slid past lips made contact with her clit — not moving, once it did, merely tensing against her.

She scrunched her mouth to the side, trying to make sense of the way he increased pressure without movement, poking against her. His eyes found her, the rest of him remaining completely still save for the slow steady jerks of his arm — he apparently felt as if he should be rewarded for a job well done at least, while his tongue stayed glued in place.

“What —” as soon as she began to ask the question he answered it in the form of his tongue wagging back and forth — seeming to make a grand spectacle of showing off its range, barely grazing her clit on its path to opposite creases of her thighs.

She briefly considered just trying to rock along to the ministrations rather than give him more direction — until he shifted his lashing path downward, so that even the minimal contact made where she needed it was lost, replaced with a useless swiping along her inner lips.

“You fuckin’— ” she cursed, burying fingers in his hair and tugging — the little moan he gave indicating he apparently thought it was in reward. “You know better than this,” she growled at him, yanking his head back so that he was forced to look up at her disappointed and confused face. “I — I know that you know better than this,” she offered, genuinely taken aback. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I told you,” he purred, seemingly undeterred as he sat back, returning to that same back on his heels and stroking himself pose in which he’d begun. (And with the tongue sticking out like a cartoon wolf yelling an enthusiastic ‘awooga!’ removed, she had to admit he did look pretty like that.) “I’m taking the time to bring my A-Game,” he said, brushing a thumb to dip just barely inside her to collect the slick built there — primarily his own saliva, she assumed, which was returned from whence it came with the slipping of the finger into his mouth. “Or at least I would be,” he bit out more sharp with irritation as he removed the thumb. “If I could stop being interrupted.”

“I never —” she huffed, clenching her hands around the hair her fingers had been threaded through, separating it into two fistfuls, “thought I would have to tell you of all people not to think too much,” she said bitterly, jerking the fistfuls of hair to pull him as if leading a horse by its reigns, until his mouth was once again hovering just shy of where she wanted. “But don’t overthink it.” She kept one fist bunched in his hair to hold him in place as she untwined the other, bringing fingers to rest in a V shape on either side of her clit, using them to spread the plump of her lips and better expose herself. “Suck it.”

Pink smoldered bright along his cheeks at the command, a whimper following it in fluttering past his lips. So when he dropped his jaw, licking his lips before leaning forward to cover her with his mouth, she was briefly hopeful that she’d finally broken him down to the version of himself that kept her coming back to their unwise tryst in the first place — the John who was eager, ready to jump to please, obedient and pliant.

But those hopes were soon dashed when the lips pursed around her failed to narrow to suckle, but rather expanded — as if he’d decided to strive for breadth over precision, make sure that the better mass of her mound was joined in on the action as his tongue made the briefest gentle brush-bys of her clit at most.

She looked down, giving a confused little ‘huh’ sound he must have mistaken for a pleased moan, because the dropping and rising rhythm of his jaw increased as he french kissed the general vicinity of her clit.

She rubbed her chin with her hand, considered. He was at least in the right area and doing something halfway useful now — the occasional slide of his tongue along her clit produced something akin to pleasure when it happened, and he had to give up the misguided effort at teasing and just get the job done eventually, right?

Yes, she decided, better to just let him tire himself out. At this point, it was a sunk cost.

She sighed, untangled her fingers from his hair, keeping one hand there to pat the top of his head encouragingly while the other reached for the glass of scotch on the nightstand. She brought it to her lips, taking a sip.

Monday was supposed to be the warmest temperatures they’d had all month, good to finally get some fly fishing done, she thought with a pleased hum taken as more encouragement.

She was still finding the best spots around here, winter fishing was always tricky. She took another sizable drink of her scotch, realizing she was nearing the bottom. She had good luck with trout over near Silver Lake during the summer, maybe she should give it another try.

She threw back the remainder of her whiskey, the burn settling pleasantly in her stomach, heat flushing along her cheeks. Of course, it could get crowded even in winter, so maybe she should see just how frozen the more distant tributaries forking off from it were.

She lowered the glass once she was sure she’d drained the last drop of scotch, ice cubes settling back along its bottom with a resounding clink.

The noise caused John to shoot his head up, eyes wide and searching in confusion for a moment — before they narrowed in offense as they settled on the glass in her hand.

“Were you drinking while I was doing that?!”

“I fuckin’ got bored!” she barked back, throwing her hand up defensively. “I said to fucking suck it, not make out with it!”

“I was getting there!”

“Well I fucking wasn’t!”

“Very fucking well, then!” he cursed, reaching his free hand to grip her thigh almost too hard and scooting her further towards the edge of the mattress. “Since you’re so opposed to my adding any amount of artistry to the endeavor,” he hissed, allowing it to slowly fade into a sigh as he resumed furiously stroking himself and settled between her legs. “I guess it’s straight to my A-Game.”

With that he slipped his tongue past his lips again, finding its place without delay this time — hugging her contours with a tight pressed caress that made her suddenly realize with a dizzying flicker of heat just how much she’d missed being paid proper attention.

She groaned low and heavy as she tossed her head back, feeling the mere reality of his tongue finally massaging against her with some fucking force was almost release enough on its own.

It was. It really was. For the almost twenty seconds it lasted.

But that was the extent of its duration, before his tongue curled and flipped over so that its slick underside rested against her before rising, breaking the contact to hover in limbo — then slap down, then repeat the motion rapid-fire.

She opened her eyes. She set them on the cedar molding; pausing a beat to study its grain, ground herself. A moment to try to talk herself into believing that what she thought she felt certainly couldn’t be real — but the sensation of the tensed tip of his tongue sweeping back and forth over her at a machine gun pace didn’t vanish, the wet slap slap slap it produced announcing its reality and leaving her without the luxury of doubt.

She could feel it, she could hear it, and upon finally daring to look down she could see his tongue flicking against her clit at the speed of light, as if trying to hammer any last remaining prospect of arousal out of it, the quick flex of his arm showing he continued pumping himself in the same racing rhythm. All while he looked up at her with those wide, pleading eyes and flushed cheeks; that desperate expression he wore that silently begged for praise, screamed ‘please tell me I’m good’ — an expression she normally would have to admit being something of an undeniable sucker for, but paired with the useless exaggerated flicking of his tongue it only inspired annoyance.

She bent her neck, so that she could be directly eye to eye with him as she spoke.

“John,” she cooed, dripping with an artificial sweetener of sarcasm, “you look very fucking pretty doing that.” His pupils blew wide, face deepening its pink with excitement — apparently still unaware the praise she gave was in mocking. “But it’s as fucking worthless as you are!”

His tongue froze in its place for him to draw in a sharp gasp that was quickly pushed back out as a broken, bleating cry that dragged out long and quavering; as black-blue lust clouded eyes switched to glistening white as they rolled towards the back of his head, then shuttered just as quickly as he squeezed them shut tight. From there his head dropped to collapse in her lap, so that she briefly worried she’d caused him to break down and cry — before she felt sudden heat sling along her shins, trickling down to her ankles as he trembled against her.

Her thigh grew nearly as damp as the lower half of her leg as he pressed his face flush against it to bury his next fading moans into it, until they crumpled into a last whimper and he went limp.

He took a few more shaky breaths in her lap before he pulled back to sit upright on the floor again, chest still heaving with breathlessness.

She unbent her leg, stretching it out to glance at the release dripping down her shin, then darting her eyes back to him. “So your A-Game, huh?”

His slackened features took turns furrowing and tensing at different places on his face, trying to fix for itself which expression it wished to solidify into, seeming to shift between half-formed renditions of angry, embarrassed, and apologetic.

Before they finally all fell, drooped with his head hanging in tired shame.

And she studied him in silence: still gasping for breath, face sheened with sweat and rosy flush, the drops of release that hadn’t made it to her skin settling on his thighs. The ache at her base pulsed fresh despite herself, and she had to admit he did, in fact, look very, very pretty like that.

She gave an exasperated sigh as she bent forward, reaching for his forearm.

“Come here,” she grumbled, tugging at the arm to pull him upward, then forward for her other hand to find the back of his thigh and guide him to settle into her lap.

He gave a soft whine, allowing his arms to rest atop her shoulders as she brought her hand upward to hold him at the hip. She then slid it to cradle the small of his back, trailing up and down as her other hand lifted to brush a thumb against his cheek, then cup his jaw — lavishing him with all those tender caresses she always was so bad at denying him when he was finally all broken down and fucked out and drained and softened by the comedown, although usually he’d done a little bit more to earn the reward of her spoiling him with stray affections.

“Well,” she began, leaning forward to press a kiss against his heartbeat. “Have we learned our lesson, then?”

He nuzzled against her hand, pressing a matching kiss to the pulse of her wrist, sighing a defeated, “Yes.”

“You gonna just do what the fuck I say without going off script to try to show off next time?”

“Yes,” he nodded, batting his eyelashes at her. “A-Anything,” he rasped against her palm. “Anything you say, Jessie, really — I want to make you feel good, make it up to you.” He wove his fingers through her hair, tangling them. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against her lips. “Anything. Tell me what to do.”

“Anything?” she questioned. “And you’ll be good and do it?”

“Anything,” he agreed. “I’ll be so good for you.”

She hummed, pleased. “I want you to slide off my lap right now, stand up…” She purred, pulling her head back to gaze at him, expectant look in his eyes. “Put on your pants, get in your car, drive to the liquor store, and fucking buy a bottle of bourbon.” She heard the beginnings of an offended scoff, pressing her index finger against his lips to shush it. “Without saying a fucking word, because you’ve officially lost ‘using your mouth’ privileges for the next hour.”

He swatted her hand away, remaining obediently silent nonetheless, settling for flashing her a bitter sneer as he shot up to stand, shoved his legs into his pants and threw open the door.

She trailed just behind him, stopping in the doorway to lean crooked in it with forearm propped against the frame. “Oh, and John?” she called after him, grinning at the sight of him wordlessly but dutifully turning around, jaw tensed tight but eyes softened as he stared at her.

She gave an upward jerk of her head in a half-nod. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” she chimed, flashing her index and middle finger parted into a V for him — holding it and bringing the hand to her mouth, poking her tongue out to flick at the space between the fingers.

She continued the act the entire time he swung around and stomped along the length of the balcony and down its steps with silent indignation, barking laughter after him as she did.

Happy for one of them, at least.

#oc: deputy jestiny ellen #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #bad head valentine’s day event #writies and wordies #nsft #q #fic: v-day a-game

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 2 years

Note

hi skz pack <3 first of i wanna say ily and i'll literally die for all of you. you especially (y/n)!!! if any of these male boneheads hurt you, i'll throw hands (just kidding, maybe i'll pull on their ears a little and then pat their lil heads to say sorry). i have two questions (sfw and nsfw hehe) and it's for everyone so any of you can answer if you want!

first, are there any funny inside stories within the pack? i need my crumbs. i wanna know all the juicy gossip and potential blackmail. i personally think hyunjin and jisung are a chaos duo but i wouldn't... put it past any of you. *heart fingers*

second, and this is a lil spicy, but have any of you been dommed by y/n? i only ask because i'm a dom too and i am CONSTANTLY rooting for my girl y/n. does she dick any of u down??? does she top?? power bottom?? i need to KNOW. if she hasn't or you've never been, i implore you to let her. i know she has potential. BESTIE Y/N IF U CAN SEE THIS, GO CRAZY (consensually <3) !!! IM ENABLING YOU.

(jess sorry for the lack of asks, you know i love you. saw this ask thing though and jumped at the chance. i'll be back to my regular scheduled asks soon once college dies down T_T hope you're doing well!)

– 🤍

"Oooh, both of these are really great questions." Your eyes light up as you excitedly sit straighter in your chair. "I think we're gonna answer them individually, since there's so much to each one." You glance around at your packmates. "Which do you guys wanna answer first?"

Eight pairs of eyes stare back at you silently, and you sigh.

"Really? Okay, fine."

"You're up, buttercup." Minho quips dryly, raising an eyebrow as he stares at you, making you roll your eyes.

"Okay, first off-" You start seriously, motioning to the rest of the group. "I'm a complete switch, through and through. I think we all know this."

"However, there are definitely some key factors that affect which role I choose to portray during sex."

"This legitimately sounds like the start of my human behaviors lecture from last week." Jisung remarks with sarcasm, a smirk flickering across his lips. "Did you and Professor Nim collab?"

Seungmin elbows the other beta hard in the ribs, and he loses his breath with an audible oof. You shoot him a thankful look before you continue.

"The first factor, and definitely most important, is my partner's preference and comfort level."

Chan is nodding like he gets what you're saying, which is comforting, knowing that you're not just babbling like an idiot and making no sense.

Changbin offers you the hint of a smile as you push onward.

"It's not especially important to me what role I play, I don't have a strong preference usually, so if my partner is more comfortable with me domming, then that's what I'll do. If they'd rather I sub, and they take control, that's fine too."

Minho rolls his eyes good naturedly. "You're just a straight brat with me."

You point a finger in his direction sternly. "You don't count."

The other alpha smirks and shrugs. "It's fine. I'm not complaining."

"Anyway." You shoot him a glare and he gives you a little hand motion, as if to say go on. "Another factor that affects things is where everyone is at in their cycles. Typically, it's not the same for everyone, but pretty common, that when an alpha is in rut, they want to dom. Similarly, when an omega is in heat, they usually want to sub. It's biology's way of making things easier for everyone."

"I also tend to be a little more submissive when it comes to sexual interactions with the other alphas? It's not astoundingly evident, but my wolf's natural response when faced with another alpha-especially Chan-is to naturally be a little more submissive as a sign of respect I guess?"

You smirk now and dart a sidelong look at Chan, reaching out to curl your fingers around his thigh.

"Not to say I haven't dommed-a lot-with all of them. We absolutely do have sex toys, and I absolutely have used them, on everyone."

Chan sighs good naturedly and Minho snickers, Changbin grinning now.

"Gross." Jeongin rolls his eyes from where he's sitting in Felix's lap."

"Speaking of-" You point at the omega now, who glances back at you innocently, eyes wide. "-when it comes to the omegas, I usually tend to dom all the time. The baby and Felix especially. Hyunjin can go either way, sometimes he likes to switch it up and be in charge, but Lixie and Innie? They like to be coddled and taken care of."

"Pillow princesses." Jisung supplies without any guile, and Felix immediately nods.

"Hey, I like what I like."

"And we like you, princess." Changbin teases back, reaching out to pinch the omega's cheek affectionately between his fingers.

"Jisungie and Seungie." You think for a minute, considering, and then glance to the betas, who are not helpful in the least, giving you a shrug each. "Hmm. They tend to go either way. They're wild cards. Although Seungie prefers being in control usually, whereas Jisungie usually leans toward wanting to be told what to do."

"That's why Minho-hyung likes me so much." Jisung boasts, puffing his chest. "I'm a great listener."

"Bull shit." Minho immediately shoots back, and Jisung pouts.

"You're a terrible listener." You agree, and Jisung turns the full force of his wide eyed pout on you, making you laugh. "Everywhere except the bedroom."

Jisung shrugs, snuggling back beside Seungmin. "Whatever. I'll take it."

"When there's more than two people involved," You go on, considering for a moment. "That usually changes dynamics a bit, depending on who's wanting to do what. It's not as simple as just saying 'oh there's two alphas, so they'll obviously dom the omega or beta or whatever' because sometimes, one of us will dom the third party, and then the other doms the other alpha or vice versa. It really all comes back to, once again, comfort levels and preferences."

"Noona, if I came to you and hyung and asked to dom both of you, would you let me?" Jeongin pipes up, motioning between you and Chan with sudden eager excitement.

"Absolutely, Innie." Chan doesn't even hesitation, smiling fondly at the youngest, who is bouncing in his seat and making Felix wince.

"But you wouldn't." You grin. "Because we all know you'd rather be babied, especially by Channie and I."

Jeongin doesn't even consider pouting.

"Guilty."

"We're a pretty non-traditional pack to begin with," You add, glancing at Chan, who squeezes your fingers where they rest on his leg. "So being non-traditional in the bedroom isn't anything weird. Channie is head alpha, but he never asserts that over anyone unless they ask. He's more than happy to sub if that's what someone wants."

"Who would want that?" Jisung cries out, utterly scandalized. "Dom, primal, head alpha hyung is the hottest hyung. Period."

"Hear, hear." Hyunjin raises a fake glass into the air in a toast to Jisung's words, and it's probably the first time they've agreed on anything in days.

"I mean-" You shrug, biting back a smirk. "-I'm not saying I don't agree with you, but I have to admit, there's also something intrinsically pretty about Channie being the one beneath me and seeing just how much he can take before he's practically begging."

"Oh god." Chan groans beside you.

Across the room, Changbin audibly chokes.

Jisung looks utterly caught off guard as he gulps loudly. "I need to take a cold shower all of a sudden."

Minho grins and raises his own invisible glass to you in salute from the other couch.

"That's my girl."

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