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utterlyotterlyx · 2 days

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Four

Summary - The consequences of your defection to the Autumn Court become clear as you realise how deeply rooted the betrayal of your family lies within you.

Warnings - angst, self-doubt, trauma, depression, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three

Nesta's toes curled uncomfortably.

Rhys was pacing before her and Lucien who was sunken into the seat beside her, Azriel and Cassian stood as still as stone to the side of Rhys' desk as he walked the length of the room behind it. Anger burned in his eyes, the violet orbs that Feyre loved so much now blazing with infantile fury at what he had lost.

The power pulsating around the High Lord was nothing compared to yours, but it was still uncomfortable to swim in; it was migraine-inducing, it made her eyes feel heavy and limbs weak, and she knew the power within him was teetering on the edge of unleashing.

Rhys, as calm as he was portraying, lay his palms flat against the table surface, staring Nesta and Lucien down, but neither of them relented, neither of them would dare falter in front of him, "Tell me where my sister is," his lips curled into a smile, a sadistic thing of psychotic beauty, his eyes were demanding, and Nesta stole a glance to Lucien whose fingers were ripping at the leather arms of the chair.

You had disappeared from Helion's birthday gathering, your scent floating away in the breeze, and you hadn't told a soul of where you were going. Rhys had assumed you were ashamed of yourself and had returned to Velaris, that he would be able to deal with you later. But when Eris' note had landed in Lucien's lap that evening, he had never felt such simmering relief.

There was history between Rhys and Lucien, they weren't exactly the best of friends, but they weren't enemies, Lucien dealt with him for Elain and Rhys delt with him for Feyre, but if he had it his way Lucien would cease to exist.

"Y/N," Lucien bit, to remind them that you were y/n, your own person, and not just known to be his sister and executioner, "Has denounced her place in the Night Court, she is residing elsewhere."

Azriel scoffed, his finger trailing along the sharp edge of Truthteller, "She can't denounce her place so easily."

"Well she has," Nesta smirked, her stare barrelling into Azriel whose pupils flared in response, "I suppose this is what happens when you raise a female to be nothing more than your dirty little secret."

Rhys bristled, "I would watch how you speak if I were you, Nesta."

Rolling her neck, Nesta drawled, "I think you forget how little I care for your opinions, Rhysand," Lucien hummed low in agreement, legs lax and open against the confinements of his seat, "It seems as though y/n finally realised what you've done all these years."

"And what's that?" Rhys challenged.

Nesta could have smacked that smirk from his lips, but she restrained herself from doing so. Unfortunate.

"Lie," Rhys' eyes darkened, "All you've done is lie to her. You had never hidden her to protect her from what happened to your mother and sister, you used it as an excuse so that no one would find out just how powerful she is. You hid her so that she would never realise her full potential, you never trained her abilities and yet her power still drowns you, and instead of caring for her and helping her, you locked her away in this city and silently forbade her to ever leave."

Lady Death rose to her feet and approached the desk, paying little mind to the daggers shooting from Cassian's eyes. Fuck the male who would let their master manhandle their precious mate. Nesta mirrored the High Lord, palms flat across the table and leaning in so that she could feel his breath on her cheeks, "You have raised y/n to be your executioner, you have spread this vile word of her ferocity and violence so that no one would ever wish to be around her. You created the image of a bloodthirsty monster that lays dormant in the Night Court until her master calls upon her, and y/n has realised just how much you have betrayed her. All she knows is what you reared her to be, not what she actually is or can be."

Lucien shuffled in his seat, opening his mouth and voicing, "You stole away her chance to choose her own path by manipulating her into believing that her place in the world was to be nothing but the Feared Princess of Velaris," he leaned forward in his seat, smirking at the way Cassian took a step forward, "The mere mention of her name strikes fear into the souls of every traveller, they sing songs around fires of her, she is the monster in the nightmares and the one dying men wish they never meet on the other side, and she has been allowed to be depicted like that because you wished it."

It was masterful really, how Rhys had manipulated everyone to believe that you were an awful abomination of a thing when in reality all you wanted to do was see the world and curl up with a good book. You hadn't experienced anything good or soul-awakening, Amarantha had stripped your essence from you the moment she carved your wings from your body, and that had been the moment that Rhys had wrapped his talons around your mind and bent you to his will.

"Tell me where she is."

Nesta cocked her head to the side as she scrutinised his face with horror laced in her orbs, after all they had said all he cared about was knowing where you were, he had no interest in acknowledging or accepting anything he had done. She looked to Cassian, "Do you not understand how disgusting this is? She grew up with you, you said she was like a sister to you that you loved her as much as him," Nesta pointed at Rhys who pulled back from the desk, "How could you stand by and allow this?"

"Y/N's power poses a threat to us all, I did what was necessary to ensure our safety."

"If that's truly what you think then you are no mate of mine," she spat and his eyes rounded as his forehead creased, his façade was cracking. Nesta turned her attention to Azriel, "You. You're supposed to be her best friend, she loves you more than anything, there's nothing she wouldn't do for you, Az."

Azriel shrugged, "My duty is to the Night Court."

"You're a pig," she took in the sight of Rhys who had taken a step or so backward and had found a place to lean against the fireplace, her anger bubbled and there was little she could do to stop the truth from stabbing him in his soul, "Y/N is in the Autumn Court. The one place you physically can't go, where none of you can and I'm so glad she got out of this shitshow of a city because she would have died if she had been locked away for another moment longer being treated like nothing and no one."

"Watch it."

Nesta chuckled lowly, "Or what, Rhys? You'll kick me out of the Night Court? It's a good thing that I'm already leaving."

What have I done?

The thought was on repeat in your mind, an overlapping record jolting with the same phrase.

A pit had opened inside of you, a gnarly black hole full of anger and hatred that had dampened the moment Eris had wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a flurry of light, and you could distinctly see the world as you knew it warp before your eyes.

The dress you had worn was draped over a standing mirror, the skirt of it brushing against the glass in the breeze swelling through the room Eris had led you to that night. Flowing water from a babbling brook sounded from beyond the window, harmonising with sweet birdsong and the rustling of autumn leaves. Sunlight speckled through the room and streaked across the thick brown carpet that made you feel like you were walking on clouds.

For a moment, you stopped thinking of how your life had momentously changed in the space of one decision. It was a peace you welcomed before the reality of it came crashing down on you.

Rhys would be furious once he found out that you had denounced your home court and title, so furious that he may not allow you back which wasn't exactly a bad thing. But nothing would made that vein in his forehead pop more than when he realised where you had gone. To Autumn. With Eris.

Your heart raced at the thought of it, your hands went clammy and damp, and you couldn't stop thinking about what exactly would happen to Nesta and Lucien because of your reckless decision.

You are the author of your own story.

A soft knock rattled on the door, pulling your mind back into the present. Lifting yourself from the larger-than-life bed, you padded over to the door, knowing that Eris would never just let himself into the safe space he had gifted to you.

Eris stood on the other side, the sunlight brushing over his face and turning his eyes into molten shimmer bronze, he looked handsome, dressed in tight taupe pants that were tucked into his riding boots, a cream shirt loosely poked into the waistband.

His gaze travelled down your figure that was half-hidden behind the door, specifically at the shirt he had leant you that barely fell to your mid-thigh which left the rest of your leg exposed to him. Your hair was messy from the night full of tossing and turning, but he thought you looked radiant, that it made you look rather adorable actually.

"Good morning," he told you softly once he was done examining you, there was a box in his arms along with a few folded pieces of fabric, "I went out this morning and got these for you," he offered, "You don't have any clothes here so I thought these would do for now until I could take you into town."

Taking the box and tower of clothes from his arms, you smiled, "Thank you," you suddenly felt naked in front of him, the breeze drifting inward and up your legs reminding you of that fact.

If he knew of your realisation he didn't let on, "Our fashion isn't like that of your former court, but I'm sure you'll look incredible in it regardless," his eyes sparkled and your racing heart began to relent, "I'll be in the gardens when you're ready, Fawn."

Eris left you after that, he left you with the lingering speckles of his scent, the same scent that you had drifted to sleep bathed in thanks to the large shirt he had given you. The arms of the shirt drooped on you and you knew that it was due to his large arms perfectly fitting in the fabric.

The clothes were lovely, a mixture of dresses in a variety of styles and hues that you knew would mould against your skin perfectly, tailored shirts and tight leather pants, feminine waistcoats of forest green and red wine with golden embellishments, and undergarments that you knew Eris wouldn’t dare pick himself. Even the thought made heat rise to your cheeks.

Deciding to embrace your defection, one that Eris had been careful not to voice directly, you dressed yourself in a pair of high waisted black pants and a fitted artic blue blouse. It was so unlike anything you had ever worn, but it was beautiful in its own way. Turning to the box, you lifted the lid and gasped at the oyster coloured riding boots that must have cost a small fortune considering the intricate stitching. They weren’t just regular riding boots, no, when you slid them up your calves and found yourself adjusting them to your thighs, you knew they were a statement piece if you’d ever seen one.

Pulling your hair back into a low and messy bun, you found your reflection and grinned.

Eris was right, you did look incredible, like Velaris had been dispelled from you long ago and was nothing but a horrible dream.

Fir Manor was a special place, you could see why Eris chose to live there over the Forest House. It was light and bright and full of warmth from the whispering sun, ornate furniture was littered everywhere, the library was the personification of comfort and grace, exposed wooden beams loomed overhead and the windows were large and clear enough that you could see to the edge of the estate and the woodland beyond.

Your sun-starved skin cried in relief as you stepped outside, drinking in every vitamin offered to it, a low whistle caught your ear and you found Eris stood before a pair of large but stunning stallions, his hounds chasing one another and running between their legs which didn’t phase them at all.

“You look,” he trailed off as he approached, a jacket now completing his outfit and fingers raking through his red hair.

“Like Autumn threw up on me?”

“Something like that,” you huffed out a laugh and looked to the beasts, “I thought you’d like to explore the woodland today, get you out of the manor for a few hours?”

It was an offer than you wanted to say yes to, but at the same time couldn’t, ashamed of your oncoming admittance, “I would love to. It’s just,” you faltered, your eyes moved from Eris to the towering midnight black stallion that had craned its neck to look to you inquisitively.

Eris caught on, “You don’t know how,” a solemn finish to the sentence you were trying to voice, his heart clenched slightly at the defeat in your eyes, yet another thing that had been taken from you, “Well I can teach you,” he spoke, “Today you can ride with me, learn the basics, and you’ll be on your own stallion in no time.”

The High Lord of Autumn stood beside you, elbow to elbow, and even through the fabric of your clothes, you could feel his fire prickling across your skin and work its way into the woven fibres of your soul. He stood there seemingly unknowing of it, and when he looked down on you, waiting for your answer, all you could do was nod.

The stallion, Axos, shuddered under your touch as your fingers drifted over his side and around the curve of his saddle. Hands curled around your hips and you almost fell backward at the touch, Eris was behind you, his chest moving against your back and you glanced backward at him, "Don't get too excited," he smirked, and you wished you could have seen the muscles in his arms rippling as he lifted you up, instructing you to swing your leg over before he settled in behind you with ease.

The reigns became wrapped between his fingers, his breath was hot against your neck and Axos was moving onward after a curt click from Eris' mouth, his hounds trotting happily alongside you, "You have to roll your hips with each step he takes," his voice was gruff in your ear, low enough to send shivers flowing down your spine, "Like this," he unwound one of his hands from the reigns and placed it on your hip, gently moving it back and forth to the steps of Axos beneath as the stallion carried you both into the woodland, through the arched hanging branches and grasslands.

Awareness washed over you at how close Eris truly was, you were nestled at the centre of his open legs, his thighs encased your own, his entire chest shrouded you, and a shadow fell over you from the sheer size of him. He was pressed up to your back to the point you could feel his heart beating through his shirt, a thing you had become extremely aware of but didn't dare shudder away from in fear of him pulling away from you.

The landscape was picturesque, mounds of fresh earth, dainty flowers and fallen branches, leaves of orange, brown, and red, and water flowing through the small brooks, trying to find their way to the river. Even the sun felt surreal, it streaked through any respite of bark that it could, its golden glow spreading and infecting the land. Soft scampering of tiny paws ran through the trees, squirrels jumped from branch to branch, following you and paying no attention to the swarm of hounds keeping an eye on them.

It astounded you how a place so beautiful even existed.

It scared you how place so beautiful could turn into the most vicious of battlegrounds.

"Are you afraid, of Rhys coming here?"

Eris tensed behind you, his hand still lingering on your side, "We don't have to talk about this, y/n."

"I know," you told him, smiling softly as you watched a small bunny poke its head above its burrow, "I just know him, and I don't want to put you or your court in danger."

"I'm not afraid of him, and he will never step foot in my court. I won't allow it," he was stoic, and you knew he was telling the truth, Eris had faced worse than Rhys, he had endured worse.

"I can go, I don't have to be here, Eris."

Axos stopped moving, your brows itched together in a frown and you turned to capture Eris' gaze which was riddled with confusion, "I would never dream to keep you from doing whatever it is you wish to you, even if you wish to leave, I would not stop you. But I would like you to stay, and I think you would like to stay too."

Eris' amber pools softened and he smiled sadly at you, knowing that you didn't wish to leave but wanted to protect him and his home from whatever it was that Rhys could inflict upon it, "You will always have a place here, y/n. No one can take that from you, whatever you wish for is yours."

"Who knew that the fox could be so sweet?"

Eris tilted his head back and laughed, a pure thing of serenity, he moved his hand to your thigh and squeezed it gently before grabbing at the reigns once more, "Keep going, Fawn. You're getting warmer."

The hours ticked by, idly chatter filled the air, he told you the names of his hounds, you had unmounted Axos and delved further into the woodland, touching every tree that you could as if you wouldn't see them again all whilst Eris trailed you with a distant grin on his lips. Sunlight began to wane into its mid-afternoon position, the warmth replaced with bristle breezes and the birdsong drowned out by the emerging chirps of crickets.

Golden hour.

A moment you had heard of, when the sun reached its most comfortable resting place before it beckoned the moon to start its ascent, where the world was coated in the golden autumn glow that consumed the land. You had heard the stories of its beauty, but nothing could prepare you for it as you watched the light shift to a different angle and a shimmer cling to everything that moved. The waters glistening, sparkling and reflecting against the bodies of the trees, and that sparkle bounced all over the clearing where you stood.

"It's beautiful," your voice was a whisper but your eyes floated about the clearing, your body turned where you stood and you drank it in.

"It is," Eris confirmed from where he stood, dry branches creaked under his feet as he approached, "It's something that I take for granted, when you see it every day you forget how special it is."

"I wish that you could see it again for the first time."

A weight shifted at your feet and you peered down to see one of Eris' hounds, Willow, perched atop your toes, looking up at you with a lopsided grin as she panted. Reaching down, you scratched the spot beneath her shin and between her ears, your heart swelling as her tail swatted at the floor and her eyes screwed closed as she accepted your touch, "She likes you."

Willow was an elegant beast, long brown lashes, deep brown eyes, shining fur of tan and black, and shaggy ears that fell down the sides of her face, "I like her too."

Eris' eyes glowed, with what you couldn't quite tell, "We should head back to the manor, you must be starving."

When you thought of it you were hungry, you didn't remember the last time you ate, perhaps the morning of your departure but you couldn't be sure of it. The ride back to the manor felt too short, you were relishing in his company far too much, so much so that you wished that the day wouldn't end.

Fir Manor approached in the forefront of your vision and you sighed, ready to be in more relaxing clothes, but also ready to eat something. You could only imagine how incredible the food would be if even the landscape alone brought you happiness. Eris dismounted first and held his hands up to you, not even straining as they gripped your waist and placed you back on the ground delicately.

Eris' finger reached to tuck a strand of your hair behind your pointed ear, one that must have fell loose from the effortless bun you had thrown your hair into that morning. That same finger lingered, ghosting over the curve of your jaw and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. His eyes were on you, waving themselves over your face.

You could have stayed there for much longer, in his arms with his fingers dusting over your skin. It seemed that others were too impatient to allow the moment to continue as the door to the manor swung open and you turned your head to see Nesta and Lucien stood on the porch with Elain in the doorway.

"Nes?" Eris' grip on your waist tightened slightly but relented as you moved away, pacing up the pathway and flinging yourself into her open arms which wrapped around you tightly, "What are you doing here?"

"Our place is with you," she muttered and you pulled away, looking between her, Lucien and Elain as Eris fell to your side.

"What about Cassian?"

Nesta shuddered, she took a moment to glance at Eris and the apprehension he wore as he inched closer to you, "I can't be mated to someone who could allow something like this to happen."

"I'm so sorry, Nes," guilt pooled within you and she could see that as clear as daybreak, she took a step closer to you, taking your head in her hands and stroking your cheeks with her thumbs.

"Don't be," she shushed, "I chose you. I will always choose you."

Lucien placed a hand on your shoulder and offered more detail, "Rhys is furious, but he knows that he can't get to you here," he glanced to his brother and his lips tilted downward, "He's asked for you, for a meeting at the boarder."

The High Lord growled under his breath and took a protective step to you, it was clear that Rhys was going to attempt to barter for your return, that he was going to use his manipulation tactics to steal you back, "Fine," your blood ran cold and Nesta's fingers gripped at your wrists as Eris rounded your figure to stand beside her, "You're not going anywhere, alright? It's in our best interests to see what he has to say. I'll never let him take you," Eris turned his head to peer over his shoulder at his younger brother and Elain who had drifted from the doorway to entwine her fingers with his, his eyes faltered in want before he spoke, "You'll accompany me."

Lucien nodded stiffly and once, "For her, I'll do whatever you need me to."

"Thank you," Eris' words were sincere and he found Nesta's gaze, "You can all stay here for however long you'd like," then he found yours and he reached for your hand, his calloused fingers brushing over your knuckles, "Forever if it suits."

The sun hung low in the sky, the moon was pushing itself through the clouds and your heart raced with anticipation for the moment Eris and Lucien would both leave for the boarder, "Please be careful."

Eris nodded, rubbing your clothes arms in his hands to allow his warmth to run through you, "We will. Go and get changed, I'll see to it that food is on the table for you three by the time you're back."

"Us three?"

"The boarder is hours away," Lucien spoke for his brother who couldn't bare to tell you that they would have to leave imminently in order to meet with Rhys, "If we don't leave soon then we risk missing the window altogether."

"You're safe here, y/n. They can't get in."

In that moment, all you wanted to do was throw your arms around him, just to bask in his scent and warmth for another moment longer, but you couldn't. Instead, you nodded and allowed Nesta and Elain to lead you inside, and you continued to look over your shoulder up until the moment when Lucien closed the door with a tight lipped smile cast in your direction.

It would not be the last time you'd see him. If it was, then you'd decimate the entire of Prythian with your fury.

Author's Note

Here we are!

Hope you love it x

Someone told me that 'Who's Afraid of Little Old Me' by Taylor Swift is so The Fox and The Fawn reader coded and I cannot stop thinking about it

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @iamjimintrash @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10

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diedicontroversial · 3 days

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[discourse] in defiance of the author’s wishes (re: mxtx fandom)

table of contents : context : moral arguments : addressing the legal side of things : closing remarks

Context

on March 17, 2018, mxtx posted:

“As long as you don't split or reverse the top/bottom positions of the main couple, I won't mind what you ship. I myself have a lot of fun shipping couples in mainstream shows, and isn't reading all about finding joy? You can imagine freely or ship whoever you like, just don't break up or reverse the top/bottom positions of the main couple.”

(I realise that the 不拆不逆 “no splitting or reversing” rule might be implicit within the entire Chinese danmei fandom, so i do not wish to single mxtx out. for example, i know that Chinese 2ha fans also go around policing people who ship, say, chu wanning with shi mei — so this isn’t just a mxtx thing. although i do not know if other danmei authors have explicitly stated “no splitting or reversing” since i have not been a part of other danmei fandoms.)

Nevertheless, “no splitting or reversing” became the constitution in Chinese mxtx fandom. Fans parade around with the slogan “拆逆死“ which means “kill yourself if you split or reverse”. Since the pronunciation of 拆逆死 (chai-ni-si) sounds like “chinese”, some fans on the Chinese internet have been putting “chinese” in their bios to mean “kill yourself if you split or reverse”.

From now on I will be referring to split/reverse ships as cult ships, as Chinese fans like to call them.

There are two main consequences of the “no splitting or reversing” rule (on the Chinese internet):

You will receive permanent bans with no option for appeal if you post cult ship fanworks in the novel communities on Weibo

It is implicitly agreed upon that you are not allowed to use individual character tags, the novel tag, or the author tag when posting cult ship content on any platform. So, for example, if you write Wei Wuxian x Jiang Cheng, you are not allowed to use #weiwuxian #jiangcheng #mdzs #mxtx. The name given to this conduct of tagging only your cult ship is 圈地自萌, which means “enclose a piece of land and amuse oneself within it”. You are not allowed to step out of your land.

However, not everyone agrees with the practice of “don’t step out of your land” — this includes people from both sides of the debate. Some official shippers believe that cult shippers should not have any land to begin with, and purposefully leave the cult ship tag unblocked so they can police cult shippers at every opportunity. Some cult shippers believe that because their ship involves the individual characters, originate from the novel written by the author, they are in the right to use the individual character tags, the novel tag, and the author tag, and that people who dislike their ship should just use the block function.

Moral Arguments

There are two main types of moral arguments that Chinese official shippers make.

1. If you split the official ship, you condone cheating behaviour and that makes you a bad person.

The first argument is too trivial so I will leave the refutation as an exercise for the reader to do at home /j

2. You are not respecting the author's wishes and that makes you a bad person.

The author has wished many different things. For example:

Screenshot 1 translation: I strictly forbid any crowdfunding or fundraising related to me, my works, or my characters, regardless of the purpose, whether it be for celebration, group buying, rankings, charity, or any other named activities.

Screenshot 2 translation: Once again, I emphasize: No new social media pages related to my works are allowed, nor organizing readers in a roundabout way, whether it be for celebrations, group buying, rankings, charity, or any other named activities. Please also refrain from flamboyantly organizing any collective birthday events.

Screenshot 3 translation: I've repeated many things many times and do not wish to repeat myself. Could everyone please just listen to my words occasionally.

(A brief aside before I address the second argument, something I used to say when debating Chinese fans: “I don’t think people who violate the author's wishes mean any disrespect. I don’t think they’re shipping or hosting charity events or birthday parties out of spite, but rather, it just so happens that the author prohibits a ship they enjoy or an event they organise. Just because I cult ship, for example, doesn’t mean I hate the author.” And they would respond: “if you really liked the author, you wouldn’t go against her wishes. You do not deserve to like the author. You are a mxtx anti.” And I would say, “I like my mom a lot, but I won’t listen to everything she says, simply because I don’t think everything she says is right. Plus, I don’t think the world can simply be explained by like vs. dislike. Also, Xie Lian said this: [For instance, if you admire or like someone, you won't always treat them well, no matter what happens.]” But then the most hilarious thing happened, in the revised version, a rebuttal for that scene was added:

【”For instance, if you admire or like someone, it doesn't mean you will always treat them well, regardless of what happens."

"Why not?" San Lang questioned. "If that's not possible, it only shows that this so-called 'liking' isn't anything significant."

Xie Lian shifted the conversation, asking, "Then... does it mean that aside from liking someone, the only other option is to dislike them? Are these the only two attitudes one can choose from?"

San Lang chuckled and retorted, "Why not? Right is right, wrong is wrong. To love is to love, to hate is to hate. Why can't things be clear and straightforward?”】

… ah.)

To address the second argument for real, i believe that producers retain no moral authority over the methods by which consumers engage with their products. for instance, i believe that choosing not to follow the official “twist, lick, and dunk” method when eating oreos does not constitute disrespect towards the oreo brand. Or to use another analogy, suppose a farmer selling apples insist that you peel the apples before eating them. I believe that it does not make you a bad person if you choose to eat the apples unpeeled, despite the farmer being the one who watered and harvested the apples from their trees.

I am thinking of potential counterarguments, and the strongest one I came up with is: “but products like oreos and apples are fundamentally different from intellectual property.” And I think the main issue here is that, to employ economics terminology, the content of novels like tgcf is a non-rivalrous good (not the novels themselves but the abstract content), which means that my consumption of it does not reduce availability to others. In other words, unlike Oreos or apples wherein after I purchase them, the specific items I bought are no longer physically in the hands of the vendor; after encountering characters like Shen Qingqiu, Shen Qingqiu still exists abstractly in MXTX’s head. This gives the illusion of ownership on the author’s part. I want to be very careful here because I think it’s easy to equivocate between different uses of the word “ownership”. I am not arguing that the author fails to retain ownership in negation of all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into the creative process, i.e. their copyright. Instead, I am contending that, just as I paid for my Oreos and apples, upon my purchasing of the Seven Seas version, the paperback Chinese version, and the revised uncensored version of TGCF on JJWXC, the author does not own the ways by which I choose to engage with these fictional entities. Once a work is made public, its ontology becomes independent of the author’s intent, and in all its readers’ heads exist distinct versions of the characters, in effect making them belong to all of us.

(There. As a bonus I have also resolved the issue of not being “chinese” enough. Ah, is this a bad place to make a communism joke?)

Addressing the legal side of things

In 2022 I wrote to the legal team at AO3, and here is their response:

Regarding the “moral rights”, that’s actually a thing. Upon receiving lots of spam from 12-yr-old readers that “you are breaking the law”, I did a quick Baidu search (China’s Google) concerning the legality of splitting/reversing ships. Surprisingly, the search results yield “yes, it’s illegal”, and hence the 12-yr-olds' confidence. But that is akin to getting a cancer diagnosis from searching symptoms on Google. So I dug deeper.

After reading tens of published papers and court cases, here are the key takeaways of what I found:

Given that intellectual property rights are a bit behind in China, they have largely based their laws on US copyright law. As organizations like OTW continue to fight for the rights of transformative works in the US, China probably will just follow suit.

The semantics of “distort, mutilate, or otherwise harm the integrity of their works in a way that harms the author’s reputation” is very vague and debatable. There are at least three ways to interpret it (I think one of the papers I read offered four). The first is that they only have to prove that you distorted the integrity of the work. The second is that you satisfy the condition of harming the author’s reputation. The third is that you satisfy both conditions (integrity of work and author’s reputation). It depends on the court.

None of the court cases pertained to unserious, just-for-fun fan works. Usually what happens is someone makes a film out canon, for example, and sell it for profit, or someone publishes their own novel which contains characters from another published work.

And that is for China only^ if you live outside of China, you are under another country's jurisdiction.

Closing remarks

I am addressing this issue because it has impacted me and my friends in many ways. "kill yourself if you split/reverse the official ship" is probably the least of our concerns, mainly because it is such a popular phrase that we've become desensitized to it. @/Eleven receives private messages on Lofter on a weekly basis of people wishing her entire family to get murdered. A hualian main friend of mine has been posted to Weibo for following me; and I had to pull a Shi Qingxuan with "hey let's not be friends anymore if being associated with me is gonna get you cancelled".

mxtx has been through a lot and i understand where she's coming from. and maybe, the people who identify as "kill yourself if you split/reverse the official ship" don't truly mean it -- maybe they're just expressing their love for the official ship.

Recently i've been seeing the sentiments I used to only witness in Chinese fandom surface on Twitter and sometimes I worry that western mxtx fandom is going to turn into Chinese mxtx fandom, with the in-group/out-group mentality -- you're either with us or against us. At the end of the day, I do like mxtx, I admire her tenacity and I think she's a brilliant author, I love her works and the characters in them. I simply do not want to be backed into the corner of "anti" due to not following every order she gives.

祝墨香和她的粉丝们平安。

#mxtx #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #svsss #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #discourse

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liveontelevision · 21 hours

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Hi! im in love with your Lucifer fics. You newest one has me gripped and i cant wait for the next part.

You got me brainstorming more Lucifer fics ideas

I was thinking of one where the reader has been helping/supporting Charlie at the Hotel and is almost like a mother/parental figure to her, and when Lucifer arrives he acts cold/mean no matter how much she tries to be polite. But then he warm up to her after see how much the reader really cares about Charlie and then he finally realises hes in love with her.

♡

Thank you! I literally could write about him for hours (kinda have already) and I really liked this prompt, so here's just a lil' something for ya, anon ♡

Honey | Lucifer x Reader

No smut, just some cute fluff here-

♡♡♡

As soon as you arrived in Hell, your eyes were drawn to the drab-looking hotel just up the hill. And you flew to it like a moth to a TV screen. That being said, you've known Charlie and the other residents for as long as you've been dead. They've all seen you at your worst, having to be the unlucky few to explain your death. Although, Charlie's comfort really made the whole being dead thing much more palatable. During this time, while she's supported you, you've seen her through thick and thin as well. Pretty soon, you became an important part of her life, offering a more parental influence when she needed one. You didn't really die at an old age, but a lot went on in your lifetime to give you the maturity to comfort people that way and you were always happy to do it.

Considering your skill set, some of the residents went to you in the same fashion. A little task you took to, just to help out, was fixing up some articles of clothing for people. It was a great mindless task for you to do, considering Alastor wasn't a fan of having phones and TVs in the hotel. So you simply sat, humming a little tune as you fixed up something from Angel's wardrobe.

Your trance was broken, seeing a pair of slender legs in front of you. Following them up, you finally meet eyes with a nervous-looking Charlie. She's fidgeting with her fingers, still trying to find the courage to say whatever she came to you for.

"You need something, hun? You can talk to me, c'mere." With a sweet voice, you patted the cushion on the couch next to you and kept on working. She let out a heavy breath you didn't realize she was holding.

"Soooo... my dad is coming to visit and I - uh.." she still struggled to find her words. Considering you've barely been outside the hotel, you really didn't question how big of a deal Lucifer was. But to see Charlie getting flustered about a little visit from her own father did make you feel uneasy.

"I guess - I don't know, I'm just nervous, is all! It's not that big a deal, I mean, he's my dad, but also.. he's... my dad..?" You nodded your head.

"Seems like a big deal. He's the king of Hell, so it makes sense that you're nervous. Can I help with anything?" Acknowledging her feelings and making sure to keep your tone smooth, you finally set aside the mini skirt you were fixing up to face her.

"Oh! Um - I was wondering if you could bake something for everyone! Niffty's making cookies, but I think dad might enjoy something a little more.." You both thought back on the disturbing display of desserts Niffty had made for everyone in the past, it sent a chill down your spine. You nodded your head fast, taking a hold of her hands.

“Yeah, I'd love to! I'll make sure it's something your dad would like, too! How's that sound?" You absolutely loved to bake, and doing it for other people always made it even better. There was some pressure on you, considering who you were catering to, but remembering that this is for Charlie, kept any nerves at bay. Charlie, who just happened to be shedding a tear or two of relief, gave you a hug that would've snapped you in two if it had gone on any longer. You were used to those at this point.

The day went by fast, Charlie preparing and stressing over little decisions for her dad's visit. You got the OK to bake an apple pie. A specialty you would make when you were alive, you went all out. You'd always make the dough from scratch, soak the apples in a homemade cinnamon butter, and somehow managed to spiffy it up to a commercial extent. You were batting off Pentious and Niffy as best you could until he arrived.

You saw a side of Charlie during that visit that you haven't really seen before. She was nervous, sure, but it was clear she felt so defeated. Each little quip on sinners being hopeless or how Charlie shouldn't even bother in this "whole redemption deal" made you understand her paranoia more and more.

As Charlie introduced each of the staff and residents, Lucifer got distracted by the still steaming pie sitting on the table in front of everyone. He definitely wasn't the only one whose mouth was watering just by staring at it, but he was the one who bit the bullet, taking the first piece.

"And this is -" a loud hum of satisfaction interrupted Charlie's introduction to Sir Pentious, who looked deflated at the change in topic.

"Charlie! Good golly - This is great!" With another bite and hum, you watched his eyes flutter shut for a moment. A little boost of confidence immediately making you giddy.

"Oh! Well, that's good! Because this is our other guest! She made it herself -" Charlie took a hold of your shoulders and dragged you to face Lucifer. You could feel the nervous tremble coming from her hands. You looked up at her for a moment and smiled, placing a hand over top of hers. It really did seem to calm her nerves. And for some reason, he didn't seem to like that.

"Well - I'll eat anything with apples since they're obviously my favorite. It’s not that special." He tossed the half-finished plate back onto the table and wiped his hands clean. He ignored you.

"U-Uhm.. yeah, that's - that's everyone, I guess!" Charlie stammered, not expecting him to turn such a cold shoulder to you. He spent his time examining you. Considering he didn't even care enough to learn your name at that moment, he sure was taking his time looking you up and down.

"Well then!" He clasped his hands together after finally tearing his eyes off you. "How about a little tour?" He suggested, clearly not invested in the other sinners now. Charlie looked down at you and you nodded, starting to clean up some little things around you. It was a nervous habit you had, but it helped to keep your hands busy and your mind off the insulting interaction you just had to endure.

Charlie took Vaggie's hand and went on to give the tour. Once they were out of sight around the corner, you slumped your shoulders letting out a groan.

"Short king's givin' you the cold shoulder, huh?" Angel leaned on the back of the couch, crossing one leg over the other.

"Right? Okay, glad I'm not the only one who noticed that. Is something wrong with the pie..?" Looking over to Sir Pentious, who was licking the already empty pie tin clean, he quickly shook his head.

"Maybe's got a thing for ya." Angel teased, jabbing you with his elbow. You rolled your eyes, finally taking the pie tin from Pentious.

"He didn't even get my name, I'm sure that's not it. Whatever.. " you grumbled, taking any dishes you could to the kitchen to keep your mind from exploring that option.

The extermination day battle was here. You followed the armies who attacked the hoards of exorcists when they finally arrived. As the battle went on, you hated to admit it, you found yourself in awe watching Lucifer kick Adam's ass. The sight of his wings and the little V thing - and obviously his immense power, somehow managed to make you blush as you were attacking angels. Definitely a new sensation for you, with the bloodlust muddling your other senses, but it was easy to forget about it once the new hotel was renovated and everyone was finally settled in.

As everything went back to normal, you went back to helping Charlie with anything you could, drinking at the bar with everyone and generally things went back to the way they were. There was only one difference. Lucifer made the decision to stay at the hotel. It was commendable for sure, his change of heart to support Charlie through this change, but it only left you feeling conscious about everything you'd do when he was around. The underlying crush didn't help much. Or Angel's teasing about said crush.

You really did try, when you'd pass him the hallway, you'd always send him your most sincere smile. Or when you spotted him reading or working on anything, you'd try and spark any kind of conversation or ask if he needed help. He never needed help. He was always too busy to chat. You honestly couldn't remember a time he looked you in the eyes before. You bit your tongue. No need to worry Charlie, or anyone really, about some feud you possibly made up in your mind.

It was especially important to you to not stress Charlie right now. Starting the hotel back up was a big task alone, but the loss of Sir Pentious weighed on everyone. And Charlie took full blame for it. A late night, where she most likely stayed up to try and find any kind of hope for redemption, any speck of proof to bring sinners in, she found herself burnt out. Approaching the memorial for Pentious, you stood beside Charlie. You found her visiting it every now and then, and when you did, you knew she needed a check in. And you were right. Without a word, Charlie suddenly clung to you. She went on about how it was all her fault. How he was gone because of her. How nothing seems to be working and she's terrified that it's all for nothing.

It took a while for her to calm down, but you would never leave her like this. By now, the two of you had fallen to the ground, sitting on your knees.

"Charlie, you are doing your absolute best. It's okay to cry, you know that. Think of everything you've done for everyone else, I mean - Pen would've never sacrificed himself if it wasn't for his friends." You brushed a tear from her still wet and puffy eyes. "You did that. You gave him something worth dying for." It was a hard truth, but you hoped it was enough for her. She's done more for you than she'd ever know, and you'd do anything to give it back. You didn't realize, but before approaching Charlie, Lucifer was pacing a nearby corridor, battling the decision to go up to her himself. He hadn't said much to her since extermination day, and he had always been nervous about saying something wrong, making things worse. Before he had the chance to muster up the courage, you had swooped in. It confused him. He should've been jealous or hurt, that he wasn't able to calm her down himself. That you beat him to the punch. But he didn't really feel that way, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Was it admiration? Sitting in the shadows until he assured Charlie was taken care of, he went back up to his workshop, flustered for a number of reasons.

There was one moment, where things started to look good. It was a regular night at the bar, you, Angel and Husk had gotten on the topic of your lives, looking at the positives which was a rarity. Charlie and Lucifer were nearby, Charlie enthralled in the discussions of what Earth was like.

"My homelife? It wasn't anything fancy, but.. um.. - oh I had a farm, actually! I ran it with my parents, it was.. nice." You hold onto your arms, a bittersweet smile on your face. With a light bulb going off in Charlie's head, she nudged you with her elbow.

"You didn't happen to have any birds or chickens or ducks - did you?" She hummed. She noticed the wedge between you and her dad, and it hurt her just as much as it hurt you. She's little miss "everyone should get along", of course, this hurt her. You didn't notice, but Lucifer peaked up at you for a split second before distracting himself by swaying the drink in his glass.

"Oh..? Oh! Yeah! Yes, actually! We raised a few ducklings that a neighbor gave us - we got them as eggs, so we got to see them grow up and everything!" Going on, telling a story about how you snuck one into your room to keep it as a pet, only to be scolded for it. You had the whole group in the palm of your hand. Including Lucifer. You met his eyes for just a moment, the twinkle in them immediately drawing you in. With a quick smile, he became flustered. He scoffed, pushing himself away from the bar and leaving. As much as that should've infuriated you, seeing those eyes and the growing redness across the apple of his cheeks felt like a win.

Since the hotel was newer, and word hadn't gotten out about Pentious's redemption yet, it was still vacant beside you, Angel, and occasionally Cherry Bomb. That gave the whole group a lot of time to enjoy the large space in the meantime.

Certain nights, Alastor would play the large, golden, piano that Lucifer had so generously created. This led to Charlie singing along to whatever he was playing, of course, and when Lucifer was in a good mood - or drunk - he would even pitch in. He'd sit atop the piano, his legs crossed, as he hiked the matching golden fiddle to his shoulder and played along. It was truly a sight to see. His skills were unmatched, but it still seemed to melt into the rest of the contributions. It was as if he invented the damn thing (He did).

This sort of became a tradition, when everyone was in a good mood and Alastor wasn't getting on Lucifer's nerves too much, everyone would join in, singing and dancing. It was rare, but Damn was it fun when it did happen. One of these nights, Alastor started off with a song that you knew, and had actually introduced to Charlie. She gasped as soon as she recognized the tune, pulling you close by both your hands to sing along. You had as good of a voice as anyone did, in a musical rendition of Hell, but you mainly stuck to harmonizing little things with Charlie. Swinging around with each other, until you were dizzy and laughing, you noticed that the room seemed a little empty.

Lucifer was seated where he usually was, on his phone. His fiddle was placed carefully at his side, and he was scrolling through his goddamn phone.

"Don't feel like joining us, Your Highness?" You kept to titles since it was obvious he wasn't warmed up to you just yet. Even after living with you for a month or so.

"Mm. Don't know the song. It's not my cup of tea, just can't seem to get into it." He says bluntly, never looking up to you.

“Oh, come on! Just play along, it’s just for fun!” You slurred your words a bit, whatever you had been sipping throughout the night causing, what you would call, an outburst.

“Hm! Well, I’m not exactly here for your entertainment, am I? God forbid a sinner doesn't have fun in their eternal punishment.” The room went silent. You felt so defeated. You've been trying since the day you met him to try and at least get on good terms with him, but it seemed like he would even prefer a night with Alastor over you. Things like this never bugged you much, you tried so hard to not let it bug you, but when Charlie looked over to you, with those worried eyes, it was hard to keep back the bottled-up disappointment.

With a little sniffle and a quick wipe of your eyes with your sleeve, you start heading back up the newly decorated grand staircase, without a word to anyone.

"Heyyy - Dad..! I think you maybe.. might've... I don't know - hurt her feelings..? Would you wanna - " Charlie carefully approached her father, who immediately lit up and placed his device down when she spoke. "Could you talk to her? Maybe just check up on her..?" She was speaking barely above a whisper.

“You have to apologize. Um.. sir.” Vaggie finally blurted out. His smile was nervous, his eye twitching a bit at the concept. Taking in a deep breath, he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a sad little laugh.

"Well, uh.. I don't know, Kiddo, maybe she's just tired." He muttered, obviously hesitant at the idea.

"Sounds like the king can't handle a little damsel in distress to me. Would you like me to comfort her, my dear?" Alastor was quick to chime in from the piano bench, offering a sympathetic smile to Charlie. Why did the concept of that make Lucifer’s blood boil?

"Oh fuck you, bambi, I can handle it." With a quick hop off of the piano top, he almost stormed up the stairs to find you. Definitely not what Charlie was hoping to motivate him, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew Alastor had his reasoning for that. She mouthed a little thank you to him, once Lucifer turned his back.

You were ecstatic to learn that Charlie worked an extensive library into the hotel. Walking into its large double doors, you almost struggled to see the back of the room with how full it was. You had a little corner you claimed as your own, leaving one of your blankets draped on the little loveseat there, and setting aside a pile of books you were still working through. It was a great place to calm yourself down after what had just happened.

Hearing heels click against the tile, you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket as you pulled your legs up to your chest.

"I'm fine Charlie, it's fine.. I just need a second, go back to the lobby." You shooed off the figure with one hand, wiping your face with the other.

"Ahha- Nope! Try again -" with a nervous chuckle, Lucifer greeted you with an awkward wave. Interrupting the silence by clearing his throat, he gestured to the seat next to you. With a quick nod, finally snapping out of your surprised state, you shifted your position to sit beside him. It wasn't exactly a two-person couch. Not for two people who might hate each other, at least. I mean it was a loveseat. He struggled to keep his distance, leaving your legs barely brushing together.

"Soooo.. you, uh- like.. reading..?" He asked after a long silence. You were mainly confused by his words, but simply nodded in response.

“Yeah it's - I-I love it in here.. There wasn’t anything like this on Earth, so this is nice." You managed to speak out, between sniffles. He agreed with a little hum, fidgeting with the ring on his finger.

“Glad you like it. It's uhh - just happens to be my personal collection.” He puffed out his chest, looking at his clawed nails with a little smirk on his face. He had no idea why he thought that would help, but it actually did a bit. when he looked your direction, you were slack-jawed in awe. The sight made him turn a bit red in the cheeks, quickly looking away, he patted the top of his legs to fill the silence.

“That's really cool! I guess it makes sense - considering you're older than the dawn of time- but, still. Thank you, I suppose. For letting me - I mean - us use it.” You rambled on for a moment your words became quieter the more you gushed.

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” He asked between laughter. You made him laugh. You hoped he didn't see the sparkle in your eyes at the notion. You stalled, lost in thought, before quickly shaking your head.

The two of you sat there for a moment, the awkward silence sitting a little more comfortably than before. Finally, Lucifer let out a sigh of defeat.

"It’s my fault, right?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh, uh.. I guess so, but.. I mean, I'm kind of drunk so it might be something with that - but I'm fine, I swear." You waved your hands in an attempt to soothe the serious discussion. But Lucifer knew better than anyone what someone holding their true intentions back looks like.

"You're really good for Charlie. I.. I wish I could take care of her. Like you do." He admitted. It surprised you for a moment. Was that why he's been so cold to you? Was there some form of jealousy in there? Or was he really concerned that you would replace him in some fashion?

"C'mon, you're just saying that to make me feel better. I saw you on extermination day, none of this would even be here without that little pep talk, you’ve done more for her than you know, I think. Charlie.. she loves you." The words made him perk up a little. Maybe even a king needs reassurance sometimes.

"Oh- Um.. I guess she does, huh..?" You could hear his smile. The two of you sat in silence for a moment. You didn't even realize you had the smallest smile on your own face. But he did. With another nervous laugh, he hesitates before planting a hand on your leg, just above your knee. No time like the present, you suppose.

"I’m sorry. I really am. For.. everything. You're actually amazing. I-I mean it.." Without a response from you yet, he lets his gentle touch linger a moment longer. You leaned in towards him, the smile on your face turning sly.

"Yeah? You think so? I almost thought you hated me." You were teasing him. He's been so cold to you this whole time, you just had to take advantage of the moment. He turns a bit red, covering his mouth with his free hand as he clears his throat into his fist.

"Of course I don't.." He muttered.

"Soo, would you say you like me?" You drew out your words, walking your fingers up his arm.

"W-What? How - " He clamped his hand over his mouth before desperately trying to rationalize his thoughts, " Of course I do! I just said you're great with Charlie and I -ahh.. I love Charlie, so I like - " He coughs up his words, " - I liked your pie, that you made! And you have a good voice, too, and your little duck story was cute, so - " God bless this man's tendency to overshare when he's nervous. The alcohol definitely gave you the little boost of confidence you needed to question him like this, but you would be lying if you said you didn't notice his reactions to you whenever you weren't paying attention. Or whenever he thought you weren't paying attention. It finally dawned on you that some of those glares might have had some other motivations.

You knew when to reel it in, but considering his hand was still on your leg, he moved it up a bit even, you assumed he was okay with the teasing. Maybe even enjoying it. Delicately drawing your fingers across his jaw, to his chin, you pulled his gaze to meet yours. You could feel his hand tense at every little touch.

"You have really nice eyes, Luci-" He audibly gulped, tugging at his bowtie. "You’ve been avoiding looking at me for months.. I wish you'd look at me more." You almost pouted, your fingers still lingering under his chin. With the slightest movement, he followed your hand towards your face. He took his hand off your thigh for a moment, only for you to take a hold of it and place it on your back. He was the one who pulled you closer at this point.

“Y-you can't just say things like that.. it’s embarrassing..” He muttered, trying his best to not close the gap between your bodies.

“Embarrassing? I’m not embarrassed, your highness. Are you? Do I.. make you nervous? Hmm?” You placed your hands just above his knees, leaning closer through your chest. Sucking in his lips, he did his best to stay silent, knowing he’d dig his own grave no matter how he answered.

“I just think you’re so pretty, Luci, I can't help myself.” Before he could properly react, you leaned in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. Damn, what did you drink? You could feel his hand on your back clenching, either to bring you closer or just out of sheer nerves. With a little hum against his ear, he let out the quietest whimper. It apparently took both of you by surprise, you leaned back to get a look at his face with wide eyes. Meeting his eyes this time sent you both into a blushing, nervous state.

With a deep breath, you cupped his face after brushing some of his golden locks back into place, then gave him the lightest kiss on his lips. You didn't even linger long enough for him to return it, and he was clearly distraught by it. You unwrapped yourself from your blanket, giving a dumbstruck Lucifer another quick peck on his forehead, before standing.

“I’m going back downstairs. Take your time, Hun!” You called out so sweetly as if you hadn't just left him a heated mess.

Finally returning to the lobby, you walked with your chest puffed out, beckoning for another drink from Husk.

"Did.. did Dad check in on you? Are you okay?" Charlie carefully approached you, and was immediately disarmed by your grin.

"Yup! I feel much better now. He apologized and we had a little.. Discussion. Thanks, hun." You said sweetly, taking a sip of the drink Husk slid into your hand. Angel gave you a dirty glare, and after meeting his eyes you quickly looked away.

"Well great! Where is he? Maybe we can pick back up where we left off!" Charlie clasped her hands together enthusiastically.

"Here! I-I'm here! Great idea, honey, let's keep playing!" He tripped over himself, rushing into the room and hoping nobody saw him re-fastening his tie. Sending him another quick smile, his face clearly hadn't cooled from the past events. He nearly dropped his fiddle, but as soon as he prepared he picked up the same song that was left unfinished moments before.

♡♡♡

I wanted to get through some asks, but I'm still working on Suffer, no worries, my friends

!Taglist!

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 3 days

Text

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 3

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 2627 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazons' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

'You are five miles from the estimated target, Master Dick,' Alfred said over the intercom of the Bat Wing.

Immediately upon entering Wayne Manor, Dick had rushed to his childhood room - the one he still used on the occasion he worked with Bruce as the Dynamic Duo, or he needed some space from his duties as Bludhaven's hero - and packed a small duffle of clothes and weapons and ran straight for the Bat Cave. As promised, Alfred had the Bat Wing waiting, ready for take off, and Dick barely greeted the old man before leaving Gotham far behind.

Dick had been flying for almost twelve hours and hadn't slept a wink. Sitting at the control panel with only a wide window of open sea to look at, Dick rubbed his tired eyes as the shadows of sleep flickered in the corners of his vision. He had to stay awake, just a little bit longer at least.

And then... Well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

'Is there anything else you need from me, Master Dick?' Alfred asked.

Dick shook his head initially, then remembered Alfred couldn't see him. 'No, thank you, Alfred,' Dick replied, sitting up straighter in his seat. 'I should be fine from here on out.'

It was quiet for a moment, and Dick thought Alfred had signed off accidentally. But then he spoke. 'Are you sure there is something out here? I know you and your friends' findings seem well-supported, but there is only open ocean. There isn't even an under water volcano or ancient mountain range recorded there.'

'Which makes it an even more suspicious place,' Dick countered. 'Trust me Alfred, there is something out here.'

'Let's just hope Miss Y/N is too, or you'll have wasted Master Bruce's fuel. And I will tell you now, he will not be pleased about that.'

The mention of her name caused Dick's heart rate to increase with anxiety. But he quickly recovered as he scoffed. 'I don't know why he's complaining,' Dick said nonchalantly. 'He's the billionaire of the family, after all.'

'Have you seen the price of fuel these days?'

That caused Dick to chuckle slightly, just imagining the singular raised eyebrow Alfred used to ask the silent question of Are you serious? In that moment, he was once again grateful for Alfred. He barely asked any questions as to why Dick needed the Bat Wing, he just trusted Dick that it was for a good reason. Unlike Bruce, where trust needed to be hard earned, Alfred had always given his trust and love unconditionally.

The Bat Wing suddenly jerked as it seemed to hit something. Or, maybe, something hit it.

'Master Dick, what was that?" Alfred asked, worry lacing his words.

Suddenly alert, Dick brought up the different cameras hidden in the ship to try and find what had cause the sudden shift, but sound nothing.

'I'm not sure, Alfred,' Dick answered, running diagnostics over the ship in case of damage. 'There seems to be no damage to the Bat Wing, and there is nothing on the radar indicating another ship or flying creature of sorts.'

The ship rocked again, and Dick gripped tighter to the control handles as he took the ship off autopilot. 'What in the world!'

'Master Di-,' Alfred said, but his words were glitchy and some parts were coming through slowly. 'A-re yo- all rig-' Alfred was cut off before he could finish.

'Alfred? Alfred,' Dick called, but he got no reply. He slammed the control handles in frustration. 'Damnit.' He was on his own now.

However, his annoyance dissipated at the site he'd only ever seen in books he'd borrowed from Y/N when they were children.

To say Themyscira stood atop a mountain would be an inaccurate description. It was more like Themyscira was the mountain, with a long staircase weaving and winding up the entire mountain from the ivory beach and cerulean waters at the base of it. There were small stone huts with woven roofs closer to the beach, but quickly evolved into larger houses and buildings of impressive white columns and marble. As Dick flew closer to the island, he spotted a large coliseum used for sports and physical trials like the ruins in Greece, and a small amphitheatre next door that no doubt was used for the arts.

Atop Themyscira's mountain could only be the royal palace, held up by intricately carved statues of women and marble columns, decorated in plates of gold and held together by green grape vines that covered the palace walls, the statues, the columns.

The bed time stories he'd heard from Wonder Woman when he and Y/N would have sleepovers was more than his imagination could ever conceptualise, and the few descriptions and drawings of the island in the books he'd read were amateur attempts that held no candle to the real deal.

It was, in a word, paradise.

I must've hit the invisible barrier before, Dick deduced as he took in the sight of it all. That's why communications were knocked. That's why he'd felt so anxious and tired the closer he got. Now that he'd passed through, he felt ten times better.

A beeping pulled Dick out his trance, drawing his attention to the radar. Something was coming at him. Fast.

Dick looked up in time to see a large fire ball flying at him and barely dodged it. It was so hot Dick felt its heat through the window as it scraped by.

'Woah!' Dick cried, angling the Bat Wing so Dick could see where the fireball had come from. And, more importantly, who had thrown it. Down on the ivory beach was a line of catapults set up Dick hadn't spotted before, and he could just make out an army milling about around each catapult as they reloaded the catapults.

Before he knew it, he was swerving as another fireball flew at him, this time catching part of the left wing and melting it. Sirens blared, indicating the damage, but Dick didn't have time to worry about that. The Amazons thought he was a threat. He needed to change that, or he'd be a goner.

Crazy an idea as it was, Dick manoeuvred through the line of fireballs the Amazons catapulted at him towards the beach. Once he was close enough, he turned on the speaker so the outside world could hear him. 'Please, Amazons of Themyscira, I mean you no harm,' Dick announced to them, hoping he sounded genuine. 'I am going to land my aircraft on your shore. I just want to ta-'

He didn't have time as a small boulder connected with the left wing, sending the Bat Wing into a spin that Dick couldn't control. Sirens blared in the cockpit, reds light flashed and his front window lit up with the message SYSTEM FAILURE in bright red letters. The steering was shot, his vision was impaired, so Dick just closed his eyes and braced for impact.

The Bat Wing hit the beach hard, knocking the wind out of Dick for a moment. Once he'd regained his breath and the world had stopped spinning, Dick checked his immediate surroundings. He was in one piece still, and the Bat Wing hadn't exploded. Good start.

Before he could unplug himself, a spearhead stabbed through the glass of the front window, shattering it completely as the Amazon wielding it pulled it out. Dick was temporarily blinded by the sudden invasion of sunlight to his senses, but he still put his hands up in surrender in case they still thought him a threat.

'Please,' he begged through laboured breaths. 'Please, I don't mean you any harm. I just need to talk with someone you might know. Please.'

'Síko órthios, pareísaktes,' a strong voice hissed above him, her words whipping out like a delicate snake. She yanked him from his seat, breaking the seatbelt as she did, and threw him onto white, hot sand.

Vision coming back ever so slowly, Dick saw more figures approaching where he laid on the beach, spears and swords and shields in hand. All women, and all wearing brown leather skirts, sandals, and breast plates and bronze helmets of the ancient greeks. A small crowd formed around him, leaving no room for escape.

Realising this, Dick hauled himself to his feet and spun around to survey the group with his hands raised. The women ranged from youthful to mature, but all of them looked capable of killing him should he dare run. Capable, and willing.

'Poios eísai esý?' a woman with long brunette hair asked. She looked slightly older than him, perhaps mid to late 20s. But knowing how old Wonder Woman had lived for already, Dick was almost sure all of the women surrounding him were much older than they appeared.

I really regret not taking those Greek classes with Y/N now, he thought to himself, not having a clue what the woman had asked him. When he didn't reply though, she repeated her question but with more annoyance and aggression, pointing her spear towards his chest.

'I am Dick Grayson,' he said, not sure if they could understand him or not. 'I mean you no harm. Please, I must talk with someone you know... Do you understand me?'

The blank faces he received in return were answer enough. The brunette turned to two other women beside her, whispering to one another. It only lasted a moment, for then the brunette raised her spear higher towards Dick's throat. The rest of the women also raised their weapons, all pointed at him.

'Ánthropos apó to exoterikó,' she announced for all to hear, her delivery final and true, 'edó tha petháneis!'

Just as she raised her spear, Dick threw his hands up again and cried, 'Y/N!'

He waited for pain, for the sensation of falling and then nothing, but it never came. The brunette paused, spear still raised above her, and looked at him curiously.

'Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas?' she asked, and to Dick's surprise, he recognised one word. Prinkipissá. Princess.

'Yes,' he said, seizing potentially his only chance at surviving. 'She would be your princess. Sorry, your prinkipissá. Daughter of your champion, Diana.'

At the mention of the mighty Wonder Women, the brunette lowered her weapon entirely and turned to the other women as quiet murmurs broke out amongst the group. Dick wasn't sure what he'd started, but he knew they knew of who he spoke of, and what power her name held. Not just anybody could wield her name.

'I came here to speak with Prinkipissá Y/N,' Dick continued, and then he put his hands together as if he were about to pray. 'Please, can you lead me to her? Is she even here?'

The brunette and her two friends looked him up and down for a moment before consulting one another one last time. After what felt like an eternity, the brunette stepped forward and looked him dead in the eyes.

'Piáste ton!' she cried, and two women grabbed both his arms, ensuring he couldn't escape. 'Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas.'

She then turned away, and Dick was lead by the arms after her and the rest of the crowd. He managed look over his shoulder to see the wreckage of the Bat Wing. The left wing was one metal sheet away from tearing off completely, and the shattered glass and the many dents in the side of the ship just added to Dick's dismay. Oh yeah, Bruce is going to be pissed.

If the Amazons let him live and he ever got off the island, Bruce would definitely make sure Dick suffered long and hard.

Dick was lead up hundreds and hundreds of steps, walking through the bustling city of women and young girls all going about their daily lives. For some reason, it was off putting to Dick to see women and children doing the washing or playing games in the open street. He wasn't sure why, but he envisioned the whole island as warrior women who all fought and died for each other and their home.

They could probably still whoop my ass, he thought as he was marched by some children who were previously playing a game with some dice and a ceramic cup before he came along and stole their attention. It came to Dick's mind that these young girls probably had never seen a male before, and so he smiled at them as kindly as he could. Some of the children smiled back, others had their mothers nearby collect them and take them inside. Dick couldn't blame them for it. Wouldn't he do the same for his child if the roles were reversed.

Why the hell am I thinking about children right now? he asked himself, but he didn't have time to ponder the question as they quickly walked up a final set of stairs into an open field of green covered in warrior women training. When the whole group stopped, Dick was brought to such a startling halt that he thought his arms were going to pop out of their sockets. Thank God for that, he thought, feeling his legs ache with all the climbing. Or is it Zeus I should thank? Maybe Hera? Athena?

The brunette raised her spear, and those not holding Dick prisoner did the same. 'Prinkipissá,' she called out above the din of all the sparring and training. 'Échoume kápoion gia esás.'

Dick wasn't sure who the brunette was talking to at first, but then his gaze settled on a group of women just ahead of them. It seemed it was a six-versus-one situation, as six women surrounded one young woman with familiar H/C hair. The six women ran at the young woman in the middle, all taking swings with their fists and swords, aiming for her head and legs and mid section. While the young woman took a few punches, she didn't flinch with pain. She would just grab her attacker's wrist and flip her over and slam her into the ground.

The fight only lasted a minute, and ended with the H/C haired pointing a sword at her final opponent's throat as she pressed her to the ground with her foot.

When she flipped her hair as she turned to face their group, only then did Dick fully realise who it was.

'Y/N!' he cried out, the brightest smile spreading across his face. Two years since he'd last seen her, his best friend. After the not-so-very-warm welcome, he was beyond relieved to see a familiar face.

But instead of reciprocating his smile with the one he'd always admired since they were children, Y/N paled as if she had seen a ghost. Her whole body seemed to freeze up as her eyes connected with Dick's, and for a moment Dick feared he had mistaken some poor girl for his best friend.

But her shock melted away, and Dick was met with angry eyes and a stony face. Oh, yeah. That's Y/N. He couldn't recall the amount of times he'd seen that expression before, but there was no mistaking it.

His fear turned towards himself as she suddenly, with sword still in hand, stormed towards him, ignoring the other women around her still training.

'Y/N, it's me Dick,' he said, just in case she hadn't recognised him, but still she came at him, raising the sword to her side. 'Wait, what are you doing?

As she stood a step from him, she changed her grip on the sword's hilt and swung the butt of it at his head.

'Hey! Don't-'

The last thing he saw were Y/N's angry eyes of E/C before pain exploded from his right temple and darkness overcame him.

~~~

Síko órthios, pareísaktes = On your feet, outsider

Poios eísai esý? = Who are you?

Ánthropos apó to exoterikó, edó tha petháneis! = Man from the outside, you will die here!

Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas? = How do you know our princess?

Piáste ton! = Grab him!

Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas = We shall take him to our princess

Échoume kápoion gia esás = We have someone for you

---------------

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eff4freddie · 2 days

Text

Touch | Part Four

Your skills are tested more than ever, and Joel finds a way to thank you for everything you do for Jackson.

Words: 6.2k

Part one | Part two | Part three

Warnings: depictions of childbirth, here there be smut (this chapter is a lot), fingering, praise, Joel is grumpy but horny, Joel has unique ways of showing his appreciation, we continue to stan an apocalyptic grump

Minors DNI

Later, you would be grateful that your makeshift massage table had the good grace to collapse when it was just you on it. You’d been leaning over it, all your weight on one corner trying to set the towels right, when you heard the telltale creak of wood. You yelped as it gave way, landing heavily on your knee and for a moment the pain took your breath away, as you suddenly found yourself crouched amongst the detritus of your usefulness in Jackson. For a long moment you were stunned, your brain trying to catch up, before you felt the tears pricking at the back of your eyes, your jaw aching where your mouth turned down. Your first real thought was that Joel had been right. Your second was that you had no idea how to tally this loss.

You felt helpless, made small and childlike by the shock and the pain, and you wondered if it would mean you’d have to leave Jackson. The town council had been dubious at best but you’d made it in based on Maria’s championing of the cause, and you couldn’t bring yourself now to consider how you would need to survive on your own in the cold, in the dark, realising that the last three months of warmth and safety had made you soft, had dulled your senses. You should never have leant on the table the way you had been, you should never have been so careless. You looked down at your shaking hands.

You saw in them your mother. Your memories of her skin, papery thin across her palms, across her knuckles. How easily she would bruise as her treatment went on, how you went from being able to push down into the sinew to dusting light across the surface, how towards the end all she could tolerate was your fingertips, dragging gentle so as not to tear.

You wiped the tears off your face with your mother’s hands, your own only capable of destruction.

—

The expedition to recover the raider’s stash started the following morning, and you along with most of Jackson went to the gate to see them off. Marla was smiling, riding high on her chestnut horse, her eyes bright and wild looking over the crowd. Your eyes, too, scanned over the faces, your tummy somersaulting with the prospect of seeing Joel. You had no idea if you wanted him to be there, if you were worried that he would speak to you or more worried that he wouldn’t, if he would look through you, keep his eyes empty of any recognition, or if he would stare you down, that same look of naked wanting written clear on his face. You felt your cheeks turn traitorously red at the thought of it, a bolt of something sharp and hot between your thighs. In the time since Maria’s kitchen you had wondered if you had misinterpreted, your mind playing the moment back but this time Joel is disgusted, this time Joel is confused, this time it’s Joel who legs it down the hallway and out into the freezing cold. You found yourself trying to cling to the real memory, trying to hold it safe and fragile in your palm, scared of it and scared of cracking it, brittle little thing that it was.

There were no speeches when Marla and the six departed Jackson. Even Jacob, who you expected to grandstand, was quiet. You spotted Ray on the other side of the street, his eyes never leaving Marla’s back until the gate closes behind her. He looked like he wanted to cry, and you took a step towards him before you saw Simon appear, gripping him by the shoulder and steering him towards the mess hall. You decided not to try and catch up to them, your knee aching from standing so long in the cold.

As you swung around to head home a pair of eyes caught yours, and it took you a moment to recognise that Joel’s daughter was watching you, likely had been quietly regarding you, from her position leant up against a fence post. For a moment you just stared at her, her gaze unwavering and her face unreadable. She looked so small, but so wired, her arms held tight against her body. You recognised it, the perennial fight or flight, and you felt a pang of something sad and hopeful, a flip of the gut. You smiled warmly at her, nodding your head. She hesitated, but nodded back, and disappeared into the dissipating crowd. She may not be Joel’s actual daughter, you thought, but they are so very much the same.

You were halfway home before you heard your name being called, a frantic edge to it that made the hair on your arms stand up. You turned, searching for Tommy and finding him barrelling towards you, stopping only when he can hold onto your arms to steady himself, nearly toppling the both of you in the process.

‘God, what is it?’ you asked, unable to get the fear out of your voice and thinking immediately that something was wrong with Joel, the sinking feeling in your gut dislodging bile snd sending it rushing into your throat.

‘Maria,’ Tommy said, and it’s no better, ‘she’s started…it’s happening and,’ he sucked in another gulp of clean mountain air, coughed for a second like he was choking on it, ‘she’s asked for you,’ he finished.

‘For me?’ You repeated, and now you really heard the panic. Tommy swallowed hard and nodded at you, his eyes big and brown and terrified, and you found yourself moving, heading straight to their house without even considering if this was the sane thing to do. You stopped, suddenly, and Tommy nearly slammed into your back. ‘Wait, did you call on the doctor as well?’ you ask, and Tommy sighed.

‘She doesn’t trust ‘em,’ he said, as if this was in any way a reasonable explanation. ‘She made me promise not to call on him unless it was really needed.’

‘Tommy, she’s having a baby. It’s needed,’ you said, and you watched his face fall. You knew in that moment he would do anything for her, that this was testing him more than anything ever had, and you remembered that this was what family was: throwing yourself under the bus just to properly entertain their nonsense.

‘I’m coming, of course,’ you said, and you saw his shoulders relax. ‘When I say so, you go get the doc. I can be the bad guy,’ you finished. Tommy nodded his head so hard he nearly shook his cowboy hat off, and you were off then, determined to be the sensible one, an Apocalyptic Doula with nothing but a twenty-year-old knowledge of human anatomy and a shattered massage table.

You had only just stepped onto the front porch when you heard the low moan, and you felt your stomach twist. Turning back to look at Tommy you saw the way his mouth was set firm and grim in a line, the way he searched your eyes for some kind of reassurance. You had attended a birth once, in the QZ, and it had happened in the bathtub out of fear that FEDRA would cart the woman off and cut her open rather than waste ether on her, waste the time of properly welcoming a new life into a dead world. That baby had arrived squawking and angry, an entirely appropriate response, and you had stood behind the midwife holding the towels and trying not to look at the remnants of what had brought him here. This was the limit of your qualifications, and looking back at Tommy’s pinched face you realised it would have to be enough.

You forged on, reaching down into your gut and pulling some strength from somewhere around your tailbone. In the entry way your eyes adjusted to the dark.

‘She wanted the curtains drawn, wanted the dark’ Tommy explained behind you, and you thought immediately of an injured cat seeking out the damp privacy under a house to tend to its wounds, to face the horror of its own mortality away from prying eyes.

‘That’s good, it’s calming,’ you said, and you saw how soundly this reassured him, two breaths from full blown panic as he was. ‘Do you have towels?’ you asked, and he scurried off to get them, grateful to have something to do.

In the living room Maria was on her knees, leaning over the arm of the sofa and resting her head in the bend of her arms. For a second you thought she was praying, but you heard her deep breaths in and out through her nose and you realised she had retreated somewhere inside herself, the pain sending her reeling back from her own skin. You got in behind her, hissing as you leant on your bad knee, and pushed your hands into the small of her back, over her hips, supporting her pelvis as it worked to expand enough to let the baby through. She sighed, relaxing into you, so that you held some of her weight in your arms.

‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘I knew you could help.’ You felt a twang of pride inside your ribcage, and you hummed your acknowledgment to her.

‘How long?’ you asked, and she sighed.

‘Feels like months,’ she said, turning slightly towards you. You took the opportunity to reposition her, sliding your arm under her belly to round her spine out, and she groaned in relief. ‘Had been feeling something for the last day or so, nothing regular, I thought false labour maybe?’ She stopped speaking for a second and you watched as her belly seized, felt the ripple of muscle under your palm. You went back to rubbing hard circles into her hips as she breathed through it, finding that you matched her, that you sucked the air in as she did, shared it between you, caught yourself in the moment of relief when she slumped back against you. ‘Lost my plug around dinner last night, though, waters this morning.’

You did some rough calculations in your head, considering this and by the way she was still able to speak, you estimated she wasn’t even halfway there. You steeled yourself for hours and hours of this, felt a sliver of panic slice at your windpipe.

‘Why haven’t you called the doctor?’ you asked, and she huffed out a tired, joyless laugh.

‘You’ve seen him,’ she said, and you had - when you had quarantined on arrival, and as soon as you’d seen him you’d wanted to make a Dougie Houser joke, but you had realised he would be even too young to know the reference. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he tried to check your pulse in your elbow.

‘I’ve done this once before,’ she said, and you fought hard against the instinct to ask for more, to mask your surprise. She was quiet for a moment, gently circling her hips in the air. ‘I know I’m asking a lot,’ she said, and you heard the doubt in her voice.

‘Not too much,’ you reassured her, ‘but I reserve the right to call an actual professional if required.’

Maria snorted through her nose. ‘Let me know if you find one,’ she said.

—

Maria laboured into the afternoon, sometimes kneeling, sometimes pacing, sometimes lying on the sofa with a pillow between her knees. You kept her cool, collecting her sweat in a damp towel and handing it off to Tommy to rinse, the stressed soon-to-be-father hovering always in your peripheral view. Occasionally he would ask you how things were progressing, as if you had a magic wand or an invisible ultrasound machine, but Maria eventually got tired of him asking and snapped at him to shut it, that no one had any idea. It wasn’t the reassurance he was looking for.

As the sun set Maria started to get more agitated, finding it hard to get comfortable in any position. Unable to carry her full weight, you had Tommy come over and hold her up while she groaned and swore into his neck. You could see that she was tiring, made worse by the fact that there was no clarity on how much longer it would be, how much longer it should be, that the three of you were holding your breath trying to figure out if danger was lurking around the corner, like it so often was.

She had taken to letting out her breath in long moans, the sound almost mournful, as you and Tommy took turns to sway with her, as you held her hand, as you patted her hair back away from her face. Occasionally you would look into her eyes and see that she was barely there, that the pain had now stolen her away completely, that she had left her body to do its work without her tagging along for the ride. Only occasionally would she speak to refuse medical attention, and then not again for minutes at a time.

It was around this point, when the moaning became constant, when it appeared that there was no Maria in the room, that Tommy swore under his breath, gathered his coat and stomped out the front door. Maria didn’t look up from her position slumped over the back of the couch and you didn’t mention it to her, hoping that Dougie was ready to earn his keep.

Ten minutes later you heard the door open again and two sets of footsteps, calling over your shoulder that you hoped he’d brought the good drugs. You heard a laugh, a huff of a thing that froze you on the spot.

‘If I had those ya reckon I’d be here?’ Joel asked, and you wondered if this would be the thing that finally sent you careening over the edge: opening a pregnant woman’s hips with your hands while the man you had a raging crush on sassed you from the doorway.

‘Tommy?’ you asked him as he appeared behind his big brother, eyes anxiously roaming over Maria.

‘Joel has seen this before,’ he said, not looking at you so not seeing the look of surprise on your face that you quickly wiped from your features, your eyes flitting to Joel to see if he he’d caught you and knowing, in your guts just knowing, that he had. ‘I figured he could tell us if it’s going ok.’

You couldn’t help a little ripple of unearned indignation at this, and you informed them that you had it under control. It was difficult for them to hear, though, as this was also the moment Maria chose to bend further at the hips, brace her knees, and bellow from deep within her soul.

Joel regarded this silently for a moment. Tension hung in the air while you all waited for his assessment. ‘Totally normal,’ he said, as if Maria hadn’t just unleashed a screaming banshee from the fifth circle of hell. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘No, stay,’ Tommy said, too quickly, stepping towards Maria and rubbing sweet but ineffectual circles on her shoulder. ‘I mean, you can…if things get…’

‘You can stand at the business end with a catcher’s mitt,’ Maria said, from somewhere under her own elbow, shrugging off Tommy. You grinned, falling just a little bit more in love with her by the minute.

‘Tried a bath?’ Joel asked, and you were about to offer to start drawing it when Maria shook her head.

‘Too narrow,’ she said, sounding breathless but resolute. ‘Need her with me and we wont both fit.’ You beamed at this, unable to stop yourself turning to Joel feeling just a little smug. You’d been at this for hours and he thought he could come in and fix it in five minutes? He cocked a knee and put a hand on his hip, and you could see that in any other situation he would have rolled his eyes. As you looked away you just caught his little grin in your peripheral vision.

He turned to Tommy. ‘I really don’t know what I can do here,’ he said, but Tommy stopped him.

‘Just stay,’ he said, and you realised that he was appealing to his older brother to stick by him, that he was telling Joel that he felt safer with him there. You realised that Joel, as gruff and stoic as he was, was comfort for Tommy. You realised that you agreed.

—

You tried to get Maria to eat some dry bread around dinnertime but she refused it, tired and sweaty and back deep inside herself. Tommy brought out ice chips from the freezer for her to chew on and you avoided looking at them for too long, the memory of the cold across your teeth as you held Joel by the wrist too strong, and too ill-fitting for what lay ahead of you. You studiously avoided Joel’s eyes, only glancing up long enough to see that he, too, was avoiding what Tommy held in his hand.

Around 10 pm Maria started wanting to retreat up to the bedroom, and you followed her up the stairs slowly to make sure her legs wouldn’t give out. It took three contractions to get up there, her face screwed up tight against the bannister, bracing herself against the wall, and when she reached the landing she wailed that she couldn’t do it anymore, that she wasn’t strong enough. At the bottom of the stairs you heard Joel inform Tommy that she was close, that it was time for the doctor. He slipped away into the night to bring him, while Tommy helped hoist Maria onto the mattress. Within moments she was up again, on all fours and howling, as you encouraged her to swing low into her hips, to drop down and let her pelvis open. She told you, rightfully, to fuck off.

‘Do you need to push?’ you asked her, thinking back to the delivery you saw in the bath in the QZ, racking your brains trying to remember how the midwife handled it.

‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ Maria cried, and you reached out to wrap your hand around your wrist.

‘I think that means no,’ you said, trying to scrounge together some confidence to push into your voice. ‘I reckon you’ll know when you feel it.’ Maria nodded at you, her head bent back to look at you through her armpit, and you gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

‘You can do this,’ you said, and you knew, looking at her on all fours on her mattress, hair wild and matted and eyes now shut tight against the pain, primal and urgent and so incredibly strong, that it was true.

You felt a hand on your arm gently pulling you away, and you stood to see Dougie Howser at the end of the bed. You repositioned yourself so that Maria could see you, sat at the headboard and let her rest her head on your shoulder. You looked over to see Tommy getting down on his knees to lean beside her, Joel in the doorway watching on. His eyes met yours and for a moment the world was silent. An understanding seemed to pass between you, that what you were witnessing was sacred and precious, but that it belonged to the people in front of you, that it was not for either of you to share.

‘Ok,’ Dougie said, and you were surprised his voice didn’t break as he spoke. ‘We’re close but we’re not quite there yet.’ It bothered you that he said ‘we’ as if he was also writhing on the bed howling in agony, but the one functioning synapse you had left advised you now was not the time to point this out.

Maria groaned when she heard this, turning her head to Tommy and panting, as he rested his forehead on hers. You were close enough that you could hear her urgent whisper to him that she couldn’t do it, that it was going to split her open, and the way that he soothed her, how he held the back of her head and whispered words of love and courage, how he knew she was hurting but that she could do it, how he loved her, more than anything, but how much in awe of her he was that she was going to make him a dad. You felt heat in the back of your eyes, swallowing sour across your throat, the intimacy of the moment so breathtaking that you wanted to turn away from it, even as it played out almost entirely in your lap. You looked over Tommy’s back to Joel, saw that he had heard it too, that he had witnessed this moment, saw the way he stood steadfast in the face of such naked love. Saw that he was holding your gaze, letting you borrow some of his strength to carry you through it, to be able to resist the instinct to shy away.

‘Oh!’ Maria suddenly exclaimed, her eyes wide as she snapped her head up to look at you. ‘I have to push!’ You watched as Dougie ducked down behind her again, busied himself underneath her, before returning to the surface and nodding to Tommy that it was time. Your remaining synapse again advised you not to point out that he had just said she wasn’t there yet, then promptly joined all your other brain cells in death.

‘Ok baby,’ Tommy said, and Maria reared up then, swinging her legs down so that her knees were back on the floor, her elbows digging into the mattress. You reached out and held her hand.

‘Can she do it like this?’ Tommy asked and you answered for Dougie, knowing the answer almost innately, not wanting him to try and put her on her back.

‘Let gravity help,’ you said. ‘Let her do it how her instincts tell her to.’

In the end, Joel didn’t need a catcher’s mitt. Maria and Tommy’s baby boy slid into his father’s hands and onto his chest, the younger Miller gasping with awe and love while the very youngest Miller gave his dad a piece of his mind. The shrill cries were somehow the sweetest thing you had heard, somehow a symphony of life and resistance, and you found yourself surging with hope at the sight of him, wiggly and squirming and covered in goo. Joel appeared with the towels and Tommy wrapped him up, while you helped Maria back onto the bed and into a comfortable position. You backed away then, over to the doorframe where Joel had stood vigil for so long, letting the new parents luxuriate in their first moments with their creation. After a few moments Joel came and stood by your side and you almost let yourself reach out, take his hand in yours, so awed were you by the events of the last twelve hours.

—

Joel offered to walk you home and you let him, the adrenaline retreating to leave just plain exhaustion in its wake. You had been wired right up until you pulled your coat on, the warmth of it reminding your tired bones of the need for rest.

‘Oh my god,’ you said, as Joel pulled Maria’s door shut behind you and ushered you down the front steps. He smiled at your tired excitement.

‘Somethin’, right?’ he asked, and you just nodded, didn’t have the words, couldn’t find them even as you jumbled through your brain.

‘She was amazing,’ you replied, your breath fanning out in front of you in the midnight chill.

‘She had a good team,’ he replied, and you grinned back at him.

The walk back to your house was only a few minutes, but with each step the exhaustion and the cold got in under your clothes and held you hard and bony by the knee. You’d managed to ignore the pain of it when Maria needed you, but now the ache had settled in. You started to limp.

‘What’s that about?’ Joel asked you, nodding towards your feet.

‘Oh I hurt my knee, you were right, the massage table did come down.’ You were focussed on your feet in front of you, trying hard to slide on the ice, so you yelped a little in surprise when Joel grabbed your arm snd stopped you.

‘You hurt?’ he asked, and in his eyes you saw genuine worry. He faltered, collecting himself. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ he tried again.

‘No it was just me,’ you said, and you turned away from him to keep walking, hearing his footsteps quicken to catch up with you. Your eyes were stinging from the cold and the weight of the day. ‘I was, am, so grateful to Tommy for finding it for me but the table was huge, I had to climb onto it to get the towels right each time, and it was hard to get into a good position sometimes so I had to kind of lean over to get at someone’s shoulders…’ you pantomimed this in thin air, raising one leg up to demonstrate how you would need to contort yourself, and nearly slipped. Joel grabbed you by the armpit to steady you, grunting as you leant on him. ‘Sorry,’ you said, wondering if the fatigue had made you delirious. ‘Slippery,’ you helpfully clarified, as Joel nodded once at you but didn’t let you go.

You expected him to drop you at your front door, but he followed you onto the porch and down your corridor. It felt strange, having just witnessed the miracle of life, to throw him out straight after, so you didn’t, listening to him shuck off his jacket and hang it by the door. He stopped at the doorway of your treatment room, regarding the mess of splintered wood on the floor.

‘Yeah, I know. I’ll clean it up, it’s just really heavy,’ you said and you weren’t sure if you meant the weight of the wood, exactly. You sighed, heading into the kitchen and then stopping when you remembered what tends to happen when you and Joel sit down at a table, and doubled back to flop down on your sofa. You lifted your knee and started rubbing at it over your jeans. You heard the floorboards creaking under Joel’s feet as he continued to inspect the damage in your treatment room.

‘You want some tea?’ you called our to him after a while. He appeared over your shoulder, grinning when he saw you slumped into the cushions.

‘Reckon if I did I’d have to make it myself,’ he said, and you closed your eyes snd hummed your agreement. Instead, he came and sat down next to you, his weight nearly causing the rusted springs to collapse you into him. You watched his eyes roam your meagre belongings.

‘Wood was rotting through at the top of the legs,’ he said after a while. You rubbed absently at your knee and nodded. ‘Tommy wouldn’t have checked, he ain’t careful. Back on the old job sites I spent half my time checking his work, correctin’ his mistakes before the boss got onto em.’

‘He’s lucky to have you,’ you said, honestly. He looked over at you, and you thought you saw the faintest hint of pink under his patchy beard. You wanted to pull him to you and nip on the skin. You swallowed.

‘That botherin’ ya?’ he asked, and you panicked for a second that he knew what you’d just been imagining, before you realised he meant your knee. You nodded, and he grunted in acknowledgement.

‘Show me what to do,’ he said, and your breath caught in your throat.

‘What?’ you asked, frozen in place next to him. He was avoiding your gaze, but he slipped an arm behind you and pulled you over to the coffee table, so that you sat facing him, squarely between his knees. He put his hands on your shin, and you just managed to hold in a gasp.

‘Show me,’ he said, nodding down to his hands.

Your mouth was bone dry, your throat threatening to collapse in on itself. His hands were so warm, scorching through your jeans. ‘Umm…’ you started, taking a second to catch your breath. He waited patiently for you to continue, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth on the inside of your knee. ‘Well, I landed right on it so you don’t want to really massage the knee cap,’ you started, casting your eyes down to your leg where it felt almost safe. ‘It’s better to try and move some of the fluid, support the tendons around it because they got a bit of a sudden stretch as well.’

He made a sound in his throat to indicate he was listening, moving his hands to brace either side of your knee.

‘It’s really about gripping around the back of the leg while you kind of make little circles with your thumbs,’ you said, demonstrating with your own hands in front of your face. ‘Sometimes I imagine it’s like I’m smearing toast on butter,’ you went on, and he huffed out a quiet laugh.

‘You butter your toast with your thumbs?’ he asked, gently ribbing you again.

‘And what if I do?’ you shot back, pretending to be offended. He smiled, returning to his work.

‘This good?’ he asked, and you hummed. ‘What about here?’ he asked, moving his hands above your knee and holding firm. He let out a shaky breath and you watched his face as he kept his eyes trained on his hands. The heat from them was scorching, and you felt sweat break out on the back of your neck. ‘Can I do anything here?’

You wanted to laugh, a giggle forming in your chest and threatening to pop out into the air between you. You wanted to tell him he could do anything anywhere, but you gripped hard on the edge of the coffee table and steeled yourself.

‘Same thing but just rather than circles try and kind of push down towards the knee.’ His grip was firm, his hands so strong. You held your jaw shut tight, not sure whether you wanted to laugh or scream, the wings brushing so hard against the inside of your ribcage now you wouldn’t have been surprised if the feather started to strip away, if you opened your mouth and coughed them up onto the rug.

‘I gotta tell ya, I thought you were lyin’ about going to school for this,’ he confessed, and your attention snapped back to the man in front of you. ‘You must have been young on outbreak day,’ he said, and you nodded. ‘But I saw how you were with Maria tonight I…I knew it then. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.’

‘It’s ok,’ you said, your voice quiet. ‘I was young, but my mum…when I was 15 she got…and she needed so much medical help, one of the things that they said would help with the chemo was…so I went to school for it on the weekends and…I helped her.’ You were aware you had yet to finish a full sentence, but your poor brain was scrambling to understand what was happening, had been scrambling all day. You saw again your mother and father standing at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes, your mother’s favourite knitted beanie covering her head. Honey I’m going to Jackson. See if I care.

You came back into the room, your mind drifting back to the man in front of you, who was watching you openly now, his hands still on your knee.

‘So beautiful,’ he said, almost to himself. You felt heat bloom across your chest. ‘Doin’ so much for so many people. Will you let me do something for you?’

Your vision blurred, your eyes watery, and you nodded, suddenly shy. He stood and tugged you up into standing, coming forward to support your weight, his lower hand on your back and your nose buried in his shoulder. You felt him grip the button of your jeans, popping it open with one hand.

‘Take these off baby, so I can take care of you,’ he said and your fingers moved of their own accord, pushing the denim off your legs and down to your feet, where he helped you step out of them. He sat you back down on the coffee table, getting onto the floor in front of you, inspecting your now naked knee as he held it in his hands. His bare skin on your bare skin, his pulse against yours.

He clicked his tongue at the sight of the purple and yellow bruise blooming across it. ‘Poor little thing,’ he cooed, bending down to place a feather light kiss on it, his hand gripping the back of it, his fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thigh. You broke out in shivers, temporarily unable to speak, letting out a breathy whimper when he moved his hand up to pull you towards him, the edge of the table digging into your bottom. ‘I know, baby,’ he hummed, his voice gravelly and dipped in sin. Your cunt throbbed in time to your thundering pulse, the heat between your legs unbearable, making you want to squirm, but he held you fast.

‘Can I do anything here?’ he asked, moving his hand up, his other mirroring his actions on your other thigh, his fingers close enough to brush against your panties but he stayed achingly far from your centre. He pulled your thighs apart, making room for himself as he shuffled forward. You shook your head, willing him closer, higher and further, inside. ‘No?’ he asked, pretending not to understand, and you nearly cried out. The ache was unlike anything you had ever experienced, the heat and the pulse of it stopping you from forming any kind of cogent thought.

He moved his hands to bracket your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles on the crest of the bone, and you keened, staring imploringly into his sparkling brown eyes. If he was going to continue to torture you, you were not going to stand for it, the moment you regained your ability to move.

‘I’m sorry, baby,’ he said, but the bastard didn’t mean it. ‘You’re so good to us, so good to this town. I won’t tease ya.’

And he didn’t, then, slipping his hands under your underwear and running his fingers up against your dripping seam. You gasped, rocking your hips into his hand, as he circled your clit with one hand and pushed two strong, thick fingers into your cunt. He watched your face as you screwed your eyes shut, the pleasure almost painful in its entirety, sending sparks into your fingertips and down to the tip of your tongue. You heard the hoarseness of your voice as you cried out into the quiet of your living room, your hands flying to grip Joel’s flannel shirt.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, genuinely surprised by the way he had set your entire nervous system ablaze.

‘Sssh,’ he said, ‘I know baby, I know.’ He manoeuvred his hands inside your underwear, stretching the stitching almost to breaking point, and you didn’t fucking care if he destroyed every piece of clothing you owned, would ever own.

‘Take them off, take them,’ you muttered, pulling at them to get free, suddenly feeling the cotton too tight across your hips. He gripped them, stripped you of them in one swoop, barely missing a beat as he pumped in and out of you.

‘So good to me, so good to us,’ he muttered, his eyes watching the contortions of your face as he systematically took you apart. ‘Slipping that ice into that mouth,’ he added, and you would have been shy about it except that you were currently spread open on yet another table, every breath pushing you closer to toppling over the edge.

You felt your cunt gripping, your weight now bearing down on his hand, as you reached forward and grabbed him by the wrist, pushing him further into you, to graze against the spongey spot you could never reach yourself.

‘Oh, fuck, baby,’ he said, as you moaned high and tight, ‘show me how you like it, show me how to help you.’

‘There, there,’ you whimpered, the weight in your pelvis heavy now, the heat expanding out into your limbs, the speed of it breathtaking, as if all your life you had been waiting for this one man to touch you. ‘Please,’ you added, a gasping benediction to nothing in particular.

When you came, hips circling Joel’s pumping hand, your own grasped in his shirt, head thrown back to the ceiling and eyes shut tight, you forgot for a moment. Forgot to tally your losses, to keep the running sheet in your head of grief and of fury. Forgot the world had ended, taking with it first your family, then your home, and then your self. Forgot for a moment the dying light over the mountains surrounding Jackson, the cold and the bite of winter nipping fast into your bones. For a moment you floated, anchored as you were to the world by Joel’s touch, his breath hot on your neck as he repeated and repeated and repeated your name.

Taglist: let me know if you want me to add you!

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@littlemisspascal

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller

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frogserotonin · 1 day

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overthinker- lars pinfield x reader

a/n: short one bc im still in a slump rn many sorries. also sorry lawl this fic is so disconjointed and i’m really unhappy with it but whatever 😭 warnings: nothin proper i don’t think, most ooc lars to ever ooc, unedited; tell me if i've spelt smth wrong 😁

“Would you want to go out to get some lunch together on our break?” Your fingertips bounce off of the sides of your legs as you try to remain composed. You're so high-strung right now, you almost expect him to laugh in your face. Nerves and the effects of having slept a fitful two hours last night override your usually rational brain and you feel the need to just run away without receiving an answer bloom in your chest.

“I thought you usually brought lunch? If you forgot to bring some you can have some of mine, if you want.” Lars doesn’t even look up from what he’s working on, just adjusts his glasses and uses a vague jut of his elbow to point to his locker, where you know his bag is. Your heart simultaneously drops and stutters.

“Oh, it’s okay, I just felt like going out to eat, thank you though.” You try to make your words seem more upbeat than you feel, unsure of whether or not to take his words as a rejection.

“Oh. Okay then.” It must be your imagination, but his words hold a hint of disappointment. You open your mouth again, then close it, and silence re-envelopes the room. Turning, you make your way to your desk and begin to work away, dejection slumping your shoulders forward and making time drag on. When eventually the lunch break arrives, you grab your bag and rush your way out of the lab.

A squeak of shoes on the concrete floor behind you almost has you looking back, but your brain is so addled you almost believe you’ve made it up.

Like a fool, you don't talk to him when you come back, or when you leave, the time you spend alone and in silence building up an anxiety in the back of your mind. The idea that he's all too aware of your feelings, and is made uncomfortable by them and your advances overtakes you completely. That night, you stay awake, tossing and turning, over analysing every interaction you've ever had with him, trying to make sure you've not overstepped and made a complete and utter fool of yourself.

In the morning, you consider it a miracle you leave the house at all, with how tired you are. The thought of calling in sick crosses your mind, but by the time you get up your body automatically locks itself into its usual routine, and you mindlessly get dressed and make your way to the Ghostbusters facilities. Through your drowsiness, the realisation that you’re at your desk and doing absolutely nothing sets in and you jolt.

“Good morning.” If he didn’t sound so concerned, Lars would sound thoroughly amused. “You alright? Look a bit…off.” Your face flares, and you go to stand up, only to stumble and almost fall on your face. Hands out, you stabilise yourself, and then face him.

“Yeah. Morning.” You can only hope that he backs off, because his concern seems too genuine for your feelings to not expand exponentially the more he stands before you looking like he cares. “M’feeling just peachy, you?.” Belatedly, you realise your words are clearly not convincing because he doesn’t move an inch, simply studying you. He then sighs and shakes his head, chuckling a little bit, just softly under his breath, taking a couple steps closer to you.

“When’s the last time you slept?” His voice is too gentle, too un-Lars-like, that you’re almost convinced you actually did fall asleep last night, and now you’re dreaming. You open your mouth to respond, but find yourself nodding off as you do so, the last thing you process before fully passing out is the feeling of arms around your chest and shoulders.

When you come to, you sit up quickly, and slowly become aware of what had happened. Muttering cursing to yourself under your breath, you take in your surroundings, finding yourself slung over the small couch situated in the room reserved for taking time off from work briefly. Hurriedly, you rush out of the room towards where you assume Lars is working, apology already on the tip of your tongue. You approach him quickly and loudly, a fact that can be gathered from his head immediately snapping up when you enter the room. He starts to speak, no doubt to rattle off reasons why you were irresponsible and stupid for coming to work while being aware you weren’t at your fullest capacity, but you cut him off.

“God, I’m so sorry. That was humiliating, and I’m so, so sorry that it happened, it won’t happen again.” You bow your head, refusing to look him in the eye, but quickly look up again when you hear him laugh.

“It’s fine, really, you just scared me a little bit.” His smile is small, but sincere and you remember fully the reason you were in the predicament in the first place. “Are you feeling better now?”

You probably look a bit crazy with how vigorously you nod, but you barely care anymore.

“Yes, thank you so much, really, I’m sorry that it happened.” He laughs again, and it sounds like heaven.

“You don’t need to thank me or apologise,” Lars’ eyes sparkle a bit behind his glasses when he properly smiles, and you can feel warmth rush to your face. He hesitates, like he’s calculating his words, then gently says “I-uh. I care for you a lot, it really meant nothing for me to make sure you were okay.”

#lars pinfield #lars pinfield x reader #ghostbusters frozen empire

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mynameiswhateveryoudecide11 · 1 day

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Hello everyone,

long time anonymous Kaylor here (lurker is the word probably), and long post incoming 💚

I’ve just recently started using this space more openly and sharing opinions, which I’ve honestly always been quite scared to do for various reasons, so I just wanted to share a bit of how I became a part of this little piece of heaven here on Kaylor tumblr and how important this community has been to me 🌈

When I first found out about Kaylor, it was years ago through a mutual connection on instagram. At the time, I too was going through a phase of slowly understanding myself and my queerness, which I’d obviously suppressed for so long (it took me just as many years, if not more, to actually accept it after realising it had always been there). So when I found this rabbit hole (or should i say these rabbit holes, as it all started with TTB, kaylor evidence, the masterposts, and all of the newer tumblr pages that have kept the memories from the archives alive all these years) - I finally realised what had always been quite confusing before: why did I always relate to Taylor’s music so deeply ? why did I feel like I could actually feel was she was feeling, even though I’d definitely never felt so strongly about any man in my life, while she was allegedly the straightest human on the planet ? Well that’s because she wasn’t. She was, although on a much bigger and more complicated and public scale, one of us 🎉🌈 As someone who struggled for years to accept my non-straightness, finding out that the biggest artist on Earth, whose music I’d loved for so long, was a tiny bit similar to me and my experience, made me feel a warmth and a tenderness and a happiness so strong that my heart could have exploded for it. I genuinely cried myself to sleep every night for 2 / 3 weeks after finding out. A happy, sad, angry kind of cry - happy to be in on the most beautiful secret of our generation, sad for all the freedom and the life that T & K have had to miss out on, and angry, SO fucking angry that some small-minded, arrogant idiots felt entitled enough to do this to them, to her. To take a life that wasn’t theirs, and make it what they wanted it to be, and take what they wanted from it. Fuck you. Fuck all of you who did this. “So unfair” I mumbled while trying to sleep. “So beautiful” I couldn’t breathe.

Fast-forward to today, I’ve spent an unreasonable and unhealthy amount of time lurking on every corner of the tumblrverse as well as analysing songs (my fave past time) and converting all my besties to Kaylorism (they are now so invested it’s ruining our lives 😂💖).

I’ve been trying to learn as much as possible and I’m so thankful to all the fabulous blogs on here:

@spade-riddles

@chosetherose

@9w1ft

@asteracaea

@rainbowdaisy13

@daisyswift3

@kwyw

@iwanthermidnightz

@tales-of-kaylor

@bettyshoweduptotheparty

and I’m sure there’s so many more I’m forgetting please drop your @ if you’d like !!

All this to say, I’ve spent years anonymously supporting and reading theories and enjoying the amazing safe space you have created for our community - you all have changed my life and I’m sure you’ve changed T’s life too, so I just wanted to share my little bit of personal Kaylor lore because it still makes me so happy and emotional to think about all the difficult times we’ve all been through and knowing that now the future’s bright, dazzling 💖🌈

Sending love out to you all, thanks for everything. Onwards and upwards from here xx

#kaylor #lgbt

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okieedokes · 2 days

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girl worth writing to | john egan x f!reader

summary : john pays you a visit while he’s on leave and things get melodramatic lol

warnings : brief mention of suicide, doesn't exactly follow the events of the show

word count : 888

The vibration of gentle snores rouse you from your sleep, your eyes search for the clock ticking away on your nightstand.

5:04 am

The sun had barely risen yet and you cursed yourself for being such a light sleeper, knowing the day you had ahead of you. However, the sight of shirtless John Egan dozing peacefully beside you was certainly one for sore eyes. You lifted a hand to his disheveled curls and attempted to stroke them back into place, whilst your mind replayed the events of the night before…

5:34 pm

You had just returned to your flat from another agonising day at the infirmary, to the incessant ring of the telephone. You are hesitant to answer, as you are sure it’s your head nurse, calling to inform you there’s been another emergency and you would need to return.

With a deep breath you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed and retrieve the telephone.

“Hello?…” You had meant to use a more formal introduction but simply couldn’t find the strength.

“Y/N?! It’s me, Bucky! You remember?” He teased.

You had half the mind to pretend you had forgotten the pilot after not hearing a word from him in almost six months.

“Unfortunately, I do remember.” You mask your tone with sarcasm.

“Atta girl!” He remarked and you found yourself repressing a smile as you imagined the cheeky grin on his face.

“I just completed my twenty-fifth mission today and it was frankly very nearly my last, so they’re graciously giving me the weekends leave!” He boasts sarcastically and you suppress a giggle.

“Lucky Buck!” You retort and hear him scoff.

“Anyways, I was thinking I’d come pay you and London a visit…that’s if you’d have me, of course.”

You take a pause, pretending you have a choice. Unfortunately the truth of the matter was that you’d take the Major in, always and forever no-matter the heartache, come his departure.

“Do you still remember the address?” You asked, placing a hand to your stomach in an attempt to ease the brewing butterflies.

“I couldn’t forget if I tried sweetheart, I’ll see you soon enough.” He teased playfully and ended the call.

You sighed at the realisation that you would have to spend all evening making your tired self presentable for the pilot, knowing deep down that for John it would always be worth it.

5:36 am

You jump at the feeling of his large hand wrap around your wrist that was still embedded in his hair. You feel your cheeks grow bright red as you push your body towards the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean you scare ya.” He croaks in his deep morning voice that never fails to make your knees weak.

“That’s okay! I need to get ready for my shift anyways.” You stutter wrapping yourself in the bedsheet as you crawl out of bed.

“Y/N please…” Bucky groans and grasps at the sheet that is now tightly wound around your shivering frame.

“You always do this…it’s too early and it’s bloody freezing.” He pleads and gently pulls you back into the bed and his embrace, gently guiding your into head to the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry I scared you…twenty-five missions…it’s starting to get to me now, I think.” He admits whilst stroking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I can only imagine the horrors you boys have endured…” You whisper.

“You would probably understand more than most Y/N…what with the hospital and all the bombings.” He adds, his tone soft and comforting as he continues to stroke your hair. This is not the witty and sarcastic John you were familiar with.

“I suppose you could say that.” You mumble as you fidget with the dog tag that hangs around his neck, a cruel reminder.

“I guess it doesn’t help that I have this American pilot of mine who when I’m sure has gone and died on me-”You attempt a teasing tone but it falls flat.

“What’s all this about me being a goner? Don’t you have any faith Y/N?” He interjects, his tone only half joking.

“Well you never write or call? What am I supposed to think?!” You feel anger boiling in your chest as you push yourself away from him.

“Or maybe I’m just not worth writing to!” You accuse before John had time to even consider a response to your sudden outburst.

“I promise it’s nothing like that Y/N… you know how I feel about you. Christ! I wouldn’t be using my weekend off like this if I didn’t have feelings for you!” He scrambles to defuse the situation, knowing your spirited ways.

“Oh really?!” You mock.

“Y/N these missions, they’re suicide! I couldn’t never let you get involved with me now! It would be cruel!” His statement cuts the conversation like a knife, silence falling over the entire flat.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you stifle a sob.

“I-I’m sorry John…but I think I’m already…involved.” You stutter.

The pilot sighs, using the bedsheet gathered around your waist to pull you back down into the mattress, so now you are pinned underneath him. There's nowhere to hide.

“If you only knew how many times I’ve heard your voice in my head or seen your face in a crowd…” He whispers whilst gently placing a kiss to each of your tear soaked cheeks.

“You’re my girl…I’m sorry I ever made your feel like you weren't worth writing to.” His tone is soft but sincere.

Without looking away, he reaches for a scrap of paper that was resting atop your bedside table.

“In fact I’ll start right now…My dearest Y/N…” He declares in a exaggerated british accent and you playful slap his shoulder, giving him permission to attack you with kisses again.

When he finally pulls away your eyes meet and you raise a hand to his cheek.

“Come back to me, Major Egan.” The words tumble out before you even able to acknowledge they are there.

“Always.” He whispers, before burying is head in your chest. It wasn't long before you feel his soft snores radiating against your body again.

#john egan #John Egan x reader #callum turner #masters of the air #mota #callum turner x reader #tbitb #bucky egan

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theaquamarinearchives · 2 days

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[ fake it til you make it ― childe ] "'cause i'm a real tough kid, i can handle my shit. they said, "babe, you gotta fake it til you make it" and i did." cw. gn!reader, angst, hurt/no comfort, idol!au, refers to him as ajax for most of the fic, petname (darling), light swearing, toxic workplace, reference to drowning, mentions an unhealthy relationship, post break-up, bottled up emotions (get some help), use of y/n, not proofread

aquamarine's findings. first work on a new blog & also the first of many ttpd songfics... this was way longer in my head, i struggled to put it into words… // i can do it with a broken heart, taylor swift.

since that god forsaken day, life had began to feel like tidal waves, far out at sea. rough, tormenting and pulling your body further and further under with each lap of foaming white waves until you were lost in the riptides, suffocating as water fills your lungs. no matter how much you held your breath every time you were pushed under again, you were beginning to tire; cold, shivering, limp. yet you would continue to hold your breath, bracing yourself for impact. the sky darkens and there's another wave approaching you, ready to shove you below the surface. your eyelashes flutter, accepting it - maybe this is where peace hit you, finally.

"y/n?"

your eyes snap open, quick to squint at the harsh white light of the room that welcomed you back to reality. oh, yeah. you were taking a bath after your schedule for the day, your limbs aching from the hours of practise and rehearsals you'd endured. slowly turning your head towards the bathroom door, you settle back into the world - what was left of it for you. it wasn't much, hollow and void of his presence as your eyes catch the bottle of his shower gel on the side of the tub that you simply couldn't bring yourself to get rid of. after all, it was evidence that the whole affair wasn't a figment of your imagination or some publicity stunt despite the fact you were definitely beginning to question if it was the latter in the end.

"yeah, sorry," you call out, barely above a mumble as you shuffle to sit up from the miniature waves of bath water that was licking at your cheeks like a cat. the sound of the water is all that fills the silence as it trickles and splashes around you, "i think i zoned out."

"you think?" the shrill voice of your manager retorts and you can almost picture her on the other side of the door, her bony hands on her hips hugged by a pencil skirt - she must own millions, - and tight up-do of a bun she keeps greying hair in daily, "y/n you've been in there two hours."

you bite back the urge to let the words 'is that all?' escape your chapped lips, choosing to wet at them with your tongue instead as you finally move stiff limbs to raise out of the bath, pulling the plug and wrapping the soft cotton towel around your shivering body. shivering like you're still keeping your head above water, barely able to breathe. tired eyes land on the sight of your reflection in the bathroom's vanity mirror, the dullness of your eyes standing out more than anything when you realise you'd long lost the sparkle in them when ajax had called off the relationship.

the longer you stare, the longer the person in the mirror doesn't seem like you; not the you you've always known nor the you you've built for the public eye, for the job you buried your youth in. you were an idol, claimed by the critics to be "born for the spotlight" but in reality, it couldn't make you any less than anxious than it already did. all those eyes on you, their whispers and their stares when your life - your business - becomes the hot topic of their dinner conversations, perhaps gossip over coffees and pastries.

at the end of the day, you were nothing but a person on the stage, the screen to them and the world would still keep on revolving.

━

it was a brief relationship but it meant the world to you. indulging yourself in an affair regarding fellow industry colleague ajax wasn't your brightest move but as the months mellowed out, summer's green grass turning into autumn's golden leaves, it turned into something you didn't regret. the word 'regret' feels bitter on your tongue now despite you still not regretting it but maybe, just maybe, you could have saved your fragile heart in advance. in the end, you learnt that when he said he'd 'love you with all his life,' it was a life cut too short.

ajax - commonly known to the public as 'childe' - was a rapper for an idol group from snezhnaya, one that particularly blew up on social media right now in a popularity burst across teyvat. you'd have few interactions here and there before the two of you reached out to each other on instagram - you learnt that you should have just ignored that dm request.

when you blink, you're back at his side backstage to one of his performances. he's mic'd up, stiff gel in those ginger locks and his freckles so rudely covered by a thin layer of foundation. there's a grin on his face as those icy blue eyes look down at you while a make-up artist brushes the faintest of lip tint onto those plush lips. there's no chance you're stealing a kiss now unless you want to be scolded by his staff team.

"lost in your thoughts again, darling?" he chirps teasingly, nudging you with his elbow. a weak smile filters onto your face as you nervously glance around the dressing room. was this really what you wanted in life? ajax's arm ropes around your waist, his grip tight as he has no intentions to let you go.

and he doesn't, at least he didn't have that intention at the time. every time his eyes landed on you, he saw something fragile, a porcelain dish held together by the kintsugi that was your job as an idol. something he could mould and he knew he could, he was determined. how was he so sure he could? because you'd do anything for survival, even if it means battering your happiness with a baseball bat.

that's exactly what ajax had done with you; moulded you, shaped you and made you co-dependent on him. it had only been a few mere months but you really couldn't live without him, even if it was damaging your job and reputation. he twined you in his fingers like putty, lacing you in and out of every knuckle as he held on tight to you - and then just as the high was starting to fade, he dropped you, shattering you on the ground in a heartbeat.

when you blink, you're staring at yourself in the mirror of your own dressing room and the echo of shattered fine china rings in your ears until your gaze slowly drifts to the staff member by the door, her shaking hands holding an empty tray and her panicked gaze on the broken plate on the ground. there's a furious expression on your manager's face and you brace for the impact that comes but there's nothing, not a word.

instead, the room returns to normality. faces blur as they scurry about and you furrow your brows, looking back at your reflection so that the stylist can continue to work with your hair - you know you're going to hate what he does regardless. your manager's heavy footsteps stop to your left, her arms folded across her chest as her hawk eyes narrow at your reflection. you imagine she's scrutinising every detail of your body and that only makes your heart beat faster.

"you need to move on from that rapper, y/n," she states bluntly after a few moments silence. your breath hitches in your throat, eyes refusing to look up and meet that piercing gaze, "it's affecting your work and the media are catching on."

"i know," you mumble shamefully, unable to find the words to fight back against her. your heart aches for him, wanting to fill the void he's left and to grasp why he did what he had. it wasn't something you'd ever just 'move on' from, "i'm sorry, i'll work on it."

"it doesn't need 'working' on, it needs to happen right fucking now. do you want to cancel this tour early?" her tone is bitter and there's finally a sting in your eyes despite not wanting to ruin your make-up artist's hard work, clearing your throat in a fragile response to her words, "you've got to start faking it. he's only going to hinder your progress if you don't."

"no, i don't. i'll move on, i promise."

━

lights blind you; the flashing of cameras and phones alike paired with the stage lights and accompanied by the cacophony of screams that come from your fans. a wide grin covers your face, eyes twinkling as you start the first song of your tour's setlist, holding a microphone in your shaking hand. perform, you tell yourself mentally. perform and they'll never be able to read what's going on in your head, they'd never understand if they got a glimpse into your world.

as the crowds scream for more, unharmoniously belting the lyrics along with you, you're glad that they don't notice how ajax has been avoiding you like the plague for weeks, negligent to the way that you are still utterly obsessed and infatuated with him. they don't notice from afar how crystalline tears decorate your eyes while you perform, centre of the stage and under the watchful eyes of the whole world, ready to criticise you if you break.

you're tough, the voice in your mind tells you with a slight waiver in its words as if it doesn't believe itself, you can handle your shit.

the archives' notifications. @bisexuawolfsalt, @lovingluxury, @auroratumbles, @ryuryuryuyurboat

#: recorded in the archives #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #childe x reader #genshin angst #childe angst

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vixstarria · 6 hours

Text

Communication

Surprise surprise, they're no good at it.

This is a continuation of my in-game bardlock series, seeing as I left a large gap in it between an intimate and emotional scene and a whole bunch of unhinged fucking. Sorry about that.

Takes place after Intimacy but can be read as a stand-alone!

Read on AO3

Astarion x f!Tav

Early Act 3. It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next.

Tav is a half-elf bardlock. I'm calling her Tav in this fic, but if you know you know.

Hurt/comfort, some fluff and a drop of humour (I am me after all) if you squint, love, angst

TW: some very casual violence and murder

Approximately 3.9k words.

“Well?” A very giddy Astarion had appeared behind Tav. “Let’s go!”

The party had finally reached the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate and were setting up camp near Rivington, after a brief excursion in the area.

“Go where?” she asked.

“Anywhere! I haven’t seen these streets in sunlight in two centuries.”

“Now..?”

The city was flooded with refugees. Some child whose mother was definitely not coming for her had seemingly declared herself adopted by the group. There was a towering pile of corpses just outside one of the nearby gates. A circus was in town.

It was nice to finally be back in civilisation.

“Yes, now! Forget the bloody tent, maybe we’ll find an inn to sleep in for a change.”

Nothing had been arranged, set up or planned yet. They had only the vaguest notion of where they were going.

“Sure, a walk sounds lovely right now,” shrugged Tav.

It very quickly became obvious that finding an inn would be nigh on impossible. The streets were crowded with refugees, frantic citizens and all those who would either try to keep them in order or prey upon them.

“Are we going anywhere in particular, or are we just... going?” Tav asked, trying to make her way through the throng. She had never seen Baldur’s Gate this busy before.

“There is something I’d like to show you,” answered Astarion. “Some place, to be exact. It’s- hey!”

He realised that he was talking to no one, as they had been separated by a group of dwarves pushing their way through between them. Tav smiled at him over their heads, raising her arms in an open-palmed gesture of defeat and resignation.

“Can’t you keep up?” Astarion sighed, rolling his eyes, and reached for her, taking her hand and linking his fingers through hers.

This… This was new, particularly in public, and Tav bit her lip, fighting not to smile, as he guided her after him.

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at her, to see her grinning.

“Oh shut up,” he huffed, before spilling into a smile too, despite himself, and drawing her close to kiss her.

“Half-elven whore,” a nearby elven woman muttered to her companion in elvish, tsking in distaste at the sight. Either she did not expect to be heard or understood, or simply did not care.

Astarion turned towards the woman, with a glower, but before he could retaliate with his own snide remark, Tav told the elven woman to go fuck herself with a splintered broom, in perfect elvish, and pulled Astarion further down the street before the woman thought of anything else to say.

“Such... delightful use of the True Tongue, dear.” Astarion seemed in equal parts impressed and taken aback. “Don't tell me you’ve been holding out on me this whole time..?”

“Oh, no, I only know a little bit,” laughed Tav.

“Do indulge me.”

“No, it’s really hardly anything,” she shook her head. “I can count, exchange pleasantries and profanities, know a few songs I can’t translate, and a few odd phrases.”

“Such as?”

“I can scream for help in elvish, for one,” she offered.

“Why would you need to scream for help in elvish..?”

“Men are more likely to come running if they think it’s a little elven maiden they’re rescuing,” she explained with a sigh.

Astarion mulled that over with a frown for a bit.

“I’ll have to take your word for that... What else? And for hells’ sake, just say something, I enjoyed hearing it.”

She said the first phrase that came to mind.

Astarion stopped dead in his tracks, with what Tav knew to be the expression he held when he was doing his best to keep his face straight.

“So let’s start with what you think you just said.”

“...Shit. ...Uhh.” Tav gave Astarion a sheepish look. “‘My small children have had nothing to eat for days.’?”

“Darling,” he said, cupping her cheeks, trying not to laugh. “My love. That’s not quite it... Now, how many people do you think you’ve told you’ve ‘eaten nothing but small children for days’..?”

“Ah... That explains the reactions,” Tav said thoughtfully.

“Horror?” Astarion finally snickered.

“Usually laughter... I just figured most elves were assholes.”

Eventually Astarion brought them onto a rooftop that offered an impressive view of the city and surrounding regions.

“It’s so strange to be here in daylight,” he murmured. “This was one of my spots,” he said, turning to Tav. “I used to come here at the start of my evenings, alone, and just… enjoy the peace and quiet for a while.” Astarion took a pensive look around. “Admittedly, the tiles weren’t as hot at night, and all the bird shit wasn’t as prominent.”

They found a place to sit down.

“I thought you would try to get your job done as quickly as possible,” said Tav.

“There had to be a certain balance to it.” Astarion shook his head. “Start prowling too early, and the potential targets wouldn’t be ripe for the picking yet. And even if I managed to get someone back to the manor early on in the evening, it would only mean I would have to ‘entertain’ them longer.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against a chimney. “It was better to take some precious solitary repose, when I could.”

“Do you think you might have taken me back to Cazador if you’d met me back then?” Tav asked quietly.

Astarion opened his eyes and frowned at the sudden question.

“Not if I’d ever seen you perform, no,” he deliberated. “I never went for the bards. They were almost my co-conspirators, though they didn’t know it. I couldn’t waste them.” He paused before continuing. “But otherwise, if I’d just bumped into you at a tavern… Probably, yes. A pretty, reckless stray… You would have been perfect. …Would you have followed?” He asked, glancing at her.

“Probably,” she replied, staring off into the distance.

They sat in silence until Astarion broke it with a question.

“Will you stay with me when all this is over?”

Just the sheer amount of effort he put into trying to make that question sound casual spoke volumes.

It caught her off guard. They’d spent many evenings in his tent lazily basking in vague fantasies about an ‘after’, usually concentrating on the idea of being able to stay in bed all day, or the concept of their hair and fingernails being free of dried blood and entrails for a change. They’d never actually discussed any realistic nuance of this ‘after’. Or what it might look like, other than what it wouldn’t look like.

“Are you certain you want to take Cazador’s place in the ritual..?” she asked, carefully.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Astarion immediately sounded defensive.

“You don’t even know what it entails or means, not really...”

“It means having everything I’ve been missing the past two centuries, what else is there to know?” He scoffed. “...You haven’t answered my question,” he said after a pause.

She said nothing for a while, looking down at her fingernails.

“Stay and do what..?”

“Anything!” he exclaimed. “Anything you want. We could do anything. Do you have any idea what I will be capable of? Of the power I will hold. The influence.”

“Yes, yes, legions of wolves, turning into mist,” she recited. “What else… Commanding ghouls, I think?” She threw her head back, looking at the sky. “I’m not sure why you would need to do any of that, though.”

“Unimaginable power, and you mock it…” Astarion said indignantly. “I suppose you would rather go frolic in the woods with Halsin..? …Oh don’t look so shocked, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Sleeping in the dirt, living off the land. Is that what would make you happy?”

“He looks at you the same way! And must you jump to extremes?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Even if I were interested in Halsin, there is ample space between sleeping in the dirt and sleeping in that gothic monstrosity, in which I might find myself happy.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“I don’t think you should go through with it,” she said, finally. “Something about it just doesn’t sit right.”

Astarion looked at her with an unreadable expression and didn’t say anything. She continued.

“I know enough stories - and before you roll your eyes at me, there is usually a grain of truth to them – and I’ve read between the lines of enough history texts, to know there is no such thing as a jolly vampire lord that just has a grand ol’ time carousing in their castle. It’s always centred on cruelty, misery and violence.”

“I suppose you know plenty of stories of jolly vampire spawn,” he spat.

“Some, as a matter of fact. They usually revolve around romance and redemption.” She sighed and continued, as he let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve never heard of any demonic deals that ended in anything that wasn’t disastrous, either. The point is, nothing that involves blood or soul sacrifice has ever made anyone happy.” She looked in the direction of Cazador’s palace. “We should kill Cazador, burn it all to the ground and dance on the ashes. I will be by your side. And yes, I want to stay with you. Of course I do.”

“For how long?” Astarion asked quietly, after a pause.

“...What?”

“How long will you stay by my side? You have another... 100 years, 150 at best? I can’t offer any solutions to that as a spawn.”

She blinked, realisation dawning in her eyes.

“...Astarion Ancunin, did you just say you want to spend the rest of eternity with me?”

“Oh don’t you bloody dare turn this into a joke,” he bristled. “Just for once.”

“Not a joke, but…” She paused and gave her head a brisk shake, as if to snap herself out of a daze. “Just so we’re absolutely clear, what are you saying?”

“Isn’t it obvious..?” The grin that had crept habitually onto Astarion’s face felt like a suffocating mask. She only stared back into his eyes, unblinking, waiting for him to continue. “I could turn you. Grant you an eternity.” ‘With me’, he wanted to add, but the look in her eyes made the words die on his tongue.

None of this was going the way Astarion had expected. Not that he had planned any of this… Still, he’d made certain assumptions. He’d anticipated the conversation and day would flow somewhere along the following lines: re-affirm his plans for Cazador. Exchange words of undying love and devotion. Maybe, maybe make love to her again, later, in celebration. Instead everything was slipping like fine sand through his fingers. Words simply wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Everything he thought he might say suddenly felt pathetic.

“Turn me? To become one of your spawn?” Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him. “Two centuries as something you say is less than a slave, a puppet, and you would so easily offer the same fate to me..?”

“First of all,” he sputtered, “I don’t know why you immediately assumed there would be others. Secondly,” he continued, slowing down, “there is another way, or so I’ve read. You wouldn’t be a mere spawn, but a-” Astarion winced, cutting himself off. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. This was rapidly spinning further and further out of his control. “I thought you trusted me?” he asked instead.

“It’s not about trust,” she said. “If you had the choice between a hundred years of absolute freedom or being enthralled to someone for eternity - doesn’t matter who - me, Gale, your long-lost grandmother, anyone! What would you choose?”

“I would never compel you,” said Astarion, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading.

“That’s not the point,” she said, looking away, running her hand through and tugging at her hair. “Let’s just head back. We still need to set up before it gets dark, and I promised Karlach we would visit that bloody circus…”

Something inside Astarion shattered and spilled, ice-cold, over his heart as she got up and walked away.

Not even an hour had passed since some of the happiest moments he’s had in centuries.

They walked back in silence.

Eventually they came upon an outpost of Flaming Fists and steel watchers, who had appeared on the road they had taken into the city. They were apprehending everyone trying to pass through, whether they were leaving or entering.

“Let’s try a side street,” offered Astarion.

They found and made their way through a narrow alleyway. It was empty. Suspiciously empty, in fact - no children running through, no one out for a quick smoke, no drunks pissing on the walls.

Sure enough, once they were halfway through, three goons intercepted their way, stepping out of a doorway. Two humans and an enormous half-orc wide enough to block out most of the passage.

“Alley toll.” One of the thugs flashed a malicious grin, eyeing Tav up and down. “Better pay up, doll.” Three more jeering hoodlums appeared behind them as he spoke, armed with crude but lethal weapons.

“Attempting to detain a Council battlemage on duty? Bold but stupid,” she said gravely. “Hand over your profits and Lord Gortash won’t learn of your little enterprise. This is your only warning.”

Trying to bluff and deceive her way through, per usual. Was there even a Council anymore? Did it employ mages? No matter. Whether due to the fact that she and Astarion had decided to wander the streets of the city in civilian clothes, without armour, or simply because the lust for money and violence had gotten the better of the would-be muggers, they paid her attempt no heed.

The leader laughed.

“Or, how about we have some fun with you, and your Lord Gortash can come and collect your body from the river once we’re done with it?”

Astarion’s blood boiled.

He reached for his daggers, thoughts racing. Why in the hells had they come here barely armed..? They were surrounded, but perhaps if she blasted the three in front of them they might run through..? But they were probably too close for that… Could she misty step behind them and get away? His undead body would most likely survive whatever came, even with the tadpole.

“Take the ones behind,” Tav snapped, and Astarion followed her lead, as he had grown used to, silently praying to no particular deity that she knew what she was doing.

He ducked as one of the goons bellowed and swung a sword at him, dodging the blow to come up next to his attacker, burying a dagger between his ribs and another in his guts, for good measure. At least the alley was too narrow for all of the bandits to come in on them at once. Behind him, Tav spat some incantation that he wasn’t familiar with.

The next lout came at him, only to stop short, as Astarion scrounged up his meagre magical abilities to hurl a firebolt at his face, making the man yelp and grind to a halt in shock and pain. Astarion’s dagger followed through his eye socket shortly thereafter.

The entire altercation with the two thugs took mere seconds. Another controlled shout from Tav followed behind him.

The last of the muggers on Astarion’s side backed away, looking at the scene unfolding behind Astarion with a horrified expression, before breaking into a run and disappearing.

Astarion turned back to witness Tav standing with her arms crossed, looking unaffected, just as the half-orc who had been behind the group’s leader pulled his sword back out from the leader’s stomach, having impaled him from behind.

Tav barked another command as the leader collapsed, and the half-orc slammed the head of his other cohort, who hadn’t understood what was happening yet, against a wall, with a resounding crunch.

A domination spell.

Astarion felt nauseous. If his body had been capable of producing bile, it would have crept up at the back of his throat. For once, the smell of freshly spilled blood all around them was repulsive to him.

“Kneel,” Tav commanded, calmly. The half-orc’s body immediately dropped to its knees, with a thud that spoke of damaged kneecaps.

“I’m running out of time. Do you need him?” She stepped over the body of the group’s dying ex-leader and walked around the half-orc, to stand behind him.

Disgust and revulsion continued to claw at Astarion’s insides.

“…What?”

The half-orc’s eyes were void of any emotion. A small mercy.

“Blood. Do you want his blood, before I spill it?” she said nonchalantly.

“…No,” he swallowed. Not like this…

He watched as she slit his throat, carefully standing behind him to avoid blood spraying over herself. Comprehension returned to the man’s eyes just as he made his last gurgling sounds, before stilling forever.

“That was despicable,” Astarion hissed, finally breaking his gaze away from the body. “Compulsion? Really?!”

She gave him an incredulous look, momentarily speechless.

“This is what I do!” she exclaimed. “This is how I protect myself. You know this! What the fuck did you expect - that I would set off a fireball in an alley?! Or make one of them have a fit of giggles?!”

“You didn’t need to do anything, I could have handled all of them,” he countered.

“Oh, stand behind you like a meek little lamb?” She scoffed. “While neither of us are even wearing armour, and they’re on both sides? Don’t be ridiculous.” She crouched to wipe her dagger on the dead man’s clothes. “What does it matter, anyway,” she said, offhanded. “Dead is dead - who cares how they got there?”

“It was just like Cazador all over again,” Astarion said, bitterly. “Watching my siblings torture each other, for his amusement, waiting for it to be my turn to be compelled.”

She stilled as she crouched, not looking up at him.

“You fucking hypocrite,” she said, finally, rising.

“What in the hells are you talking about?” he grimaced.

“Comparing me to Cazador, when you’re planning to take his very place.”

“How dare you?” Astarion felt the last of his composure leaving him. “I am nothing like Cazador, and I never will be,” he growled.

“No?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re already thinking of your own spawn. Maybe you would keep your word and not compel me, but you would be curious. All that power that you’ve been wishing was yours for 200 years...” She gesticulated, tilting her head. “First just one teensy little slave - someone who’s wronged you, maybe, someone who deserves to bear your ire. Then, perhaps someone convenient, in a place of power. Someone like what you would have been, had Cazador not botched your death so bad that it became public. Then another. And another. And what will you do with them once you have them? Take them for midnight picnics and host slumber parties?”

She spat on the ground.

“I’m going back to camp.”

She stormed off, fuming, exiting the alleyway and mixing into the crowd. Astarion followed at a distance, discreetly wiping the blood that had landed on his hands on the shirt of a random passerby that stumbled out in front of him. He gritted his teeth, watching her.

It had taken every last bit of his self-control to not snap back at her during her little tirade.

He wanted to stalk off in the opposite direction, but frankly all his things were at the campsite, and he still needed the group’s help, both with Cazador and the tadpole. And he couldn’t discount something else happening to her on the way back.

No, none of this was what he thought would end up happening today. Was this the end..?

It didn’t matter, he thought. Let her be stubborn. Let her accuse him of gods know what. He would do what he had set out to do. Hells, even if she changed her mind later - it would be too late. Let her live out her “hundred years of freedom” in regret.

And how fucking dare she?! Insinuating that he was or could ever be anything like Cazador. After all he had given her. His trust. His love. He didn’t have anything else. Not as a spawn, anyway.

But perhaps she would change her mind, after she gave his proposal more thought..? He could talk her into it, couldn’t he? He’s talked so many people into doing exactly what he wanted them to do…

There was no point in anything otherwise. It was all for her. All he wanted for himself was revenge. Freedom. Safety. But all the power in the world was meaningless if he couldn’t share it with her.

Astarion winced at the thought, hating that it even crossed his mind. If only he could claw it out of his brain and smash it against the cobbles beneath his feet. How much simpler life would be.

He would not grovel. He would not apologise. He would not change his mind. And he would rather die, again, than be caught running after her like a dog.

Astarion cursed, slipped into the shadows and turned invisible, breaking into a sprint. He wouldn’t be able to replicate the trick for a while now, if the need arose, but he couldn’t care less.

He raced up sets of stairs, speeding through a terrace, dodging the patrons of whatever establishment it was he was going through, and leaped, unseen, onto the next building’s, until he was ahead of her, descending back onto the ground and losing his invisibility around the corner from the main street, stepping out just in front of her.

He caught a glimpse of her scowling and furiously blinking away tears just before she crashed into his chest with a light gasp, as he wrapped his arms around her. She was stiff and rigid, but at least she didn’t try to push him away. Still, a part of him was screaming that it was already too late.

“I don’t want you to have to commit those atrocities when you’re with me,” Astarion murmured into her hair, holding her close.

“You’d rather commit them yourself?” she retorted, her voice weak.

“I don’t want to,” he said quietly, as she seemed to become more malleable, and sank into his embrace, slowly wrapping her own arms around his back. “But I will if I have to. For you.”

“That makes two of us, I guess,” she managed, sounding choked up.

Astarion took a deep breath, relieved. Mine… Still mine… He thought to himself, touching his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek. Someone in the street heckled them, yelling something about getting a room.

“I already don’t have much to offer, beyond all my burdens,” he whispered. She looked up at him, eyes glistening. She tried to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “I want to do what I can, for you. For us. What good am I if I can’t even keep you safe?”

He pressed his lips against her forehead as she hugged him tighter. He had no idea whether he had convinced her of anything, or if she simply didn’t have the will to argue anymore, but for now it didn’t matter.

“I will love you no matter what,” she breathed.

Another jeer followed from the crowd, and someone cursed at them to get out of the way.

“A legion of wolves sounds tempting right about now,” she added, as he smiled.

“Do you still want to get Karlach and go to that circus?” he asked.

“Fuck the circus,” she mumbled into his shirt. “But I guess we should.”

They made their way back to the camp, fingers interlocked again. The silence that stretched once more almost felt comfortable this time.

~~~~~

Thanks for reading!

Series master list

Next in series - A night at the inn

AO3

~~~~~

Tag list:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna @mj-bites @bardic-inspo

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

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thelov3lybookworm · 18 hours

Text

You Think I Wanted This? (Part 5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Another party??

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: aight so things are starting to heat uppp hehe 😏

anyways, enjoy!

The silence was more distracting than his loud complains, and Y/n didn't know what to make of that sudden knowledge as she turned the page of her textbook, trying to remember even one word she's read in the past ten minutes

If she was being honest, it scared her, the way she had begun to adore his loudness. His constant sighs, his scowls, his frowns.

Her craving for his presence scared her more than her father did, and that was a huge statement.

Now, sitting in her room in her simple sundress in front of her desk, her books open, she wished he was with her too. The silence was just too loud, the air and space too big without his looming presence.

Just as she leaned back, rubbing her face with both hands, the door opened, and in walked her ugly husband.

Not ugly.

Y/n quieted the voice as she sighed, turning to look at him as he made his way to her bed. Technically his bed too, but that was not the point.

As soon as he was settled, laying flat as he stared up at the intricately carved ceiling, Y/n turned back to her work, the medicines and herbs suddenly much more interesting.

"Do you all really do nothing all day?"

Y/n blinked, turning to look at him.

"What?"

"Do you all really just sit around on your asses doing nothing?"

Unamused, Y/n wondered if he was being serious. When she didn't reply, he turned to stare at her expectantly, and she realised that he was, in fact, not joking.

"Father handles the kingdom matters all day. Halden is usually busy with his trainings and studies, so am I. Other than the guards, everyone has something to do."

He clicked his tongue. "Being in Samara was better than this-"

The thud that echoed through the room was more satisfying than it should have been, and Y/n had to work hard to suppress her smile as Xaden turned to glare at the thick textbook she had chucked at his head.

"What is this?"

"My first year textbook. You should read that to pass the time and maybe consider shutting up."

And because she wanted him to know small remedies in case he got hurt while on a mission, but he didn't need to know that.

After all, it would be a real waste of manpower if he died because he didn't wrap an injury quickly enough or used poisonous herbs when needed. He had a very coveted signet, from what she'd heard, and he was also apparently a very good rider and warrior. The kingdom needed people like that.

And because he was very entertaining when angry.

He scoffed. "Yeah, no. I'm not reading some healer's textbook."

Y/n shrugged, picking up one of her books to continue reading. "As long as you don't irritate me, you can do whatever you want."

He was quiet, and Y/n stopped thinking about him and actually started reading when she heard the noise of paper turning.

Try as she might, she could not hide the triumphant smile blooming on her face.

It had almost been over an hour when Y/n stood, stretching her hands high above her head to relieve some of the tension in her body before tuning to Xaden, who watched her curiously.

"I forgot to tell you, but Halden is hosting a party this evening."

He groaned. "Another one?"

A small smile bloomed on her face, because no matter how she felt about him, she could relate to his lack of enthusiasm. "It won't be like the previous ones."

"Oh?"

She nodded, leaning her hip back against the desk. "Party is just a nicer, more appropriate word so no one finds out, but it is basically a revel, with too much drinking and... you know..."

His scarred eyebrow rose, skeptical. "I know... what?"

She sighed through her nose. "People will be busy... interacting."

He blinked "Interacting. Interesting. And it's allowed?"

She rolled her eyes. "Halden sends out the invitations personally, and only people he trusts get them. Those who get invited are bound to stay quiet about the whole ordeal, and as long as it does not get revealed to the general public, father does not care."

"So people partake in group activities?"

Y/n blushed, realising he had something completely different in mind. "No! I mean, I wouldn't know. I've only been to one. And usually, the lighting is so dark you cant see what others are doing. Aphrodisiacs are involved, and everywhere you look, you will find a couple or two being... intimate."

By the time Y/n finished speaking, Xaden's eyebrows had almost disappeared into his hair.

"That's..."

"Mhmm. You can probably find some good company tonight."

Instantly, his eyes hardened. "What does that mean?"

She blinked at the harsh tone, straightening. "I-"

A knock sounded through the room, interrupting her, and she glanced over as the door opened.

The maid walked in holding a tray, a teapot, two cups and a plate of small biscuits and sweets stacked onto it, balancing precariously as she made her way over to the low table in the corner of the room.

Without a word, the maid set down the tray, then glanced up at Y/n to await further instruction.

"I can handle it, thank you."

The maid nodded, and after a look at the smile Y/n gave her, turned and left, blushing.

The whole ordeal gave Y/n time to collect her thoughts, and she was grateful for it.

Y/n and Xaden, though now married, had not consumated it yet. Y/n knew the significance of it, the importance it held in the royal family. Her father had subtly hinted at it in the past few days, to which Y/n had pretended it had happened.

Sha hadn't yet talked to Xaden about it, hadn't told him that in the family, a marriage without consumation was basically a marriage annulled.

The only reason she continued lying about it was because she knew he still had feelings for General Sorrengail's youngest daughter, and maybe, just maybe, also because even though she had known the chances of her marrying for love were almost nonexistent, she still held out hope that she would only ever be intimate with someone she loved and because she wanted to be, not because of responsibility.

Y/n made her way over to the table, beginning to pour the tea into a cup when Xaden spoke up again. "What did you mean, Y/n."

She sighed, already tired of this conversation. "Just forget it, Riorson." She glanced up to meet his eyes. "Tea?"

His eyes hardened further, and he stood, his jaw clenched, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "You enjoy it."

He walked out the door without another word, slamming it behind him, not giving her a chance to do anything but spy the curious eyes of Nash as he tried to gauge what had caused this reaction.

And, even though Y/n knew that he was mad, the fact that her first year textbook was missing didn't go unnoticed by her.

Fourth Wing Taglist: @byyalady @gardenofrunar

Xaden Taglist: @sidrapotter @anniiittttaa @pirana10 @harrystylesfan2686 @artists-ally @riddlesb1tch @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @bubybubsters

YTIWT Taglist: @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @wallacewillow0773638 @sherayuki @throneofsmut

#xaden x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #rebecca yarros #fourth wing headcanons #xaden headcanon #fourth wing fanfic

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 days

Text

azriel x eris | 2,9k words | warnings: sometimes a little vulgar wording | masterlist

“Why did you ask for me to come here? Cassian is now the one tasked with these sort of things…” Azriel folds his hands in front of his body.

“Maybe I wanted to see you,” Eris answers in his polished voice.

A flicker of surprise passes over Azriel’s face before he catches himself. “Why did you really ask me to come here? Did something happen? Something that concerns me?”

Eris chuckles. “So talkative, Shadowsinger,” he purrs, “normally I am always the one asking the questions.”

The heir to the Autumn Court kicks away a branch and moves closer to the spymaster of the Night Court, pebbles and dry leaves crunching beneath his polished shoes. “I have news that your High Lord is surely interested in.”

Azriel raises a brow. “Go on then.” He seems impatient, on his face nothing but nonchalance though.His shoulders are squared, large wings tucked in behind his back, his booted feet planted in stance on the leaves-covered ground.

But it’s his eyes that betray him. They don’t stay on Eris‘ face — they wander, silently assessing the Autumn Court prince, and in them there are many emotions, none of them anywhere close to nonchalance.

“Beron truly thinks he has a claim to the High King title.” Eris takes a step closer to Azriel, shoulders slightly drooping. “And he is in contact with Koschei, looking for ways to free him.”

“We already know that.”

“I know you know that, Shadowsinger.” He meets Azriel’s gaze and pins him with a look. Azriel offers him no answer, his face expressionless as usual.

“But what you do not know is that is actively planning the elimination of Night and Day and an actual meeting with the Death God. He is already thinking of ways to break the Night Court and that with the help of the father of my former betrothed." Eris swallows. “His next goal is to become High King. Eliminating Night and Day first will make assuming kingship a lot easier. He counts on Tamlin as a supporter and–”

“Will Tamlin support him?” Azriel’s question is sharp, his jaw flexing. It almost seems like every muscle in his body tenses and he doesn’t even realise he interrupted Eris.

“I don’t know,” Eris says, voice shallow, eyes turned toward the distance, like he can almost see right to Tamlin’s castle. He has no idea if Tamlin will ally with his father. Eris doubts it, but he has no confirmation, so the last letter he sent the other day went out to the High Lord of Spring. Once they used to be something like friends, now he will find out how much that truly meant to Tamlin.

“I’m going to talk to him.”

Azriel seems surprised, “You will?” The shadowsinger narrows his eyes. “Alone?”

“Of course, alone, or do you suggest bringing my father along? The three of us could have a wonderful talk and maybe we decide that we are all going to support Beron’s endeavours." Eris frowns at Azriel.

The shadowsinger’s nostrils flare and he gives Eris a withering look. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” Eris raises a brow, his eyes darkening a little at the feeling that Azriel radiates. Jealousy – hot and pure, although Eris doesn’t quite understand why he would be jealous now. Is he envious of Tamlin? Of Eris meeting up with Tamlin?

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Are you worried?”

“No.” The answer comes too fast and seems fishy.

Eris raises a mocking brow and then chuckles. “You are—”

“You know what Tamlin is capable of.” Azriel’s brows bunch, darkness filling his gaze, his shadows slowly sliding down his arms, almost like they are an extension of his emotions and seek to reach for Eris.

“So, you are worried,” Eris mumbles and doesn’t really understand the shadowsinger’s concern. Someone who pretends to hate him so much shouldn’t be worried about him. But then Azriel kissed him in the past, so the hate can’t be that grand and rather a false pretence…

“I have known Tamlin for a long time. He messed up greatly a few times, but he is a good High Lord. I need to talk to him, consult with him. I need his loyalty and his help.”

Azriel huffs and with the shake of his head, says, “You have the Night Court‘s aid, isn’t that enough for you?”

“No, no isn’t. Not when it comes to Beron and what he is capable of.” Eris slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Not when he is planning a trip to the continent. A trip to meet up…with him and that within the next weeks. When he returns he already arranged a meeting with Keir. I need support and loyalty from more than one court and I need–forget it. ” He shakes his head.

Shock passes over Azriel’s face and a heavy silence, almost like a thick veil of eerie darkness, falls upon them. It feels like every living being in the forest holds its breath, and time comes to a standstill.

Eventually, after a moment, Azriel says, “You need to put an end to this, Eris. You can’t wait any longer. You have been waiting for so long, if he is planning the trip now, you need to act.” There is no accusation in his tone, it sounds more like genuine helpfulness. Like an advice.

The prince begins to nod, slowly dipping his chin. “I know this. I just…I just need a bit more time. I need to arrange everything…”

He needs a place for his mother. For his brothers. Somewhere where they can go if things go wrong. He needs to arrange that first and then he will take care of Beron.

“Why wait for so long?” Azriel‘s arms twitch almost like he wanted to throw his hands up in despair, but stopped himself from doing so.

“It‘s not that easy, Azriel,” Eris snarls. “I‘m planning my father’s execution after all.” He keeps his voice level although he wants to shout.

He remembers the talk he had with Cass and Rhys in the birchin. Then the right corner of his mouth tips up. “You can always give me the go and I‘ll do the job for you.” Azriel’s scarred hand slides over Truth-Teller and Eris' eyes follow.

“What?” the prince finds himself asking, not fully focused now that he once again starts to wonder how Azriel got the scars. Who had done that to him. Who had hurt Azriel like that. Those scars can’t be battle scars…

But it is the spymaster’s answer that rips him out of his thoughts. “Kill Beron.”

“What?” Eris gapes. “You want to kill Beron?” For me, he leaves unsaid.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, it isn’t what I want!” Eris’ growl sends a lick of heat through Azriel. Of course it isn’t. Eris won’t let anyone else do the job and that for two reasons. He has to do it, he knows it and he can’t risk anyone else’s life.

“What is it that you want?” Azriel then asks.

Eris moves closer, so close the tips of his polished shoes touch Azriel’s leather boots. “What is it that you want, Shadowsinger? Have you finally figured it out?”

His velvety voice lets Azriel’s skin grow taut, secret, sudden desire seeping into his veins. Eris shouldn’t have this effect on him but he does and absolutely nothing and no one can change anything about that.

“This,” Azriel says, his scarred hands grasping Eris face, feeling the soft skin and the light stubble on his jaw beneath his calloused palms. “I want to feel your lips on mine.”

“Is that really what you want?” Eris’ hot breath tingles Azriel’s lips.

Azriel hums in answer, but Eris clicks his tongue. “Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want to kiss you.”

“I thought you hated me, it seems quite a paradox that you still always want to kiss me.” Eris’ lips curl.

“I can hate you and want you all the same.” Azriel places his lips on Eris’, knowing his words don’t quite make that much sense, so he continues. “We danced Eris, and we almost ended up fucking that night, and I have been crazy with desire for you every since – that’s enough of an answer?”

“We almost ended up fucking?” Eris is so smooth, seems so unaffected about Azriel’s declaration it angers the shadowsinger. He would love to punch him, or kiss him so damn hard he forgets his own damn name. Azriel decides for the latter.

“I could scent your arousal, I could feel how hard you were for me. You want me just as much as I want you.” Azriel’s lips part to capture Eris’s top lip. “Say it. Say that you want to kiss me.”

“Kiss me.”

Azriel pulls Eris closer and their lips clash, a gasp escaping through the mouths of both males.

The shadowsinger kisses him deeply and their souls come alive, finally united after being apart for so long. The yearning has become nearly unbearable, but somehow it seems like it is coming to an end. Their souls have finally found their equal, the other half. “I want this. And I wanted this the first time I kissed you. Feel you. Taste you. Learn all the beautiful sounds I can elicit from you.”

Azriel’s shadows stretch out and curl around Eris, wanting to keep him here. To keep him close, to savour his warmth. “I kissed you because it was what my heart told me, what my soul begged me to do.”

Neither of two males is sated after the quick connection of their lips, so Azriel slams his mouth against Eris‘ once again, kissing him harder, with new-found vigour, one scarred hand leaving the heir‘s face, sliding down his toned chest.

“Fuck.” The curse that leaves Eris as a breathy whisper tingles Azriel’s face. He relishes the feel of Azriel kissing him, how the shadowsinger‘s hand slowly glides down his chest and around his waist while Azriel drags his tongue over the seam of Eris’ lips.

“I know you might not feel quite the same, but I want you,” Azriel admits, being honest about the situation the very first time. “I fucking want you, alright? That is why I kissed you back then. Because I want you, I want to feel you. I want to know what it is like to be with a male and I feel drawn to you, Eris Vanseera. Now you have your damn answer. And I know you might–”

“You don’t know what I want, Azriel,” Eris drawls, sliding his hand around Azriel’s waist and down to the spymaster’s rear. Their teeth clash with the next kiss they share, lips melding, noses pressing into the other’s face. “But you should have an idea, since not one time did I not kiss you back.” He feels how a blush seeps into his pale cheeks, heating up even his ears.

“Azriel,” the Autumn Court heir growls when they part. “Let me show you how much I want you.” Eris tugs at Azriel’s hand until the shadowsinger’s palm is flush with Eris’ groin, feeling the hard ridges of his engorged cock even through the fabric of his breeches. “This is what you do to me.”

Azriel nearly moans at the feeling, at the feeling of Eris‘ arousal pressing against his palm. It nearly has him come undone. Fantasies spark inside the shadowsinger’s mind that make his lids feel heavy. He wants to palm Eris through his pants, pull them down and stroke him, truly feel Eris in his hand. Wrap his mouth around him, feel him inside him.

Hell, Azriel just wants him. On him, in him, all over him. No one stopping, no more just kissing, just acting like they actually hate each other. There is something between them, and though neither will ever accept it, it is undeniable that there is more between them than just the mutual hate.

“I want you, Azriel. Morning, noon and night, I think about you. And I want you.”

There it is, his declaration. And it catches Azriel in a stupor. The shadowsinger doesn’t know how to react, or breathe, or speak. He only stands there, looking at Eris.

A gust of wind blows across the mostly barren landscape, tousling the spymaster’s hair, tingling his skin and bringing him back into the moment.

Azriel fingers curl, and he moves his hand which elicits a groan from the Autumn Court prince.

“Why won’t you have me then.” He once again closes the distance between them, kissing Eris so hard, their teeth clash. Azriel drags his tongue over the seam of the male’s lips, asking for entrance and when Eris grants him just that, the shadowsinger pulls back. Eris groans, a purely male sound that makes Azriel grow even harder within his pants. But he is also angry, frustrated, and in this moment it outweighs his desire.

“Why don’t you kiss me? Why is it always me who has to take the first step? Why won't you touch me properly? Fuck me? If you want me — no, need me so badly— why won’t you fuck me then?”

Eris‘ broad hands slides around Azriel‘s neck, fingers twining into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he shoves him backwards, so that the shadowsinger‘s back collides with a tree, his hand still on Eris, but the Autumn Court heir now wedges his knee between Azriel’s legs, dragging it up the inside of his thigh until he touches him.

Their mouths meet in a ravishing kiss, a collision of lips, tongues, teeth, bruising their skin. There is nothing gentle about this kiss, nothing soft or loving. No, it is ravishing, like Eris can’t get enough. Like Azriel just needs a little more. Driven by sheer desire, their lips and tongues explore, just like their hands do.

This kiss leaves them breathless when they part.

Eris shoves against the shadowsinger, trapping Azriel’s hand between their bodies. He uses one hand to grab Azriel’s free hand and brings it up, pinning it against the trunk atop his head. The shadowsinger allows it, and groans in approval. He enjoys the feel of Eris' hand, soft and a little slimmer than his own, perfectly fitting into his. It must be a beautiful picture, Azriel thinks — the prince‘s hands, pale, manicured, soft-skinned, in his broad, dark-skinned, warrior hand. He doesn’t allow himself to think of his scars, because Eris never seems to mind them either when he touches him.

“You like this, huh,” Eris drawls and nips at Azriel’s lower lip. This is so damn reckless and stupid, Eris thinks, but he can’t get enough. He can’t move away, even with the threat of someone maybe catching them. But who would catch them here? Somewhere in a forest in the Spring Court? Where no one and nothing is around?

“Bastard,” Azriel growls, his head tipping back.

When Eris tightens the hold on his hand, Azriel’s length almost painfully strains against his pants. Hell, yes, he likes it. He fucking loves it — Eris‘ dominance. If the prince now told him to drop to his knees and take him in his mouth he would follow the order without a second of hesitation — a thought that both confuses and intrigues him.

Eris kisses the corner of his mouth. “Say that again and I‘ll take you against this tree so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

“Bastard,” the shadowsinger growls, and can’t help the smirk that appears on his lips.

Eris’ canines are the first things that sink into Azriel’s lower lip, a slight coppery taste filling his senses, but he groans when leans into the kiss, into Eris, relishing in it. He starts to palm the Autumn Court heir through his pants until the snap of a branch makes them part abruptly.

“Someone’s here?” Eris breathes but Azriel gives his head a shake. “My shadows detect no one.”

Still Eris steps away, letting go of Azriel’s hand and face. “I should leave.”

A cold that nearly makes Azriel shiver passes over the heir‘s face and the shadowsinger wants to reach for him, but Eris steps away.

Frustration takes root in Azriel’s chest, a deep crease appearing on his forehead, and he grits his teeth. “A moment ago you told me you wanted me. You told me about fucking me against that tree and now you are leaving? What has changed now?”

“Nothing has changed,” Eris growls. “That’s the problem.”

He kicks away a branch. “I still want you. I still want to touch and kiss and fuck you, but I can’t.“

“But you can,” Azriel snaps, frustration thick on his tongue.

“No I can’t!” Eris is almost shouting. “I’m the future High Lord of the Autumn Court and you are an Illyrian bastard and a fucking male. I have more important things to focus on right now. I shouldn’t allow myself to get distracted by you over and over again. I’m the future of this court and not just any male who can casually fuck a brute from another court.”

Eris gives Azriel no chance to answer. Mist appears, smelling of herbs and earth after rain, and then Eris is gone. He winnowed away, leaving Azriel behind. Alone.

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x@talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshibitchez @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe @12334555666 @nickishadow139

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #azris #eris vanserra

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lesfir · 2 days

Text

Astarion past of corrupt Magistrate

A bud that didn't bear fruit, not one that was cut off.

There was no time to realised in the game that Astarion was a very, very bad, corrupt elf in power. The beginning of the story hasn't been rewritten, the key idea remains - for April 2024.

I have a couple words and sources for it. The latter I found recently, and it has a story of its own. Sources from Larian's internal kitchen is extracted by hacker methods.

Let's start with just that In the fall of 2023, the Larian Discord leaks happened. Leaks of Welch chat, Larian's narrative designer (in the past), and co-writer of some scenes with Astarion. As of April 2024, the narrative designer of the romances. You can read about their unprofessional acts here. For me, it also plays a role that it's not even their character, it was worked on long before them, another author and creator. So that kind of statement who understood what about the character is so... ridiculous.

And the question arises why we should trust the word of a very unprofessional person? That's right. Because: 1. These are not their personal words, interpretations and "I feel like". It says what Larian was planned for Astarion's story, but didn't have time to show. 2. Welch came to work at Larian well after Early Access. This backstory of Astarion was already told before Larian hired Welch.

The other few sources that tell of Astarion's backstory. Their sequence and nuances are also important.

1 - Info from the publication VICE The year is 2020, February 28. First presentation of the Baldur's Gate game by the hands of Swen Vincke. Astarion already Astarion as he is, white hair, fangs, a vampire spawn. (no horns and no tail) I watched it all and dont find that Swen is no information about Astarion's past. I don't think the publication is running a fake. So I'm assuming this is a site exclusive-lure about the key points plot of the game.

„A disgraced nobleman who used his position as a local magistrate to serve a vampire clan by feeding them prisoners, he was eventually too corrupt even for them and was effectively sent to serve as the personal slave of a powerful vampire”

I haven't seen it abandoned. After a while, the artbook confirms corrupt-taste for power-past.

So, a person who has been following the story closely notices that some of the information is incomplete. However, " feeding them prisoners" could very well be a plot twist for new playrs, and it should be left out in the exclusive. All the more reason: • Corrupted elite - used his position of magistrate • Taste for power. Desires, eternal life - for luxury, influence, eternal beauty, more power, vampires. • How vampires came to be? Why do vampires need a magistrate? - prisoners, it's easy to take outcasts for food. They also didn't forget to mention decadence. There is no reason for a person to think that a key moment in history has gone away.

2 - Artbook I found the first mention in winter 2022 (edit if I find it earlier) Baldurs Gate 3 Collectors Edition Pre-order for the physical collection, including artbook $269.99 Next February 2023. It mentioned that BG3 Digital Deluxe Edition will be available to Early Access buyers. With this artbook. That is, the information passed from edition to edition. Weird, giving irrelevant information that will confuse you for free! Yet you have to pay for the physical irrelevant information, 270 bucks. Did Larian give any warning about this? 270 for non-canon. Enjoy the game.

Astarion. Decadent and Dangerous Two hundred years ago, Astarion was a corrupt elite of Baldur’s Gate with a taste for power and a hunger for eternal life.

3 - unprofessional employee revealed the internal workings of the kitchen and what Larian, as an entire company - that's Astarion's author, Stephen Rooney, actors, animators - didn't have time for previously mentioned Astarion backstory. Confirmation of what was already known.

escuisi: I've been thinking about how in act 1 there seems to be a setup for more info on the gur incident/cazador conveniently being there to turn him but then theres no reference to it later on? Like, Astarion's all mysterious about it in a way that clearly implies he did something shitty we would find out later ("they had taken issue with a ruling i had made") but its never expanded.

Baudelaire Welch (larian): lol I did want to more fully explore the 'ACAB * definitely * applies to Astarion' angle but there wasn't really time for it.

The concept of "learning not to be racist" I am a building is shot down, probably by other writers. Not copstarion, that predates Welch. Of course. It would have taken two more acts - just an understanding. Overall it would still look... cheap and strained. The only evil male companion in this game. Astarion is about the darker sides of humanity, balance of fun and darkness. He must be asshole about something. The recent "I'm sure" posts are already more of a personal piece. Doesn't invalidate the information gained, which is verified by past sources.

Headcanon is a fan fiction that never hasn't been mentioned in any way in the media. Which there is no basis for, fiction. Like the dark-haired Astarion, mortal eye colour, for example.

The entire 1st act is precisely done and presented in 2020 with Astarion's backstory - all his approvals, reactions, all the lines. 2022 winter - pre-order of the physical edition with this artbook is open. The artbook that is promised as a gift to players by EA in February 2023 half-year before the release in August 2023 also confirms and includes information about the corrupt past. Approvals, most reactions, some of which are remade in PAD format, but not cut remain in the August 2023 release. The game gives hints and later coquettishly silent. Nothing logically erases this backstory of Astarion in the game And then in autumn 2023 there is a leak where it turns out that there was not enough time for Astarion's backstory.

The artbook is the grail. It always has been in my case in any fandom. In an artbook, every word is very precious. These are the key ideas author for the reasoning of the story. Maybe it's not the fans, but the way Larian treats the information he's given for thought. I find their pitching a clumsy. -- wasn't enough time to do -- abandoned the idea and cut it out are different things. If the wording was: we didn't have time, so we cut off, so this story is no longer relevant - then yes. Now it's: we didn't have really time to fully explore (emphasized the other part, this part was left unrevealed). For me, this story of Astarion levitates in the air, not gone, but not realized either.

There's nothing in the game plot that contradicts that Astarion's past was exactly that. Astarion would never say he was a corrupt arsehole when he wants Tav to help him, though with his barbarians, "raising the dead is easier than catching slaves, don't care slaves or building material", luxury, wealth and power that Astarion remembers in the his original, "mercy, please", vagabonds... Vice versa. It's all coming together.

That's the puzzle. Judge for yourself. Because the main thing that's missing: definiteness. For me, zero reasons to rate that this backstory is burned at the time of the release of the Bladur's Gate 3 game and for April 2024. It's would be hidden as a secret inside the story. A bud that didn't bear fruit, not one that was cut off.

Now Larian is doing a new artbook I really hope the situation is at least clarified. Stephen Rooney has left Larian, he said that in the spring of 2024, so it was always going to be an issue now. Unless of course they do CTRL+C CTRL+V.

Here.

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #Magistrate Astarion #larian critical #bg3 critical #BG3 Early Access

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hearted-anon · 2 days

Text

Love Troubles

Words: 2k Note: I couldn't find a picture of all four of them. :( T/w: Restraints, rough, VERY rough Lee(s): Changbin, Channie Ler(s): Felix, Minho

“Look at those muscles, both of you look amazing!” Felix fawned over the duo after their workout, who had just exited the shower. Both Changbin and Chan flushed a bright red at the compliment, waving it off before scurrying into their room. Felix stood there akin to a dazed puppy as they rushed off, unsure of what he had done wrong. The cat happened to slip by, sneakily eavesdropping before sliding over to the sunshine.

“Why can’t they accept that they're just absolutely gorgeous?” Felix pouted, crossing his arms with a huff. Minho chuckled, shaking his head at the sheer comedy between the trio.

"Because they're dumb, my sunshine." Lee Know offered a gentle smile, trying to soothe away the very obvious tantrum the younger was throwing. Felix was desperate, he wanted- no, needed to help them realise their self-worth under any circumstance.

"Then can we make them realise?"

"How so, my sunshine?"

"Your favourite activity."

"...bring it on."

They both barged into the gym duo's shared room, calm, loving smiles that were nothing but a ploy to lure the fish to their bait. The mischievous duo were let in with open arms, quite open to the fact they were being spooned. Minho groaned as Chan wrapped warm arms around his waist, Felix happily squealing as he tackled Changbin's chest without hesitation.

"Look at you, so pretty..."

Felix cooed as his fingers snuck around Changbin’s waist to his tummy, tracing heart shapes into it. A squeak came from the older, clamping his lips down to hold back the giggles that bubbled in his throat. Chan stared in horror, realising the cat was looking at him with a happy, but evil glint in his eyes. Before he knew it, fingers had slipped under his sweatshirt to his abs, poking tenderly at each pack. The duo’s faces flushed a bright red, shaking off the endless amount of compliments that rained down on them.

“So cute, all red for us hm?” Minho whispered into Chan’s ear, making him squeal and back away from the warm breath that grazed his ear. Stomping his feet he tried to evade the claws that didn’t leave his tummy alone, it was all futile, the cat eager to follow him like he was a fish out of water wherever he went. Changbin wasn’t fairing too well either, Felix always had a certain way with the rapper’s body that made him go limp with cooing and giggles filling the room.

“Stahahap it!” The oldest whined pitifully, still adamant on refusing the fact he was in fact adorable, and gorgeous. The dwaekki was no different, not letting the icy walls of hate comments on his body melt down just from simple complimenting. They both were six feet under in absorbing distasteful comments on their body, shaking their head. Eventually, the cats got frustrated with their lack of belief in them, sending each other a signal as their ‘ears’ twitched in annoyance.

Snatching their arms up, they pinned both Changbin’s and Chan’s wrists up to the head board with their belts, only able to do it as they weren’t expecting any of this to happen.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You two will take all of our compliments, and repeat it to us until we believe it.” Minho announced slowly, not waiting for a reply from the oldest before his shirt was lifted, to reveal a glorious set of abs and ribs stretched out for the cat to play with. Chan shrieked at the threat, shaking his head rapidly knowing how ruthless Lee Know could be when it came to getting what he wanted. He was pinned too, only allowing him to endure what was coming.

Felix smiled innocently at the rapper who was giggling and pleading with the chick to have mercy. The younger one only nodded softly, his feather-like fingertips across his clothed tummy before lifting it up slowly, caressing the rapper’s bare tummy with his warm breath. Although softer than Lino, he was, if not, the most teasy member out of the eight, and especially when it came to his ideal type, he was not going to hold back. Changbin squealed loudly, giggling himself crazy before anything really bad actually happened, the anticipation starting to swell in his heart.

“Firstly, tell us that you look gorgeous.” The cats said in sync, fingers wiggling over their tummies in case of refusal to comply with their instructions. Of course, they both shook their heads rapidly in denial, making them both smile widely, eager to torture their respective hyungs. Planting his lips onto Changbin’s tummy, Felix placed gentle kisses everywhere, his lips brushing so lightly and in ticklish motions. Now this would only have Changbin giggling, which is why there was his hands that dug right into his ribs, making the older shriek and cackle.

“ARGHAHAHAH! LIX! P-PLEHAHAHA!” Changbin screamed when his fingernails scraped into the smooth skin between his ribs, thrashing when those soft lips brushed over his navel. Chan wasn’t fairing much well either, shrieking again when fingers squeezed relentlessly at the muscles on his sides, teeth sinking right into the rim of his belly button, nibbling all around it.

“I CAHAHAN’T! MIN! NAHAHAHAH!” The oldest begged, tossing his head back into the pillows when Lee Know just went lower with his hands, way too close to his hips for comfort. The cats didn’t let up an inch with their antics, not hearing the words they wanted to hear. Meanwhile the other two that were pinned down felt like they were going insane, tugging at the belts that held their wrists high above their heads. Although being the two strongest members of Stray Kids, they were majorly weakened by the tickling, letting the younger members do whatever they wanted.

“Say it then, if not don’t say you can’t~” Felix wasn’t usually implied the type to be mean, but when it came down to a member feeling down, insecure? He was going to be as mean as needed to get them to realise what was important. Changbin simply squirmed in return, thrashing around to try and get away from the soft kisses and harsh fingers.

“YAHAHAHA! I-I’M GORGEHEHEHEOUS! MIN!” The leader lost it when Lee Know got just a bit tired of the oldest not admitting what was needed, going down to his v-line without mercy as he blew harsh raspberries while kneading his thumbs into that pudgy skin, driving him actually crazy. He felt tears well up in his eyes, panting when it came to an abrupt stop, staring pleadingly at the younger sat on his thighs. Minho didn’t say anything, admiring that flushed face before looking over to Felix.

Changbin was, if not, much more of a mess than Chan was. Although not as intense, his entire neck to his ears were a bright red, the chick right next to his ear whispering unintelligible words to the duo beside them, what assumed to be compliments as everytime Felix spoke Changbin squealed. His hair was a mess, sprawled out over the bed as tears cornered his eyes prettily, a dimple on his face prominent. The Aussie didn’t mind if Changbin didn’t admit it, it gave him more time to coo over the rapper anyway. Minho and Chan shuddered, they both didn’t know how ruthless Felix was, so soft yet so deadly.

“I’m…g-gorheheous…plehehease..” Changbin begged breathlessly, shaking his head with tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t take this, the sweet words, the soft caress on his tummy? He was sold, the soft torture overwhelming his heart as Felix let up with a proud smile. The cats schemed above them afterwards, leaving Chan to stare embarrassingly at Changbin, who was a panting and gasping mess.

“Good job~ It seems one of us took longer to crack…” Minho cooed, giggling when the rapper squeaked.

“Now, tell us you both look adorable.” Felix smiled innocently, his intentions of wanting more hidden discreetly away as he smiled down at the mess he made of Changbin. Minho simply kept quiet, enjoying his time of making the leader squeak every time he gave a poke to his stomach, it was clear as day he liked his new cat toy. Changbin weakly shook his head, adamant on not giving in and believing whatever ‘nonsense’ the two were spewing, meanwhile Chan could barely retort with squeaks interrupting his every attempt.

“Nehehever!” Changbin managed to get out, quite the bold move on his part. Too bad for him, it only fuelled Felix’s mood for tormenting further. “You’re going to regret that, my love.” Felix hummed, before his fingers slid under the rapper’s shirt to his pecs, grabbing it gently before squeezing the skin underneath it, to his top ribs. His lips attached themselves to the top of his navel, blowing as hard as he could with each raspberry. Changbin screamed, before tossing his head wildly in his bound arms as he cackled himself crazy. His face was flushed once more, his eyes crinkled cutely with a dimple showing, begging for mercy in an instant.

With the other two, Minho decided to be more ‘gentle’ this time, running his nails over Chan’s neck, his head leaning down to nibble tenderly at his collar bone, exposed neatly from all the thrashing. Chan screeched when he felt the change in pace, trying his best to scrunch up his shoulders; which in fact, didn’t work with his arms bound up. Honey-like giggles slipped from him, shaking his head to try and dislodge the nails, while his chin attached to his neck to avoid the teeth that so softly scraped on it. It was all futile, he could never focus on both the teeth and nails at once, couldn’t he?

“I CAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT! PLEHAHAHAH!”

“Min! Wahahait nahahat there!”

The cats absolutely relished in the laughter they were hearing, still a little frustrated about the lack of what they wanted to hear, but enjoyed torturing them nonetheless.

"Look at you! There's that scrunched nose!" Felix pointed out with a grin, planting another raspberry onto his stomach before Changbin even had a chance to reply. He knew he was going to tap out soon, red in the face with his eye squeezed tightly shut, even tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. Changbin screamed in ticklish agony, also a denial to Lix's compliment.

"Don't wanna give in yet, tough leader Channie-hyung?" Minho emphasised the word 'tough' with a harsh squeeze to his sides, making Chan shriek loudly. The fingers ghosted that spot soon after though, tracing the outer shell of his ears that made his head shake aggressively.

"Nohoho...adohohorable...I-I'm adorahahahble.." Chan panted out for mercy, feeling his brain turn into complete mush at the dancer's fingers and lips all over his neck and ears. Initially, he had wanted to deny it, but feeling his heart pound and suffocate from the lack of his breath he ought to give in eventually. Lee Know let up with a satisfied smirk, untying the oldest before snuggling him. The leader wasn't expecting it, knowing the older cat was notorious for lack of skinship; but now was cuddling him. He didn't say anything though, just warmly cuddling the younger as they both stared at Changbin's predicament.

"OH MY GAHAHAD! FELIX PLEHEHEASE! MAHAHAKE IT STAHAP!" Changbin whined pitifully, screaming again when those merciless fingers found their way into his armpits, kneading the middle in massaging motions that drove him crazy. Meanwhile, Felix's lips found the rapper's ribs more interesting, blowing and nibbling harshly everywhere on the bones he could reach. Changbin cried out and dug his feet crazily into the bed to no avail of escape, eventually submitting when Felix found particularly sensitive spot between his pecs and ribs.

"ARGHAHAHAH! I'M ADORHAHAHABLE! STAHAHA-" He was cut off by silent laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face a second time. Felix reluctantly let up, making himself welcome into Bin's arms once he was untied. The gym duo stared at each other, with tear streaks and red faces before giggling softly, cuddling their respective dongsaengs with a wide smile. All four fell promptly asleep after that, but be warned, the cats received just as much, if not a worse punishment once they awoke.

It didn't mean that method wasn't effective though; the duo now worked out much less with proud smiles on their faces.

#..?#in school fsdja #lee changbin #lee channie #lerknow #ler minho #ler felix #stray kids tickle #skz tickle

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