#i probably shouldn’t need to reinforce that but like.

[day8423]

the idea of fiona being cursed randomly (us as the audience never discovering a reason this unknown witch put a spell on her), has always been so interesting to me. multiple times i've considered diving into writing a backstory, why she was cursed, why this witch decided fiona was destined for true loves kiss. i actually do have a whole load of headcanons and metas stored in the back of my brain, which in actuality would flesh it out and grant a reason why. but i have never put them to paper, nor will i ever, because i kinda love that we don’t know? (yeah it was probably just the writers once again belittling fiona over her male counterparts and deciding their stories were more important… but i ain’t gonna rant about that right now.) it aligns with good vs evil, the stereotypes that these films portray. fiona’s been raised on very straight forward beliefs that put her in that tower in the first place.

we never know what the witch’s motive was: was she plain evil, or was something else planned down the line? either way, far far away proved itself tenfold as a stick to the book kind of kingdom, keeping in line with all stereotypes and never drifting too far from fated paths. in fiona being cursed, harold immediately grew concerned regarding the stray of expectancy, and did everything in his power to get his daughter, his kingdom, and his own happily ever after back on track. rather than seeing how things might play out, he went to a well-known solution and beloved story: a fair maiden locked away in a tower. not actually knowing why the witch cursed fiona, ultimately reinforces the notion that far far away is a very closed minded kingdom (at least where the king is concerned, despite his own backstory). however all this unwillingly places fiona into the role of a princess like no other, the first strike of independence. she steps out of her destined pages, and rewrites her own story. and along that road, changes the entire mindset of those in higher positions in far far away. she gives lesser respected creatures a voice, advocates that being different is okay, and not only beautiful people deserve a happy ending.

i have also loved the idea that it could have been fairy godmother that cursed fiona as a little girl, under disguise as a haggard witch, in order to assure her sons place in far far away when both children grew up. then, she presented herself under a guise of goodwill, promoting this plan of locking fiona away in a tower for her own safety and security, setting the wheels in motion from the beginning. lillian and harold were so desperate for help, and she took that vulnerability for granted. which all this was not difficult given harold’s debt to her; she knew he would listen lest he risk himself and his position. (i genuinely don’t think lillian had much say in all this, but that is a rant for another time!) she waited until fiona was old enough, rather than cursing her as a baby. ‘when i was a little girl a witch cast a spell on me.’ old enough to know how to act and behave as a member of royalty, but still young enough to be moulded and naïve regarding some aspects of the world. that when she returned with charming, she would lack experience and knowledge of how to truly be a princess, given her isolation and separation from her people. thus, charming and godmother could shape her as they pleased, and gain proper reigns of far far away over carefully planned precision.

either way, cursed by fairy godmother or a random witch, fiona is never going to find out, and eventually she becomes okay with that. for a long time all she wanted to know was why. why her. why was she so different to every other princess out there. never knowing why she was cursed really does just strengthen her mindset because while she struggled with it for such a long time, it shaped her into who she is. there’s no grand backstory, she has nothing to truly blame, no one to seek revenge upon; she just needs to deal with it. furthermore, because it was random and seemingly an act of unjustified cruelty, it allowed fiona to break herself free from feeling like a victim, and get out of the tower when she did. it wasn’t destiny that cursed her, it wasn’t set in stone, her life wasn’t meant to exist in a lonely tower. if her parents had said from the beginning that it was supposed to be her story, those three stages (cursed, tower, rescue) then she would have been crafted to live like that. it would have been expected. alas, it wasn’t any kind of fate, so she really just gave a big middle finger to feeling like a victim, and took her story into her own hands!!

#ii. every princess is a beauty / every dragon must be cruel : study. #long post / #also this might seem like a harold hate blog. #(kinda is) #i DO think he loved his family a hell of a lot. #and genuinely thought he was doing what was best for fiona at the time. #but his mindset would have been VERY different if he wasn’t so scared of risking his own position and happy ending. #he’s just a weakling lbr. #also all this really is taking from my own interpretation rather than anything canon with shrek. #i probably shouldn’t need to reinforce that but like. #shrek is NOT canon here. <3 #unless specifically stated. #fiona runs her own world thank u very much!! #but yeah just the curse is so interesting to me!!! #the fact that there is legit no backstory when there could be an amazing one! #fiona being cursed really was the best thing that ever happened to her mkay. #after like... #twenty five years or so she comes to realise that rifp. #the irony in the fact that fiona’s curse was not destiny. it was random. and as such allowed her to break free from the shackles #of those emotional and physical restraints and become who she is. #but if it WAS destiny then she would have remained the dutiful princess because it was apparently who she was supposed to become. #she wouldn’t have questioned it. #i am overthinking this i know but. #i just LOVE that we don’t have a backstory. #i think it makes it way more intriguing.

[magicalbats]

Flesh-Devouring Part 3

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 18,592

Warnings: light spanking in this one (I know, tomato tomato) lots of angst and fluffy stuff, mentioned familial death, cunnilingus, blowjobs, some talk of harder more BDSM type tingz hehehe

A/N: our dear reader was on her best behavior in this one so no real punishments … but we’ll see how long that lasts. 😏

Header credit goes to the oh so lovely @jymwahuwu💕

⭐

He’d called this maintenance, but you’re not so sure that’s the right word for it. That sounds more … impartial than it really is. 

You’re a little too caught up in the buzzing high of a blissfully empty mind to parse it any further than that though, and you squeeze the back of the chaise lounge hard enough to make the polished wood creak under your fingers. 

“Thank you, sir.”

The responding crack of his palm across your bare ass makes you tip forward with a stilted little gasp, but there’s not really anywhere for you to go. 

Sprawled across the cushions at an angle, Wriothesley has you kneeling over his lap with your shuddering back facing out at the rest of the office. The power of his swing does not feel at all diminished like this, even though he’d called it maintenance and his intent was not to punish but to reinforce. It’s almost unsettling how adept he is at this oft times confusing game he’s coaxed you into being a willing participant of. The way he firmly corrects any unwanted behaviors with a hard, strict hand and then rewards the good with soft words, softer praise and the most mind numbing pleasure you’d ever experienced. 

In retrospect it probably shouldn’t have come as any great surprise that you would find yourself so easily pulled into his pace given the duke’s talents in this particular … pursuit. But it does still leave you reeling every time you think about how much you actually enjoy it. 

“Ooh … thank you, sir.” 

You seethe through your teeth, head hanging between your outstretched arms even as you timidly arch your back to better present your bottom to him. The hand he’s got anchored on your hip, that burly forearm curled around your front to prevent you from defensively hunching in on yourself and keeping you in position, gives you a tight squeeze of approval. It drags a little higher to trace the curve of your body and it leaves a tingling warmth behind in the wake of that stilted pass, making you whimper softly when he nudges just under the hem of your jumper. He doesn’t push any farther than that though. Just teases you with the suggestion, lets his heavy palm rest over the center of your fluttering stomach as if in a silent promise of more to come, when you were ready for it. 

It makes you feel ten times hotter than you already are, and you keen very softly into the static charged air. 

“You’re very welcome, little miss.” He murmurs to you, low and frustratingly unphased given your own jumbled up state. “Shall we go over everything again, or do you need a few more spanks on that cute bottom first?” 

You close your eyes, a stiff tremor working through you when his other hand — the one that’s been swatting your ass for the last some odd minutes — smooths over the curve of your sore behind to gently rub the hurt in. The skin feels flushed and tingly under his rough worn palm, calluses scraping against the lingering burn of his handprints, and you have to force yourself to draw a clipped breath to respond with. All you wanted to do was stay lost in that swimming daze of adrenaline and potent endorphins, but of course he always reels you back in before you can really sink, and you couldn’t quite decide if it was cruel of him or generous. 

“We will be going to a charity fundraiser together tomorrow night.” You finally manage to intone after gathering up enough of your fractured mind to think straight. It was so hard to do, but well worth it when you earn a savory, validating pinch on your thrumming behind. 

“Good. And in what capacity will we be going?” 

You hesitate only a moment. “Romantically, sir.” 

Drawing a slow, undeniably pleased breath, Wriothesley leans up to press his mouth to the small of your back, making you twitch at the intimate contact. “Thank you for doing me the honors, lovely girl. It will be the greatest pleasure of my life to have you on my arm.” 

“You exaggerate …” 

“I do no such thing.” The playful note in his voice brings fresh heat to your face but, luckily, he sits back to continue on with the review instead of pushing you on it. “When will you be ready for me?” 

“Six o’clock.” You huff. “On the dot. Just as his grace has instructed.” 

“And not a minute later. Because what’s going to happen if I come to pick you up and you’re not ready for me to spirit you away to a decadent hall full of stuffy aristocrats and over indulgent foods?” 

Your mouth slowly drops open but nothing immediately comes out. It takes you a beat or two to find your voice again. “… I’ll get a spanking.” 

Wriothesley hums a low sound of approval, giving your ass another savory squeeze. “And a very thorough one at that. Not like the one you’ve gotten today. I’m sure you know I won’t hesitate to take you right over my knee even in that pretty little dress I got for you.”

Pussy clenching tight, you fitfully rear back against his hand with a thin, choked off gasp. “Yes, sir.” 

“Excellent. You’re a very good girl for me, you know that?” You feel him bend close to you again, and a surprised squeak punches out of your mouth when his lips press into the swell of your sore butt cheek. Eyes big as saucers, you twist your neck around to look back at him where he’s bent over your lower half without so much as an ounce of shame to show for it. 

Your stomach wrenches at the sight. Just the thought of having his face so close to the spot between your legs makes you feel indescribably dizzy and lightheaded, and you waver in uncertainty there on the cushions. 

“Y - your grace?” 

“There’s nothing to fret over, lovely girl. I’m still playing by your rules.” Giving the heated skin one more kiss, Wriothesley slowly sits back once again to look at you. “Although it’s certainly a test of my self control when I have you spread out over me like this I have no actual intentions of betraying your trust in me, little miss. You can rest assured of that. More importantly, however, we still have one more thing to cover. What’s going to happen after the fundraiser is over?” 

“I … I’m going to invite you back to my flat and have you over for tea.”

“Good. And what else?” 

Somehow this is infinitely more embarrassing than having his mouth so close to the intimate parts of your body, and your face feels like it’s on fire as you carefully turn your face to press your cheek against the back of the lounge. Shy, and hiding from him. “W - we are going to have a nice evening chatting and sharing each other's company, and — and I’m … his grace is going to teach me how to … how to pleasure him.” 

The last is little more than a mouse squeak, so small and faltering it hardly even registers in the air. But Wriothesley hums his approval as if you’d said it loud and clear, neither pushing you to repeat it nor giving you a hard time for your stammering hesitance. 

“What a good, good girl you are. Always so sweet for me.” He praises you, soft and quiet, yet the masculine edge behind the words just makes you flush hotter still. “I hope you know just how very proud I am of you. Such a precious thing you are … is little miss ready for her reward now?” 

The hand on your ass slides inward, dipping around the pudgy curve of your inner thigh to tentatively, tauntingly nudge against your cunt from behind. Every single muscle in your body instantly locks up even as you push back on him with a threadbare, deeply frazzled moan. You catch the sound of him chuckling at your reaction over the pounding in your ears, and you loose a mewling whine when he obliges you, firmly cupping you in his palm. 

Your hips stutter when he rubs you like that, and you quickly fall into the rhythm he sets for you. Rolling your pelvis in time with the press of his blocky fingers, you lean heavily into the back of the lounge and reach down to grab at the hand on your stomach. You hesitate to do it, shuddering and stiff, but you quickly find the courage to pull him up higher. Wriothesley lets you guide him wherever you want, wherever you're ready for him to touch you, and his rough skin leaves the prickle of fire in its wake as you tug him further up under your shirt.

You feel well and truly mindless with it by the time you finally get him directed up to your chest. He reaches higher of his own accord then, dragging you now where you’re still latched on to him, and closes his hand around the meaty swell of one breast. The almost direct contact seems to punch the air right out of your lungs, making you lurch and sway unsteadily on the couch, but he remains as steady as ever. Like an implacable wall of heavy muscle and stifling body heat beside you, he doesn’t even falter when he starts to fondle you through the lace cups of your bra. 

“You really love having your tits played with, don’t you?” He murmurs, directing blunt fingertips to the straining bud of your nipple so he can pluck at it. “Perhaps I should tell you a bit about what I would like to do to them someday soon, if you would permit me? I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to like what I have planned for you …” 

“Gods!” You hiss, your back bowing so hard under his ministrations that your spine aches in protest. Between his hands you felt like freshly wrought clay, so tender and vulnerable it was all you could do just to keep yourself in one piece. Swiveling your hips a little quicker, a bit more urgently, you carefully withdraw your hand from under your shirt so you can reach up and clutch at the back of the lounge in two death grips. It felt like the only thing that was going to keep you tethered to reality at this point. “Please tell me, your grace … I — I want to know … I want to hear it!”

Wriothesley leans in then, pressing his roguish mouth to your trembling shoulder in a fleetingly brief kiss before tipping his mouth towards your ear. “Then listen carefully, pretty girl. I’ll tell you as many times as you like, of course, but do try not to let your mind wander too much.” 

You squeak at the puff of hot air against your neck, the way his rumbling voice seems to penetrate straight into your brain to consume you, smother you, blanket you in the weight of what he’s saying to you. And your cunt positively slicks against his hand, coating him in sticky arousal that smears with each circling motion of your hips to make for a truly obscene glide against one another. 

“First, I think I’ll start by simply kneading them in my hands until you’re begging me for more. You always sound so pretty when you beg me for things … and having you ask me, nice and sweet, to play with your tits would be music to my ears indeed. I want to hear you say it, lovely girl. Hear you tell me exactly how much you want it.” 

You felt sick with want for it, but he keeps talking before you can form a semi coherent sentence on your heavy, lolling tongue. 

“Then I want to take my time just teasing your cute nipples until they’re so hard and stiff it hurts. You’ll really be begging me then, I’d imagine. So needy and worked up, but without anything you can do about it. You’ll be completely at my mercy, you know. In fact, I have half a mind to bind your wrists over your head just so I can enjoy you to my heart's content and all you’ll be able to do is take it. Would you enjoy that, sweetness? How does being helpless and spread out underneath me sound?” 

An uncontrollable, violent shudder tears through you so hard that your grinding hips come to a sudden halt. It doesn’t matter though. Even without you following the pace of his hand any longer, Wriothesley just keeps rubbing, rubbing, rubbing while the hand under your shirt offers your stiff teat a promising tug. 

“That’s what I thought.” He laughs, quiet and thin. Ever so slightly strained. “And once I’ve got your nipples so hard it makes your toes curl, I think I’ll take my mouth to them next. You’ll be quite sensitive by then, you know. I'm really looking forward to that, if I’m being honest … I wonder what kinds of pretty little sounds you’ll make while I’m sucking on your tits, hm? What do you think, lovely girl? What kind of sounds are you going to make for me?” 

You outright keen, high and faltering. You were tipping dangerously close to the edge now. If he would just rub you a bit quicker, a bit harder … “Y - your grace - -“

“Shh. I’ve got you. You’re almost there, aren’t you? I can feel your pussy tightening up on my hand and it feels so good, doesn’t it? Such an insatiable thing you are …” Pausing, Wriothesley draws a careful breath before continuing in an even more hushed voice that sounds like exquisite silk in your ringing ears. “I’ve mentioned this once before, but I have a few toys I’d like to introduce you to. Not right away, of course. I know how sensitive and easy to overwhelm you can be … but I also know what a sweet little masochist you are. I know you secretly like the pain, so I’m sure you’re going to like my toys. I have some mean little clamps that I know would look perfect on these gorgeous tits of yours.” 

He accompanies that with a tight squeeze on your breast, fingers digging mercilessly into soft flesh, and you start to tip. Your chest heaves with the weight of your impending release and it threatens to suffocate you, even as you helplessly rock between his hands with mindless, blubbering whimpers that seem to echo off the walls. You were going to cum. You were right there on the edge, you just needed that one last push. That final nudge to send you careening into a free fall. You needed — you needed - -

“I’m going to take a great deal of pleasure in clamping your nipples, little miss. I just know you’re going to shake and squeal for me. You’re soaking my hand just listening to me talk about it, imagine how good it’s going to feel when I actually do it. Are you looking forward to it as much as I am?” 

You obediently jerk your head in a frantic nod, struggling just to focus. “Y - yes, sir! I am!” 

“Would you like a little preview?” 

Eyes slipping shut in overwhelmed bliss, you eagerly arch your back to shove your chest further out. “Yes, sir! Please, sir!” 

“Hmm. I'm sure the real deal will be a bit different but,” Directing his fingers to your tightly coiled nipple, he closes them around the engorged bud to make your chest hitch. “It should feel something like this.” 

Wriothesley squeezes then, pinching down so hard your mouth flies open as if to scream but nothing comes out. Tears spring up in your eyes at the sharp jolt of pain that shoots through you, and the coil suddenly snaps. Lurching forward with a wounded, faltering sound of distress, you desperately clutch at the back of the couch while you mindlessly judder and buck through your orgasm like a wild creature in its death throes. It’s such an intense, all encompassing release that you almost don’t know what to do with it, and the way he continues to hold onto your throbbing teat even when you weakly jerk against the pain just seems to make it even more powerful. You feel it all in stunning high definition so exquisite it almost hurts to cum that hard. 

But, as always, you slowly start to come down from it some moments later and you finally slump there on your knees, gasping raggedly for air. He keeps up his pinching hold on your poor nipple for another moment longer until you eventually whimper and then he gradually lessens the pressure. The sharp, buzzing sting that rushes in to pierce the fog left behind after your climax has you hissing in discomfort, but he’s quick to tenderly caress the sore bud to work out some of the pain. 

“You really are a masochist of the highest order, aren’t you?” He murmurs fondly after a prolonged moment of quiet, once your breathing has started to even out. 

Shifting around gingerly, you turn your head to look at him through the heavy fall of your drooping lashes. “And you are the very definition of a sadist, my lord. I do believe I’ve heard tale of a marquis from long ago who shared similar interests as yours. You wouldn’t happen to be related to him, would you?” 

Chuckling, Wriothesley gives your still thrumming cunt a final pat of approval before withdrawing his hand from between your legs, bringing it up to squeeze around your waist instead. “I’m afraid not, but I’m sure we would have had a great many things to discuss with one another. That’s a pretty obscure reference, though. Are you more well versed in the depraved than I’ve given you credit for, little miss?” 

“N - no.” You quickly insist, shyly looking elsewhere now. “I’ve only heard this or that in passing, but I never paid it much attention. I had no idea I would one day be living that very nightmare out in the flesh!” 

“So dramatic.” He softly teases, a bemused look settling across his face as he carefully gathers you up so he can tug you over onto his lap. You whimper softly at the casual manhandling, and the flush quickly returns to your cheeks as he gets you settled on top of the hard press of his cock. Ignoring your squirming, he gets his arms wrapped around you so he can simply hold you against him even when you issue a low whine of protest. “Be still. I know you have a near limitless reserve of energy stored up in that small body of yours, but sometimes it’s nice just to sit, isn’t it?” 

You try not to pout, but you can’t quite seem to keep the whiny inflection out of your voice. “But you haven’t been tended to yet, your grace. It doesn’t seem fair to you …” 

“It’s not so much about being fair.” He says, perfectly amicable as he lifts a hand to toy idly with your hair. “If you want the truth, let’s just say I’ll make a bit more of a mess than you do and I don’t have much interest in cleaning up the evidence of our fun little activities. It will go away in time as it always does. Nothing to worry about. Besides,” Bending his head close, Wriothesley kisses the top of your head. “You will have your chance to tend to me as much as you want tomorrow night.” 

Listlessly, you reach up to tug at and fiddle with his loose tie. You were looking forward to the time you were to spend with him so much that you honestly wouldn’t have minded skipping the fundraiser altogether. “Must we go? The ball is only a formality, isn’t it?”  

He draws a slow breath that presses his broad chest up into you, lifting you slightly, and then lets it out on a terse exhale. “I’m afraid so, little miss. Rubbing elbows with the aristocracy isn’t exactly my idea of a good time either, but my presence would be sorely missed if I decided to skip out on it. You know how much they stand on pomp and expectation.” 

“But you are part of the aristocracy, your grace?” 

A beat of quiet passes over the office, heavy in its occupancy of something still left unsaid, but at length he just breathes out another clipped sigh. 

“Yes, I suppose I am.” 

Something niggles in the back of your mind, but you decide not to press him any further for the time being. The intimate, comfortable atmosphere inside his office was too sacred to disrupt with any more difficult conversations than what it had already seen play out between the two of you. You liked being here with him, snuggled up on his lap as you are, and you didn’t want to ruin it. A small part of you was even a little scared that you would ruin it, somehow, so you keep your thoughts to yourself. There was always tomorrow evening, when you were safely sequestered with him in the privacy of your own home to broach such topics. 

You wonder, distantly, if you’ll be brave enough to actually take the plunge. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The dress Wriothesley had insisted on gifting you despite your protests on the matter is lovely, and it fits you like a glove. A dark, slinky maroon of lace and ruffles, sheer panels that flutter around your ankles like playful specters dancing endlessly, a tight boned-corset bodice and more ribbons than you conceivably knew what to do with. You’d thought it all rather much at first, but he’d assured you it was nothing compared to what some of the other ladies in attendance would be wearing. 

Much to your gobsmacked surprise, he was right. 

The hall he leads you into is full of lords and noblewomen dressed in all manner of costume, from the soft and demure to the frankly bizarre. Right off the bat you spot a woman with a small toy boat perched atop the complicated piles of her hair, the immaculately polished pearls dotted through her sinfully dark tresses giving the illusion of a ferry navigating the starry night sea. Somewhat self consciously, you reach up to touch your own hair, and Wriothesley snorts a quiet laugh beside you. 

“Don't give it a second thought, pretty girl.” He tells you softly, the continuous din of partygoers and the playing orchestra set up along the far wall doing well to conceal his words from any nosy potential eavesdroppers. “You look lovely tonight, and much more appealing than anyone else here. In fact, I have a very strong urge to go find somewhere quiet just so I can ravage you in peace.” 

“Oh, stop that!” You hiss, sending him a heated look of warning to go with the tight squeeze you give his arm. “This is neither the time nor the place, your grace. Save it until afterwards!” 

“That is a very tall order you’re making me shoulder right now, my cruel love.” He sighs rather lamentably, putting on a convincingly put out tone. 

Your cheeks warm dizzingly fast at the first mention of that dreaded ‘L’ word, in jest or not, but on this you stand firm. “I’m serious, you insufferable scoundrel! If you humiliate me here tonight, I will never, ever forgive you for so long as I - -“

“Yes, yes. Your delicate sensibilities are in good hands, little miss. Nothing to fret over so much.” Wriothesley assures you, giving your tightly clenched hand a pat. “Now, where would you like to start your evening first? At the buffet table or shall we mingle a bit?” 

Nervously, you chew on your bottom lip as you glance around the room. You didn’t know anyone here besides him, and that knowledge has you clinging to his arm like a lost child. This was exactly why you’d been so hesitant to accept his invitation and he’d had to patiently talk you into it over many, many hours spent in his office. Even putting aside the fact you hadn’t had anything to wear, facilitating the excuse need for him to buy you a dress for the occasion, you were still just a lowly civil servant at best. You didn’t really belong here, did you? 

“You have nothing to be scared of, sweet girl.” Wriothesley tells you after a long stretch when you neither move nor speak. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time, and I won’t let you out of my sight for so much as a moment. If any of these other ladies here try to accost you, I’ll come straight to your rescue.” 

“Thank you, your grace, but that’s - -“ You cut yourself off with a painfully sharp intake of air, frantically clutching at his arm with both hands now. 

“And what’s suddenly got you so worked up?” 

“T - that’s the honorary Iudex himself standing over there! I don’t even believe it …” 

Chuckling now, he follows your line of sight across the room. “Is this your first time meeting him? Shall I introduce you?” 

You tip your face up at him with widened eyes. “Are you really on such familiar terms with monsieur Neuvillette that you can just … just — walk up to him and say hi?” 

“Mm, something like that.” He concedes, tugging you into motion even though you’re a veritable mess of nerves and would much rather dig your heels in. “I do share a history with him and we’re on friendly speaking terms, but I wouldn’t say we’re particularly close or anything. I can tell you more about it later, if you’re interested. For now though I just want you to make sure you give him that pretty smile of yours, okay?” 

Fluster creeps up your neck at an alarming rate, thoroughly disarming you to the point that you indeed find yourself smiling like a blithe idiot when he pulls you right up to the Chief Justice of Fontaine without so much as a polite pause of hesitation. The tall man turns at your approach with an almost otherworldly grace, disengaging completely from the man he’d been speaking to when he sees who it is. 

“Ah, mister Wriothesley. So good to see you, and your …” He trails off, gaze drifting to where you’re latched onto the duke’s arm. “Lovely companion for the evening?” 

Greeting him with his usual idle amiability, Wriothesley introduces you accordingly and you quickly bob a nervous curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you, your … honor.” 

Your cheeks positively burn at the way Wriothesley laughs but monsieur Neuvillette only graces you with a small, infinitely kind smile. “The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. I don’t believe we’ve ever properly met before but I’m quite certain I’ve seen you fluttering about the Palais Mermonia from time to time. Do you work there?” 

“In some capacity,” You stammer out, briefly explaining what you do and how you’ve been working with the Duke of Meropide recently to implement certain beneficial changes to the lives of the inmates there. It’s so subtle you almost miss it entirely, but something flashes behind those peculiar lilac irises at that and you have no idea what to make of it. Before you can even begin to pick it apart to find the meaning, however, Wriothesley has changed the subject to more present matters concerning the fundraiser. 

“I thought she would enjoy getting to see how these sorts of things work when it comes to securing sponsors and benefactors for funding bigger campaigns, since she’s so passionate about helping people.” He tells Neuvillette, unexpectedly sincere. 

You’re so flattered by what he’s saying, his estimation of you, that your heart gives a warm, heavy little thump inside your chest. Unfortunately he keeps talking and quickly ruins the moment. 

“And of course I was more than happy to show off my lady to a bunch of stuffy tight-collars.” 

Neuvillette’s brows slowly lift. “Oh.” 

Beyond horrified at what he’s saying, you fiercely jerk on his arm with a scathing hiss. “What is the matter with you? You’re speaking to the honorary Iudex, you baboon!” 

Politely, Neuvillette clears his throat to bring your wide eyed attention back around before he can tease you any further. “Please don’t concern yourself with it, mademoiselle. I do not mind. I am … familiar enough with the way mister Wriothesley here speaks, and I do not take offense to it.”

You sag in visible relief against your damnable beau, but before you’re able to thank him for his generosity a sudden commotion on the other side of the room has you craning your neck to find out what’s going on. What you see very nearly has your legs giving out right from under you though, and you sway unsteadily as if on the verge of fainting. “That’s … that's Lady Furina!” 

You could hardly even believe your own eyes. Was this really the type of crowd Wriothesley had access to? Oh, you were just feeling more and more like you were in over your head with this. 

“It would be my pleasure to introduce you, if you’d like.” Neuvillette says, carefully watching your reaction. “I’m sure she would like you, and you her. Lady Furina enjoys making new friends, from time to time, when she has the opportunity to do so.” 

Friends? With the Hydro Archon herself? How in the world were you possibly supposed to rationalize that in your head! 

“Don’t be nervous.” Wriothesley assures you for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, giving your achingly stiff knuckles an affectionate squeeze. “She’s a bit out there at times, but nice enough. I think she’ll like you too.” 

“O - okay …” 

And so it goes. Over the course of the evening you’re introduced to seemingly everyone of any power or influence in Fontaine; from the noble lords and ladies who were born into their roles and liked to dally with different causes to pass their time right down to the self made entrepreneurs who fancied themselves humanitarians, and Lady Furina does indeed end up liking you. She likes you well enough, in fact, to invite you to sit at her table when dinner is eventually served, and that is precisely how you find yourself seated between her and Wriothesley after a few hours of casual snacking and mingling. 

He’d been right to say she was a bit out there and you occasionally struggle to keep up with what she’s saying but you decidedly enjoyed her exuberance, as well as her magnetic charm and charisma. She was fun, and it doesn’t take long for you to wind up engrossed in conversation with her. 

“That’s very interesting, you know.” She tells you candidly, leaning close over the arm of her chair with an excitability that’s oddly infectious. “I had no idea that there was such a thing catching on in Fontaine.”

“I’m sure it’s difficult to stay on top of fads in your position, Lady Furina, so I wouldn’t be too concerned about it. You’re busy enough as it is without having to worry about keeping up with trends on top of everything else.”

She flutteringly waves that away. “Yes, but it is also my job to stay at the forefront of what’s in style and in vogue at any given time, and I fear I may have let my adoring audience down in this. Unfortunately I don’t have any dogs to dress up though …” 

You steal a surreptitious glance over at Wriothesley in his nice black suit, but he’s a bit to engrossed in the conversation he’s having with the gentleman on his other side — something about boxing, given the snippets you’re able to catch — to notice and you quickly swing your eyes back around before anyone catches on. 

“Would you like to have one, Lady Furina?” 

She thinks about that for a moment. “I’m more partial to cats, I think, but … perhaps it would be fun to have one. A small dog that I can pamper and carry around in my arms.” Eagerly, she focuses back in on you. “And you, my darling peach?” 

It takes everything you have not to glance over at Wriothesley again. “I believe I prefer the big ones.”

“Oh? That seems like it would be an awful lot of work though.” 

“I wouldn’t mind it too much. It might be worth the trouble.” 

“Well,” She says with a certain note of finality. “I admit you’ve certainly piqued this one’s curiosity, and I do so enjoy your company. Shall we make a day of it then? Would you like to accompany me to these boutiques you speak of?” 

Your mouth opens to respond but nothing comes out. She wanted to spend time with you in a casual setting? As casual as it could possibly be, given her celebrity status in the court, of course, but … still. You were more than just a little dumbfounded by this turn of events. 

“I'd like that very much, Lady Furina.” You finally manage to say around the rock wedged in your throat. “You would do me a great honor, and I’ve enjoyed your company as well.” 

“Oh! Yay, I’m so excited!” She surprises you by reaching across to take your hands in hers, clasping them between the two of you over the table. “I just know we’ll have a great time together, and perhaps we could even stop somewhere afterward and have some cake? Oh, it could be just like our own little tea party! You do like cake don’t you?” 

“I do.” You tell her with a smile. “And I like tea, as well. The duke here has thoroughly seen to that.” 

Noising a curious sound, Furina’s pretty mismatched eyes flit over your shoulder to regard the man sitting beside you. Still engrossed in his conversation, you hoped. 

“On the topic,” She says, dropping into a conspiratorial half-whisper. “I do find myself wondering … May I ask what your relationship is, exactly? 

On the other side of her Neuvillette’s cutlery loudly rattles against his plate. “Lady Furina!” 

Jolting in surprise, she lets you go and snaps upright to sit primly in her seat. “What! I was only asking a question!” 

“Perhaps, but even as the Archon — no, precisely because you are the Archon, you should know better than to ask something so impolite and lacking in tact.” 

Looking appropriately chastised, she crosses her arms in a sulk and Neuvillette turns his attention to you with a small, apologetic smile. How very odd … 

“My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle. Lady Furina has an unfortunate habit of forgetting herself sometimes, but I assure you she meant no harm and you are under no obligation to discuss anything you are not comfortable with. If you two are to be friends, then you’re well within your right to tell her it’s not any of her business.” 

Furina shoots him a silent, wide eyed look that seems strangely familiar to you — and then it hits you. It was like looking from the outside in on one of your exchanges with Wriothesley, and your brows take a very expeditious trip up to your hairline. 

“Please think nothing of it, monsieur Neuvillette …” 

Evidently satisfied, he returns to his plate and you just sit there in dumbfounded silence for a long, drawn out moment trying to make sense of it. Unfortunately you’re not given much of a chance, however, and you stiffen when Wriothesley’s closest hand finds your knee under the table. Trying very hard to keep your startled gaze on your own plate, you reach down off the napkin in your lap to grab his blocky knuckles in a tight, squeezing hold. It’s meant to be a warning for him to behave, for him to stop and return to his own space while there are so many people sitting around the two of you like this, but of course he doesn’t take heed. 

Giving your knee a brief squeeze back, that broad hand tauntingly drags a little higher to brush against your inner thigh and — 

“Your grace!” You squawk, a little louder than intended, and your cheeks positively burn when he turns to look at you as if only just noticing you there. 

“Oh, have you finally remembered that I accompanied you this evening? It looked like you were enjoying your conversation with Lady Furina very much, and I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Forcing your lungs to draw a slow breath and calm yourself first, you pin him with the most pleasant smile you’re currently able to muster. “You are much too kind, your grace. Always so thoughtful and considerate of others.” Underneath the table, you make a valiant effort to pry his fingers off your leg but the damned brute won’t budge. “Of course I would never forget you. Somehow I very much doubt you would ever permit me to.” 

He smiles at you, altogether innocent and polite, but you don’t miss the sly flash of mischief in his eyes. Not by a long shot. “That’s very kind of you to say, miss. I’m sure you know I feel the same way about you too.” 

You give a little jerk and freeze when you realize you’ve walked straight into an insidiously laid trap. Right in front of all these people you’d just said - - 

“Oh, you are such a funny man, your grace!” You blurt, desperately trying to backtrack now when you could feel everyone seated at the table curiously looking over even though they try very hard to hide it. “You’re so good at telling jokes, I really don’t think I can get enough of them! You simply must tell me where you manage to come up with these things!” 

“You flatter me, miss, but I assure you I’m being quite sincere. You will forever remain at the very forefront of my mind for as long as I may be lucky enough to live.” 

You just stare at him for a drawn out beat, trying and failing to figure out what to say to that. Never mind that he was making it impossible for you to pretend like you were anything but involved with each other, was he saying what you thought he was? 

“Y - your grace,” You finally manage to choke out, though it’s barely more than a whisper. “Although I do appreciate the sentiment, is this really the appropriate time and place to be having this conversation?” 

“You’re right.” He immediately relents, further startling your already reeling mind. “I must have gotten carried away. Will you forgive me?” 

“… yes?” 

Wriothesley gives your inner thigh a playful pinch before retracting his hand back over to his side and you just sit there, staring at him like he’s sprouted two extra heads. Of course you’d known he was rascally and unapologetic to the nth degree, but you’d thought him to have more sense than that! 

When you hesitantly turn your head to glance over at Lady Furina, half expecting her to be looking at you in furious indignation, you’re more than a little surprised to find her eyes glistening in what could only be deeply moved emotion. All at once you realize that there was nothing else you could do about it after that blatant display. So much for Neuvillette’s suggestion that you tell her to mind her own business. 

It was obvious why he’d done that. To nudge you into taking a scary leap that you otherwise would have avoided at all costs but, much to your relief, you soon come to find it’s not so bad to talk about it with her. Lady Furina seems to hang off your every word while you briefly (very briefly, when you left out the more harrowing details) explain how the two of you had come to know one another, and she outright coos in soft delight when you tell her you were still early into your relationship. You’re very glad to be able to use that as a convenient excuse for your initial hesitancy to discuss it, and she doesn’t appear to mind it at all. You even notice monsieur Neuvillette listening in with a certain amount of interest but that doesn’t embarrass you half as much as you would have expected it to. 

The night drags on in this manner, primarily with Furina accosting you from Wriothesley’s side so she can lead you around the room by your entwined arms, tittering amongst yourselves like schoolgirls while she proudly shows off her new friend to everyone who will look. You find it a little odd for her to be so very pleased over something so benign, but you don’t really mind it too much. She’s very sweet to you, and even takes you around introducing you to a handful of wealthy entrepreneurs who show a great deal of interest in sponsoring your programs at the prison when Lady Furina endorses your work to them. It was an altogether lovely, even magical experience and you were so glad for it that you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be mad at Wriothesley for that blockheaded stunt he’d pulled. 

He was certainly a massive pain in your ass, in more ways than one, but he was very kind to you. Enchanting, even. 

By the time the party starts to wind down late into the night, you’re quite glad for it when Wriothesley comes to extricate you from Furina’s clutches so you can go home and take these blasted shoes off. You’d spent perhaps a bit too much time pacing the room with her, and she makes you promise to write her soon even as she reluctantly gives you up to the duke. You’re almost to the front door with him, seriously considering asking for him to carry you and knowing he would, when monsieur Neuvillette calls out behind you for you to wait. 

Pausing together, you and Wriothesley turn at the honorary Iudex’s approach. 

“Apologies for stopping you on your way out,” He says, as polite and cordial as ever. “I thought perhaps we could chat a bit more without quite so many distractions around. I’ll be headed in the same direction as you for half of the way, if you’d be kind enough to allow me to walk with you?” 

You know by distractions he means Furina and you wonder at that, still not quite sure what to make of their relationship, but you give Wriothesley a quick nod when he glances down at you. 

“Sure thing, monsieur Neuvillette. We can always flag down a carriage after we go our separate ways.” 

“Excellent. Thank you for your generosity, mister Wriothesley.” He seems quite pleased, and you wonder at that as well as the three of you make your way out onto the boulevard. 

The two of them occupy the first few minutes with casual matters, such as recent happenings in the social justice sphere, general talk of news from around Teyvat and even a brief mention of something going on in the far distant land of Inazuma where talks of a civil war were brewing. Inevitably, though, Neuvillette’s attention finally wanders over to you, and you don’t even have the grace to act surprised when you’d been half expecting it. 

“By the way, mademoiselle,” He says rather attentively. “I meant to tell you that I think it’s a wonderful thing to see so much energy and passion for the vulnerable demographic of prisoners who are more often than not shunned by the greater part of society. It might be a bit strange for me to say so, given my role in their fates, but I believe it speaks a great deal to your character for you to have so much concern for them.” 

Wriothesley gives your hand a brief, lingering squeeze where he’s holding it between the two of you. Whether he meant it that way or not, you find yourself remembering the hard learned lesson he’d taught you about graciously accepting what you’re given, and you smile up at the Chief Justice somewhat bashfully. 

“Thank you, your honor. You flatter me.” 

He inquisitively tips his head to one side, looking at you with a certain amount of interest now. “I only speak the truth, and you are very welcome. May I ask, though, why you do it? I can only imagine there must be some reason for you to choose this cause instead of any other.” 

Your steps falter in your surprise and a dull chill rushes over you. Stamping down the urge to defensively pull away from him, you swivel your head around to look up at Wriothesley. “I … I haven’t even told you that yet, have I?” 

Something unreadable passes across his face, and he gives your hand another tight squeeze. But this time he doesn’t stop squeezing it. “It’s alright. I figured you would when you were ready. If you want to tell monsieur Neuvillette now, I won’t take any offense.” 

You still hesitate a moment, feeling more than just a little bad about not telling him sooner. But in terms of dependability, you’d come to realize that Wriothesley always meant what he said. Even if what he was saying was so indirect and confounding that you sometimes couldn’t make any sense of it, so you trusted that it really wouldn’t cause any bad blood between you two. You’d have to make sure to apologize later, though. 

Cautiously, you turn your face up to Neuvillette again. “I don’t know if this is the answer you were expecting, your honor, but … my father was an inmate at Meropide a long time ago.” 

Neuvillette doesn’t so much as blink at that information. But Wriothesley, on the other hand, gives a mild jolt that you feel run up his arm, and you gasp when he suddenly yanks you around to look at him, stopping right there in the middle of the street. 

Eyes going big, you tip your head all the way back to take in his shuttered but clearly confused expression. “What?” You yelp when he doesn’t say anything, just silently looming over you like that while monsieur Neuvillette watches on. “It was a long time ago, like I said, and I’m not mad about it anymore. You don’t have to worry about a conflict of interest on my part, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

Wriothesley huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “That is hardly the most pressing concern on my mind right now.” 

“Wha - -“

“Mademoiselle,” Neuvillette ventures softly, prompting you to warily drag your attention away from Wriothesley so you can look up at him again. “Will you tell us the rest of your story? There is more, I presume.” 

“Uh,” You surreptitiously glance between the two men, not sure what to make of this unexpectedly tense atmosphere. “Sure, I guess, but I don’t really know if I want to continue if it’s going to make the both of you mad.” 

Gently tugging on your hand, Wriothesley brings you back around to him, and you think your neck is going to get a cramp if they kept this up much longer. “No one is mad at you, miss. Least of all me. I’m just surprised, is all … but I want to hear the rest as well.” 

Drawing a deep breath to steady your nerves, you let it back out in a rush. “He was arrested for bribery and sentenced to ten years in prison. I was five at the time, so I was just old enough to somewhat understand that he’d been taken away and wouldn’t be coming back for a long time. It made me mad at first because it was just me and my mother, and she struggled to take care of me by herself. We were … we were never very well off and I think that’s why he did it. To try and get a leg up so he could take care of us better. I don’t condone it,” You emphasize with a quick glance in Neuvillette’s direction. “But I can sort of understand it, you know? Anyway, as time went on, I stopped being mad about it and instead I started to look forward to him coming home when his sentence was almost up.” 

You trail off, suddenly feeling uncertain about relaying the rest, but Wriothesley reaches out to take your other hand as well, holding them both now. “I heard a ‘but’ in there. Take your time if you need to, but please continue.” 

Floundering — and very embarrassed to be doing this in front of the honorary Iudex of all people — you shyly glance down at your shoes. Oh, how you couldn’t wait to get them off. 

“W - well … there’s not really much else to say, if I’m being honest. He never came home. My father decided to stay in Meropide instead, and he died a few years later right after I turned nineteen. They said it was a fight that got out of hand. Someone had a weapon they’d made, and they stabbed him with it. The other inmate insisted it was just an accident though. Said he hadn’t meant to hurt him like that, and I believe him. Soooo … here I am now. But like I said, no hard feelings or anything. Stuff just happens sometimes.” 

Wriothesley starts to say something, hesitates, and then draws a quick breath but it is monsieur Neuvillette who speaks first. 

“I see. I was worried it would be something like that.” 

Blinking owlishly, you turn your head to look over at him just as the first rain droplets start to come down. They’re fat and heavy, and incredibly cold, making your skin break out in clammy goosebumps almost instantly, but you can’t quite seem to tear your eyes away from Neuvillette. His expression hasn’t exactly changed in any noticeable way but something about him just looks so very … sad it wrenches at your poor heart. 

“What do you mean, monsieur?” 

“I seem to recall, now that I think of it,” He says evenly, not at all concerned about the rain quickly soaking through his hair to make it stick to his face in a few spots. “A man by the name of Antoine. He had a young wife who took the stand during his trial. She begged for leniency for her husband, citing the daughter waiting for him at home, but I unfortunately had none to give. That was your father, wasn’t it?” 

Numbly, you nod your head. “I’m surprised you remember something from so long ago…” 

Slowly, Neuvillette draws a careful breath before continuing. “The law is quite clear, mademoiselle. Although it pained me a great deal to do it, I had to deliver a just and appropriate ruling for the crime committed. This may not mean much to you, but I am sorry for taking your father from you. As for the matter of him choosing to stay at the fortress even after his sentence was served … I apologize for that too.” 

“It’s alright. That wasn’t your fault and there wasn’t anything you could have done about it anyway. You were just doing your job, monsieur Neuvillette. I don’t blame you for that.” You try to offer him a reassuring smile, but that shroud of sadness around him does not dissipate. In fact, it actually seems to become more pronounced. 

“Thank you for your kindness, mademoiselle.” He says over the rain as it picks up and really starts to hammer down on the three of you. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I will cherish it always. Regrettably I have just recalled that there is something I’ve forgotten to take care of for Lady Furina, so I am afraid I must take my leave and return to her now. I do hope you both have a pleasant evening though.” 

“O - okay …” You murmur, wondering if you’ve done something wrong as you watch him turn and walk away to leave you and Wriothesley standing there in the sudden downpour. 

Hesitantly, you tip your head back to share a long look with him. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Gods, I’m drenched right through!” You hiss, ripping off your soaked, elbow length gloves so you can viscously slap them down on the table with a loud wet plap! You felt like a drowned rat and you probably look it too as you turn to face Wriothesley where he’s peeling off his coat in the doorway. “Was it even supposed to rain tonight?” 

“You know how unpredictable the weather can be here,” He murmurs, hanging up his dripping jacket on the metal rack in the corner before moving across the room to close the distance. Your heart gives a startled jolt at his purposeful strides, but all he does is reach out to take your hips and pull you in against him, unconcerned with the soft wet squelch that sounds between the two of you. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I - I’m fine. I already told you that, didn’t I?” You squeak, carefully bringing your hands up to brace them on his front. He was acting so strange, and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was upset with you or not. “What has gotten into you? I’m not used to you treating me like fragile glass that will shatter at the first upset. Really, your grace, you’re blowing this just a bit out of proportion.” 

“I think you are the very last person I ever want to hear that from.” He rumbles, dragging his hands higher to cradle around your ribs. Just holding you, letting the warmth of him bleed through your soaked clothes for a long moment until you eventually shiver at the cold. Sighing softly, he begins to rub over you as if to warm you up. “If you’re positive then I won’t press the matter any further, but I hope you know how much of a surprise you gave me back there. For a moment I thought … I actually thought I had your father imprisoned in my fortress right this very moment.” 

You smile to yourself, unable to stop it. “Would you have let him out for me?” 

He snorts a quiet laugh in response, putting you somewhat more at ease. “I think that would’ve been pushing it just a little bit, don’t you?” 

“Yes, your grace. Even if he was still there I wouldn’t expect any special privileges just because you and I are … well, I suppose we might as well already be married as far as everyone sitting at our table is concerned. Did you see the way they kept looking at us?” 

“I did, and I think you handled it all with grace and poise, just like I knew you would.” 

A heavy, long suffering sigh. “You are the biggest scoundrel I’ve ever known.” 

“If you keep up with that talk of marriage, I’ll soon be the only scoundrel you know.” 

Clicking your tongue, more embarrassed than annoyed, you start to pull away, but Wriothesley just gathers you more firmly against his front. With hardly any effort at all to show for it, he abruptly picks you straight up off the floor so he can make his way over to the bathroom with you, shouldering the door open even as you weakly protest to being carried around like an invalid. Soundly ignoring you, he sets you down on your feet again and then moves to find the matchsticks so he can light the candles in the room. You huff and watch him do it, trying and failing to stamp down the excitement suddenly bubbling to life low in your gut. 

Oh, this was … 

Dutifully, Wriothesley steps over to the tub once the bathroom is aglow with a soft, flickering light, and he bends to put the stopper in place. The sound of rushing water soon dominates the cramped space when he turns the faucet on and, finally, he turns to you once again. 

“We don’t want you catching cold.” He says by way of explanation at your curious look, reaching around behind you to fiddle with the zipper on your dress. 

“No, I suppose we don’t.” 

He gives you a certain look that makes your toes curl in their much too uncomfortable shoes as the dainty zipper descends but, to your surprise, he promptly starts to pull away. 

“Take your time and get comfortable, little miss. I’ll dry off in the other room and - -“ 

Cutting off when you snag his sleeve, Wriothesley tips his head down to look at where you’re holding onto him. There’s a question in his eyes when he brings his attention back up, and you forcibly swallow down your nerves before they can get the better of you. “You can stay. If you’d like.” 

A quiet moment passes over the room. He just studies you in that time, making you feel more and more jittery inside, before eventually drawing a carefully measured breath. “Would you like me to sit and watch you bathe, pretty girl?” 

“I thought perhaps you could join me.” 

You’d half expected him to be excited about that offer, but the bemused look he gives you is more teasing than happy. “You know I’ll have to get undressed for that, don’t you? Or would you have me sit in your tub with you fully clothed?” 

You almost snap at him to forget about the whole thing then, but you quickly rein your emotions back under control. His patience with you thus far has been perfectly commendable. Nothing short of astonishing, in fact, even when you’d desperately clung to what little bit of modesty you still had to your name for weeks now. It was understandable then that he wouldn’t assume you to be ready to cross so many boundaries all at once in one night. You naked, him naked … even when you’d discussed the matter of wanting to tend to him, he’d assured you that over his clothes would be fine so this was quite a big step beyond that. 

Resolutely, you square your shoulders. “I would never expect you to do something so silly and I know what it is I’m asking for, your grace.” 

The mischief fades from his face, and he looks at you quite seriously now. “You’re certain?” 

“Yes, Wriothesley, I’m not sure how many times you expect me to say it but - -“ 

He grabs your face between his hands and suddenly tugs you up into a possessive kiss, making you squawk against his mouth in your surprise. You hadn’t expected such a reaction out of him given his initial response, but it only lasts a short moment before he’s pulling back to look at your wide eyed expression. 

“If you change your mind at any point just say the word and I’ll get out immediately. I’m sure you understand this, precious girl, but I want to make sure you know that this is not your last chance to tell me ‘no’. You’ll always have that power over me no matter what we do together, and you only need to tell me once for me to listen. Are we on the same page here?” 

“Yes, your grace.” You murmur, smiling up at him now. 

He smiles too, leaning down to kiss you again before decisively setting in to work on disrobing you. It takes some shimmying to get the wet fabric of your dress peeled off over your head when the sleeves and bodice wanted to stick, but it eventually lands in the corner with a resounding wet plap! At your weak protest he assures you he’ll just buy you another, and then his hands are working on the clasps of your brassier. 

Wriothesley is surprisingly gentle with the delicate hooks, something that you hadn’t exactly expected when you’d never let him relieve you of that particular item before, but it fills you with a great deal of soft warmth for him. Reaching up, you also get to work on unbuttoning his waistcoat, and by the time you have it hanging loose around him he’s tugging the bra straps down your arms. 

You tense up slightly, hesitating for just a heartbeat before allowing him to pull it off of you. Your nipples are stiff and cold from the rain, jutting out in attention seeking points, and he softly growls at the sight of them. As he brings his hands up to palm them, you start to wonder if you’ll even make it into the tub at this rate. You already felt so hot … 

Your eyes go big in sudden horror. “The water!” 

Snapping out of his trance, Wriothesley twists around to smack the faucet off and you force your lungs to expand with the now steamy air in the resounding quiet. All you can make out is the soft flicker of the candles, and your own wild pulse pounding in your ears. 

“We almost got distracted there, didn’t we?” He says after a pause. 

“Yes, your grace. My apologies.” 

He turns back to you, tugging roughly at the tie around his neck. “What do you have to apologize for? We would have just cleaned up the mess when we were done … though I suppose the whole flat would’ve been flooded by the time I’m done with you.” 

You impotently shudder at the jolt of arousal that tears through you. This man was certainly crass. “You are truly hopeless, sir …” 

“Only where you’re involved.” Wriothesley sends you a meaningful look across the short distance, smiling when you react with fluster. He quickly yanks his tie off over his head and then shrugs out of his waistcoat, eyeing you rather covetously while he does it. “You look beautiful standing there like that, by the way. Your tits are even prettier than I imagined them to be.” 

“O - oh,” You quake from head to toe, and shyly bring your hands up to cover yourself. He’s on you in the time it takes you to blink, however, and you outright yelp when he grabs around your middle so he can haul you up off the floor again. Your head spins with the sudden rush of movement but he just neatly deposits you into the stool in the corner you used for easy access to your drying racks. You barely have enough of a chance to process what’s even happening when you suddenly find Wriothesley kneeling at your feet, and your heart jackhammers straight up into your throat. 

All he does is reach out to fiddle with the buckles on one of your shoes though, bending his head over the task, and you somehow manage to breathe a stilted sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, your grace …” You murmur softly into the stillness, watching him patiently work with the delicate straps. “You didn’t have to do that though.” 

“You’re lucky I didn’t do it sooner. I noticed the way you were walking earlier … like you were stepping down on needles, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate me starting to disrobe you in public.” A brief, mischievous look accompanies that and you just flush even hotter. “If these hurt your feet then you should toss them. I’ll buy you new ones that are much more comfortable.” 

“You’re offering to buy me an awful lot tonight …” 

“Only because you deserve to have nice things.” He tells you, perfectly sincere in that assertion, as your shoe finally comes off. A low hiss rises in you at the immediate throb you feel, but he’s quick to smooth his big hands over your cramping foot and massage out some of the ache. It was really sweet of him, actually, and you eventually find yourself relaxing into his touch. “Does that feel better, pretty girl?” 

“Much, your grace.” 

Humming his approval, Wriothesley gently sets your foot down so he can set his sights on the other shoe. He manages to get this one off a little quicker, and you’re soon groaning into the stilted relief his rubbing hands provide to your sore toes. You almost don’t want it to end but, finally, he sets that one down too before palming at your calf so he can slide up along your stockings to the garter clasps. This he manages to unfasten with a quick, simple flick of his wrist so he can gently tug the sheer material down and get it off. 

“Have you helped many ladies in their boudoir?” 

He snorts a quick laugh as he tosses your stocking aside, immediately going back for the other. “Hardly. I know just enough to be dangerous, that’s all.” 

“Oh, I think I’d consider you quite dangerous …” 

The sapphires in his eyes flash at you, a vague smirk tugging at his roguish mouth. Hands slipping up behind your legs to catch in the bends of your knees, he easily pulls them apart into a wide spread and you jolt at suddenly having your pantied cunt right in his face. 

“Your grace!” You squeak with no shortage of horror. “T - that’s - -“ 

He doesn’t even stop long enough to hear what you’ve got to say. 

Leaning into the space between your thighs, he presses his nose right up against you to make you go ramrod stiff, and you just stare down at him in blatant disbelief with your hands half stretched out to shove at him. Rolling his eyes up to look at you, Wriothesley seems to taunt you with it while he mouths at your pussy for an extended beat until he manages to draw a low, faltering groan out of you. Swaying unsteadily, you once again find yourself thinking that you’re not even going to make it into the tub. 

“The w - water,” You finally get out with some effort this time, shaking like a leaf. “If you do that, it — it’ll get … cold.” 

He doesn’t seem like he cares very much for that, obviously much more interested in what’s between your legs. But, after a short pause, he does slowly ease back to peer up at you. “You’re not opposed to it?” 

“… I don’t think so.” 

A hungry look passes over his face at that, and you numbly watch him rock back and find his feet. Towering over you like this, he starts to unbutton his dress shirt with practiced precision, soon shrugging out of it altogether, and your eyes almost pop right out of your skull when you see his bare chest for the first time. He was … magnificent is the only word you could think to describe it. Well toned, tight pecs, bulging biceps that flex when he moves, defined abdominals that lead straight down to - - 

“Oh.” You blurt out, with feeling. 

Shuffling close, Wriothesley silently holds out a hand towards you. You’re so overwhelmed with everything that’s happened just over the last handful of minutes that you foolishly think he’s going to help you up, and you blithely slip your fingers into his. To your sputtering surprise, however, he just takes your hand and redirects it to the front of his pants, pressing your palm over the stiff length inside. 

“This is yours, pretty girl. Do you understand that?” 

He was certainly drilling that into your brain enough for you not to forget! “Y - … yes, sir.” 

“Do you want it tonight?” 

You practically collapse right then and there. “I do.” 

Groaning so softly you almost miss it, Wriothesley leaves your hand where it’s at and reaches up to yank at the buttons of his pants. You give him a shy, tentative little squeeze, and fresh heat promptly marches across your face when it twitches in response. You’re not sure what to expect, have no idea what to even think at this point, but you start to feel well and truly faint when he shoves his pants and underwear down to his thick thighs, and a heavy cock springs up in the air between you two.

Your throat abruptly feels bone dry as you take it in, processing the weighty length of it, the dusty-pink glans, the ridged vein running along the side and the meaty bounce of his hanging balls when he shifts. Even the wiry thatch of dark hair crowning the base looks strangely arousing to you in that moment, and you hotly press your thighs together at the sight of him. Yes, magnificent was a good word for him. He was exquisite. 

“It’s … not as scary as I thought it would be.” You eventually manage to get out, your tongue feeling like a lead weight in your mouth. 

Snorting, Wriothesley holds out his hand again. “Would you like to touch it, lovely girl?” 

You only feel a slight hesitancy when you reach out, letting him guide your loosely curled fingers to his cock. You’re a little surprised at how soft it feels to the touch, his skin satiny and smooth, and so sinfully caressable you find yourself closing your hand around it before you even realize you’re doing it. There’s a pulse running through him and it throbs under the gentle pressure of your fist, straining up slightly in search of more. 

Abruptly, you recall what he’d said about rubbing it, and you slowly draw your hand up the same way he’d shown you before. 

Wriothesley catches you off guard when he viscously seethes at the sensation, bringing your startled attention up to his face. But all you see staring back at you is deeply felt pleasure, his brows drawn together to knit over the ridge of his nose, and you feel a strange sense of power come over you. Was this what he felt every time he turned your body against you? 

“Shall I do it like this, sir?” 

“A menace,” He grits out, just watching you tug on his cock with a sharp, distant gleam in his eyes. “That’s what you are, you know that?” 

“You’re the one who taught me.” 

Wriothesley sends you a heated look, letting out a thin chuckle. “Don’t start getting cute now. Even though I’d hate to do it and ruin this — very enjoyable moment, I still won’t hesitate to take you over my knee. You’re rather precious with my cock in your hand like that, but even precious girls are not immune from getting their butts spanked.” 

A thrill races down your spine to settle low in your gut, making you squirm slightly in the chair. “Maybe I want his grace to spank me …?”

“When do you not, is the better question.” With a great deal of effort, he reaches down to still your hand, but you couldn’t have missed the look of regret in his face even if you’d wanted to. “That should probably be enough for now. If you keep tempting me like this, I’m not sure how much more I can take. Come. Let’s get you in the bath.” 

Carefully prying your fingers off him, Wriothesley leans down to grab under your arms and haul you back up to your feet again. You sway unsteadily even as you peer down between the two of you to look at his bobbing length but you soon have to look elsewhere when he bends to shimmy your garter belt down, and then your panties. You’re finally standing before him completely naked and you don’t feel half as self conscious about it as you’d expected to be. It was a little hard to cling to your shy uncertainty when you wanted him so bad you could have just screamed! 

Kicking off his pants and boots, he ignores your halfhearted protests as he expeditiously guides you over to the tub and climbs in first, getting situated before pulling you in with him. You make sure to step carefully, clutching at his big fingers as you gradually lower yourself to sit between his spread legs, and somehow you’re not the least bit surprised when some of the water sloshes out to smack against the title floor while the two of you get settled in against one another. 

“The landlord is going to kill me …” You murmur, more to yourself than him, but he just wraps his arms around you to gather you more firmly to himself. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll gladly pay for any renovations needed for water damage.” He says, pressing a hard kiss into your temple. 

Sighing softly, you experimentally wriggle back against the stiff cock digging into your spine, and he growls a low sound of warning against your face. Saying you hadn't expected it to come to this tonight would’ve been a massive understatement, but were you really that upset about it? You didn’t think so. You’d planned to see to his pleasure tonight, perhaps even remove that final barrier standing between him and your breasts, and now you were sitting naked with him in the bath. It was … a bit overwhelming, but in an exciting way. 

“Well,” You abruptly announce. “This certainly didn’t go to plan!” 

“I don’t mind that it didn’t.” Nuzzling against the side of your head, Wriothesley places another kiss to your cheek. “I admit, you did surprise me but I’m not complaining. You really did look lovely in your dress, by the way. I’m not just saying that for brownie points.” 

“Thank you … and you were quite dashing in your suit as well, but I think I still like the one you usually wear better.” 

“As do I. It’s much more comfortable.” 

Lifting one of his hands, he starts to scoop water up over your exposed shoulders and back, and you breathe out a content sigh as the warmth quickly bleeds into you. He’d distracted you so much that you’d almost forgotten just how cold you actually were after the rain, but that was rapidly fading into a distant memory now. Relaxing against him, you reach out to tentatively place your hands on his broad thighs under the water, and he lets you do it with an approving hum. 

It might not have been exactly what you’d prepared for going into tonight, but you were enjoying it very much. Getting to freely touch him like this, skin to skin contact while his cock occasionally twitched and he gently worked the cold water out of your hair … this was dangerously comfortable, and the almost romantic flicker of the candles on your counter weren’t helping matters either. 

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About making yourself the only rascal I know?” 

“That depends,” He volleys back easily enough. “Were you serious about preferring big dogs, and thinking that they might be worth the trouble?” 

You wrench around to look at him with clear shock dancing across your face, not even caring that more water spills out at the sudden movement. “You heard that?” 

The smile that creeps across his mouth just might be the most roguish one you’ve seen yet. “Of course I did. Even now you continue to underestimate me … I’m not sure if I should be offended by that or flattered that I give off the impression of someone who doesn’t hear every little thing going on around them. I told you I wasn’t going to let you out of my sight for even a moment, didn’t I?” 

“Forgive me, your grace. I wasn’t aware that you hear with your eyeballs.” 

“Ooho, and there’s that feisty attitude I love so much. Is that how we’re about to go into this, little miss?” 

You hesitate. There was that dreaded ‘L’ word again! 

Evidently seeing the uncertainty on your face, Wriothesley quickly sobers. “You don’t need to feel nervous. I’ll be gentle.” 

“It’s not that …” 

He tips his head to one side. “Then what is it? 

Breathing out a clipped sigh, you slowly lean back against his chest again and reach up to cup along his strong jaw, pulling him closer. “You’re still just so confusing …” 

Rather than pushing you any further, Wriothesley obliges and bends down to kiss you, the steady motion of his mouth on yours making quick work of distracting you from the odd things he says. Moaning softly against his lips, you arch your back to better present your tits when he reaches around to fondle them. His hands feel indescribably good on your chest without anything in the way like this, and softened nipples quickly pucker again under his palms. 

He takes his time playing with them, just like he promised he would; unhurriedly kneading the flesh and squeezing at you for a long while before eventually pinching the stiff buds between his calloused fingers when they’re straining hard and tender. That has you squirming between his legs, and you dig your nails into his thighs to ground yourself. You wanted him now. Not later. You needed everything he was willing to give you right this instant, and not a moment more! 

Unable to take it any more, you tip your head back to rest across his shoulder. You tell him what you’re thinking in a hushed whisper, how you don’t think you can wait any longer to have him, and he carefully rolls his hips to nudge his cock up against your bottom in response. 

“Are you sure, pretty girl? We don’t need to rush and do everything tonight. I can take care of you just as well with my mouth.” 

Just the thought of him taking his mouth to you has your pussy clenching eagerly, and you arch against him with a needy little moan. “Then will you do it now, your grace? I’d like to cum …”

“Of course I will.” Wriothesley gives you one last, lingering kiss that makes you whine low in your throat. He’s carefully untangling the two of you then, and you sway unsteadily when he helps you find your feet in the tub, but his hands are like iron bracers on your hips keeping you from tipping over. “Sit on the edge of the tub for me? Don’t fret, I’ve got you. Just like that. Good. Now spread your legs … a little more, sweetheart, that’s it. Stay just like that, okay? I’m not going to let you fall. Gods, just look at this sweet pussy.” 

With a low, almost bestial snarl, he swoops down to run his tongue straight up the length of your slit and you jolt like he’d electrocuted you. Eyes wide, almost unseeing, you tip your face down to watch him nuzzle into you, mouthing at pudgy cunt lips to coax them open for him. You have but a split second to wonder if you’d made a mistake, and then his tongue is dipping out to trace over soft creases and folds, feeling around for a moment as if to familiarize himself. Your face suddenly feels hot enough to cook an egg. The thought that you were letting him do something so shameful, putting his mouth on this intimate part of your body, niggles at the back of your mind for an extended beat like a hovering storm cloud.  

But then he finds your clit. 

You go ramrod stiff with a startled squeak, hips juddering entirely against your will when Wriothesley tauntingly swirls around the sensitive little pleasure button in increasingly tighter circles before at last grinding directly over top of it. It feels vaguely like your life is flashing before your very eyes but you can’t bring yourself to look away any more than you can bring yourself to close your legs and shut him out. It was a drastically different sensation from the one you derived rubbing yourself on his thighs or his hands, his tongue so soft and wet, and warm, yet completely unrelenting in the way it nudges your clit back and forth. Up and down, side to side, lapping at you with a hunger that almost bowls you over. You promptly forget to be embarrassed about it, and shudderingly arch your back for him instead. 

Coming up off you with a low, rumbling groan some moments later, he presses a quick kiss to your throbbing cunt. “You taste so good, pretty girl. Better than any wine, that’s for sure.” He takes a moment to draw a deep breath that makes his big shoulders rise and fall, and then he slowly tilts his head up to look at you from where he’s knelt inside the tub. “How’s that feel, sweetness? You like my mouth on your pussy?” 

You jerk your head in a frantic nod, clutching the sides of the porcelain in a death grip. “Y - yes, sir! I want … I want more, please!” 

He groans when you tip your pelvis towards him, plaintively offering your cunt to him, and he responds with a toe curling squeeze around your hips. “You are going to be the ruin of me, and I don’t even care.” Lowering his face again, Wriothesley shoves his mouth against you and you choke at the sensation of his tongue slipping out to once more lash at your clit. 

Swaying dizzily, you nudge yourself further down to stiltedly rock on his face, and he lets you do it with an approving groan. You aren’t quite sure what’s come over you in that moment but between your cunt drooling an excessive amount of slick and your nipples straining up into the air, you feel truly wild. Trusting that he wouldn’t let you fall, you reach down with one hand to snag a fistful of his dark hair, which he seems to like given the way his cock jumps in his lap. You can barely see it from this angle but that bobbing motion was unmistakable, and you give your hand a little twist to tug at the roots. Hot breath puffing against your pussy, Wriothesley lets you turn his head slightly to the side where he sucks in a thick inhale. 

“Is that where you want me, sweet girl? Go on. Put my mouth right where you want it, baby, it’s all yours.” 

A wounded little noise punches out of your tight chest, and you shudder so hard you really think you might fall. His hold on you is absolute though, just as it always is, and you’re free to jerk and twist as much as you like while he voraciously eats you out. His tongue smacks into your clit from a new angle with the tilt of his head, the sharp nudge making you squeal. It was simply too much. You’d never felt anything like it in all your life, and you had no idea how to brace against it. 

“Ohh — ooooh! Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god … wah - Wriothesley! Please! I - I’m gonna’ - -“

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” He rumbles, muffled in the meat of your cunt. “Soak my face, pretty girl. Let me taste you.” 

Pussy clenching tight enough to hurt, you let out a thin, high pitched keen as your thighs begin to quake around his head. Slurping loudly, he repositions himself towards the center and gives his head a shake that seems to make every single nerve ending in your cunt light up like a firework. A warning tremor works through you as you heave, and he does it again. You just start to feel yourself tip over when he flattens his tongue to your clit and grinds mean little circles into it, and you surely would have jolted right up in the air if he hadn’t been holding you so tight. Instead, all you do is pitifully jerk against him, and the pressure suddenly gives way to a powerful orgasm that brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Wailing in overwhelmed distress, you shake through your release while he continues to eat you out until it quickly stretches well past the point of pleasure straight into discomfort. You were too sensitive post-release. Too overwrought and tender when your pussy was still fluttering wildly around nothing, and you desperately push at him. At first you don’t think he’s going to stop, that he’s just going to keep at it incessantly, but then he finally slows the ministrations of his mouth to a standstill. Wriothesley doesn’t immediately remove his face from between your legs though, and you just seethe as the last of the spasms slowly ebb and fade to leave you twitching in the aftermath. 

Only then does he ease back, and your body just seizes all over again when you see the heated glint in his blue eyes. He looks at you like a starving wolf might look at its prey, all mindless animal hunger and fast pumping endorphins. It almost leaves you speechless. 

“Y - your grace?” 

“Bath time is over.” He abruptly announces, his stern tone brokering no room for argument. 

Eyes widening slightly, you tip your head back when he carefully finds his feet without letting up his hold on your hips and you quickly realize why. Tugging you off the ledge, he picks you straight up into his arms before your feet even have a chance to get settled on the porcelain bottom, and you clutch at him fiercely when he steps out of the tub. He doesn’t even bother with a towel and instead just brushes straight out into the main room. 

You almost lose your nerve but somehow manage to find your voice when he’s almost made it to the loveseat along the far wall. “It’s okay, Wriothesley. You can take me into the bedroom.” 

He immediately stops at your breathless little squeak, and tips his face down to look at you. “You’re sure? I can have you sit on my face just as well out here, pretty girl.” 

“Wha — no, no, no! It’s your turn next! You said you would teach me how to tend to you …” 

A muscle in his jaw visibly ticks as he draws a painfully slow breath that makes his chest press up into you. “There are a great many things I’d like to teach you, little miss. I’m not even sure where to start … how would you like to tend to me? Perhaps we should begin there.” 

You ponder that for a moment, not really even sure what your options were other than the obvious. “I suppose I don’t exactly know … can I put my mouth on you too?” 

“Oh, bless the seven!” Cursing under his breath, Wriothesley does an abrupt about face and makes a beeline straight towards your bedroom. Bouncing in his arms, you’re more than just a bit surprised at how fast he can move, and it doesn’t take long at all for you to find yourself bouncing down onto the bed with a squeak. 

Quickly, you push up onto your elbows but he’s already crawling on top of you, muscle heavy arms coming around you to brace himself against the mattress, and you go ramrod stiff when you see the weighty strain of his cock looming nearer. You hate yourself for your last minute jitters, and you hate even more that he clearly doesn’t miss the uncertainty that flashes across your face. He stills half over top of you, just looking at you for a long moment. 

“It’s alright,” He tells you at length, back to some semblance of his usual calm again. “I’m just going to kiss you first, if that is to your liking. I won’t do anything you don’t explicitly ask me to, sweetheart. You have the control here.” 

“I’m so sorry,” You mewl, feeling absolutely miserable. “I don’t know why I’m like this!” 

Shushing you softly, Wriothesley reaches up to pull your hands away when you try to cover your face and hide from him. “Don’t apologize. Hey, just look at me for a second, okay? There … that’s my pretty girl.” He gives you a quick smile as he playfully pinches your hot cheek to make you squirm. “There’s nothing wrong with being nervous about your first time. I know we’ve talked this over a lot already, but I hope you know I’m nothing if not willing to wait for you. Whenever you’re ready, it doesn’t matter how long. I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting for you if that’s what it takes so no pressure, alright?” 

You can’t quite stop your surprise from showing. “The rest of your life? Surely you don’t actually mean that … you’ll get so terribly sick of me!” 

“I do mean it. And I won’t, don’t worry about that.” Taking it slow, like he was dealing with a very skittish cat, he crawls the rest of the way up to join you, settling on his side rather than on top. You’re incredibly embarrassed to realize that the difference in his approach did make you feel worlds better, and you gladly let him pull you around to snuggle up into his broad chest. “Trust me, if that attitude of yours hasn’t scared me off by now then nothing will.” 

“… you’re terrible.” You murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. 

“I think I’ve heard that once or twice before. How very curious.” 

Bending his head close, he stamps a hard kiss to your forehead, and you whimper softly even as you bring your hand up to tentatively caress over his side. “Curious indeed, your grace …” 

With a soft hum of encouragement, Wriothesley takes his time kissing over your face — your cheeks, your eyelashes, your nose — while you ever so carefully run fingers over him. His body is so thick and tightly packed with muscle that you think it probably isn’t any wonder that the thought of having him on top of you, pinning you down under all that weight, scares you as much as it does. Even now when you wanted him as badly as you do. You like the way he feels under your hand though, firm and unrelenting. Almost stiflingly warm to the touch. 

You cuddle further into that oppressive body heat, seeking out his warmth with your bare skin. His palm runs over your back and your sides while you spend a quiet moment just familiarizing yourself with his body. From his thick arm across to his broad barrel chest where you pause to play with his nipple. It’s a dusty-pink, just like the head of his cock, and just meaty enough for you to get a good hold on it. He only noises a brief sound though, evidently not half as sensitive here as yours were, and you can’t help but think that that’s a bit unfair. 

Lower, you trace over his abdominals and run your fingers over each individual divot and ridge you encounter, fascinated with the build of him. As you gradually work your way further down, he slowly nudges over onto his back to give you access to his cock whenever you're ready for it, and you greedily eye it as you inch your fingers close. The hair on his groin is coarse and thick, but it feels nice under your hand. You follow it straight to the object of your focus where it’s laying across his inner thigh, twitching every so often. 

It stirs fully at your first touch though, and your cunt clenches eagerly at the sensation of that silky skin under your palm again. Gently, you get your fingers around it and pull it upward. 

“It’s heavy.” You murmur into the stillness. 

Rumbling a low sound of agreement, Wriothesley shifts against you to look down at himself as well. “It looks rather large in your dainty little hand, doesn’t it?” 

“I think it would look large no matter what …” 

“Mmm. Flattery is just going to find you seated on my face that much quicker, pretty girl.” 

“Oh, stop.” Trying very hard not to giggle, you carefully inch your way up the length of him until you reach the glans. Swiping your finger over the slit in the middle comes back sticky, and you take a moment to just feel along the smooth skin. Enjoying it, savoring it. Committing it all to memory. “Does that feel good, your grace?” 

“It does. Just like when I rub that cute pussy for you, it feels even better when you do it a bit more firmly.” He accompanies that with another kiss to your forehead, but you don’t allow him to distract you. You were starting to have a creeping suspicion why it had gotten him so worked up when you’d asked if you could put your mouth on him. 

You enjoyed when he rubbed your pussy, just as he seemed to enjoy you rubbing his cock for him, but you also now knew how much more intense the sensation of a hot tongue could be when applied directly to your clit. So then logic should only dictate … 

Gathering your courage, you slowly untangle yourself from him and sit up. Wriothesley steadily looks up at you, clearly waiting to see what you would choose to do next, so you quickly get spun around before your nerves can falter. Kneeling next to his hip now, you take him in hand again as his rough palm slides across your lower back, just holding you, and then you lean down. 

The first kitten lick across the head coats your tongue in salt, but not unpleasantly so, and he outright seethes at the sensation. Feeling emboldened, you do it again and again, mimicking the way he’d so expertly licked you in the bathroom. Eventually, though, he gives your waist a tight squeeze, and hisses as if in frustration. 

“Put your whole mouth on it, pretty girl. Don’t question it, just listen. There you go, open wide … nnghh. That feels good. You look so lovely with my cock stuffed in your mouth …” He chuckles, thin and strained when you noise a flustered little sound around the girth spreading your lips. “Are you getting embarrassed? I’d say it’s a bit late for that … look at you, taking care of me so well. Take it a little deeper. Nnghn — yes, now move your head back and forth. Just like that. You’ve got it. Oohn ...” 

The way he quietly groans, clutching your waist with an almost unexpected fervor, further bolsters your courage. It helps to dispel some of your lingering doubts, and the pangs of deep shame you felt at doing something that seemed so inherently dirty quickly dissolves into a distant afterthought. He felt good in your mouth, all warm and fleshy, and mind numbingly stiff. Velvety smooth, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, and you take a great deal of pleasure in flicking your tongue over him to familiarize yourself with it. 

Your shy, timid ministrations soon pick up over the course of the next few minutes, and Wriothesley issues a heaving grunt into the still air when you pull him in a little deeper. You can almost feel him nudging at the back of your throat now but you’re not so sure you’re ready to tempt fate like that just yet, so you keep working your lips over what you’re comfortable with while your hands explore the rest of his groin. Coarse hair tickles your knuckles when you caress along his inner thigh, marveling at the thick musculature even here as the other holds him steady at the base. 

A rumbling groan spills out of him as he brings his head back up after letting it loll back for a moment, visibly struggling with his self control now. Rather stiffly, he reaches down to crowd his hand in close to your face. “Squeeze it, sweetheart. Like this.” Those blocky fingers wrap around yours where you’re holding onto him, and then press down to make your grip tighten. 

The cock in your mouth jumps and stiffens under the pressure, somehow swelling even more in your mouth to really stuff your lips full. Whimpering low at the sensation as much as the way your pussy flutters in response, you readjust your grip on his length while he grunts and then drags his hand down a little lower. 

“You can touch here too.” He murmurs, curling his fingers around the weight of his ballsack to give it a slow, savory squeeze as well. “Just be gentle. These are sensitive.”

You wonder at that, carefully pulling off him so you can catch your breath and swivel your attention down to regard the meaty swell of flesh hanging between his legs. Taking his hand off himself, Wriothesley reaches up to tenderly cup your cheek next and you whine very softly at the potent rush of male musk that suddenly floods your nostrils. It’s not a bad smell by any stretch of the imagination but it’s noticeable, and it’s obvious, and it sparks something in your brain that makes you start to slip under alarmingly fast. Like the natural scent of his body, his genitals, was an extremely potent and effective aphrodisiac, it just seems to ratchet your own arousal up even higher to leave you feeling dizzy with it.

Shudderingly, you tip your face down and press it into the terribly soft skin, and he gives a faint jolt at the contact. You breathe him in deep, taking a moment to just kiss him there, and he quickly reaches up to close around your fist again, firmly tugging it up and down his cock now. 

“Shit! You’re such a good girl, sweetheart … you like having my cock and balls in your face like that? Huh?” 

The thin, rattling quality of his voice just rushes straight to your pussy, and you nod your head with a muffled whimper. It felt like you were suffocating in him, his taste and his smell. The body heat rolling off him in waves is almost suffocating. You were beyond intoxicated and punchdrunk on it, all of it, so lost you barely even realize you’re doing it when you start to mouth at his balls and gently suck on them. 

“Oohhn, little miss … you don’t even have any idea what you’re doing to me right now. Come here. Lay out next to me.” 

He drags the hand resting across your back further down, over the curve of your ass to hook around the pudge of your inner thigh. Gentle yet insistent, he nudges you until you have no choice but to come up off his ballsack with a haggard gasp. Panting, you tremblingly let him tug your lower half towards him until you find yourself splayed out half on top of his body, your front resting along his strong hips while one leg comes up to curl over his chest. You aren’t quite brave enough to fully straddle him just yet but he doesn’t seem to mind, rough fingers finding the seam in your body and spreading your cunt open for him. 

“God, this is the prettiest pussy. You look tight enough to pinch my cock right off.” Squeaking at that, you start to turn to fix him with an incredulous look, but you don’t quite make it that far. His hand abruptly retreats only to swat across the meat of your ass, making you jolt. “You were asking me for a spanking earlier, weren’t you? Still want it?” 

You waver on top of him, clutching his pulsing cock in a death grip. “Yes, sir, I want it …” 

“Good. Then keep sucking my cock and I’ll spank you as much as you want.” Swat! “Just watch your teeth, okay pretty girl?” 

Noising a wordless sound of understanding, you dip your face down to take him into your mouth again. The next slap across your quickly tingling ass almost has your eyes rolling back in your head as you moan around the thick length stretching your lips wide. You can tell he’s not putting much intent behind the rhythmic smacks, one cheek and then the other, back and forth to leave your bottom turning red, but even that is enough to make you lose yourself even more in the statically charged daze. 

Even knowing he’s looking directly at your body completely unheeded doesn’t do much to curb your arousal, and you seem to forget all of your timid uncertainty as you start bobbing your head in earnest. Up and down, up and down — the motion is a bit stilted in this position, bordering on awkward, but Wriothesley groans appreciatively anyway, his toes visibly flexing down by the edge of the bed. It just further spurns you on, sending you on a soaring high you hadn’t expected to feel doing this sort of thing. Eagerly, you reach down to fondle his balls with your free hand, making him subtly twitch in response. 

Swat! 

“Oohn, pretty girl … your mouth feels so good on me like that. You’re doing such a good job.” 

Swat! 

“Do you like having your butt spanked while you suck my cock?”

Groaning, you jerk your head in a flustered nod, squeaking out a faint, “Mhm!” 

“I should have known,” He laughs, strained and very close to being breathless. “You’re such a sweet little masochist, and I can tell how much you’re getting off on this. Your cute pussy looks so soft and juicy right now … just begging to get stuffed full.” 

You shudder so violently you very nearly vibrate right off him, but another slap across your ass promptly grounds you. Dazedly swaying, you work your mouth over him a little quicker. A bit more urgently. 

“That’s it, little miss. Keep sucking me off. You’re well on your way to earning a nice reward for yourself after this … nnghn — you’re so good for me. Gonna’ make me cum soon … how do you want it, sweetheart? I can cum on those lovely tits if you want, or …” A deeply ruffled sound rises in him, catching you off guard. “Or I can cum straight into that warm little mouth of yours. How would you like that, hm? Wanna’ be a good girl and swallow my load for me?”  

The tremor that tears through you has you lurching on top of him, frantically noising around him. You’re not even quite sure what it is you’re experiencing at the moment, everything so intense and strong, and overwhelming that you don’t know what to make of any of it. You can’t even think straight, but he just shifts underneath you with another low chuckle. 

“Gods, you really are perfect. I’m going to hold your head for a moment but don’t worry, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.” 

You believed him, implicitly, and all you do is softly whimper when he reaches down to palm the back of your skull. The frantic energy shooting off inside you feels like it’s reaching fever pitch as he directs your face a pinch lower, centering you over top of him, and then — his hips suddenly nudge up, pressing his cock deep before stiltedly retracting. You can’t help the soft squeal that bursts out of you, muffled around his girth, and your eyes quickly flutter closed when he does it again, settling into a stiffly restrained pace that has him gliding back and forth across your tongue. 

Wriothesley moans, very quietly, while he holds your head in place so he can fuck up into your mouth at that tortuous speed. His other hand curls over your ass and delivers a distracted smack to the swell of it before latching on in a tight grip, squeezing hard enough to leave behind bruises as he pulls you open again. You know he’s looking directly at your cunt now, staring at it while he thrusts towards the back of your throat, and you don’t even care. You’re so hot, so needy for relief from this dizzying level of arousal, that you simply take as much of him as he’s willing to give you at any one time. 

Was this — was this what it would feel like to have him moving between your legs? 

“Oohhn, I’m getting close, my lovely girl … ready for your first real taste of me? Gonna’ swallow it down, nice and good … nghnn, it’s coming, sweetheart, get ready. Right there. Yeah. That’s — shit, I’m cumming! Here it comes …”

Groaning feverishly, Wriothesley’s hips falter and quake as he jerks himself up into your mouth with fast growing urgency. The rhythm he’d settled into falters and then breaks down completely, and he just judders for a desperate heartbeat before going still with his cock stuffed back against the root of your tongue. Your eyes widen slightly when you feel him give a powerful pulse of clenching muscle, and then a hot, cloying clump of something thick shoots out of him to coat the roof of your mouth. Trembling almost violently, you noise a faint sound of surprise, not having expected such a sudden burst of potent, bitter salt on your tastebuds, but it just keeps coming. Spurt after heavy spurt floods your mouth until you have no choice but to choke it down. You’re vaguely aware of some escaping the seal of your raw lips to dribble down the side of his length, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care about that right now. 

Throat clenching tightly, you give a weak cough around him as he gradually starts to relax under you, the tension in his frame bleeding away in the time it takes you to blink. Heaving a breathy, sensitive groan, he gingerly starts to ease his cock back, and you gratefully suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air. 

“Was that … to your liking, your grace?” You finally manage to croak out with no shortage of effort some moments later. 

“I loved it, little miss. You did very well, in fact.” His voice is warm with satiated pleasure, and he slides his hand down off your head to give the back of your neck an approving squeeze. “You’ve been so sweet for me all evening. I’m very proud of you for being such a brave girl tonight.” 

A pleased tremor works through you as you carefully sit up so you can turn around, unable to keep the smile off your face now when he opens up his arms for you. You don’t even hesitate to lay out across his chest with your face pressed into the hollow of his neck, snuggling deep to get comfortable. Humming a soft sound of approval, Wriothesley tightly wraps his burly arms around you so he can half lift, half drag you further on top of him until you’re stretched out across his body. 

It felt good, laying out on top of him like this in the afterglow … 

“Thank you, sir,” You murmur into his skin, still flushed and warm with the lingering traces of his arousal. “I’m very glad that I was able to spend such a wonderful evening with you, and — I'm also happy that I could make you feel good, too.”

“I feel fantastic. Better than good, actually.” He assures you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I know you’re still nervous about fully giving yourself over to me, and that’s okay. I’m perfectly satisfied just like this. We can take it as slow as you want.” 

Whimpering softly when a rush of emotion floods into your chest, you quickly bury your face a little further into his neck to hide it. Wriothesley was so sweet to you … did you really even deserve this? It was overwhelming and scary, and indescribably unexpected in the worst possible way, but … that was okay, wasn’t it? 

Evidently picking up on the tension making your slighter frame stiffen against him, he starts rubbing those big, callused hands over your back in comforting circles. “What is it, pretty girl? You don’t seem quite so happy anymore. Did I say something wrong again?” 

You give a thick laugh, struggling to keep the tears suddenly stinging your eyes at bay. “No, it’s not that …” 

“Then what’s the matter? You can tell me anything.” A soft kiss to your shoulder assures you of that, and you force yourself to draw a steadying breath. He’d taught you how to be honest, both with yourself and with him, so you don’t struggle with it nearly as much as you would have at one time. 

“You just make me feel like such a mess inside. I don’t really know what to do with myself right now but … I'm sure I am happy. I’m also a bit scared and confused though. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

He draws an even breath that makes his chest rise and fall underneath you, lifting you slightly. “I’d wager that’s pretty normal, considering how many boundaries we’ve crossed tonight. Fear of the new and unknown isn’t so strange, but … I think I might have something in mind that just might help you relax a bit.” 

You shift against him, undeniably curious. “What is it?” 

“We can discuss that later. Tomorrow.” Sighing, Wriothesley gathers you up tighter to his chest, just holding you like that. “Unfortunately even if I wanted to continue right now, I’m afraid it’s going to take me a while to recover from what we’ve already done. Unlike you, I can’t bounce back from everything quite as fast.” 

He accompanies this with a taunting little pinch to your waist, making you squirm and press your face tighter into his neck. 

“Besides, you’ve already had a long day, pretty girl … you should get some rest.”

“You’ll stay?” 

“I promise I’m not going anywhere.” A hard kiss pressed into the crown of your head. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wriothesley keeps his word, and you do indeed wake up the next morning in a tangle of limbs to the steady rise and fall of his broad barrel chest under your cheek. The morning light drifting in through the sheer curtains on the window casts a glow across him, and you spend what feels like a lifetime just watching the handsome duke sleep. 

He was still strange and confusing, and undeniably frustrating at times, but … he was also sweet, and infinitely patient with you. Even for as hard and blistering the sting of his hand could be, it was also capable of the softest touch. The fingers curled possessively around your hip, loosely clutching the meat of your leg in his slumber, feels like an anchoring lifeline and you think you really might love him. 

The thought of that isn’t half as scary as you would have at one time thought it to be. Just last night you probably would have thrown up your defensive walls and gone running from him in hysterics but waking up to him in your bed like this somehow reframes things. Makes it all look so much more soft and faint around the edges like a blissful dream. It’s not frightening here, in the still morning air, and you soon realize with a resoundingly warm thrum that you would have liked to stay with him, just like this, forever. 

Unfortunately the world stops for no one, regardless of how peaceful and happy they might be, and you eventually bring yourself to carefully untangle from him so you can crawl out of bed without disturbing him. You were going to surprise him with homemade crepes for breakfast.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #self insert bullshit

[frozenjokes]

Rage Room (I’m Loving A Losing Battle, But I Can’t Quite Seem To Let Go)

in which aromantic scar finally tells his friends what’s been happening between him and Grian, and how he processes the space between them

“It’s just- not fair!” Scar smashed the bottle against the tile floor, the glass pelting the ankles of his reinforced pants.

Bdubs clapped behind him, though stopped when Scar turned around, visibly not in the mood. Admittedly he knew he was shooting low when he went on, but Scar didn’t care, “And I’m kind of pissed off about Etho! If the roles were switched, I would be there, and he said he’d be here last time he missed.”

“Oi,” Cleo cut in, about as unamused as Scar figured they’d be. “No friendly fire.”

“Is it really friendly fire if he’s not here.” Scar huffed, but Cleo knew better than to take his words at face value, and shut him up with a firm glare.

“And you better start talking before I make you pay for all of this.” Her words were rugged, but Scar knew she didn’t mean it, and he could take as much time as he needed. But really, if he was taking shots at Bdubs, he probably should cut to the chase. This was why they were here. This was why they had all made this pact in the first place.

“Grian is.” Scar started, stilted, “Sorry, Bdubs. I shouldn’t have said that. Grian won’t talk to me anymore. He doesn’t- want to talk to me.”

“What?” Bdubs said, eyes flying open, and yeah, no one here was really caught up with his whole.. situation. Anything that felt close to Mumbo he tended to avoid, and basically everything about Grian in the past weeks was Mumbo adjacent.. and also a little sensitive. Not something he was eager to talk about. Scar was more than a little pent up, and based on the expressions of concern across Cleo and Bdubs’ faces, it must have been pretty obvious. “Weren’t you guys hanging out nearly everyday for- I don’t know, it’s been a month at least, right? Did something happen? Hasn’t Grian been driving you around everywhere, too? You’ve sure been asking me a lot less.”

“Yeah. We were.” Scar spoke stiffly, picking up another empty bottle and spinning it in his hands. He chucked it at the wall, aiming at the newly set up targets Cleo had implemented a couple weeks ago. A good choice. Fit with the theme of the axe throwing/rage room combo. The bottle shattered near the bullseye, unsurprising, given their whole friend group had pretty tight aim. Still satisfying. “Until he went and fell in love with me.”

The memories burned like open wounds, like red, angry flesh, like sunburns on your eyelids, like the stinging smell of bleach. Cleo said something, some sort of assent, but Scar didn’t hear it, smashing two more bottles for release, though he didn’t feel any less like his ribs had been torn from his chest, hanging limply on hooks, dripping on his face from his place on the cold ground, bleeding out, dying, but never quickly enough.

“I don’t like labels, alright, you all know this, but Grian says aromantic, and that works for now, because I don’t love him like he loves me and that’s fine. That’s fine! That. Is. Fine.” Scar took a bat, needing something bigger, needing more release, and the old TV would work just fine, “And you know how I feel about dating. I like it. I like to get to know strangers, I like to feel things out, and I like to be close! But you know who I don’t like to date?” The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Scar swung his bat, splitting the TV screen with a satisfying crack. “Friends. Good friends. Friends that mean a lot, friends that I can’t afford to lose when everything goes to shit.”

Scar hit the TV a couple more times, physically battling away distress, “I was so afraid when he brought it up- dating. I was so afraid. I couldn’t just date Grian, because it would end and I would lose him and maybe he’d say we could still be friends and I would say yes! Yes, please, please can we still be friends, and he would say that’s okay, and then two weeks later he’d slam me with a message about ‘needing space’ and ‘not wanting to talk for a while’ and suddenly, suddenly my heart’s being ripped out of my chest and stomped on, but it would be fine, right? It would be fine, because after he’s taken his time, we could be friends again, and things could return to normal. No!” The TV was hardly satisfying to hit anymore, reduced to shattered glass and warped plastic under Scar’s assault.

“It never just. Goes back to normal. You try, and you try and you try, but they just can’t do it, they just can’t love you anymore, and suddenly your best friend is slipping away and there’s fucking nothing you can do about it. Because you dated them. Because you took things ‘to the next level,’ because you made something volatile without even knowing, and the next thing you know, it’s blown up in your face, and you’ve been completely blindsided again.” Scar’s arms shook, and gently, from behind, Cleo laid a hand on his shoulder, sliding down his arm to take the bat he was gripping so tightly. Scar let go when they touched his hands, but his teeth remained locked, grinding near painfully.

“Deep breaths, Scar. Breathe with me. Let me count for you,” and Cleo did, counting to five and back again, forcing Scar to take a step back. Scar wasn’t someone who particularly valued meditation or breathing; it was often too difficult to focus, especially alone, and he was easily frustrated knowing how he should be feeling, but Cleo had a way of grounding him, and when Bdubs was doing the same exercises at his side, Scar didn’t feel so stupid. And it did help. Fives minutes to breathe really did wonders sometimes; it was a shame Scar couldn’t quite manage to utilize the tool as effectively when he was alone. Not that he ever remembered to try.

And now it was quiet, and Scar was so vulnerable, and there was no more anger to hide behind, because it was all just sadness, stiff and aching so impossibly deep.

“I thought if we didn’t.. date.. I thought things could just be normal. That nothing would change. But every awful thing just got expedited- he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t want to talk to me- he needs space, he said he needed space, but I know what that means now.” Scar had to sit down, and Bdubs joined him, Cleo standing close by. “I feel so helpless. And it didn’t even matter. I just wish I knew so badly, so I could have said yes, so at least we might have had a chance before it all went to shit. I could keep my friend a little bit longer. I wish I understood how he felt. I wish I felt what he felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard.” Scar let his head drop to his hands, voice muffled under his palms, “I just kinda hate myself sometimes.”

Cleo put a hand on his shoulder, a question of touch, and one that Scar accepted with closed eyes. “It would still be hard, Scar. I can promise you that. If this isn’t what you want to hear right now, then you can let me know, but I have to think Grian and your other exes of the past who you haven’t kept in contact with were and are just as torn up as you. Maybe they need to let go for themselves, but I can tell you from personal experience, that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make you miss them any less.”

“But when people leave me, it’s always because in some way, their lives would be better without me,” Scar felt like wailing, but in reality, his speech was far more soft, “And my life is always worse. It’s always worse. Like I’m just a plague on my friends, and I have no idea how to fix myself to keep this from happening.”

Bdubs squeezed his hand to get his attention, and Scar knew what was coming, he just couldn’t love himself right now.

“There’s nothing to fix, Scar. You’re one of the most delightful people I know, and I mean that. The way you navigate the world is inspiring.”

“Just doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Cleo said, something faraway about the words, “You just should know, that’s all. How we feel.”

“I just wish I was normal.”

“I don’t,” Bdubs snorted, something so passionately reactionary, Cleo laughed, and Bdubs himself looked a bit surprised by his own words, then a tad embarrassed, “I mean, come on. You’re a complete monster, and I love it. I love how comfortable you are about touch, I love how physical you are, and I love how normal you make it feel. Sometimes I want to fall asleep on my friends’ shoulder, or hold hands, or just be held, you know? And no one does it like you, Scar, no one. I think everyone ought to take a couple pages from your book.”

Scar wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but it wasn’t the type of thing you argued about. You just had to accept it. In all honesty, having people to love him when he couldn’t manage it himself felt indescribably secure. Like a heated blanket wrapped tightly over his shoulders when he was so, so cold. But he couldn’t acknowledge it either, not when he couldn’t breathe the words. So he let it hang, hoping he’d remember to say something later. He knew he would. For now, Scar dodged around the words, stuck in his own raw truth.

“I don’t want to go through this again.”

“I know,” Cleo kept their hand on his shoulder, and Scar wanted to cry.

“And I- Okay, so I can’t really talk about this.. NDAs and such, but I was working on something with someone- something cool, all three of us, Grian included. And at the same time Grian.. cut contact.. I haven’t been able to reach this other uh- colleague, and I don’t know what happened! I don’t know anything, and I have no way of contacting this other guy, and Grian doesn’t know either, and I was so excited, but it just feels like everything is falling apart around me. And- and don’t be mean about the other guy, please, it’s not his fault.” Cleo looked quite skeptical about that, but a pleading look from Scar was enough to get her to leave well enough alone, “I just wish I knew why. Or if he was coming back. Might not have been able to communicate that anyway though, there’s a bit of a language barrier.”

“Can’t use google translate?” Bdubs asked, and Scar couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped his throat.

“Hadn’t thought of that,” he mumbled, which was enough to get Bdubs to let it go. Cleo didn’t look happy, but she didn’t push either.

“That fucking sucks,” she said instead, and Scar laughed in earnest, along with Bdubs, the entire air feeling just a little bit lighter.

“It does,” Scar sighed, resting a cheek on his fist, “Guess I have to find something new to throw myself into. I just really wanted this. I really wanted this.”

There was a long silence, Scar having nothing else to say, and his friends in a similar boat. There wasn’t much to say. They knew. Scar knew they understood. But there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing that could make this any less horrible. But Bdubs did perk up after a minute, catching Scar and Cleo’s attention

“We could go skiing!” Bdubs suggested, to a chorus of groans from Scar and Cleo. Bdubs huffed, affronted as he crossed his arms, “You two need to live a little. Even if you suck, you’re both exhausted by the end of the day, which would do Scar some good in my opinion, and I know you’d be able to take the time off for an impromptu trip.”

“I don’t even think you like skiing,” Cleo rolled their eyes, a laugh under her voice, “You went on one trail ride in those mountains and it changed your life, that’s what. There are no wild horses out there, Bdubs, the guide lied to you.”

“She did not lie! There are horses, and they’re going to see me and know.”

“Know.. what, exactly?” Scar teased, and Bdubs puffed up, as if this was the most blasphemous question Scar could have asked.

“They will just know. And anyway, Etho believes there’s horses out there too, he does, and he wants to see them just as much.”

“Pretty sure Etho is also fucking with you,” Cleo said, smug, and Bdubs gasped.

“Never!” But something stopped him from ranting on; a short pause, a bit of uncertainty. A guilty glance in Scar’s direction. “I’m really sorry he’s not here. I told him- I don’t know. He said something came up last minute and wouldn’t explain. I’m not happy with him either- quite frankly, I’m embarrassed.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Scar rubbed his neck, frowning, “It doesn’t really bother me much, Bdubs. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“It’s fine if it bothers you! It bothers me! And you’re right, he’s not here, so I think a little friendly fire is well deserved,” Bdubs paused, eying one of the few bottles that were left, “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Bdubs snatched at a bottle, flipping it in his hand, nearly dropping it trying to look cool, then whipping it at the target across the room, the entire thing smashing right on the bullseye.

“Oh, score!” Scar smiled, and Bdubs pumped his fist.

“Yes! You know, I already feel better. This is great, Cleo, have I told you this is great?”

Cleo looked pleased, exactly the cat who got the cream, “You have. And I know. So how about you boys throw back a couple beers to replace these bottles, and we do a little axe throwing.”

“Are you paying?” Scar asked, hopeful, innocent, but Cleo snorted, shaking her head.

“Uh, no. Don’t let that hold you back, though.”

“Oh, come on,” Bdubs whined, but not without his signature grin, “What’s the point of free rage room therapy hour if it’s not all free?”

“I’m not going to make you pay for the axe throwing either, and that is not included in our little deal, so the least you can do is drink.”

“You can’t make us pay to axe throw with you because we all know you’re going to whoop our asses,” Scar shot back in fake accusation, but Cleo shrugged, a crooked smile across her lips.

“You have fun.”

“I do,” Bdubs assented, earning a sharp jab from Scar’s elbow.

“We don’t! Unless you buy us each a beer, then we do.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Okay fine,” Scar sighed, fully intending on a large tip regardless, since despite her sharp tongue, Cleo would still refuse any sort of compensation for an outing like this, “But you also have to drink.”

Cleo scoffed, the smile never leaving their face. “Who do you think I am?”

***

It was fun. Of course it was fun. Scar lost pretty miserably in nearly every round, though that could be accurately attributed to the fact he was more than a little tipsy, and Bdubs, always spying an opportunity to get an edge, took full advantage. Though, to his credit, Bdubs was having a great day in general, overtaking Cleo in score multiple times, and even winning one or two games. A feat, even against an inebriated Cleo, which, in all honesty, was pretty much the only way Scar or Bdubs could ever surpass her. Etho.. It was safe to say Etho had little talent for the sport. Didn’t matter how much instruction he got, he was nothing short of miserable every time all four of them got together to play. Actually, out of the four of them, Etho was probably the only person who improved when he was drunk, which was always hilarious to see. You’ve never seen a fire lit under someone’s ass like you did when Etho managed to squeak ahead of Bdubs or Scar, the cackling of Cleo only furthering their panic.

Scar did wish Etho was here. He wished he wasn’t so flakey sometimes.

Regardless, when they were done, Bdubs was only two steps away from sober and plenty able to drive. Scar was relieved to have to ride, and even more so that he hadn’t brought his own car in the first place. It was a nice drive home, anything but quiet, and really, just what Scar needed. The less time he spent alone with his own thoughts, the better. Though, after such a nice evening, tonight was going to be a little easier.

Thanking Bdubs for the ride, Scar stepped out onto the cobblestones once they reached his apartment, taking a deep breath before going inside. It was okay. He was going to be okay.

But there was one little habit he had developed, a little something he couldn’t quite shake despite knowing it wasn’t doing him many favors. It had only been a week since Mumbo had disappeared, but Scar refused to miss it if the mermaid ever did return- he couldn’t, even if Grian wouldn’t be in the picture anymore. This still meant something. Scar wasn’t about to give it up so easily.

The trail cams were still open on his monitors when he sat at his desk. Of course they were. Scar never closed them.

So there he sat, chin in his hands, eyes glazed as he watched every angle of that little cove. The trees, waving gently in the breeze. The sand, shifting ever so slightly in the presence of bugs and crabs. But mostly he watched the water. Scar never stopped watching the water.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #hermitshipping #grian #mumbo jumbo #bdubs #bdouble0 #bdoubleo100 #mumbomaid au #zombiecleo #etho #ethoslab

[thatcrazypercyjacksonfan]

Now, I’m not sure if anyone in the TOA fandom has ever mentioned “Tongs A Lot, Dad”, a short story found in Camp Half-Blood confidential, but I strongly believe it adds (or perhaps reinforces) a lot when looked at with the additional context and characterisation the Trials of Apollo provides. 

An almost diary entry like addition in the short book, the story is told by Connor Stoll, following him and his brother as they poke around the old attic where the Oracle of Delphi remained for decades in the interest of scoring loot. At this they are semi successful, as they are made almost ridiculously vital to the canon plot of HoO with the find of celestial bronze tongs, which are inscribed with the instructions “for plucking the Tartarus Napkin from fire”. And if you are reading this post, you probably have a pretty good idea of why that’s important.

Now, what does this have to do with Apollo? Well, I find it highly probable that this was Apollo’s doing, for multiple reasons. 

1. The tongs were found in the oracle of Delphi's old abode, which is obviously Apollo’s domain, a place you would think he’d be very familiar with- the original place of the Oracle of Delphi was sacred ground, in fact, and even if that doesn’t quite translate to modern day... there is that theory about him being Camp Half Bloods Patron, pioneered by @tsarisfanfiction, I believe. Whatever hold the ancient laws have on the gods, I think we can somewhat assume that places such as these allow more wriggle room. 

 2. This notably happened basically simultaneously with Rachel becoming the Oracle, as seen here, “While everyone else was waiting to see if Rachel, the new Oracle, would survive....we made our move around to the back door of the Big House.” At this point, we’ve just wrapped up PJO. How would Apollo of known to set this up now? Well, we already know from Octavian in SoN that Apollo talked to him personally, and that their talk must of happened before Olympus closed, because he was stuck on Delos after. So if Apollo can put that into play, why not set up this? After all, Apollo is the god of prophecy - he could of understood it was needed. He obviously knew there was a threat. 

3. In the books (before ToA) we only see Apollo in Camp Half Blood twice- once to take Percy’s group and the hunters there in TTC, and once at the end of PJO to, as Conner so delightfully puts it, wait to see if Rachel would survive the Oracle. He was right there. And if that’s not enough for you, the reason Conner picks out the bag with the tongs? A “beam of golden light, shot upward from the floor” startles him. We find out later in another story that Apollo is directly confirmed to have been the one to do this- gifting Rachel the famous tripod stool of the Oracle. It fits almost to well.

“But!” You might say, protesting, “The title confirms who did it! I mean, it’s not like Apollo is Connor Stoll’s dad!” And to that I say- although the title does suggest that Hermes is responsible, it’s never confirmed, and more importantly- it’s in Connor’s POV. Why shouldn’t he assume it’s his dad? And why would he know otherwise? Perhaps you could make another connection with Hermes due to his shrine in Tartarus and point at that as his involvement, but wouldn’t it make more sense if Apollo knew it was a Child of Hermes who had to have the tongs, and acted accordingly? Afterall, last we saw Hermes he had a significant grudge against Annabeth, and more importantly has done nothing to suggest he’s capable of such foresight, especially at this point.

Now that I have (hopefully) convinced you of Apollo’s involvement, another titular question must be answered- why does it matter? What’s the ramifications of this? Well, considering that this napkin basically ends the civil war between the Greeks and the Romans... a lot, actually. Specifically, it allows Annabeth to communicate that reconciliation can be reached if Reyna, a Roman, returns the Athena Parthenos, an important Greek statue to the Greeks. (Also interesting to note she addresses this to Rachel, Apollo’s Oracle... another subtle connection). 

In ToA, Zeus punishes Apollo mainly for two stated reasons: Revealing the Prophecy to soon, which becomes pretty clear is not how prophecy works. And encouraging Octavian to declare war on the Greeks. But wait? If the Napkin succeeds due to Apollo, that means that he is trying to stop the war, which in my opinion follows more along with his characterisation in ToA. So what happened with Octavian? The fact of the matter is, people more clever then me have attempted to solve this question, such as @zazzander and @fearlessinger (Highly recommend this post if you are interested in the topic!) 

The tongs (and thus the potential for the Napkin) was put into place months before any true threat would be realised by most characters. So it wasn’t a frantic backpedal of trying to fix his mistakes to avoid punishment by Apollo. It was deliberate. Premeditated. Now, it could be that Apollo just knew the tongs would be needed, but not what for. Unfortunately, we don’t know how his powers work. But that’s boring. However, if you take the view that Apollo’s communication with Octavian was part of a larger strategy to reunite the camps... (again, see the linked post). Well. Funny thing, because that’s exactly what the Napkin facilitates. The two camps stop fighting because of this one, simple message, and the effect it had. They focus on the true enemy. Gaia.

What does this tell us then about Apollo, then?

Well...not much new, surprisingly. ToA does it’s job well. We know Apollo cares, deeply, about his kids and demigods as a whole. We know he often acts subtly, through quiet actions that he’ll never admit to. It’s maybe the final piece of evidence you could point to and say definitively that Zeus’s punishment was unjust, but we already knew that (although funnily enough, Zeus doesn’t- and even if he did, he’d probably just point to the violation of the interference laws and punish Apollo anyway.) What it does is add on to a very firm characterisation that ToA finalises, and showcases how once again Apollo is so much more then he first appears. 

#Did I focus way to much on a story of dubious canon? #Yes #Do I regret it? #No #Apollo meta #Apollo #ToA Apollo #Pjo Apollo #PJO #TOA #Trials of Apollo #lester papadopoulos #I have been meaning to do this for ages #I just think it's a really neat detail... but it just kept getting longer #Oh well #this meta is just me being insane for #roughly 1k words erbherf

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter xiv - gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 3,200+

Warnings: spoilers for entire ACOTAR series

masterlist

“Well done, Y/N.” Cassian complimented when Y/N disarmed one of her fellow Valkyrie. 

Both Illyrians were not ones to coddle them. And therefore, compliments were rare. They were tough, but fair, when it came to their training. Y/N appreciated it. But she had also once overheard Nesta late at night snapping at her mate that women wanted more positive reinforcement. 

“Even an Illyrian should fear fighting you,” Cassian added for good measure. 

Y/N beamed at the compliment. After months and months of training with the Valkyries, she didn’t just feel like she could defend herself, she felt like a warrior. 

“Shall we put that to the test?” Nesta suddenly chimed in. 

Both Cassian and Y/N whipped around to look at Nesta to find her arms crossed, her hip popped and a mischievous smile on her lips. 

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked. 

“Gwyn, Emerie, and I have held our own against Illyrians in the Blood Rite. Why shouldn’t Y/N have an opportunity?”

“So you wish to send Y/N to the Blood Rite?” Cassian teased. 

Nest scoffed, “Of course not.” Then she turned to Azriel, who stood at the other end of training ring, working on archery with another group of females. “I propose a contest between Y/N and Azriel.” 

“What about me?” Cassian cried out, as if he were offended that his mate didn’t wish to see him spar with her friend. 

Y/N frowned as she followed everyone’s gaze to Azriel. 

It had been two weeks since he’d tried to apologize to her for forgetting about her to sneak around with Elain. And Y/N hadn’t spoken to him since. Whenever the two were in the same room, Azriel sometimes let an expression of guilt escape. But perhaps only Y/N caught it. 

“Hey, Az!” Gwyn called to the other side. 

The Illyrian’s gaze immediately answered her call. 

“We need you over here,” she continued with an amused tone.

Azriel’s posture was tight as he walked over to them, taking in all of their gazes tracking his movement. 

“Y/N needs a new sparring partner,” Nesta gave, trying to stop herself from glaring at Azriel while speaking to him. “She’s already caught onto Cassian’s fighting patterns. Their sparring is too predictable.”

That was a lie – and everyone knew it. There was no way Y/N would ever be able to fully predict Cassian in battle. He was the Lord of Bloodshed for Cauldron’s sake! She would be lucky to hold her own in an actual fight with him. 

But Y/N knew what Nesta was playing at.

They all did.

Especially Azriel. 

Nesta wanted Y/N to have a moment of catharsis. But really, it was probably revenge Nesta wanted for her. 

Azriel turned away from Nesta to meet Y/N's eyes, silently asking her if this was what she wanted. 

“Scared of me?” Y/N asked, refusing to back down. 

Azriel gave a shy grin, hoping the joke meant perhaps she didn’t hate him. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” Y/N requested. But really she was warning him that she had no intention of doing so either. 

Nesta stepped forward suddenly. “But let’s make it more interesting,” she quickly added. “Why not let both of you use your…other abilities?” 

“Nesta…” Cassian warned quietly.

Clearly, he thought this was no longer a good idea. 

But his mate ignored him and continued with, “Y/N can use her witchcraft. Azriel can use his siphons and shadows.”

Just as Azriel opened his mouth to argue against the idea, Y/N responded with a firm, “Deal.” 

When he looked at her, Y/N gave him a look that dared him to try to talk her out of it. 

Azriel eventually sighed, and gave a desolate nod of agreement. 

“The first to make the other yield wins,” Nesta announced. 

Cassian reached for the wooden practice swords. 

“Hand-to-hand combat,” Nesta called out, stopping her mates movements. 

The rest of the trainees gathered around the sparring circle, buzzing with excitement. 

By now, all of the Valkyries knew that Y/N wasn’t fully mortal. They were careful about using the word ‘witch’ in her presence, still unlearning that not all of them were evil, power-hungry women who drank the blood of the innocents. But they were also curious about Y/N’s powers. After all, she kept them to herself during training, convinced showing any of her magic would scare her new friends and sisters. 

Azriel’s siphons flared blue, almost in warning. 

Y/N smirked. 

Azriel expected her to be timid with her first attack. Which is exactly why Y/N struck immediately, catching him off guard. 

He blocked her punch with the two siphons on his wrist as he crossed his forearms into an X formation. 

Then with a surge of power, a blue wave shoutout and knocked Y/N back with the force. She smiled at the attack, glad that he wasn’t going to treat her like she was weak and made entirely of glass. 

Before she could counter attack, Azriel’s shadows hid him from view. 

Instead of panicking, Y/N calmly closed her eyes and listened. The wind whispered to her, warning her of his next attack and from where. 

Just as Azriel appeared behind her in a blind spot, she whipped around with a hard kick that forced Azriel to his knees with a look of surprise. 

Their sparring continued with limited use of their powers. With every few moves, April’s siphons would shield him from a hit. And in return, a gust of wind would make Azriel stumble back before he could strike Y/N. 

The Valkyries were shocked at how well Y/N was holding her own when she was able to use her magic. It was as if she had been training with an arm tied behind her back until now. 

But then their moves were getting quicker and harsher. Tension and anticipation filled the training ring. 

The Valkyries could see how Y/N grew more and more frustrated. But it was more than that. She was taking out every single emotion she’d been locking away. 

She was kidnapped while just trying to travel and survive on the road alone. They planned on selling her to the evilest of faes, ones who were willing to break ancient laws of buying and selling mortals. She risked her life to free herself, as well as the women and children who had been captured alongside her. And then a stranger found her at her most vulnerable and brought her to a fae court she never even knew existed. She was always surrounded by people – whether it were her new friends or customers. Yet she was the only mortal or witch here. Then she was stupid enough to feel like she cared for one of them more than a friend. And for a moment she was even more stupid to allow herself to believe the feelings might be returned. 

Her emotions took over her mind. 

Azriel struggled to catch his breath all of the sudden. His body felt weak, almost lethargic. Had Y/N cast some sort of spell on his body? 

Resentful. Y/N hooked a punch into Azriel’s side. 

Embarrassed. She blocked a kick. 

Lonely. She used her momentum to send her own kick to weak spot behind his right knee, making Azriel groan in pain. 

Different. She used his pain against him and swiped out his feet from underneath him entirely. 

Confused. She managed to land a punch across Azriel’s face. 

Everyone around them gasped at the hit, both from surprise and from worry at their stoic trainer taking such a hit. 

Lost.

Suddenly something took over Y/N. She wasn’t in control. She raised her arm back to land a final blow.

But suddenly lightning struck the ground, just inches from Azriel’s face as he lay on his back. 

“Y/N!”

The screaming of her name finally snapped her out of it. She blinked and looked up to see all the Valkyries watching her with shock. Not fear. No. They knew better than to fear her. 

Y/N looked down to see that she was kneeling over Azriel, with her fist still held back about to hit him. His nose was crooked and there was blood all over his face. 

To her surprise, Azriel also wasn’t looking at her with fear. No, it was so much worse. Azriel was looking at her as if he didn’t know her at all. 

Y/N’s breathing was quick and shaken as she looked at the burn mark just inches from his face, where lightning struck and could’ve killed him. 

She shot to her feet and backed away from Azriel as if her proximity alone would kill him. 

“I-I-I-'m sorry!” Y/N blurted out before she ducked her head and practically sprinted out of the stairwell. 

Cassian watched her flee and then turned to Nesta with a raised brow, as if he were silently asking her, ‘Are you proud of herself?’

The wild part was that she was. Nesta had a smug smirk on her lips. 

Meanwhile, Gwyn had rushed forward to offer a hand and help Azriel up. He didn’t need it, but he still gave her a small nod of thanks as he got to his feet. 

“I think your nose may be broken,” Gwyn pointed out with a wince. 

He nodded, already knowing based on the feeling of it. “I can align it after training.”

“You are all released for the day,” Cassian called out to the group. 

All the females started murmuring amongst each other at what they’d just seen as they started to depart:

“I knew she must be gifted, but I never expected that.”

“She could’ve killed him. Azriel! The High Lord’s Spymaster!” 

“It was astounding! Remember when she first started training?”

“What is the matter with all of you? She almost killed him! With lightning!” 

Nesta turned to her mate to find him already giving her a disappointment glare with his arms crossed. 

“I regret nothing,” she told him with a proud tilt of her head. 

“Of course you don't,” Cassian grumbled in return. 

Nesta added, “He deserved it and you know it.”

Cassian sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Perhaps he did. But I let it go too far.” He shook his head. “Y/N’s powers may be stronger than she ever realized. And it was just made very clear that she does not have full control over them.” 

“All of you trained Feyre on how to use her powers,” Nesta pointed out. “What makes you think we can’t train Y/N as well?”

“Because she is not fae, Nesta!” Cassian argued with frustration. “She is a witch. Her powers…they are not the same magic of Rhys or Feyre. Can’t you feel it?” 

Nesta was unperturbed and narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “Are you scared?”

Cassian sighed once again. “No. I simply believe we should avoid facing Y/N off with someone who has wronged her – at least until she has full control over abilities.”

Nesta nodded as if she’d won some half argument. 

“Don’t wait up for me tonight. I’ve decided all the Valkyries should finally be invited over for a proper sleepover. Think of how excited the House will be.” 

And with that, Nesta hurried to catch up with the others. Leaving Cassian to watch his mate get excited with the thought of female bonding time. He was sure he’d be kept up with the sounds of their giggles. Or even better, Nesta will get giddy with drink and wake him up, seeking a different kind of fun. 

—🍁—🍁—

Y/N’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking since she fled from training. She could’ve killed Azriel. She almost did. 

After all these years of magic, she had never ever produced lightning.

Now she sat at the fireplace in her bedroom, trying to drink tea to calm her nerves. Perhaps she needed to be sedated. Was she a danger to others? To herself?

A knock sounded at her door suddenly. And it frightened Y/N so much that she dropped her tea cup and saucer. She jumped to her feet, swearing as the expensive china shattered across the wooden floor. 

“Y/N?” Nesta’s voice was muffled. “May I come in?”

It was her house for Cauldron sake. Did she really need permission?

When Y/N looked away from the door back to the floor, the shattered tea had already been magically swept away. 

She looked up at the ceiling and whispered, “Thank you.”

The door to the bedroom opened. But not by Nesta. The House seemed to think Y/N should talk to her, whether she wanted to or not. 

“I was just checking on you,” Nesta told her softly, stepping into the room and gently closing the door behind her. 

“I-Is…Is everyone scared of me?” Y/N whispered. 

Nesta blatantly laughed at the question, earning her a glare from the witch. “More like they idolize you now,” she managed to say through her laughter. 

Y/N stood and fully faced her. “I almost killed him, Nesta!” 

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Please, it would take more than a strike of lightning to take down that Illyrian.” 

Before Y/N could argue, Nesta continued. “Are we done feeling sorry for ourselves? Or would you like to miss our epic sleepover?” 

“Sleepover?” Y/N stood straighter. 

Nesta smiled. “Yes, I took your idea. I should’ve done it sooner, knowing how scared so many of them are to leave the library.”

Y/N gave her a shy smirk. 

Nesta crossed her arms. “So are you coming to drink wine with me or not?” 

Y/N sighed and nodded. 

Without waiting, Nesta turned around and walked out the bedroom. Y/N hurried her pace to catch up and follower her to a parlor that she had never set foot in. Just as Nesta had implied, all of the Valkyries were lounging around the room. Some already had glasses of wine in their hands. And there were plates of food – charcuterie, sweets, fruits, and more – scattered about the room. 

“The House is spoiling them,” Nesta told her with a smirk. 

“They deserve it,” Y/N added. 

Nesta turned to look at her. “And so do you.” 

Then two glasses of wine magically appeared on the side table next to Nesta. She quickly took one for herself and handed the other to Y/N. 

“Try to relax,” Nesta said softly before leaving her side and going to mingle with the rest of the females. 

Y/N tried her best. 

She thought they would all fear her after she displayed such dangerous powers. But she sensed only curiosity and admiration. Many of them asked her questions about her witchcraft. Y/N wondered how long they’d been wanting to be frank with her. 

The more wine that was drunk, the more rowdy the group became. The House seemed to be vibrating with joy, and spoiling them with food, wine, and entertainment. At one point, Y/N’s eyes widened as a group of miniature Pegasus galloped around the room, much to Gwyn’s delight. 

And for the first time since their passing, Y/N felt like she was a part of a coven once again. 

Women started passing out as the night became early morning. Some of the priestesses left the House of Wind to go back to their rooms in the library. But others stayed, falling asleep where they lay. And little fluffy cots started springing up beneath them, then blankets and pillows would lightly fall on top of the sleeping females. 

Nesta, Emerie, Gwyn, and Y/N ended up being the last ones still awake. 

“I should head off to bed,” Y/N quietly announced as she stood up and stretched. 

“Sure you don’t want to cuddle with us in here?” Gwyn teased. 

“Tempting,” Y/N laughed. “But you would understand if you slept on that bed in my room…” 

“Then maybe I’ll come and cuddle with you there,” Gwyn winked. 

Y/N laughed again. “Be my guest. Goodnight, ladies.” 

Emerie and Gwyn said goodnight in unison. But Nesta just watched Y/N with a curious expression, like she was thinking on something hard.

Y/N didn’t take offense to it and left the parlor to make her way back to her bedroom. 

Y/N had just changed into her pajamas and was about to get under the covers when there was a soft knock at her door. 

Y/N smiled and shook her head, thinking it was Gwyn following through. 

But her smile dropped when it was Nesta. 

“Nesta? Everything OK?”

Her face was pale and she looked almost as if she was going to be sick. “May I come in?”

Y/N widened the door and stepped back, silently welcoming her in.

Nesta walked into the room, but stayed standing in the middle of it. Her back was to Y/N, but she noticed how her hands were clenched into fists at her side. 

Y/N walked closer. “Nesta? What is it? You are starting to scare me.”

“I must tell you something. Something the rest refuse to.” 

“O-Okay,” Y/N’s voice shook. 

“The reason you are here, in Night Court.” 

Y/N’s heart was racing with anxiety now. 

“The reason Rhysand and my sister offered you sanctuary here…” Nesta hesitated, her exhale shook unevenly. “Is because Eris asked him to. And the reason Eris asked him to is because…is because you are his mate.” 

Y/N’s entire body froze. She processed the words. Her thoughts were racing so fast, she was no longer mentally present in the room. 

“Y/N, please say something.” Nesta blurted out. 

And then she wondered how long she had been just standing silently.

Time seemed to be speeding fast while simultaneously feeling as if it has stopped entirely.

Y/N blinked and took in a quaking breath. “T-T-That’s not possible. I am not…I am n-not fae.”

“Cassian knew. Deep down he always knew what I was to him – even when I was mortal. But you are a witch, Y/N. And the Cauldron works in strange ways.” 

Y/N could only try to catch her breath. 

She wanted to say it was impossible, that she didn’t believe it. 

But didn’t she? Wouldn’t it explain the strange feeling that rushed through her body every time Eris was near her? 

“Who knew?” Y/N suddenly hissed. 

“What?” 

“I said, who knew?” 

“Their Inner Circle."

Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Azriel, Elain, Nesta, Morrigan, and Amren. All of them had known.

Nesta quickly added, "But none of the Valkyries ever knew.”

“We were basically sworn to secrecy. Eris…he didn’t…he didn’t want you to know. I think he believed you’d be safer that way. But I didn’t think it was fair. You had the right to know.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” Y/N answered. But her tone and expression was cold as ice. She wouldn't even look Nesta in the eye.

Y/N had been in the Night Court for months and months. All of them had a chance to be honest with her, to tell her the truth of why she was brought here. But they didn’t. And Nesta took far too long to finally do so. 

“I am sorry, Y/N. I do not know what else there is to say.” 

Y/N walked to the door and held it open. “Goodnight, Nesta.” 

Yes, the House of Wind was hers. But Nesta knew she deserved to be treated in such a way. She’d let her friend down. 

As soon as Y/N was left alone, she rushed to the windows that were wide open. 

“You knew. You knew this whole time. Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“It would have… only frightened…you,” the wind sang to her. 

The way they all clearly hated Eris. Surely they hadn’t taken her in merely out of kindness. 

“What did they get?” Y/N hissed. “What did Rhysand and Feyre get in return for keeping me here?” 

“Eris made a deal…with the High Lord…His future armies…for your safety.” 

Y/N blinked away the tears. That was why they were so overprotective of her. That was why they wouldn’t let her live in Velaris, instead keeping her close at the House of Wind.

It wasn’t out of love or kindness. They weren’t her friends. In a way, they had just used her. 

“I…I-I-I can’t stay here,” Y/N whispered as the tears fell down her cheeks. 

Suddenly she rushed around the room, grabbed a satchel and started packing. 

–––––––

let me know what you think 🧡

chapter xv

#gust & flame #acotar #a court of thorns & roses #eris acotar #eris #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #autumn court #inner circle #nesta archeron #night court #valkyries #house of wind

[1800titz]

Teaser for chapter 6 ! (ꈍ◡ꈍ)

I was reading this part back to edit, and the whole time I was like, LOL. Isla, Isla, Isla. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“You will count, and you will thank me, and you’ll ask for another, so,” he takes a step, approximating a good position for a swing, the handle of the strap in his gloved grip. Harry clears his throat and provides an example for her to mirror, “S’gonna go, ‘One, Sir, thank you, Sir, may I have another, Sir,” he rolls his shoulders, and bobs with his head as he drones into the following number for sequential clarification, “Two, Sir, thank you, Sir,’ yada, yada. Yes?” 

It’s simple stuff. Pretty elementary shit. His instructions are crystal, and yet, somehow, Isla still manages to find a way to entangle some form of lippy something into the mix. He shouldn’t have put it past her. 

The young woman says, after a moment of lull, “What happens at three?” 

She bites into her cheek and purses her mouth. Harry can’t see her face, but he knows she’s either smiling or making a poor attempt to stifle it. The mirth is pretty short-lived. That part sort of follows the trend of his patience. A crease works its way over the dominant’s brow bone, the predecessor for an eye roll. Isla doesn’t expect it when, after a beat of silence, the strap makes contact with her backside. Instantly, she winces, her hips canting forward. 

“Cheeky,” Harry scolds, placing his free palm onto her hip to coax her back into position, “I hope you got it out of your system.” 

“You love when I’m cheeky,” she quips under her breath, sounding a bit miffed despite the strain of her voice, no doubt from the strike. 

He smacks her again. 

“Two, Sir—“

“Ah — no,” Harry shakes his head, “Skipped a number.” 

There’s a pause and then a high whine of complaint, just as he’d expected, “But that was two—“

“How d’you count?”

“What?” 

“How do you count?” the male repeats, this time enunciating each word, slow and crisp, like she won’t comprehend it otherwise, “From one to five. Count, for me.” He twists the stem of the leather paddle in his grip, gaze cast upon it, and his tone only varnishes the words as he tacks on, patronizing, “Surely you know how to do that.” 

“Of course I know how to count — what kind of—“

He folds his arms over his chest as he steps over to the side of the chair, resting his hip against it to peer down at her, “So, do it. Count. From one to five, out loud.” 

For a moment, Harry just watches her jaw set, a minute motion that gives away everything he needs to know, and he’s aware that she’s probably ogling the tilt of his head through the lace with venom. Begrudgingly, Isla complies, “One, two, three, four, five.” 

“Lovely,” the praise, in response to her half-hearted compliance, doesn’t lack its typical notes of condescension, “Little less attitude next time, but. S’one, two, three, innit?”

Isla chews into her lip.

“Not two. Doesn’t start with two. So now, we’re starting fresh,” he pushes off of the chair and winds back around her, and the dangle of the strap from his priorly crossed arms morphs menacing, “Clean slate. Start from one.”

The reinforced leather falls, and her breath hitches, but her voice is impressively even. “One, Sir. Thank you, Sir. May I have another, Sir?” 

“Absolutely.”

She asks, and so he gives.  And the thing with Isla — Harry thinks, perhaps his most favorite quality about Isla in play, is that she has this nonsensical moxie, this unwavering resolution. It’s sort of admirable, but mostly just a headache — in a good sort of way. She’s like a sexy headache, which is a first among many firsts. Because Harry likes that he has to manually chip at her stubborn resolve — he likes that she doesn’t just fall in line. It’s not a very sensible decision, on her part, because it could go so much easier for her if she were to just follow the rules. 

But that’s no fun, according to her. Harry gets it. 

So when she says, “Two, Sir, thank you, Sir,” and it’s followed by a pause and then a quieter, “yada, yada,” he’s not entirely surprised. 

He digs his tongue against his cheek. “Excuse me?” 

Isla chimes, a bit louder, and this time with no break, “Two, Sir, thank you, Sir, yada, yada.” 

In response to his obnoxious sigh, the submissive bursts into a self-satisfied string of snickers. And then those snickers morph into a gasp of helpless pain as Harry places his arm over the small of her back, holds onto a love handle to keep her in place, and gives her three hard ones in succession. 

“Yada, yada,” he scoffs. 

“That’s how you told me to count!” Isla complains, shrill and (characteristically) incorrigible, “That’s how you counted two!”

“Your smart mouth is going to keep you here all night,” Harry advises. 

“You know what, that’s fine. Thank you, actually. It’s a very smart mouth, just like the rest of me is smart—“

She twists when another blow lands, a soft, resentful sort of “mmph” plucked from her vocal cords. She follows that up with a steely, exaggerated, “Ow.” Like he’s supposed to feel bad about it or something. 

“Ow? Good,” Harry tells her, instead, “Seems that’s gonna be your favorite word for the night. If you were smart, you’d start counting proper.” 

He waits a moment, and then smacks her with it again. 

Isla screws her eyes shut behind onyx mesh and netting, her voice riding the edge of strained, “Seven—“

Never has she heard him sound more incredulous. 

“How in the world did you get from two to seven?” 

#tdiag teaser

[ctitan98official]

Alcina’s long lost child au: Miranda finds and tortures Y/N part 2

Alright, I forgot about this one. Read the first part here! Let’s get into it!

Alcina held you close to her body as the bitter cold whipped around the two of you. “Just a little further, baby.” She comforts. “Miranda is going to be on the warpath and we need to get out of here as quickly as possible.” She says.

You would have been fine to walk, but… You could tell she was just a bit overprotective. It felt nice being cared for.

Alcina finally gets back to the castle and you look around in astonishment. She lived like a fucking queen… Nice place.

Before you can say anything, the sound of swarming insects suddenly fills the entranceway.

Out of a cloud of flies emerge three striking young women. They must be some kind of B.O.W.’s. They look at you in Alcina’s arms and gawk.

“Who is this?!” The brunette asks defensively.

Alcina sighs. “Girls, I promise I will explain everything, but right now, we are in grave danger. We need to get down to the dungeon. There’s a secret passageway that leads to the end of the village.” She tells you all.

“What? What is going on?!” The blonde questions.

“It’s Miranda.” Alcina says through clenched teeth.

The blonde’s eyes widen in dread. She shrinks back before nodding her head. She can tell her mother is in no mood for answering questions in detail at the moment.

“Okay, wait a second, everyone. Before we do anything, you need to know that I’m part of an elite squad that handles things like this. We have resources set up here in Europe. I can contact them and get us help.” You say calmly, trying not to feel embarrassed about being held like a teddy bear in Alcina’s arms.

Alcina looks at you in shock… She feels a stab of anxiety about the fact that you have such a dangerous job, but she also realizes that calling for back-up is probably everyone’s best chance at survival. She nods at your proposal.

“Great. Do you have a phone I can use?” You ask her.

“There’s one upstairs, I’ll show you.” Alcina says.

The girls begin to protest, but Alcina puts a stop to that quickly. “GIRLS! Go down to the dungeon and wait for us. We won’t be long.” She orders, much more exasperated than she would have liked to have been.

Alcina brings you into what looks like a dressing room before setting you on a bench at a vanity. “This is the only phone in the castle.” She informs you.

Your eyes widen at the old-fashioned phone, but you shake it off and dial the number for the S.T.A.R.S. European branch.

A smooth but professional voice answers the line. “Before we can connect you, what is your badge number and rank?” The person asks. You provide all of the necessary information and are put through to none other than… Chris Redfield.

“Y/N! It’s Chris. Where are you?” He asks urgently.

“Chris?? What the hell, how are you in Europe?” You ask in confusion.

“Jill and I have been trying to track you down since you got abducted. She’s been a wreck.” He answers.

You feel your heart rate pick up when you hear Jill was looking for you too. Wow, she really cared about you… Damn, focus, Y/N! You can simp later.

“I’m in some isolated village in Romania. Listen, Chris. We got a hotbed of B.O.W.’s here. Not all of them are hostile, but there is one person that you need to be aware of. Her name is Mother Miranda. Do you have any information about her?” You ask, deciding to leave out the part about her being your biological parent.

Chris sighs. “Yes… Fuck, I know who you’re talking about. She worked for some group called The Connections. Y/N, she is incredibly dangerous. She has ties to Spencer.” He tells you.

Your eyes go wide in shock. She knows Oswell Spencer? Small fucking world.

“Stay where you are and Jill and I will be there soon with reinforcements, okay? Shouldn’t be long.”

“Alright, thanks Chris.” You say and hang up.

You turn to Alcina who is desperately trying to hold back her tears. “Hey, what’s going on?” You ask gently.

Alcina sniffles before picking you up and holding you in her arms. “I sent you away to keep Miranda from finding you… And I still somehow messed that up. I’m so, so, sorry, baby. This is my fault.” She says burying her face in your shoulder.

You feel awful that Alcina is blaming herself. “Miranda is powerful. It’s nobody’s fault that she found me. We’re going to get out of this, okay?” You say and reach out to run your fingers through her soft curls.

Alcina enjoys the affection and finally looks at you through teary eyes. “I just want to protect you.” She whispers and places a kiss on your forehead.

You chuckle. “It feels nice to have someone worry about me, but there’s no need. Once Chris and Jill get here, Miranda’s going down.” You say.

Alcina gives you a small smile. “You’re so brave, little one. I’m proud of you.” She says.

You blush at the praise and clear your throat. “Umm… We should, uh, get down to the dungeon like you said. We need to lay low before Miranda finds out I’m gone.” You say, looking anywhere but at Alcina.

The lady of the castle chuckles at your sudden shyness, but nods her head and carries you back down the stairs.

You have come to accept that Alcina is just going to carry you everywhere.

——————————————————————————

You whistle at the fancy layout of the castle. “This place is gorgeous.” You say in awe.

“It’s been in the Dimitrescu family for generations… If only you could have grown up here with me…” She says quietly.

You smile gently and pat her shoulder. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. You’ll be sick of me before long.” You grin mischievously.

Alcina giggles at your comment despite herself.

You two finally reach the dungeon and meet up with those women from earlier.

“Y/N has been able to get us help. They should be here soon. In the meantime, let’s make our way to that passageway I told you about. Follow me, girls.” Alcina says.

The three women look at you with varying degrees of curiosity, but don’t say anything and follow Alcina as she expertly navigates the confusing dungeon.

“Here we are.” Alcina says as she reaches what appears to be a plain brick wall. Alcina pushes bricks in a complicated pattern before the wall opens, revealing on entrance.

“Does Miranda know about this?” You ask, not wanting to get ambushed.

“No… This was… Actually how I got you out of here when you were a baby.” She says.

“After we get through this mess, I want answers.” The brunette pouts.

Alcina laughs a bit at her tone. “I’ll answer any questions you have, draga. Don’t worry. Now, everybody inside.” She tells them.

The five of you enter and Alcina closes the door behind you all.

There is barely any light in here, but Alcina and the girls are seemingly able to see just fine… They must have enhanced sight.

Alcina finally stops after a few minutes of walking. “I think we should wait here. Miranda is clever, but it might take her a while to locate us.” She tells you all.

“Man, I wish I had my guns right about now.” You mutter.

The three women sit down and Alcina does the same, settling you on her lap.

The redhead can’t help herself and comes over to get a better look at you. “What’s your name?” She asks with an excited smile.

“I’m Y/N.” You grin at her.

“I’m Daniela! These are my sisters, Bela,” She points at the blonde. “And Cassandra.” She gestures at the brunette.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” You say.

“But seriously, who even are you?” Cassandra asks suspiciously.

“Oh! Well, umm…” You trail off, unsure what Alcina wants them them to know.

The lady of the castle sighs and rubs your head. “Y/N is… Your sibling. I had them before you all came to live in the castle with me.” She says, anticipating the chaos that will most assuredly be taking place. She wasn’t wrong.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The brunette screeches.

Alcina shushes her and gives her a warning glare. “Keep your voice down, daughter.” She tells her.

“O-oh my god…” Bela whispers and brings her hands to her mouth in shock. She also comes over to look at you better. “I… Can definitely see a resemblance…” She says, looking between you and Alcina.

Daniela wraps her arms around you and nuzzles her face into your hair. “A little sibling! Just what I’ve always wanted! Wait… Is this an early birthday present?? Y/N’s great, but I still want those fuzzy socks I told you about, mother!” She says.

Alcina scoffs playfully and runs her fingers through Daniela’s hair. “Here we are, trying to avoid certain doom, and you are worrying about presents.” She jokes.

You laugh. “Hey, birthday presents will always be a priority.” You joke.

“Exactly!” Daniela agrees. “You get me.” She says, pinching your cheek.

Suddenly, you all hear a horrific shrieking sound. It’s muffled through the castle, but it sounds distorted and… Pissed as hell.

“Oh, no… Miranda’s found out you’re gone.” Alcina whispers and puts a hand to her mouth.

“Everyone stay calm, Chris and Jill will be here with reinforcements soon.” You say, trying not to panic.

“Everyone come here.” Alcina says and opens her arms to her daughters.

The girls quickly snuggle into Alcina and she holds you all close.

You hear a loud banging noise at the end of the tunnel. “Shit!” You exclaim. “Is that her?!”

You stand up and make your way over to see if you can tell what’s going on.

“Y/N! Come back here!” Alcina whispers harshly.

You hold up your finger in a motion for her to wait as you continue moving forward.

The door at the end of the passageway unexpectedly bursts open, but… It’s not Miranda.

“Chris! Jill!” You call out, thankful to see their familiar faces.

Note: Sorry, I’ve gotta break this into another part. Also, I just thought Alcina carrying Y/N around everywhere seemed really cute T^T It comforts her. I’ll end this in the next part!

Masterlist

#re8 #re8 village #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x y/n #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil imagines #mother miranda #jill valentine #chris redfield

[exauhstedsunflower]

I dont even have real thoughts. Just,

When I was 10/11 and forced myself to move on from playing with my Barbie’s because I was exposed to society and growing up and it seemed like something I had to do. Going back for my dolls one day after months deciding I needed to do something I loved only to find out my mom threw them away because I stopped playing with them. Being devastated. This reinforcing that there is something wrong with me because I shouldn’t want to play with dolls anymore anyway. The barbie movie not quite healing that wound but softening the blow when I think about it now.

Getting my nails done in hot pink every time at 12 and then at 13 getting them in blue. Painting my nails pink two weeks ago because I was excited about the barbie move and feeling at peace.

Seeing my best friend since I was 9 in pink for the first time in I cant even remember and us both feeling nostalgic and free and beautiful.

Me being 14 and my brother being 11 and him discovering the patriarchy. Him making sexist jokes. Me screaming at him. My grandmother laughing at us fighting. Me crying about it to this day, even though I’m 22my brother is now 19 and nothing like that anymore. Me seeing myself in Barbie and my brother in ken as they grow apart and then back together. Realizing that even though Ken hurt Barbie, barbie is the one to tell him its ok in the end. Ken not apologizing. Seeing us in them once again and feeling an ache in my chest.

Wanting to watch the scene where Barbie says she doesn’t feel pretty anymore and why she doesn’t feel pretty. Why she doesn’t feel like who she is supposed to be. Her face. My face as I start crying. My heart breaking as I realize that I have felt that, and that if its being portrayed here that it’s a universal experience to have that breakdown, to have a friend say ‘you are beautiful, you are enough. You’re not wrong, the world is.’, to not believe them fully, though you do accept that they’re probably right. The fact that she’s not wearing makeup in that scene. She’s broken down into her barest form, and her barest form is wrecked because the world has fucked her up and made her think she’s not enough.

Barbie panicking as Mattel tries to literally put her in a box. The people that are technically responsible for her, the people who she believes will help her, are not only not who she thought they would be, but they try to put her back in a box. Her not being able to be put back into a box. She knows too much now. She’s seen and felt and thought too much. She can’t be what they want her to be even when they try to force her. Impossible standards not even ending with people you’re meant to trust. Barbie being alone in that moment. Barbie finding a friend who gets it and not being alone anymore. Barbie not realizing that until the friend refuses to let her drown. The friendships that women make under the pressure of the world being something so beautiful and heartbreaking and necessary.

Sasha being exposed to something good and nice in pink for once instead of something hating on whatever the pink thing is and slowly smiling more, becoming herself. How this exposure can help young girls so much. Before this not only hurting herself by distancing herself from her mom and feminism but also hurting other women in the face of the pain society has slowly caused her because she has given up on herself and on society the way society has given up on her and itself.

in the end, Barbie not even advocating for herself even after everything she’s learned about feminism and what the world with do to women who let it swallow them whole. Sasha, who previously was not much of a girls girl, being the one to say “What about Barbie?” Everyone saying “Yeah, actually, what about Barbie?” Because she deserves a happy ending too. Barbie was standing in the back and out of the way not only in this scene but in most of the ending scenes actually, which is a wonderful portrayal of what all of these things that have happened to Barbie can do to a woman, regardless of how strong or empowered she was or may have seemed. Barbie, the main character of the movie, becoming quiet and contemplative and unsure, and relegating herself to the background because of all of this. Barbie being surprised to see people wanting something good for her. Barbie not knowing what she wants. Barbie absolutely knowing what she wants the whole movie but dancing around it because as a woman you are put in a box and you’re not supposed to say what you want. Even as a barbie. (“I have never wanted anything to change!” “I only ever wanted things to stay the same!” “I don’t know what I want anymore.”) but “It takes two to open a portal.” And so many more sly comments about how Barbie caused all this too. Barbie not even being proud of her accomplishments by the ending when they’re in the void. Ruth only figuring out What Barbie wants because of a comment, a self effacing comment. Barbie asking permission to be herself. She’s been affected negatively by the world, and yet is choosing to live in it anyway. As are the women of the world. Barbie didn’t need permission. But she asked anyway, she probably wouldn’t have done it is Ruth said no. If anyone had protested at all. Because as a woman she is self sacrificing and making sure everyone is ok with things before doing it. Ruth not showing Barbie life as a woman in the end, because Barbie already knows what that’s like. She’s not asking to be a woman, she is a woman, she’s asking to be human, for which life is nuanced and beautiful. As is being a woman, though in very different ways.

#Barbie #greta gerwig #Margo robbie #ken #ryan gosling #Barbie movie #I just want to thank all of the people who worked on this personally and sincerely. #I am moved in ways i didn’t think were possible #I feel seen in ways i didn’t know I wanted to be seen. #Thank you so much

[jemmo]

rambles on that last twilight ending

my thoughts on the last twilight ending are so??? im gonna need to sit on this one for a while, bc i loved this show so whole-heartedly that i don’t want to write it off bc of a ‘bad ending’, but it also means it’s hard to reconcile that the ending was… well, i don’t think it was bad. i think it deserves more thought than that, but i don’t think it did what it wanted to, nor did it keep with what the shows message was, or should have been. and we can say it’s as simple as day shouldn’t have got his sight back, but I don’t think that was the only thing. if he stayed blind, the ending still wouldn’t have hit right for me. none of it hit right from the end of ep 11 bc it’s like I could feel the intent of the writing, but it’s not what the writing actually was. and if it was given maybe 3ish more episodes and all these characters were given more time, i think an ending like this could’ve worked. but again, it all comes down to that damn ep 11 curse that I thought p’aof was better than, bc you can’t squeeze everything that needed to be reconciled after this breakup and everything they wanted to do into one ep, not with this show.

i didn’t hate the idea of a breakup. if you’re going with the narrative of mohk having a fear of being away from day bc of his trauma and so on then fine, that works. and so it works that they had to be away from each other to grow in that way, but I do think it was unkind to mohk to send him away on that note. some understanding, and day wanting him to go for his own good would’ve felt kinder, and even if they were his real intentions, they didn’t communicate that either. it just felt like day had no empathy for him. and yes he was probably hurting too feeling like no one was trusting him, but whatever, it could’ve been done better. and if they wanted to play on anything else, then hey there was that whole bit with the car and day thinking mohk was looking after him just for the money, why not use that and the fact the opportunities mohk got in his career were connections bc he was with day. day could’ve been like well that was the whole point, you don’t work for me forever, you can do whatever you want now, or even just played more on him feeling like he’s holding mohk back. idk, i just mean if this breakup was going to turn out to be 3 years, no contact at all, which it did, it should’ve felt bigger than a 5 second argument.

anyway, then the finale comes and again, if they’d given more reason for a breakup, i would’ve understand more why day keeps on denying mohk a second chance, which i already don’t like the phrasing of bc it makes out like he did something wrong and needs to earn a second chance which he doesn’t. the whole thing would’ve been more understandable if this was day realizing that they both grew and found happiness in what they’re doing and he didn’t want to ruin that when the breakup meant it could happen. or they could’ve completely 180-ed and shown that one of them wasn’t happy, or both, idk mohk had no one in the states and was incredibly hurt and lonely, day was struggling after losing mohk like he did and reinforcing the idea that he couldn’t be independent made him retreat again. just anything would’ve given more strength behind a need to push away, and would have made it more satisfying when love overcomes it all blah blah blah.

and as much as i liked the airport scene and the fact day did go after him, do you know what would’ve been more impactful? day, knowing his full ability, and going against his mom who still worries for his safety or going bc of his mom seeing that he’s not truly happy, bc both could’ve worked given different writing, getting on a plane by himself and going after mohk, seeing him be able to traverse it all. for once we watch day by himself and unlike at the start of the show, we’re not constantly scared he’s gonna get hurt, bc he’s confident and able now and we can just watch him go after mohk and be excited about it, like the end to any other romance story. and it would’ve meant mohk got this moment where, after looking after day so much and getting broken up with bc he cared too much, he gets to see day caring for him that much too.

and the sight thing. yes, with the time they had they shouldn’t have done it, it should’ve been that they manage to find their own happiness despite it all, then the whole show would’ve been about day accepting his situation and standing up for his own ability and his own right to independence and happiness, and it would’ve meant mohk could overcome his fear of loss and guilt over his sister and learn that he isn’t to blame for anything, bc now day can make his own decisions and is ok on his own. now if there was more time, i could’ve seen it working, but only with stronger writing. I would’ve loved to have seen a conversation over day getting his sight back, maybe him not wanting it bc he’s accepted the way he is much like how some deaf people don’t want implants, and the opposing argument of how not all people in his place can have the possibility of seeing again. we could’ve seen fear in the opposite direction now that he’s used to his life, and that damn first scene of part 4, we could’ve seen him then wanting to go out into the world and look after people like him, just like mohk did for him, bc mohk made him see the importance of having someone there for you that cares for you and sees you as a person, as normal, not as your disability. and funnily enough, do you know what made me cry at the end of it? then showing the pictures that were taken when day was blind. that’s the kind of thing i wanted to see, and wished i did if they had more time. day getting his sight back but still showing how connected he is to who he was at that time and while not being thankful for it happening, being thankful for the way he’s grown, and loving the person he sees in those pictures. to go from someone who hid himself and his blindness to someone who shares his story and helps and advocates vocally for those like him, despite not being blind anymore. that way you still get to give day his sight back as your happily ever after but manage to retain the message.

so yeah. they missed the ball. but i also want to remove this idea that an ending ruins a whole show. at the end of the day, it’s one ep, and when a show has done so much good in all its other eps, at least in my eyes, that’s the stuff I’d rather talk about and remember.

#for me this is a classic case of don’t just try to squeeze it all into one ep bc that’s all you’ve got left #you can’t just put it all in and rush through it doesn’t mean you convey the same message it all gets muddled #it might not be your original vision but you have to work with the time you’ve got #oh p’aof #this is me setting down a gauntlet to not separate your characters to different countries for years before a reunion #it only worked for bad buddy bc you played us #this? yeah. didn’t hit how it should #last twilight

[dylanndr]

Hypothesis: Izzy knows he's attracted to men, he doesn't have an issue with that per se, and his expressions of homophobia and misogyny are characteristic of a specific subset of openly gay male culture.

Izzy has, after all, spent the last several years helping to command a vessel that might as well be called The Eagle, it's so full of leather men. I think he's well aware of his own queerness, but he lacks the ability to sit down and do the introspection that would let him realize his relationship to his queerness is way out of whack. [His capacity for introspection is, IMO, limited by his undiagnosed and untreated chronic depressive disorder, but that's another post for another time.]

Way back when I was first exploring life as a queer guy, I remember going to a leather bar with a friend. Said friend told me I shouldn't be wearing the spiky wrist cuffs I had on because they were sending a message that I was thus and such type of top, and I was too short and skinny and hairless to be allowed to present that way. There were five thousand other rules I was apparently breaking because I hadn't memorized all the secret codes and I was just doing leather wrong and so forth. I ended up noping out of the experience; it seemed tediously prescriptivist to me.

For sure not all queer leather subculture spaces are going to be like that, but you know who would be super into such a rigidly hierarchical system? Izzy Hands, that's who. He is highly invested in routine and predictability, and has a strong inclination to force people to stick to their prescribed roles. Your place in the hierarchy tells you who you're allowed to hookup with and who is supposed to initiate the hookup, which is why he absolutely would not make the first pass at Edward. It's Edward's place to initiate something like that (and why Izzy responds so strongly to even the slightest touch from Ed; there's probably a tiny shred of persistent optimism lurking somewhere under the depressive fugue that says, "maybe this time it's really going to go there?").

He would likely feel comfortable in a system where you don't have to use your words to express desires and boundaries because everything is clearly communicated through long-established codes you can just memorize. There was a back room at that leather bar for cruising, which had its own separate bouncer, and where conversation was actively discouraged; Izzy would have haunted the shit out of that room.

He refers to other, subordinate members of Blackbeard's crew as "the boys," which in the context of that particular ship and crew is in contrast to the daddies (Ed being Daddy Supreme, Izzy being Emergency Backup Daddy). His place as First Mate means, in his rigidly defined worldview, that he can only sub for the captain, to everyone else he has to be a dom.

This mindset could potentially be reinforced by a common iteration of warrior culture where the older, more experienced man is the top, the young acolyte is the bottom, and a sexual relationship between the two is fine, but a romantic one is mostly not (at least, not once the acolyte ages out of that status). As you get older and grow in skill, and shift from acolyte to master, you're obligated to switch from bottoming to topping. It's entirely possible Young Izzy had a much more enjoyable sex life as an acolyte, if that is indeed how he learned to fight, but as he graduated into his obligatory top status, his sexual encounters became so unsatisfying he may well have drifted into celibacy.

While he's good at ordering people around and berating them, he finds actually managing people to be immensely stressful, and hasn't got a fucking clue what to do when he needs to try to read a room. He's not a creative thinker. What happens when you bark an order and the person refuses? He doesn't have a fallback for "this person went off script," which is probably why his interactions with Lucius in episode 5 go so far off the rails. Getting shoved into a position of submissiveness to a guy who is Not Supposed to Be Topping Because He Looks and Dresses Wrong for the Part throws him completely off kilter.

Oh, and let's talk about that interaction with Lucius and how it relates to homophobia in gay male spaces. I went into great detail about that scene here, but for this I want to focus specifically on the Kiss That Wasn't. Y'all, Izzy wants to kiss someone SO BAD. In his "I'm being intimidating at you" interactions where he gets up in someone's face, when he should be making unbroken eye contact, his gaze constantly falls to the other man's mouth. With Lucius, he's pulled so far out of his normal headspace he comes within a fraction of a second of giving in to that desire before he stops himself and turns tail.

In the world of homophobic (internalized), masc (toxic) gay spaces, sex is fine. He knows, for example, that Edward hooked up with Calico Jack, and this isn't presented as any kind of issue for him. But kissing? Kissing is perceived as an act of romantic affection, and THAT is forbidden. You can fuck other men, but you must NEVER fall in love with them or you’re a namby-pamby ponce who [gag] pines for a boyfriend. Ergo, kissing bad.

Back in the early 2000s, there was a trend amongst a subset of gay men to label themselves as "straight-acting." Again, these were openly gay men operating in queer spaces, but who built solidarity with each other by bragging about how not stereotypically gay they behaved. Izzy in 2002 would have been taking those "are you straight-acting" quizzes online, and been super proud of himself if he scored a 10/10. (He would have lied in some of his answers to force that 10/10 outcome, probably.)

TL;DR: Izzy gay, he knows it, and he probably wouldn’t care but for the fact that he has internalized so much toxic sludge around the specific things he actually wants and needs out of his relationships with other men.

#our flag means death #izzy hands #ofmd meta #izzy x blackbeard #izzy x lucius

[aquaquadrant]

OH MY GODS

IM GOING INSANE

CHAPTER 8 HOLY SHIT

DUDE

Bravo is so angry and so so wrong about how things work, he just walks in and expects to be accepted with open arms by people he’s never met before after he explains that he spawned in the Overworld and Tango did in Hels. Like, do you actually think people will care about that? They don’t know you. They’ve never even heard of you before and some of them have known Tango for the entire 10 years that he’s been out of Hels, no matter what you tell them they know that he’s not evil because they know him, they know his character, the kind of person he is.

The fucking entitlement of this man to just waltz in and claim this should be his life and his friends and his soulmate because according to him Tango is just Evil Bravo and anything Tango has achieved in his years outside of Hels was somehow stolen from Bravo. Hate to break it you man but I can assure you that had you guys never been swapped you would have lived a very different life from the one Tango has, you’re assuming that a lot of stuff “corresponds” to you that really just doesn’t.

Ok… I’m done… with the Bravo rant, not with the ask.

THE FACT THAT JIMMY COULD FEEL TANGO’S EMOTIONS THROUGH THAT WHOLE THING, OMG, THAT WAS SO GOOD! I was also pretty relieved when I realized that Jimmy was using the soulbond to read Tango cause he could tell Tango was being genuine about a lot of things and was actually seriously terrified of what was going on in a way that being confronted by your doppelgänger you supposedly wronged really shouldn’t be enough to cause. He could tell a lot of stuff was wrong and that he was missing a lot of context. There was never a risk of Jimmy falling into the same trap Bravo did of thinking of Hels players as inherently deceptive and malicious because he could tell that Tango was telling the truth right now, he could tell that Tango felt really bad about what happened and genuinely didn’t mean to trap Bravo. There might be hurt feelings and doubts in the future but in the moment, that connection through emotions I think was what kept Jimmy mostly centered on the important things. They’re really gonna need to talk after this. All of them. Man.

I was so scared when the attack started, I was not prepared. I probably should have been, considering Bravo walked in already with potions on him (I don’t actually remember if we see him taking the potion at the end of last chapter) but I didn’t even realize it was a potion. I read ‘particles’ and thought “huh, that’s weird” and moved on, I didn’t actually expect him to be ready for a fight. I did not even think he’d have back up so soon, from the way that the last chapter ended I kinda thought he was gonna scout the area by himself before it all went down. It wasn’t until the others rushed in also with ‘particles’ surrounding them that I realized that they were potions and it downed on me that this was an ambush.

It was so scary just sitting there, waiting for reinforcements that may or may not arrive. It was so stressful, especially cause we don’t really know the layout of this version of Double Life so we don’t know how far away everyone is. I could feel the dread as this just kept going and no one arrived and Jimmy couldn’t do anything about it cause it’s a 1v15 or something like that and Jimmy’s not very good at pvp anyway. So when the sound of the horn came from over the hill I was so so happy you have no idea, I actually screamed outloud along with them in a battle cry (I’m so glad I had the house empty lol). Endgame who? Never heard of her. This is the best last-minute-save in the history of cinema. I don’t care it’s not a movie, shut up.

Also! An interesting realization! In this chapter I have finally identified the main difference between Timmy and Jimmy. It is partly that Timmy is definitely more pathetic that Jimmy but, more importantly is that, unlike Timmy, who just gives up in the face of something/one stronger than him, Jimmy is a fighter. It doesn’t matter how big the threat or obstacle is, it doesn’t matter how certain he is that’s he’s gonna lose, he will never lay down and take it, even when he’s painfully aware that he’s going down he makes sure to go down kicking and screaming gods damn it. You gotta respect the man for that.

Speaking of Timmy, HE’S BACK! THE BOY IS BACK! PATHETIC WET CAT WITH FEATHERS! I MISSED YOU! I don’t think he’s gonna be very happy when he realizes he’s acting as replacement for some guy named Jimmy though fhfbfgfgf. On that note, d— did… does Bravo like Jimmy? Like, like like him? He described him as having a smile like the sun… and that line at the end, “If he can’t have the sun, he’ll learn to love its shadow,” (which btw is INSANE, that line is so freaking good!!!)… he liked Jimmy didn’t he? That’s awkward.

I’m glad Bravo is out of the grasp of Hels Tek and I hope it stays that way. Maybe hanging around Timmy will do him some good, both in realizing that not everyone in Hels is inherently evil and that Hels players are their own people, not just evil copies of their Overworld counterparts. Maybe he’ll enjoy Timmy’s company for Timmy, and not for what he thinks he can see of Jimmy on him.

Atlas is gonna be in so much trouble with Alisker. I hope it hurts. On the downside, that means they’ll be back. They might even figure out a way to open a portal without Bravo (looks at the collar suspiciously) which would be terrifying.

And the Lifers can’t take the collar off I’m going to SCREAM

holy shit you went OFF (affectionate)

bravo is horribly misinformed and has just. the WORST coping skills. over the years, tango has become his personal scapegoat for every misfortune that ever befell bravo. he’s convinced that if he and tango had never swapped places, his life would be perfect right now. which, as you said, is absolutely not the case. if he can’t realize and accept this, he’ll never be happy.

the soul bond was a neat and convenient way to sneak in a bit of tango’s perspective even tho the chapter was from jimmy’s pov, i’m SO glad it was effective.

and mannnn yeah the thing about jimmy is that like. yes he’s a sopping wet pathetic cat, cringefail loser ect ect who dies first every time, but every time he goes out fighting. he never stops trying until the bitter end and i wanted to reflect that here even if his pvp skills couldn’t stand up to a paper bag. he’ll let other players sorta push him around and make jokes at his expense but when the shit hits the fan, he always fights. this is the main difference between him and timmy, who will just roll over and die at the slightest provocation.

thanks for the commentary, this made my day <3

#hels to pay au #HTP ask #TO BE CLEAR i know jimmy actually loves the affectionate bullying #it’s a Bit he’s doing w his close good friends #but in-universe it makes for some fun characterization #ALSO i saw ur other asks but i’m gonna answer em in another post #cuz post length

[peachjagiya]

I’m not a shipper and definitely in no way a jkkr but since my last ask probably wasn’t worded correctly, let me rephrase and ask a proper question.

Everybody knows that there are certain times that a couple or people in romantic relationships are expected to prioritize being with each other over anyone else. So how do you explain the fact that for years, there is alot of evidence pointing to Taehyung and Jk never or almost never being together at such times? These times are nights, birthdays, holidays etc. I don’t believe any of the members are dating each other and i certainly don’t believe taekook are because why can they hang out on ordinary days but everytime we get information about birthdays or holidays or so, they are never together? If they are a couple, shouldn’t they prioritize being with each other on days and times like this over anyone else? That is why i said that wordy anon made some sense. I don’t think jikook is real either just so you know but even if they got that part wrong they are definitely not wrong about other things and i think it’s simple common sense.

Thanks for resending 💜

I've talked a lot lately about how I'm not sure a lot of what we're told is the actual full picture. Not lies but omissions and flexibility with details.

That's a bit of a cop out though and sounds convenient just to reinforce my belief, I'm aware.

But what I would say is that there's been a couple of times when they've said things and they've then been proven to be... frivolous with the truth. So if I'm wary of trusting absolutely everything they say, that's why. To uphold every word as absolute truth when they are media trained seems naïve. You know what I mean?

For example. JK said in 2023 he "knows all he needs to know" re: sex. He also consistently says he's not dating and only loves Army. Obviously you can have sex without dating but the truth and the agreed narrative are a little at odds, no? It's just buffing off the real edges a bit to make it shinier and cuter.

I see a lot of "oh so you're calling them LIARS?" as if it's that simple. First off, please. Of course they're capable of lying. They're not infallible and to love someone whilst thinking they're flawless is not actually love.

Secondly, though, no, they're not compulsive liars. They're just not in a situation where the truth is PR friendly. I think the only way to tell if it's likely to be more believable is when it's in a live that they've chosen to do without staff and from their own homes, maybe.

So sure, TKK might not be real but I still won't take every word as gospel.

#my asks #truthbending

[nitewrighter]

Scoops! (Part 4)

What's this? It's Lois Lane with a steel chair!

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Read it on AO3 here!

----

The good thing about the shipping yard is that it was big enough for the four of them to slip past the perimeter of emergency responders by… okay, yes, basically breaking and entering into one of the storage buildings and cutting through to the street from a side exit from there. They were cutting through a long backstreet now, the goal being more about putting more distance between themselves and that column of smoke back in the shipping yard rather than heading anywhere in particular. Lois wondered how aware Lewis and Jalana were of how much of what they were doing was illegal. In retrospect, Lois realized she did a lot of trespassing when it came to getting her stories, so on the one hand it kind of made sense that an organization of alternate universe-Loises wouldn’t acknowledge ‘no trespassing’ signs on private property, let alone entire dimensions, On the other hand, she was starting to get as annoyed with herself as much as them. Her head was just a furious soup of questions and anger and worry at this point. She missed the way she felt balanced out with Clark. Sweet, dutiful, Clark, with his “Lois, that’s illegal,” and his “Lois, I don’t think this is a good idea,” and of course, his, “Lois, where did you get that crowbar?” For all the UFO talk, she really could trust Jimmy to be a sensible person as well, but Clark was really the one who always made them feel like they were on the right track. They probably would have figured out whether to ditch Lewis and Jalana by now, if Clark were here. Well, okay they probably would have to have ditched Lewis and Jalana by now if Clark were here, but right now, Lewis and Jalana could be their only means of getting to Clark.

“So… have we decided yet?” Jimmy said very quietly to Lois as they briskly walked behind Lewis and Jalana.

“I’m still thinking,” said Lois. 

“If we’re going to leave, we don’t have a big window,” said Jimmy, “If that report brings in reinforcements…”

“What if we split up?” said Lois, “I’ll stick with the League and…” she trailed off. 

“I don’t like our odds split apart,” said Jimmy, pretty much saying what she was already thinking.

“But the odds would be better if either of us found Clark,” said Lois, still loathe to walk away from the only possible access to interdimensional technology they knew.

“Again, not a good chance of that from within a cell,” said Jimmy.

Lois’s lips thinned thoughtfully, “She said she’s ‘borrowing’ Clark, she said she meant our universe no harm, she used to be an interdimensional arms dealer, she was talking about ‘poison’ flowing into her universe…” Lois narrowed her eyes at Lewis and Jalana. “There’s more they’re not telling us.”

“They’ve already acknowledged there’s a lot they’re not telling us,” said Jimmy. His brow furrowed for a second. “Jalana said her universe was used as a dumping ground for dangerous stuff. Why would the League just… let that happen?”

“Because they’re jerks?”

“I mean, the universes are connected to a degree, aren’t they?” Jimmy was pressing his fingers to his forehead, “That’s why there’s multiples of us, multiples of certain events…” 

“And they said the Spider Lady could catalyze an event here that we aren’t ready for,” said Lois. “If she needs Clark—”

They were both cut off at the sound of Lewis’s gauntlet beeping again.

“Are you getting Scoops’s signal?!” said Jimmy, but neither Jalana or Lewis responded to him, both of them quietly bickering again.

“You have to answer it,” Jalana had lowered her voice. 

“You answer it!” Lewis said between gritted teeth, clearly distressed.

“Oh for—” Jalana hit a button and the gauntlet started projecting a hologram of the slightly more weathered but distinguished face of the Leader Lois.

“Olsen,” she said crisply, “Lane.”

“For the record, I told her that we shouldn’t get this universe’s Lane and Olsen involved,” Lewis started.

“As you stated multiple times in your report,” said the Leader Lois, more exhausted than agreeing, “But I’m to believe that the Spider Lady was indeed seen in this universe and you didn’t call for backup?”

“Our goal was to gather more evidence. We weren’t about to divert resources from a multiversal APB on the word of two suspected accomplices of Mxy,” said Lewis, “And then… before we knew it, there she was.”

“And now the Kryptonian who previously escaped us is helping her,” said the Leader Lois.

“He’s not helping her! He’s her prisoner!” Lois blurted out from behind them.

“Good to see you again, Lois,” said the Leader Lois drily.

“Likewise,” said Lois, with matched coldness.

“I appreciate your cooperation in leading my operatives to the Spider Lady,” said the Leader Lois, “But I won’t be requiring your input on the League’s actions from here.”

 “So what, do I not get any say in what happens to my universe until I get a Pulitzer?” said Lois.

“Lois,” Jimmy said in warning, and Lois caught herself, withdrawing slightly. Right, probably not best to antagonize.

“Leader Lois, this universe’s Jimmy and Lois have been cooperative,” said Jalana. 

“That’s an interesting word for it,” said Lewis.

“I think we’re at the point where League protocol is hindering us rather than helping us,” Jalana went on, “We’re operating too much on archival data from other universes to meet the needs of newer ones. We’re also letting assumptions from League Protocol distort our observation.”

“We’re new?” Jimmy said very quietly, before glancing at Lois, “How are we new?” 

Lois just shrugged.

“How do you mean, Olsen?” The Leader Lois tilted her head.

“Respectfully speaking, Leader Lois,” said Jalana, “During our postmortem evaluation of the Mxyzptlk Incident, I revisited our archives to better inform my updates to this Lois’s dossier. The Lois of this universe shares incredible overlaps with the qualities of Lois Prime.”

“I do what now?” said Lois.

“Of course she does,” said the Leader Lois, “We’re all literally the same person in different universes, and we assessed long ago that she doesn’t meet League standards.”

“No, she doesn’t, but there wasn’t a League when Lois Prime founded it. Lois Prime didn’t even come up with the League standards! This Lois is… unpolished, sure, but she displays levels of compassion and curiosity that we haven’t seen in years.” 

“You’re mistaking emotional compromise for compassion,” said the Leader Lois flatly

“Okay, maybe, but still!” said Jalana, “The League used to ask questions. We used to investigate! Now we expect everyone in our ranks to fall into line at all times, to follow orders without question, and we basically inflict our authority wherever we go in the multiverse regardless of the consent of the different universe’s governing bodies.”

“That last part—Th-that’s what I said earlier,” Lois said very quietly and blankly, before looking at Jimmy, “Jimmy, what’s happening?”

“Jalana’s saying nice things about you,” said Jimmy.  

“…huh,” said Lois. Compassion? Her brow crinkled at the word. How am I compassionate? she thought, I pretty much freaked out and shut down when I found out Clark was Superman. I got so caught up in my own drama that I didn’t even notice when Jimmy got kidnapped by a gorilla. I’ve been snapping at her and Lewis since we ran into them—okay I said sorry for that, but still… all I said to her was we both want to keep our universes safe. Is the bar that low? Lois’s face suddenly dropped with realization. That thing about orders… Oh my god. It’s a League of Me’s that have all turned into my dad.

Jimmy’s phone made a blipping sound and he instantly checked it. His eyes widened as he showed the screen to Lois. It was Scoops’s GPS feed, back online. Which meant Scoops was still in their universe, and hopefully, the Spider Lady and Clark, too. Lois’s eyes flicked back to Jalana, Lewis, and the Leader Lois arguing. If the Leader Lois clearly already had a strong idea of Clark’s place in all this, they didn’t have time to try and convince her otherwise. Lois glanced back down at Scoop’s GPS location on Jimmy’s phone. Parnassus Avenue? But that was where—

‘Parasite’ she mouthed to Jimmy.

Jimmy set his jaw and gave her a nod of understanding. ‘Let’s go?’ He mouthed.

Lois gave him a single, serious nod.

“Bravery for us didn’t always mean charging in somewhere with guns!” Jalana was still going on, “It used to mean the willingness to try and understand something when everyone else is making decisions based on fear!” 

“…something like a Clark?” the Leader Lois arched an eyebrow and Jalana caught herself.

“According to records, we didn’t used to destroy things based on what they could become,” said Jalana.

“…a mistake that several universes paid for with their very existence,” said the Leader Lois, “Olsen, I didn’t open this channel to debate the League’s methods and morality with you. I came to recall you to League headquarters and to bring that universe’s Lois and Jimmy back into custody for questioning. So if you’re quite done, we still have a multiversal criminal at large and—where did they go?” 

Lewis and Jalana looked over their shoulders to see Lois and Jimmy were gone. 

“Oh for—” the Leader Lois pinched the bridge of her nose, “Belay that. The Spider Lady takes priority. Report back to headquarters. We need to consolidate and review your intel.”

Lewis squinted at one of the bits of data on his gauntlet, “Leader Lois, I think they might be heading toward—”

 “You have your orders, Lane,” said the Leader Lois flatly.

Lewis blinked, then looked over at Jalana. “Y-yes, Ma’am,” said Lewis, glancing down.

Jalana noted the tight line of his mouth.

“I’m ending the transmission. I’ll see you back at headquarters,” said the Leader Lois, her hologram clicking off.

“It’s the drone, isn’t it? It’s here,” said Jalana.

Lewis said nothing, unable to meet her eyes.

 “Which means she’s here.” Jalana set her jaw. “But you have your orders, don’t you?”

“We need to go,” said Lewis, dialing in the coordinates for headquarters, not looking at her.

“Look, just because they have a strong attachment to their Clark, that doesn’t automatically make them opposed to the League—” Jalana started.

“Do you think they would run if they weren’t guilty?” said Lewis, opening the portal on his gauntlet. 

“I think they would run if they didn’t trust us to help their universe,” said Jalana, glaring at him. Her expression suddenly softened with realization. “Or there’s something else.”

There was a distant rumble, and then the sound of sirens. Both Lewis and Jalana turned around to see a strange glow emanating from where parasite husk previously was. Both flinched at the sound of a loud, distorted noise, like a roar.

Lewis took a tense breath and moved toward the portal.

“Lewis!” Jalana blurted out desperately.

“We couldn’t stop the Spider Lady on our own back in that shipping yard, we’re not going to stop her by running over there now,” said Lewis, “We go to the League. We tell them the threat is still in this universe. We get backup.”

Jalana stared over at the clouds of dust now rising up from between the buildings. She furrowed her brow and bit her lip. “…fine,” she said stiffly, following Lewis into the portal.

——

Superman may eventually become Metropolis’s favorite son, but the city’s true unsung hero was its robust public transportation system (aside from a runaway bus here and there). It was thankfully a shorter tram ride from the industrial district to New Troy than the ride from Clark and Jimmy’s apartment had been, but it was still agonizingly slow for Lois. She looked out the tram window to see several armored vans careening around a corner, several SCU guards already moving to make a perimeter around Parnassus Avenue. That was when the sound hit—that roar. The whole tram rocked, and a swell of worried voices overlapping each other filled the vehicle, as the light coming from Parnassus Avenue shifted.

“Is it the parasite?!”

“I knew we should have gotten rid of that thing!”

“We were trying to get rid of it, that’s probably how the dumbasses turned it back on.” 

“Oh god, I can’t do this again—”

“Superman beat It before, right?” 

“No one’s seen him all day!”

“That’s not true, he saved my cousin from getting hit by a taxi, earlier.”

“This is bigger than a taxi!”

Lois pulled the ‘Stop request’ chord running alongside the window. The tram didn’t even stop completely as the doors opened and she and Jimmy hopped off.

“It’s not safe out there!” A tram passenger shouted at them as she and Jimmy ran off. There was still just enough chaos, just enough confusion for them to slip through the still-forming perimeter relatively unnoticed. All of Parnassus Avenue was hazy with settling dust. 

 There were still uniformed and higher-ranking police officers scattered around, half of them trying to direct the fleeing hazmat suited scientists, others trying to get testimony on what they had seen in the tents. To their credit, Lois and Jimmy were pretty good at sneaking at this point, or just looking like the kind of people everyone expects to be grabbing someone else’s coffee—something between those two lines. Being interns was worth that much, at least. Lois was struck by how much light was hitting the street now, how wide the gap between the buildings overhead was now that the Parasite husk was gone.

“I don’t know if it exploded or imploded—” she overheard one of the hazmat-suited scientists, trying to explain to a detective, “I want to say imploded, because there wasn’t debris flying around and we didn’t get fried, but it’s not like I had time to look with that crazy woman shooting things!”

An SCU officer with her helmet off, sandy-colored hair too long to be a pixie and too short to be a bob, was yelling into her phone. “Goddammit, no, Commissioner, there’s no way I’m sending more men in there until we have a better grasp of what’s actually happening. We’re spread thin between here and that explosion at the shipping yard, I’ve got three officers unresponsive, and eyewitness accounts saying they think the Parasite caught on fire. And now, apparently, there’s an armed assailant carrying an unidentifiable firearm, and at least one hostage. We’re establishing a perimeter, then we’re bringing in a negotiator.”

“Yeah, there was a big guy, and a short lady—sexy outfit, too—no the lady had the sexy outfit,” another hazmat-suited scientist was talking to an SCU officer.

Lois became very aware that there was an armed woman with her face running around in this situation and quickly brought up the hood of her jacket. Even through the hood she heard the crackle of the police scanner.

“Be advised, break-in and assault reported at Siegel Street in Bakerline—”

“I’ve got a hit-and-run on North 22nd street in Queensland Park—” 

“Any units available, I know we’re spread thin right now, but I’ve got a call for a wellness check in Midvale, and the caller seemed extremely distressed—”

Lois’s lips thinned. She and Jimmy were always telling Clark there were emergency services, and there were. She knew he shouldn’t be running himself ragged for a city that had managed not to burn itself down before it had Superman (Untrue, she later learned, as Metropolis burned down once in 1857, and also had a chain of disastrous bathtub whisky fires one summer in 1926). But for all his alienness and the overwhelming spectacle of his abilities, he was still someone kind enough and conscientious enough that a lot of people trusted him more than cops, or he was someone who got there faster than an ambulance and you didn’t even have to worry about money, and now here was the chain reaction of the city suddenly experiencing his absence while being faced with something only he had managed to stop. If it was the Parasite.

Think, Lois, she’s you. And she said she wouldn’t hurt your universe. What would she want with the Parasite? What was it Lewis said about the same thing manifesting differently across universes? What we think is one thing in our universe could be…? Maybe it changes as it’s pulled over—no wait I was still me in whatever universe the League headquarters was in. Goddammit this is already enough of a headache just dealing with multiple me’s!

“Lois!” Jimmy pointed ahead—a part of the green tenting that had been surrounding the Parasite—where the Parasite had once been, was torn, flapping in the winter breeze. Jimmy gave a glance to his phone just to confirm that was where Scoops’s signal was coming from, and gave her a nod. Both she and Jimmy ran forward and slipped through the tear. The tear lead them into a clear-plastic lined area where apparently all the hazmat-suited technicians suited up, with a cluster of lockers and benches. 

“They had a pretty serious setup here, huh?” said Jimmy. He snapped a few pictures of the locker area for good measure. 

“Can’t stand to think what they’d want with that thing…” murmured Lois. What she would want with that thing… she thought, her stomach turning. 

Lois and Jimmy moved through another makeshift decontamination area, pushing through clear plastic sheets, then a dark green tent flap, just in time to see Clark struggling in the grip of a golden android.

——

Clark remembered the sensation of the Parasite leeching into him. Ivo had an odd penchant for grabbing him by the face, but the real pain was in the sapping. It was an icy, prickling, nauseating ache, where there was an immediate pain seeping down from that point of contact, down his neck, which sent shockwaves through his whole body. Clark knew he could hold his breath for a lot longer than any human, but every time it happened, he was overcome with a strong feeling that, aside from the prickling, poisonous, invasive nature of the pain, that this was probably also what drowning felt like, but without the water. Whatever oxygen there was in his body wasn’t doing what it was supposed to be doing, the cellular reactions shutting down as energy was sapped from them and screaming out in desperation. 

Amazo didn’t feel like that. 

There was still that bone-chilling invasiveness of the pain, the acute sensation that there was something in his body that should not be there, but that drowning sensation wasn’t there. Instead, images were flooding through Clark’s head: The first time he flew, whipping through a cloud and coming out soaking wet and cold and laughing. That time in fifth grade when Whitney Fordman punched him in the face during PE and ended up breaking half the bones in his hand, his parents talking very quietly and urgently with the school’s principal, Whitney’s hiss of ‘Freak’ under his breath, his voice warped by stuffed-down sobs. Lying on the roof of the Kent Farm barn, fingers interlaced behind his head, listening to the song of crickets and realizing he could see the astronaut footprints on the moon. Pa Kent’s laughs turning to stunned silence when they were tossing hay bales and Clark sent one sailing out over the cornfields and Jonathan had to tell Clark no, he couldn’t do the hay bale tossing contest at the county fair—that year or ever. Jimmy in college glancing at his schedule and shaking his head with a lopsided smile, ‘There’s no way anyone’s getting across campus that fast, Clark, you’ll miss half the lecture,’ then raising his eyebrows to see Clark sitting right next to him, right on time.Lois walking in front of him at the Planet, talking about something, while his own head was swimming as he was struggling to get his x-ray vision under control—Bra (pink), then skin (mole on her lower back), then muscle (knot in her neck), then ribcage, and lungs, and fast-thumping heart before he tore his eyes away and stumbled away stammering about a migraine. That one morning he was homesick and unconsciously focused his super-hearing just to hear Ma humming and cooking breakfast. That first hit of Red Omega energy—he hated how familiar that powerlessness was, now. Watching that alternate universe version of himself obliterate buildings with heat vision. The agony of Kryptonite crystals tearing through his body—That memory was enough to prompt the question ‘Is this dying? Am I dying right now? Is this my life flashing before my eyes?’ In his head. But no, it wasn’t that. Throughout the rush of imagery, Clark became acutely aware that he was not the only one seeing this. And it wasn’t his life, he realized, it was his powers. 

Clark’s eyes snapped open and he grasped at his neck, his own fingers feebly clawing at Amazo’s grip. No, you don’t get to see this. No, this isn’t yours.

Amazo just stared at him steadily with red-orange eyes, the android’s expression empty. Suddenly there was movement behind Amazo, Clark’s eyes widened to see Lois and Jimmy running up from a corridor—

And then all at once, Amazo dropped him. The moment Amazo’s cold metal fingers no longer had contact on Clark’s neck, that rush of images, of unbidden memories ceased. Clark felt like a laptop that was unplugged mid-software update, and had the mental image of a gnarled root being torn up from the ground at Kent Farm, dirt scattering up in the sunlight. He blacked out, not even feeling the impact of the ground as he hit it, and not even sure if he imagined Lois’s cry of his name. Lois moved to rush to Clark on reflex, but stumbled to a stop as the Spider Lady pointed her toastmaster at her and Jimmy.

“That’s close enough,” said the Spider Lady, stepping in front of Clark, “We’re all so close to getting what we want now, and I would hate for you two to mess it up by being morons.”

Jimmy gave a glance to his phone, the GPS feed on Scoops’s app indicating that Scoops was indeed, right in front of him, and he stared up at the Android. The android stared down at the prone figure of Clark Kent on the ground, before looking at its own hands, as if confused.

“Scoops…” Jimmy started and the Android looked over at him, tilting its head. 

“Don’t confuse him. He’s not your silly little drone any more,” said the Spider Lady, shifting the aim of the toastmaster over to Jimmy, “And he has a mission.”

On the ground, Clark’s consciousness managed to begin poking through his pain and exhaustion again. He heard the Spider Lady’s voice first.

“Amazo,” said the Spider Lady, “As your primary user, I order you to destroy the League of Lois Lanes.”  

There was that fizzing sound again, and Clark opened his eyes and, very carefully tilted his head to see another interdimensional burn hole opening, Lois and Jimmy were frozen in place. Lois’s eyes flicked to him.

Poker face, Lois, please. Poker face. For once in your life, don’t react— Clark thought desperately, and maybe she read his expression because almost on cue, Lois set her jaw and shifted her gaze back to the Android, watching as Amazo lumbered through the burn hole and it closed behind him, before turning her attention to the Spider Lady.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt Clark,” she said, keeping her gaze steady.

“So long as you stayed out of my way. He’s actually fine. Amazo doesn’t siphon power, he duplicates. The process is just a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

“And your plan this whole time was destroying the League?” said Jimmy.

“My plan this whole time was saving my universe. The League is just one of the obstacles in the way of that.”

“So you’re using Clark’s powers to turn Scoops into a weapon,” said Jimmy, a quiet horror in his voice.

“And all of those Loises—all of those us’s are going to die,” Lois’s hand clutched into a fist at her side.

“So?” said the Spider Lady, “They deserve it. They used my world as a petri dish, and they used your Clark for target practice.”

Clark’s eyes fixed on the Spider Lady’s bracelet. Non-lethal setting… he thought, his entire body was already tensing with with trepidation at the very idea of what he had to do.

“There’s Olsens there, too!” said Jimmy.

This actually managed to make something ripple across the Spider Lady’s face. “Not the one that matters to me,” she said stiffly, before straightening herself up. “I’m a woman of my word,” she said, lowering the toastmaster, “I’ll be leaving your universe alone, now. You can have your Clark back. But no sudden moves. And the inhibitor collar stays on.”

Clark, with as much care, silence, and subtlety as he could manage, pushed himself up to a kneeling position. I just need a few more seconds.

“I take it you’re leaving this universe with the remote,” said Jimmy, “How are we supposed to get the collar off?”

“You’re a Jimmy,” the Spider Lady scoffed breezily, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Clark’s eyes flicked across Jimmy and Lois’s faces. Don’t hate me for this, he thought.

The Spider Lady glanced down at him. “What are you—ow-!”

Clark suddenly seized the Spider Lady’s bracelet-bearing wrist, pressed down on the red gem, and yanked her arm downward, jamming the bracelet against his collar. The sparks were flying as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid as he was doing it.

It hurt.

A lot.

Just stay conscious. Just stay conscious. Just need to stay conscious until—

Suddenly, the electricity hurt less. 

It’s back.

Blue light was blazing at the periphery of his vision as his alien clothes, his Superman clothes, phased back into existence. Adrenaline, or whatever the hell was the Kryptonian equivalent, flooded through his body, nerves previously panicked by repeated bouts of agony seemed to settle into a warm calm that almost felt like sunlight, along with a sharp awareness that the world was suddenly made of cardboard again. Careful. His thumb crushed the red gem of the Spider Lady’s bracelet like it was a piece of candy, and the electricity ceased.  The world returned as a roar in his ears as his brain scrambled with the return of super-hearing. Clark shoved the Spider Lady’s wrist away, breathing raggedly and shaking.

“Why the hell would you do—!?” The Spider Lady was looking at the crushed gem on her bracelet.

Clark jammed his fingers between the collar and his neck and wrenched with a furious grunt. The collar shattered off of him like it was made of cheap plastic, the steel cables of his handcuffs snapping in the process as well.

“…that…” the Spider Lady’s face went blank, calculating.

“Needed to… short the collar,” the words came out of him breathlessly.

He was still shaking and panting as his arms dropped to his sides and his fingers loosened, letting bits of broken collar clatter to the ground. He noticed a shift in the Spider Lady’s eyes and her fingers tightening on the strap of the toastmaster. 

Clark knew he was fast, the truth was, he didn’t like thinking of how fast. When he moved fast, it tended to be pure instinct, with a vague concept of Zeno’s paradox at the back of his head. Have to be fast enough to move halfway there and halfway there and halfway there and halfway there, ad infinitum. He didn’t like thinking of how, turning on Lois’s shower earlier that day, damned slow the falling water droplets seemed in that moment when he was in a hurry. Fast was for catching someone who was falling, fast was for getting someone out of the way of a moving car, fast was for helping Ma in the kitchen whisking egg whites, fast was for (okay this one was a little selfish) getting to work on time. Fast wasn’t for fighting because he did not feel human when he perceived a fight in terms of ‘fast.’ Fast could hurt someone, like, really hurt someone. The world was already cardboard with super-strength, and fast turned it to tissue paper.

“Superman—!” Lois, his Lois’s voice was half-drowned out, drawn out, and pitched down amidst that roar of the world. The Spider Lady was shifting the gun back to her side. Did she always move so slow?

Stop the fight before it becomes a fight.

The heat vision blazed from his eyes and hit the strap of the toastmaster, the Spider Lady flinched away from the red beams as the massive gun clattered to the ground next to her. 

Don’t think about the way the fear is bubbling up on her face in slow-motion. That’s not your Lois. Stop the fight before it becomes a fight.

He was a blur of red and blue when he rushed past her, seizing the gun and coming to a halt in front of her. He didn’t break eye-contact with her as he smashed the gun over his leg like snapping kindling.

Her mouth was hanging open furiously. 

“Fine, Boy Scout! It doesn’t matter anymore!” She whipped out her burn hole interdimensional projector, “I already got what I needed from you, and now, you can’t stop Amazo from—”

Lois suddenly rammed into the Spider Lady from the side, her legs clamping on the Spider Lady’s neck and shoulders as she swung her own weight around and used it to slam the Spider Lady to the ground.

“Scissor leg takedown,” Jimmy’s voice was hushed in awe.

“It is a good move,” Clark said blankly before wincing as Lois rammed her elbow down on the Spider Lady’s back to drive her harder into the concrete. Clark honestly wasn’t a fan of the idea of Lois getting beat up in any context, but also he decided he had received too many electroshocks that day to really properly assess his current feelings on seeing Lois beat the hell out of an evil version of herself who was wearing a low-cut dress. Still, one thing was clear: While the Spider Lady had spent years building up a criminal empire of inter-dimensional technology, unlike his Lois, she wasn’t going to a kickboxing gym twice a week. She did meet Lois with an equally terrifying rage, though. There were grunts, and audible blows of fists landing, and Lois snarling, “Don’t! You! Ever touch him again!” This was sometimes punctuated from a wincing “ooh—” from Jimmy as another blow landed. The projector clattered away from the Spider Lady, and Jimmy very quietly, very quickly, stooped and picked it up. Right when Clark was thinking, ‘Should I pull her off?’ Lois seemed to have to catch her breath, straddling the borderline-unconscious Spider Lady and gripping her by her jacket, panting with bruised and split knuckles. This seemed like a decent opportunity to fire off a very cool one-liner, but instead, Lois perked up at the sound of police chatter just beyond the tent, and the two SCU officers on the ground groaning back to consciousness, and said, “Clark, we can’t stay here.”

“R-right,” said Clark.

—-

Flight was a relief, and surprisingly, so was super-strength. Jimmy was on Clark’s back, securing himself with arms snugly (but not chokingly) around Clark’s neck and shoulders, and Clark was still trying to figure out how he felt about having a Lois in each arm. Weird. It felt weird. Kind of interesting in concept though? But mostly weird. Maybe the idea would be more titillating if one of the Loises wasn’t probably concussed right now and also hadn’t spent all day electrocuting him. His universe’s Lois was tucked comfortably against him, mostly supported by the crook of his arm, while the Spider Lady hung by the waist, face down, limbs more or less dangling, under the grip of his other arm. Initially Clark had to move fast enough so that he wouldn’t even register visually for the SCU officers in the area, but thankfully he slowed down once he was a few blocks away from Parnassus. Lois and Jimmy were both squinting in the wind, Clark was moving fast enough to make all of them a little lightheaded, like on a roller coaster. Finally, he landed on a roof that was far enough from the parasite site and the shipping yard to not worry too much about police finding them, but not so far he didn’t need to focus his super-hearing too much to decipher what was going on. He almost felt a little sad as Jimmy and Lois lightly slipped off of him, Lois dusting her jacket off and Jimmy taking out the Spider Lady’s burn hole projector from his pocket and looking it over. Clark wanted to hug them both, so badly, he wanted to try and take a minute to get some kind of mental footing on everything that had happened. But they didn’t have time.

“You’re… too late…” the Spider Lady grunted between split lips as Clark carefully set her down on the roof, “You… can’t stop Amaz—Ow!”

Lois was now pinning the Spider Lady’s arms behind her back. 

“I don’t think we can risk bringing her to the League headquarters,” said Lois, “She could give that android new orders, or get her hands on new weapons, or just escape to a whole new dimension in the confusion.”

“So…what, do we tie her up or lock her in a closet or something?” said Jimmy, hating that suggestion pretty much as soon as he said it.

“Are you kidding me?” the Spider Lady said flatly.

“…I don’t trust me enough to leave me alone, especially not here,” said Lois. She huffed out a short breath as the Spider Lady weakly struggled under her grip. “You two need to go to Headquarters. I’ll keep an eye on her, here.” 

A short, forced laugh fell out of the Spider Lady. “Good luck getting to Headquarters! I’ll never tell you how to use that—”

Jimmy pressed a button on the projector and opened up a burn hole.

“…you had ‘League Headquarters’ still dialed in as a pre-set destination,” said Jimmy.

“Goddammit, Jimmy,” the Spider Lady said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know about this…” Clark was unconsciously feeling at the red welts around his neck from the collar.

“I don’t like it either, but are either of you two willing to beat up Lois Lane if she tries to make a run for it?” Lois asked, perfectly seriously.

Both Clark and Jimmy exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“That’s what I thought,” said Lois.

Clark sighed. “ Okay, fine. Jimmy, give me the projector.” “No,” said Jimmy, “I’m coming with you.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Clark and the Spider Lady said at the same time. Clark looked over at the Spider Lady and she just set her jaw and glanced away angrily.

“Look, I made Scoops, and you’re my best friend. Plus, knowing you, you’ll probably accidentally break this while fighting that thing, and I don’t trust the League to let you back, even if you save them. One of us has to make sure we can come back.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Lois.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t stay with Lois and make sure—?” Clark was floundering.

“Clark—I’ve got this—I’ve got her. Go save the League,” Lois said breathlessly.

“Are you sure?!” Clark asked, his eyes flicking down to the Spider Lady, and for a second Lois saw the fear in his eyes—the only fear you could get when you knew just how much damage someone was capable of.

 God, is he going to be scared of me after this? Lois thought. But she just gave a determined huff of breath to steel herself, readjusting her grip on the Spider Lady’s arm lock, “I’ll be fine, just—make sure you come back to me, okay?” She looked at Jimmy. “Both of you.”

Clark was just barely hovering off the ground at this point, but he cupped one hand to the side of Lois’s face and softly kissed her temple.

“Oh come on,” the Spider Lady grumbled.

 Lois wished she could clasp a hand to Clark’s wrist at his touch, even if only briefly, but she didn’t trust her alternate universe self for a second. “Just come back,” she said again.

“Right,” said Clark. 

“Don’t worry,” said Jimmy, putting one foot in the burn hole, “If anyone can stop that Scoops-Amazo-Android-Parasite thing, it’s Superman and Jimmy Olsen!” 

“You’ve got this!” said Lois, trying to match his energy as Jimmy stepped through.

“You be careful, too?” said Clark, “Please?”

“Always,” said Lois.

She was never careful, and they both knew that, but all the same, he trusted her.

“We’ll be back soon,” said Clark, flying through the burn hole as well.

“I know,” said Lois, not knowing if Clark could hear her as the burn hole closed behind him.

Both she and the Spider Lady were left alone on the roof. A cold breeze blew through.

“They’re both going to die, you know,” said the Spider Lady, before going, “Ow-OWW-ow!” as Lois shoved her forearm up in the arm lock.

 “Don’t push me,” said Lois, flatly.

#my adventures with superman #clois

[inkdemonapologist]

Who's your favorite female character in BATIM? Also, what do you think about Audrey as a character (aside from the weird stuff about Joey and "you don't have to be like this" that you mentioned in that one post)? You draw her really well.

Aw, thank you! And MAN that’s a tough question……

Dot and Abby and Susie are my personal stack of favs. Dot’s probably the one where I like her personality as-written the most, since Abby I find difficult to summarise beyond “she’s gender” and loving her friendship with her besties in TIOL (and also getting my heart destroyed after seeing her and Joey interact in DCTL). Abby seems like a delight to interact with and I enjoy that she’s a little bit rude at heart but in a “omg its true but u shouldn’t say it lmao” sort of way, and I get the sense that she and Joey kind of enabled each other when they were younger. I’d love to hear more of her art opinions. I would say I’d get in a fight with her about Monet, but I don’t think she’d even give me the honour of an argument.

We as a fandom have spent a lot of time yelling about how Buddy is clearly autistic and I don’t think we spend NEAR enough time talking about how Dot is clearly autistic as well. I really like the contrast between the two of them through that lens; Buddy has never understood an unstated implication in his life and he’s not about to start now, but badly wants to interact the way he’s expected to, whereas Dot is incredibly intuitive, perceptive, and understands subtext but has no time for it frankly and would rather be direct than conventional. A day after meeting Buddy she’s explaining how conversations work and coaching Buddy on how to ask questions even when he’s being guided away from asking questions, which is definitely a normal way to converse. I love her so much.

Meanwhile Susie is so complicated by virtue of having almost no presence in the books – just the games, where her timeline is one of the most up in the air, her writing is hit or miss, and so so much of her personality is in the gaps between audiologs that, like most in-game BatIMs, means no two fandom Susies are the same. I find her really compelling, though, exploring the character to find that sweet spot between someone who is clearly very charming and cheerful and sweet and sympathetic, but also cruel enough to become Malice, entitled and demanding enough to not take “no” for an answer and to simply decide that Alice should get to be hers forever. I’ve said before that I like to imagine that’s what Sammy saw in her, someone who could somehow be simultaneously thoughtful and optimistic and ruthlessly ambitious. I think she’s neat, but also I love her best when she’s not just sweet and not just horrible.

Anyway, Audrey’s a fun character with a lot of pretty believable emotional responses; when scenes are taken individually, I like her. Grain of salt that I haven’t watched the whole game, I’ve just seen some big moments and cutscenes, SO I COULD BE WAY OFF HERE -- but from what I've seen, while it’s tempting to say she has more personality than her predecessor, I’d be hard-pressed to pin down exactly what that personality is.

I don’t think it was intentional, but Henry’s weary compartmentalisation soaked into every comment he made, even when the things he was saying were deliriously strange (“[survives a deadly supernatural ordeal] huh, looks like I need 3 gears here”). We all made headcanons about how he’s either tired from the loops or selectively mute or just trying not to think about the horrors, and it felt like it worked. But Audrey is tough to really pin down a motivating force for, as if she’s defined by static descriptors like “determined” and “kind” rather than any particular desire like “wants to help” or “wants to stay out of trouble” that might spur her to make decisions based on those desires. Her most consistent character trait is giving others the benefit of the doubt (and constantly getting burned for it) and her most reinforced motivation is that she just wants to not be in the confusing dangerous weird ink place, which, like, same! I WOULDNT WANT TO BE THERE EITHER

She sounds bitter when Joey compares her to a father she never knew, which is an expected and reasonable response on its own that feels right in the moment – but when we look at her timeline (or the Archive’s revelation that she repressed her memories of her father AFTER Joey’s death), it’s actually a sort of difficult reaction to make sense of. I feel like a lot of her reactions are like this, especially near the end; they’re not that weird in the moment, but it’s hard to get a sense of why she’s doing these things or what’s led her to the conclusions she comes to. She defends Wilson to Allison, but like… what led her to believe that he’s legit? We can fill in those blanks with headcanons, of course, but we don’t have strong clues. Is it her having sympathy for him now that she “knows” he’s trying to save his father, or does she think it’s her best shot to get out of here, or does she really believe Wilson is going to fix everything despite everything else she’s seen? Do her chat with Henry and the revelation that Baby Bendy and the Ink Demon are one and the same just not affect her decision-making at all here? Or is killing Baby Bendy just a sacrifice she’s immediately willing to make once she realises that? What ARE Audrey’s feelings on her father and at what point does she remember him? Audrey giving Allison her name is a nice subtle indication that she’s started to accept that Joey’s story might be true, which I genuinely like, but it’s weird that we see her doing that right before insisting that she’s gonna go off and hear Wilson out – we get this indication that she’s started believing Joey, but apparently not enough to decide to try to fix the cycle, not enough to put together that the “wicked creatures who never came from my pen” might be the Keepers that she knows answer directly to Wilson. She’s determined to help Wilson so that she can get out of there, and only after that extremely fails does she decide to try to fix the broken cycle. (Honestly, it would’ve been kinda neat if she HAD in fact been selfishly helping Wilson as a “well, sucks for you guys, but I gotta get home,” and then Joey’s insistence that we always have a chance to make a better choice would actually mean something and inform her decision to take the Reel as more than just “well I guess this is the option that I have left.”)

Anyway, DESPITE THIS CRITICAL PARAGRAPH this is all fine for a player character who basically just needs to go from task to task; I think she’s likeable and I enjoy her interactions. But it does feel like a lot of times she’s just doing the next thing she’s been handed, to me, and it’s harder to make that a part of her personality than it was for Henry. It’d be neat to see a little more of Joey in Joey Drew’s daughter.

#WELL THAT GOT LONGER THAN INTENDED #batdr #i know you have questions you always do #Dot is my favourite in her original media #Abby is my favourite to draw #Susie is my favourite to explore and develop

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

I'm so intrigued by JRPG-style from the WIP game!!! Would love to know more about it

(unrelated to the WIP game but: I really enjoyed reading both 'engrave the silhouette of you' and 'thus, friends absent speak' after seeing them linked on the WIP game post! Good epistolary tomarry fics hold my heart, and amnesia + a whole relationship with your fated nemesis that you're left to grapple with (also, losing a WHOLE decade!) is such a fantastic idea that you've really breathed life into. Thank you for writing and posting, both have gone straight to my bookmarks 👀).

Oh goodness, thank you so much @known-concepts!! I'm so glad you enjoyed those two fics ヽ(；▽；)ノ

So. JRPG-style is me mashing my love for late 90s and 00s JRPGS (especially the Tales of series) with the HP universe. I've been working on plotting it out for a couple months now and finally figured out a couple of the beats that were holding me up last week, so I'm hoping to make some progress on writing this one soon because I want to write this so badly.

Harry is the Chosen One, whose task is to reinforce the seals across the land keeping Voldemort contained. Except Dumbledore, who was involved with the last pilgrimage several decades ago, has found a way to destroy Voldemort once and for all -- by releasing him.

Featuring quirky adventures, HP plot points, more worldbuilding than I've ever done before, and a hefty dose of tomarrymort for flavour, and that's where this one is heading. Probably not the most original idea, but I'm gonna have fun with it!

Thank you for asking! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Edit: Since I don't have a snippet of JRPG-style to post yet, here's a snippet from the next chapter of "engrave the silhouette of you":

Now that he’s speaking with Voldemort, and he’s seen how the man looks at him and reacts to him, it is impossible to deny how deeply Voldemort feels for him. And it’s a very Voldemort concept of love: obsessive, heavy, portentous – consuming. It should be stifling, but to Harry it feels like warmth and devotion. He’s been alone and unloved for so long, it makes a grim kind of sense that he’d gravitate towards someone whose affection for him is so undeniable. There is one thing Harry has wanted for as long as he can remember. More than food, more than comfort, Harry wished for someone to love him. Dumbledore told him that his mother’s love for him was so great he survived the killing curse, but Harry’s only memory of her is her dying moments, and being told someone loves you is rather cold comfort. The magical world’s love for him due to Voldemort’s defeat has always been more of an oppressive burden than something from which to draw strength. But Voldemort loves him. To an almost unhealthy degree, it seems.

And here's a snippet I may or may not use in the fic, but it's amusing and I want to share:

Voldemort pulls back from the kiss, and Harry's so dazed it takes a good five seconds for him to understand what's happened and try to correct it. The other man is not co-operating. “Harry, you need to tell me to stop,” he pants. “What? Why would I do that? That’s a terrible idea–” “Harry–” Voldemort’s voice is decidedly strained, breaking on Harry’s name. “Get back here,” Harry demands, trying to pull the other man’s face back to his. “We shouldn’t–” “Since when do you care about ‘shouldn’t?’” He’s so focused on getting back to kissing that his mouth runs away with him. “You’ve had a lot of awful ideas, and that’s one of them, who lets you run a country–” Voldemort drops his head to Harry’s shoulder, and he starts to shake. Harry’s suddenly concerned he broke the other man. Surely he hasn’t made Voldemort cry…? Ah, no, Voldemort is laughing. Probably at him.

#asks #wip game #tomarrymort #jrpg au

[uefb]

The Most Vicious Creatures on the Planet, Ch1 (link)

Summary: Newt became aware of his idiosyncrasies in fits and starts. Eventually, he would divide his life into Before he learned humans were vicious, and After. But accepting he could be just as vicious as anyone else was a lesson it hurt to learn. (Focuses on social awakening, boundaries and relationships, and the compromises we make as we grow into a world not always built for us.)

EXCERPT

“I just — I just don’t like St. Mungo’s very much,” he managed around that tight pressure in his throat. “Or hospitals generally. Hate them, actually.”

“Oh, Newt,” Madam Breit sighed, and she patted his hexed hand and gestured at him to sit back on the bed instead of hunching over the hard worktable. “I know you do... But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to them if you keep on like this. Between the creature fixation, your absolute recklessness on the pitch, and all these issues with —”

She paused and seemed to bite her tongue, and then concluded uselessly:

“Well.”

Newt felt her studying him hard then, and when he glanced up he knew enough about faces and human-specific behaviours to understand she was not sure precisely how to proceed…

“Madam Breit,” he finally said, “l know I’m odd.” She seemed to deflate in relief that he’d saved her from actually saying it. “I know that people don’t always like things that are - are different. And it’s okay, you know. I’m okay with it.”

She looked like she was about to sit down on the bed beside him and say something soothing, so Newt was very glad when she caught herself halfway through her movements, and didn’t.

“But you shouldn’t have to be, child,” she said instead in a sad voice, and Newt immediately shrugged, lifted the hand fused to his notebook to cradle it against his chest. She spelled the compress he’d finally abandoned to float alongside his face. “You shouldn’t have to be okay with it.”

“I think it’s just the social behaviour of humans.” He pulled his knees up toward him and watched a shadow on the far wall. “I think there’s something about - about human adolescence maybe — in particular — that elevates the need for - for social cohesion within groups.”

Madam Breit was folding several small squares of paper into birds as he spoke, and then she’d tapped them with her wand to bring them to life and sent them away with messages to the headmaster and professors.

“So I—” Newt was saying. “I think maybe I do have to. Have to be okay with it, that is. Because I think, maybe — at a species level — this is a fairly typical experience…. One that’s probably - Well, it’s probably actually evolutionarily protective.”

He let his eyes drift away to the window again, where the thin cirrus clouds had cleared, and its frame was filled instead with the brilliant, boundless blue of a cold autumn sky.

“The exclusionary behaviour is protective, I mean to say. And then the - the corrective action, for those who stray from the pack… It teaches the lone member a lesson, and it reinforces the expectations to everyone else. Which I’d imagine, really, is an incredibly effective tactic.”

(After all, by the time Newt had gotten over his surprise enough to trip up the Slytherin boys with enlivened roots and a well-directed gale of wind—by the time Leta had set to screaming at her housemates—an impressively large number of students had already gathered: a corrective action turned immediately to group reinforcement.) x

#my stuff #fic: the most vicious creatures on the planet #newt scamander #leta lestrange #Theseus Scamander #Albus Dumbledore #autistic newt Scamander #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts fanfic #1910-1926