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netherfeildren · 3 hours

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Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

He was the experienced one, you the innocent. It should have been different. Maybe it should’ve felt different. And yet, there was something in him that made you feel very much the conquering one, you the baptizing one.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; Jackson Joel Miller; Dom/sub undertones; Rough Sex; Impact Play; Face Slapping; Spanking; PIV sex; Ass Play; Oral Sex (m!receiving); Come Eating; Throat Fucking; Unprotected Sex; Potentially Toxic Dynamics? (haha?); Complicated Feelings; They Love Each Other in Their Own Weird Way, Ok?; Older Man/Younger Woman; Idk What This Is, I Don't Expect You to Either;

A/N: miss you guys, sorry for the disappearing act <3

Word Count: 3.1K

Read on AO3

Notes On a Virtuous Affair

Sunlight spills over everything, and the pastoral green leads you to him.

One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

But there’s an incongruity afoot here that only you appreciate.

The secret lies in that there’s a riddle woven through the three miles you pilgrim to see him weekly. The first, a boon, the green lush wasteland, if a thing that’s alive can be wasted. The second, an honesty, I’ll venture this distance for him. The third, a precursor, when your muscles start to tingle, your thighs, hot and itchy, nape, coated in a taste of salt. Your feet crunch along the gravel and dirt, protected by the soft leathered boots inherited from Lucy who’d died last Monday. A good start to the week, with new boots, and a thoughtful gift she’d left you, your friend, when your own shoes were so worn from all the walking you do for him. The end of the world changes death, finds good things within it.

The sun warms the bridge of your nose, and you tip your face up to the too-bright light, trying your hardest to look straight at the intensity of it. He’s very much like this too. Why would you look directly at the sun if not for the hurting it brings? Your palms splayed forward at your sides, the breeze moving through your fingers, and the world is all around you alive in this apocalypse.

Jackson is left further and further behind as you move towards him, and what no one understands, not even Joel Miller himself, is that there is something virtuous about this affair.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth now,” he says down at you, bare as the day you were born and kneeling before his clothed and towering height. Nothing but the heavy hanging length of his cock is naked for you, the first you’d ever seen in your whole life. If he had his way, the only one you’d ever see for the rest of it. The wide head is slick and glossy, the way it bobs obscenely from his open jeans looking like the weight of it would hurt, the way it juts from the bed of hair at this groin like a threat to you.

You know now, after all his focused training, that it only hurts him when you don’t tend to it as he needs, that it’s only a threat when you fail to do the same. He’s shown you the rules of hurting, in all these months you’ve come your three promised miles to him time after time. Shown you how it comes easy, that of hurting someone you love. A running in place sort of thing. You know all the steps that will come, the exact spot you’ll tread in. The way to propel yourself forward to finally leave that same place, avoid it, if you want.

“Open wider. Won’t fit like that,” he clicks his tongue, voice a burr as he grips his throbbing flesh and with the other too big hand, also like a seeming threat, but not, he gives you a quick, softly stinging slap to the high of your cheekbone. The sound, fast and snapping like his disapproving tongue. You swallow a moan, looking up at him with that look in your eyes you know disturbs him, adoration, letting the hinges of your jaw go loose, saliva pooling beneath the cover of your tongue. “Don’t you want me?” He asks.

And you blink once, moan crossing the bridge to a laugh if your mouth wasn’t stretched wide as it’ll go. He sees it though, skipping water in your eyes and gives that half smile, the mean one, the one that says he has all the answers in the world, knows all the things there are to know, that one you like best. Good girl, and his voice makes no sound, only the shape of the words on his mouth. You haven’t been good enough yet to hear the real thing of them out loud. This tells you that you must apply yourself to the task at hand, making him come.

One heavy tap to the flat of your tongue sticking out for him first, and then he’s slicking that fat head against the surface, giving you the first real taste, salt and musk trickle down the back of your throat and you moan again, eyes screwing shut tight, cunt aching something fierce. Leaking just like the tip of his cock leaks too.

That’s the thing about this thing, the one you see very well and Joel still fails to. The two of you, as disparate as you might seem, are the same in all the basic but most important ways. Too much in common for him to look at in the eye comfortably and still do the things you do.

“Open your throat. Get me hard.” In your head, he calls you baby. In reality, only sometimes, when you’re extra good, does that happen. But in your imagination, where it matters more, he doesn't ask nice, but you are his baby.

He slides back, back, hits the end of your throat, pulls out against the wet heat of your tongue. You keep your jaw wide until you feel him harden entirely, until he stretches his neck back, tendons jumping stark, clench of his jaw fluttering with a choked groan. “Suck me,” your permission to savor him like you need to.

Hands pressed firmly to your bare knees, not digging at your soft wet like you’d like, or pawing at him as you’d like even more, you close your lips around him, cheeks hollowed and suck hard, tonguing at his slit on the pull back so that he’s bearing his teeth at you in a growl and shoving forward again hard, a snarl as the cinch of your tight throat strangles the head of his cock on every one of your swallows. Your eyes water, but he pets softly at the same spot he’d stung earlier with his slap.

A game you used to play with your siblings, who could slap one another harder until the other gave out. It’d taken a while for you to come to the realization, but eventually, you’d realized the memory of it in your mind as it exists now wasn’t innocent the way it should’ve been. That there had been something you’d liked about it in a strange way—that hurting. That the first time you’d asked Joel to play the same game with you, you’d wanted him to slap you other places just as hard until you gave out also.

The games were part of the thing. His own strange rules, like the way you couldn’t touch him sometimes—you dig your bitten down nails into the soft skin of your inner thighs—only when he said it was okay was it allowed. The way you were never allowed to touch your cunt unless he said so also. He had weird things about him, turned strange by the dangerous ways of life. Like the solitude, the house out and away, the begging you had to do for him to have you.

Sameness.

He wraps his fist in your hair, more sting, “Gonna fill your belly with my come, yeah?” His thrusts pick up pace, pulling your head back as far as your neck allows so that he can fuck your throat in full, jaw hanging wide, and you’re just the wet and willing hole you know he sometimes wishes you could always stay as.

The thick cock against your tongue throbs once, twice and then he’s spilling hot and heavy down your open throat, sweet salt against the back of your tongue while you try and breathe through his strangling, tears spilling.

When he pulls back, slipping wet and heavy from your mouth you fall forward onto your palms, breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, stinging with the forced will to remain obedient. Your spine burns beneath your skin and your sore jaw hangs unwillingly open, sloppy mouth dripping a string of semen between your splayed palms.

He crouches before you, dripping cock like your mouth, milked to heavy softness hangs long and sated between his thighs. And he pets your crown, the vulnerable shell of your ear, whole body on fire so that every inch of skin hurts without his touch, hurts worse with it.

“Good girl,” he says now with voice.

The walk seems longer some days. A thousand miles plus an eon instead of merely three. Especially on the days you’re more desperate than usual. The ones when your stomach feels full of sugar for him and the memory taste of his cock is already aching in your molars. Those days your steps are hurried, look in your eyes frenzied to get to him, to escape the things you leave behind. A too full house, your sister’s squalling, teething baby, your little brothers, and too many mouths to feed and not attention to be had, not enough mother for everyone to get loved.

There’s reasons for this game between the two of you, you’d had to come out and find your attention somewhere else.

Your love too.

And if it comes with a sting sometimes, well, so had your mother’s. You like it like this now.

The first time he’d touched your cunt: show me that pretty pussy, baby, and he’d had you from that very first sweet word, you gonna let me finger it? You’d spread wide, leaked into the cup of his palm like a whore, you’d needed to make sure he was for keeping from the first try, you see. So you’d done all he’d said, taken four fingers and only cried a little bit but whined a lot. Been all, hurts, Joel, high pitched and dragging his name out on a puppy whimper.

He’d given you that first lesson in hurt the very first time: Yeah? Supposed to. A real mean man. And then made you gush into that very cupped palm so that he could drink of your sweetness.

The third mile comes to an end, the precursor, over, his house in view. It’s all quiet and slumbering and the long grass pulls you forward with its wind blown sway. The wide door to his shed is propped open, half finished rocking chair up on the workbench that sways with the intruding gust. The grass whispers behind you, the dark woods across the field moan, and he’s nowhere while the Tetons loom in the distance.

You drag your fingers along the slats of his house as you pass, everything is so quiet, like he’d never been here. Like he’d gone and left you the way he’s promised he’d never do. Your belly feels bloated with heat, heart turned into four incongruous chambers that no longer beat in tune, memories of him rioting between each thump. Your cunt goes soft and drooling in your panties as your fear beats higher and higher, and you come to the mouth of the shed, peering into the cool darkness of this little place where he makes his beautiful things. The things that go into people’s homes to be used by people’s families to be stored in people’s memories.

The gleam of the sun does not cross the threshold, and you brace your palms on either side of the wide door, the air thrums and he’s not here—yet—you slide the toe of Lucy’s old boot across the border of sunlight into sanctuary and peek your closed-eyed face into the shade right before you’re taken bodily to the ground by his heavy weight. Palms catching splinters, his strong chest heaves into the line of your spine, strong arm at your waist to pull your breath from your lungs and your legs from under you.

He forces you belly first to the ground, other hand circling your throat in the imitation of a strangle lest you lose yourself and decide to struggle for the first time ever. But you dig your fingernails into the dirt, scratching for purchase in preparation of what’s about to come, all the fight going out of you; body, half in shadow, half in sunlight. Your bones feel salt bleached. An over abundance of sodium in the blood that renders you catatonic for him.

He nuzzles soft at your nape while his hand shoves under your dress, ripping your underwear down your legs so that the elastic cuts into your tender skin to hurt. All incongruous movement, this man is.

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to go creepin’ ‘round strange men’s homes?” His voice is so deep, drawled, broken up into different notes of lust and anger and temerity. All the strange things that make Joel Miller up.

Yeah, you sigh into the dirt. “Told me exactly how it’d go for me if I did.”

You hitch your rump up then, presenting your cunt for fucking. The breeze doesn’t do half to soothe the throbbing wet. The sort of ache that’ll only be fixed by something heavy inside the hurting place. The sound of his belt quiets the disparate chambers, the beat in your ears of rushing blood is uniform now, there’ll be a wet spot in the shape of you in the dirt when he’s through. You lift your hips higher, knees scraped rough as you spread wider, face pressed to the ground and your fingers are well and burrowed in their little gouges now.

He smacks the heft of it against you asshole, spits and presses a little. He likes to scare you sometimes. Nooo, Joel, all whining stutter, but with your back arching deeper like a little babied liar; you don’t mind where he puts it, only that he puts it somewhere.

“Hush,” he soothes all nice, spanks your ass once all not— “Gonna teach you a lesson.” And shoves inside, bumping against your womb on the first try, stretching your hole too wide, too quick. And there’s no prep, no qualm. No need to hesitate when you own a thing. You swallow your animal cry, ah ah ah, you want to hear how good you’ve been out loud. He grips your hips tight enough to bruise which is what you know he wants and fucks hard and fast, each swing whistles with ownership.

He fucks you in the dirt like an animal, and this affair is virtuous.

He teaches you the truth about hurting, about ownership, about so many things that only a man like Joel Miller could teach a girl like you. And all the while he tells you that you’re too pretty to take such an ugly fucking.

The way he works your cunt, hungry, balls swinging wet so that they sting like his slaps, tip battering hard so that it aches like gratitude.

These are the things three miles give you. A whole man to teach you about the whole world.

The slick squelch of your overwhelmed cunt sounds loud, no more disparate heartbeat, no more green grassed whispers. Only the sound of his grunting above you like an animal remains. “You’re the perfect little cunt. You know that, baby?” There it is, you sigh. Start to tremble around him like that, like his good baby that you are, desperate flutters, little gash being fucked into obedience like you need. Your overwhelmed pants make little dirt dream clouds before your eyes as you start to come for him, crying his name, crying your love, crying that you’re so, so thankful.

“Don’t stop, Joel. Not yet.” And he loves it when you beg, loves it when your cunt pulls tight like a knot.

“Not yet,” he promises because he might be a real mean man, but he loves you like separating salt from blood.

Complicated and precise.

When he’s through with you, there’s sunlight spilling over everything again. It’s journey goes on and on, and his semen drips from your cunt now. He turns gentle, thrusting still, making sure it’s fucked deep, pulsing in time with your own throb. Rhythms merge between the two of you.

His rules are strange, his claims over you equally mysterious. He won’t say things out loud, won’t let you touch any real part of him, but his strange truths ring loud anyways, and when your heart isn’t disjointed, you hear him perfectly well.

When he lays you out bare and trembling across his messy bed, the groaned pains of his age and rutting in the dirt like an animal sound from him as he drapes himself alongside you. Large and hairy, feet hanging off the end of the bed, entirely real with one knee propped up so that his thick cock lays heavy and soft over the swell of his belly. Your heart beats soft and overfull now.

You watch the sun set across the planes of his chest and bask in the blue dark as the night draws breath around you. The work of meting out obedience to little girls who come searching for it is toiling, and you watch him melt into sleep, but right before he’s just gone away from you, with a single finger petting at the jut of the old broken bone in his shoulder, your whispered plea: Will you give me a falseness? You don’t call it a lie. This is a virtuous thing, after all.

Lies aren’t allowed in this house.

He breathes a deep sigh, and you watch the fan of his long lashes sweep open, staring up at the shadowed rafters of his home. You swear you can see each and every individual whisker in his thick beard, dark and gray dispersed throughout. You see every single detail.

He’d told you once there were ghosts here, in this house, and you’d learned later it wasn’t a lie. This became more and more obvious the more you got to know him.

He stares up at them now.

When he’d taken your virginity, when it’d left you the way you’d always imagined it would, covered in tears and blood and semen, you’d made that promise to each other. That you wouldn't lie, that he’d have all of you, that you’d not touch all of him. The ghost lay beside you in the damp bed of your lost innocence that day. It’d been just so ever since and over many miles of three you’d come to appreciate the realities of it. Who could be more connected than two people who always tell each other their truths exactly as they are?

“Give me a falseness,” you say again, not a lie.

“A good kind of a bad kind?”

You flip a mind’s coin, wish you could see the exact ghosts he sees— “Bad.”

He turns to look at you, this half smile he wears is your second favorite one now, the honest one, and it’s all there for you to see. All the disparate chambers of Joel, just like your heart beating in your ears. You suppose the ghosts don’t matter then.

“I don’t love you.”

And you nod solemn. Bad, like a whisper, like your game.

You smile back, the one you know he likes best, the one that looks like his.

Netherfeildren’s Masterlist

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#vic fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller smut #joel miller #the last of us AU

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doe-eyed-fool · 2 days

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Fear Of The Known

Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader

|Chapter Three|

Michael was starting to act like his old self again. He was leaving his home more, and even spending more time with his brothers.

Speaking of.

Y/n never thought she'd be around Michael as much as she had since that day. Dare she even say, she and him were growing fairly close. Sure, they had been friends for a long time, but it was never like this. Spending more time with each other, having long talks, and just being in each other's company.

Y/n was grateful for Michael's company more than anything. She needed someone else to mourn with, at least, that's how it was at the start. Now, she felt the need to be with him just to simply be with him.

Yes, they had truly became closer friends overtime. And Michael was just as grateful for Y/n being around. He had his brothers, he had his heavenly father, but he was glad he had someone to call friend.

Together, they would slowly move on from Lucifer. Though, they would never forget him.

They made each other happy, comforted each other during rough times. Maybe things can finally go back to the way they were.

A sudden gasp left Y/n, alerting Michael. "What is it?" He asks. Y/n blinks a few times, putting a hand to her head. "It's Lucifer..."

Or maybe not.

Michael's expression fell. "What about him?" Y/n looks to Michael, and quietly answers.

"He and Lilith will soon have a daughter."

There was a look of shock on Michael's face. "A daughter?" Y/n nods. "Charlotte Morningstar, is her name. In just two months, she will be born."

Michael furrowed his brows, he fell silent as he was thinking. After a moment he exhales. "Do you see any possible threat coming from this?" He asks. Y/n shakes her head. "No, at least, not now."

"Alright then." Michael starts. "Then we should tell the others immediately."

"Right. Sera should know what to do next." Y/n says. "Actually, Y/n." Michael sighs. "I believe we should inform father before anyone else."

Y/n froze. She had not spoken to God in person for quite some time. Not since Lucifer fell...

"You're nervous." Michael places a hand on her shoulder. "That's an understatement." Y/n sighs shakily. "Lucifer was his son...and because I chose not to speak up, he's gone."

Michael offers her a comforting smile. "Y/n. You know my father, he is one of, if not, the most forgiving being there ever was. If I, and my brothers forgave you. Then I know he has. I will stay with you while you speak with him, if that will help?"

Y/n smiles a bit. "It would. Thank you, Michael."

"Of course, Y/n. Now, let's be off." Michael says as he takes her hand in his. The two of them were teleported inside of God's palace, just outside of his throne room.

Y/n inhaled and exhaled shakily, but she became slightly less tense as she felt Michael's hand gently squeeze hers.

"Are you ready?" Asked Michael. Y/n takes one more deep breath. "I am." Michael knocks at the door, and after a moment, someone called from the other side.

"Come in."

Michael and Y/n entered the room, ahead of them stood Galim. And right next to them, was none other than God himself. He easily towers at a towering ten and a half feet tall.

Upon noticing the two, God smiled brightly. "Ah, Michael! Hello my son!" He greets with open arms. Michael smiles and approaches him, leading Y/n along.

"And Y/n, always a pleasure to see you, dear!" God nods his head to her. Y/n looked up at him and tried her best to return the smile without seeming nervous. "It's nice to see you too, your majesty." She says respectfully.

God waved his had with a scoff. "None of that royal formalities, please. We're all friends here."

"Right." Y/n cleared her throat. She nervously glanced over to Michael, who gave her an encouraging nod. "Um, I apologize for showing up unannounced. But, I have news to share of the future. It's highly important."

"Of course." God says with a grin. "It involves Lucifer, I'm afraid." Y/n says cautiously. The smile on God's face fell, he was silent for a moment. Even Galim looked shocked by the news, they glanced up at God worryingly.

"And, what of him?" He asks.

"In two months time, his wife Lilith, will give birth to a baby girl named Charlotte Morningstar." Y/n explains. "So far, I see nothing we should need to fret over. Especially not while she is an infant. I can not say anything more than that for now."

God inhales and turns away from the three. Galim and Michael both looked concern, while Y/n was on the verge of panic.

This was fine. She needed to do this. She did the right thing, telling God about this. And yet, she couldn't help but worry about what he might do next...

But she did the right thing.

She couldn't let what happened before ever happen again. She tried to protect Lucifer before, and looked where it got him. Look what's happened to Heaven's progress, and the Earth now corrupted beyond repair. All because she did not speak up.

She did the right thing.

She did.

"Thank you for telling me, Y/n." God finally spoke. Y/n nods. "Of course."

"I suppose there is nothing we can do but what and see what will become of Lucifer's daughter in the future. Speaking of..." God turns to face Y/n again. "I'm sorry to ask, but I'd like it if you would look into the future of Charlotte Morningstar from now on. And please keep me informed."

"Yes, of course." Y/n tells him.

"If that is all?" God wonders. Michael nods. "Yes. Thank you for seeing us, father." He reaches for Y/n’s hand, ready to take her home. But before he could, God spoke again.

"Before you go, Y/n, may I speak with you for a moment? Privately."

Y/n's heart stopped for a moment. But she remained calm on the outside. "Alright."

Galim starts off out of the room, they noticed Michael hesitating before slowly following after.

After they left, God sighed before slumping on his throne. He brought a hand to his head. "Well, I suppose I am happy Lucifer isn't alone down there. He's even starting a family of his own." The smallest of smiles grew on his face, a sad one however. "Looks like I'm going to be a grandpa. It's a shame I can't congratulate him personally..."

There was that guilty feeling again. "I'm...I'm sorry." Y/n starts. "I should have done more to prevent him from going to that meeting. Maybe he'd still be here, if I had."

God moved his hand onto his lap. "I don't think anyone could have prevented him from going. Not even me." He chuckles. "Lucifer was a dreamer like none other. He'd stop at nothing to accomplish what he's reaching for." There was a fond smile on God's face. "He was truly one of my greatest creations."

Y/n felt tears gathering in her eyes. "He was." She says softly.

"Y/n. Back then, was there any future you saw where Lucifer's dreams became reality?" God asks. Y/n thinks back, after a moment she answers.

"One." She starts, smiling weakly. "And he looked so happy."

God was silent, smile still on his face, but Y/n did not miss the slight tremble in his shoulders.

Or the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.

Y/n did as she was told, and kept tabs on Charlotte's future. So far so good. There was nothing that Heaven should be concerned about. Speaking of Charlotte, it wasn't long after she was born that all of Heaven knew who she was.

But again, Charlotte posed no threat to them. At least, not so far.

Throughout her childhood, and even into her adulthood, Charlotte was...surprisingly nice.

Really nice. To nice.

She lived in Hell all her life, and yet, she was the sweetest demon down there. It baffled everyone in Heaven. How could a demon be nice? Not only nice. But caring, merciful, pleasant, and so on.

And all of her own choice. She was never taught to be that way, she just, is.

But what bewildered Y/n the most, was what she would learn next of Charlotte's future.

"A hotel? To rehabilitate sinners?" Sera scoffs. "This is unheard of. No demon can be redeemed."

Sera was the second person you've told about this. God already knew about Charlotte's new project and seemed...confused? He definitely was shocked, there was no doubt about that.

"Charlotte seems to be very passionate about it." Y/n starts. "She even manages to get two people on board with this project of hers. Maybe even three. One who has an immense amount of power."

"An immense amount of power, you say?" Sera hums. "Y/n. Look further, please. I need to know just what we are to expect out of that...project."

"I'll try." Y/n says before closing her eyes. So far, she saw the same future as before. Charlotte Morningstar opens a hotel to rehabilitate sinners. Two others join her. A woman and a man. Then another man, one who radiates raw demonic power.

Y/n tries to look further down the line. Two more show up, significantly weaker than the previous man. Then there is Charlotte again, she's meeting with someone.

Y/n focusing in on who she's talking to. When she realizes who it is, her eyes shoot open.

"What is it?" Asks Sera.

"Charlotte Morningstar will arrive in Heaven. Very soon."

Sera looked puzzled for a moment before her expression returned to neutral. "I see. I will bring this up with Adam personally, thank you Y/n. That will be all."

"But, don't you need to know why?" Y/n asks. "No. If I can help it, this meeting will be avoided entirely. Now, I must speak with Adam, so if you'll please..." Sera says dismissively.

Y/n was confused, but decided to take her leave anyhow. Technically, Sera and the other Seraphims had authority above her. Y/n didn't want to push her luck by disobeying, and risk upsetting the head Seraphim.

Otherwise, Y/n would have questioned Sera as to why now she didn't want to know as much as about the future as possible. Surely Charlotte Morningstar meeting with the first man would raise some questions.

So why wouldn't Sera want to know why the meeting between them was called? Sera most certainly wouldn't have called for it. None of the Archangels would have any reason to. Even God wouldn't have done something like that.

Not unless there was a reason.

Y/n could help but feel like something was off...

Tags-

@bloody-delusion-expert

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne

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rootedincuteness · 15 hours

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Demon Daddy

Resident Human: "Hey Loki, why do you keep waiting by the door?" Loki: "N-no reason." Resident Human: "Come on... spill the beans." Loki: "Okay, well... I... I adopted a pup, and she should be arriving any minute."

Resident Human: "You... you what? Wow, Loki, that's... that's really wonderful." Loki: "..." Resident Human: "I never figured you for the paternal type, heh." Loki: "Alright, alright, don't make a big deal about it!" Resident Human: "No, of course not." *chuckles*

Loki: "I just want a... a... a sidekick! You know, for pranking purposes." Resident Human: "Uh-huh..." Loki: "Yeah, that's it." Resident Human: "If you say so. Let's go outside and see if she's been dropped off yet."

Loki: "She should be around here somewhere. Maybe I-"

????: "Hi! Are you my new daddy?!" Loki: "Oh... my... You're adorable." ????: "Thank you!"

Loki: "Yeah, kid. I'm going to parent the heck out of you. We're gonna have a great time together." ????: "I knew it! I knew you were my daddy!"

Loki: "I..." *tears up* "You bet I am. Don't worry, you're home now, where you'll be safe and loved."

????: "Thank you, daddy!" Loki: "Say... what's your name, anyway?" ????: "Sprinkles!" Loki: "Spri- Hmm... okay, that's gonna need some work. You're a demon, so you'll need an intimidating nickname. I'll do some workshopping and get back to you." Sprinkles: "Okay!"

Sprinkles: "Umm... I didn't come by myself, though." Loki: "Say what?" Sprinkles: "Yeah um... my friend wasn't being adopted because some think she's scary-looking."

Loki: "Demons are supposed to be scary-looking." Sprinkles: "I know, but-" Loki: "So... you brought her with you?" Sprinkles: "Yeah. She's over there."

????: "Hello..." Loki: "Hey, kid. Come over here so I can get a good look atcha. You're a unique little one ain'tcha?"

????: "I was born during the recent eclipse, sir, and well... I seem to have some magical powers." Loki: "Oh really? Like what?" ????: "I can move things with my mind, sir." Loki: "Excellent. Perfect for pranking." ????: "What?" Loki: "Nothing! What's your name?" ????: "Umbra, sir."

Loki: "That's dad to you, kid." Umbra: "Really?! You mean it?!" *sniffles and hugs Loki* Loki: "Sure, why not?" Sprinkles: "Yay!"

Loki: "Okay, first demon life lesson... how to wrestle! Let's go!" Sprinkles: "Charge!" Umbra: *giggles* Resident Human: "One big happy family."

#loki the teacup demon #sprinkles the teacup demon pup #umbra the teacup demon pup #friends of mudpie

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aurumacadicus · 5 hours

Note

159 or 139 for the ficlet please!

(Also, do these numbers correspond or a prompt or are we just winging it here, curious minds would like to know how this lottery is working 🧐)

These numbers correspond to a prompt set which I can post a link to after this is done but I wanted the randomness of it. No offense but you guys always go for the same prompts (which don't get me wrong, make sense for the characters/my writing) but I wanted to stretch some writing muscles!!!! So I anonymized the list :3c

Steve groaned when he realized he couldn't ignore the constant pinging of his phone anymore. It had well and truly rung through his half-dozing state. He pushed himself up, popping each vertebrae as he attempted to blink the sleep out of his eyes, then yawned, loud, and scrubbed at his eyes.

He took a glance around his room, then squinted in confusion when he saw his lamp had been knocked off the bedside table, there was a... sock? On the ceiling fan? And the ceiling fan was askew, the edges of the blades scraping the paint off on one side and nearly low enough to clip his hair on the other. He stared at it, mouth hanging open in confusion, especially as it finally registered that it was not a sock hanging from the fan, but a ripped pair of tights.

Steve grabbed his phone, still staring at the tights, as he wondered how, exactly, they'd been ripped right down the middle of the crotch and where, exactly, the other half was. He found it as he rolled onto his back to check his phone, one end tied to the foot board of his bed, the other tied around his ankle. He blinked slowly, then thumbed his phone open, peering at the notifications.

[Bucky] If you don't respond, I'm calling the cops

Steve blinked again, then sent a simple 'responding' and scrolled up to see what was going on. He came to the conclusion that he'd disappeared halfway through a party. Bucky and Natasha's engagement party, maybe? They were celebrating something, he remembered. The first messages has been teasing, calling him a curmudgeonly old man, then jokes about him getting lucky, then concern as he'd never replied to any of them. He flipped back to Bucky's messages.

[Me] Yo what happened My lamp's broken? And my ceiling fan? I'm tied to the bed kinda.

He looked around again just for good measure, then did a double-take at his sheets. He snapped a picture and sent it along as well.

[Me] Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall.

Bucky's response came only a few seconds later.

[Bucky] Oh my god the stripper??????????????! I wondered what happened to him!!!!!!

"The stripper?" Steve asked, squinting at the screen in confusion.

The door to his bathroom opened, and a man stepped out, naked as the day he was born. He was beautifully damp. He had a towel wrapped around his hair. Steve understood, suddenly, why half a pair of tights were on the ceiling fan. He immediately wanted to fuck this man so athletically that the other half snapped off his leg and flew onto the ceiling fan too.

"I ordered breakfast," the man said casually, pulling a duffel bag from... somewhere. "It should be here in about fifteen minutes. I'm Tony, by the way," he added, picking a pair of briefs out of the bag.

"You don't have to put those on, Tony," Steve offered, instead of doing the polite thing of offering his name back, or asking if he wanted anything else.

Tony let out a bark of laughter. "Just as charming as last night," he teased, shaking his head.

God, Steve hoped he'd been charming last night. "So... were we introduced last night?" he asked carefully. "And you thought I forgot your name?"

"I was introduced as Bambi last night," Tony said, offering him a smirk. "And you waxed poetic about my big brown eyes until I basically had no choice but to fall into bed with you."

"Bambi," Steve repeated, and then, louder, "Ooooh, Bambi." Suddenly he remembered exactly what had happened last night, up to and including how his room had gotten messed up, and it had started with Tony finally asking, 'Does that make you Faline? Or are you more of a Ronno?' and Steve just picking him up and carrying him toward the door as Tony giggled in his arms.

Well. Food was coming. He'd have time to convince Tony he was more than just a fan of brown eyes. Tony had a cheeky smile. He found those always seemed to get him into trouble in the best way.

#aurumacadicus answers #saving-stark #1-161 stony ficlet challenge #stony

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where-theres-smoak-2 · 15 hours

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So this whole 'if rhaenyra insisted on having bastards then she should at least have chosen someone who looked more targaryen/velaryon' argument actually doesn't make much sense when you think more about it. This idea that the problem with rhaenyra having bastards was that they had dark hair, like if they didn't there wouldn't be a problem, it was the dark hair that gave them away and caused suspicion etc. I feel like some in the fandom, and I also think the show can be a bit guilty of this too, assume that the white hair and purple eyes of the targaryens are a dominant trait like the baratheons black hair, but actually it's not. There are several targaryens who don't have the white hair, baelor breakspear targaryen had his dornish mother's dark hair which he in turn passed on to his son valarr, elia martell's daughter with rhaegar targaryen, rhaenys, also had dark hair as did jon snow. Another rhaenys that had dark hair, at least in the book, is the rhaenys from hotd, and I'm sure there are others too. In fact the only reason these 'targaryen' features were common amongst targaryens was because of the inbreeding.

This is where I think hotd messed up with the character design of rhaenys because, as I said above, in the book she has dark hair on account of her mother being a baratheon. If they had kept rhaenys dark hair then whenever anyone questioned jace, luke or joffrey's dark hair, rhaenyra could just shrug and go they get it from their grandmother. Even though they changed how rhaenys looked I do still wish that we had seen rhaenyra play the 'it's their baratheon genes coming through' angle in the show because it's the most logical explanation she could have given.

Another thing that I find kind of amusing about the assumption that the targaryen genes are dominant like the baratheon genes is that the founder of house baratheon, the very first baratheon, was orys baratheon who was actually a targaryen bastard himself, born from the same targaryen father as aegon the conqueror. So dark-haired targaryen bastards have existed since aegon the conqueror came to westeros and baratheon dark hair genes have been cancelling out the white hair of targaryens from the very first time a targaryen and baratheon crossed bloodlines.

So I don't think rhaenyra having dark haired children should be that big of a deal when they have close baratheon relatives and again I really wish the show had played into that more. I think the suspicion should have more been centered around maybe their facial features looked like harwin strong's, they had the same nose or the same mouth shape, but them merely having dark hair should have been a non issue in my opinion. Also where exactly would rhaenyra have found someone with targaryen/velaryon features who she could also trust to keep quiet about it afterwards? Just practically I don't think that makes sense nor would it have been safe for her or her children, so choosing someone who had similar features, ie dark hair, like a baratheon which could be explained away due to her sons having baratheon blood through rhaenys, was the most logical next step.

#hotd #house of the dragon #pro rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #team black #anti team green

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teecupangel · 8 hours

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Tee I can't remember if I've sent this idea before, but with [insert Desmond as an animal au] of your choice (or multiple of them, or all of them)--consider Desmond stuck as an animal and getting used to that being his new life. Until. He meets one of his ancestors he spent time as (havihg sought them out of course. He could never resist). And then, maybe it's by design, or maybe it's some kind of weird crossed wires from the Bleeding Effect, the echo of a flesh and blood body given a reminder in the code of the universe what shape it's supposed to be--

Whatever it is, it turns out that as long as Desmond is in skin-to-skin contact with his ancestor, he reverts to human form.

which is to say: big convoluted excuse for lots of hugs and hand-holding.

It would be funny if Desmond was some kind of big animal so when his ancestor lets go of him, enemies would be surprised by the sudden appearance of such a beast XD

Since you gave me free rein on this, I’m going for 12th century Levant XD

Malik did not believe he was close minded.

He accepted Altaïr was in love with a mysterious man who can turn into a beast even before Altaïr had admitted it.

Altaïr didn’t try hard to deny it anyway.

Saying “this is necessary” while they were holding hands or Altaïr’s hand was on his neck or they were in each other’s embrace (and many more positions that Malik didn’t have any time to list down at the moment) was such a weak excuse that Malik didn’t really think he should even be using the term excuse in the first place.

When he sent a letter saying he was going on a ‘trip’ with Desmond after they finished the mission in Cyprus, no one in the Brotherhood was surprised.

They immediately looked for Malik to lead them as if Altaïr had planned it.

No.

This felt more like Desmond’s work. That man seemed to believe Malik could handle more things than Malik was comfortable with handling.

Yet, he persevered for no one was willing to take the mantle from him.

After the first year of his tenure as the temporary mentor, Rauf was already suggesting that he, Altaïr and Desmond should just be the mentors together.

The way he said it though made it clear to Malik that Rauf believed Malik was entangled in Altaïr and Desmond’s relationship.

Or was harboring unsaid feelings for either or both of them.

Malik wanted to vomit there and then.

He would rather lose both of his arms than be part of whatever relationship those two had.

They were the cause of Malik’s headache.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Their trip lasted for four long years.

Malik’s list of complaints had turned into a journal and he was planning to read everything out loud.

But his tenure as the long suffering temporary mentor has finally come to an end for those two idiots had returned.

When he reached the courtyard to greet them, Kadar grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Brother.” Kadar’s eyes were wide and his hands were trembling.

“What is it?” Malik asked, his mind going through the many worrying fates those two idiots could have had while they had been away.

“I’m so sorry, brother.” Kadar looked like a man who had his heart broken.

… on behalf of Malik.

Oh no.

Please.

No.

“Malik!” Desmond shouted and Kadar let go of him, stepping back into the crowd like the coward that he was.

Malik turned to where he heard Desmond’s face and saw Desmond’s grinning face.

With both of his hands holding two different persons.

Altaïr was, of course, one of them.

That was a common sight by now.

The other was a woman though.

“This is Maria Thorpe.” Desmond introduced, “The mother of our first son! He’ll be born three months from now!”

Oh, it was worse.

Many Assassins behind the three currently in front of Malik were looking at him with pitying eyes.

It seemed their imagination had run wild.

And now they had cast Malik into the role of an unfortunate man who just heard the two men (or one of these idiots) he was in love with (He. Was. Not.) had married a woman while he had been waiting for them to return.

Forget reading out loud his complaints.

He was going to beat the both of them with that damn journal.

#whether this is #altdes #or #altdesmar #is up to you #here i am once more #bullying malik (affectionately)

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hiraeth-sonder · 1 day

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High Tides - Zimeng House

Yan! OC x Reader

Overindulging your child is very often the downfall of most parents, but it can be excused when you have reunited with your long lost son, no?

TW: Incest, some guy gets knocked out/killed, nursing, implied dubcon, general toxic behaviour, not really proof-read and maybe (definitely) bad writing

//I had the urge to write this no idea why. Dedicated to a friend of mine who fulfilled my inspiration fix and indirectly aided with the creation of this horrific thing

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The rapid yet skillful plucking of strings echoed throughout the hall, a sudden start that brought attention to the stage in the very middle. Surrounded by dozens of other guests, sitting atop a wooden chair with a pipa in your lap, draped in fine silks and tinkling jewellery, you strum the strings slowly as the melody rises layer by layer. Interspersed were tremolos, hot friction rubbing against the pads of your finger, the bright moon rising from the sea.

Your eyes scan across the gathering of people tonight, fingers still playing as you pluck and strum. It is the same as every other night, men seeking to spend the night in the embrace of another, courtesans pouring sweet wine into the awaiting mouths, there was little to note on such a mundane night.

The second section begins, you bring your other hand to the neck of the instrument as it joins your dominant hand in chanting and pulling. Still just as leisurely as the first, the added motions continued to entice your eager audience, wide eyes filled with wonder as they drift to visages beyond your face and skill. You could feel wandering eyes trail along your neck, travelling a line to your fingers, your waist, even to the arch of your feet. You pay them no mind, it is after all, your life’s work to entice and should your music not be up to par, then let it be your frame that does so.

As young women garbed in silks as vibrant as the fenghuang’s feathers emerge, their feet light and their actions entrancing, you continue your reverie upon silk strings. There is little incentive for you to focus on your art, not when you have all but perfected the very act of performing. In the distance, standing by a pillar and hidden among the crowd was a young man in dark robes. He had a still sheathed sword by his side, garbed in midnight dark robes that cut a severe silhouette. For a moment, your eyes meet, milky jade that seemed not of this mortal realm bearing an intensity. It is by instinct that you avert your gaze, and you find that despite having been the focus of unsavoury attention for far longer than most, you feel uneased by his.

You continue to strum, dancers whirling in winds of colourful fabric as the melody continues with its rhythmic flicks. Your vision is obscured by thin veils, arcing through the air as they fall with graceful descent. You still feel that man’s gaze on you, and you can only wonder whether you have met before in some clandestine time. There was little other reasoning, the only other could be a desire of service, a desire for temporary companionship.

When the performance eventually comes to its natural end, your sisters, the dancers, aid you with your ascent, one taking the pipa from your hands and another offering you a hand to take. Her hand is much softer when in comparison to yours, though care was essential for the lives you lead, your very niche borne callouses upon the pads of your fingers. A soft smile pulls across your lips as your eyes crinkle, and as the once hungry gazes of guests slide right off your form, focused on younger more nubile women, one slinks away.

You part the beaded curtains that separate the house’s main hall from the inner rooms, and just the clack of beads clicking against each other sound in your ears, you hear a man’s voice from behind you, low and rumbling.

“Ms. Shen.”

The sound is familiar in an odd manner, the way he calls your surname all too intimately despite the cold tone of his voice. You are not sure whether you like it, and when you turn to face him, high and all-mighty cultivator of milky jade eyes, you find that uncertainty still brewing. Your nerves seem to harden and chill, bringing a hand to your exposed collarbones.

Speaking slow and steady, you maintain the contact that he has put upon you, “I must apologise, young sir. I am afraid I shall not be taking on personal entertainment for tonight.”

“I wish not for company, but I must ask for a private room for I have questions not meant for prying ears,” He responds, his face not alluding to any emotion that you may take advantage of.

The brothel madam has been watching you from the second floor, her pipe in hand with a grimace on her lips. She waits for you to cover your mouth, to reach for the hanging decor of your hairpins. When none of it happens, the older woman closes her eyes and takes a puff from her pipe. Your eyes once shifting between her and the young man in front of you, his gaze ever steady, settles. You can only resign to whatever he wishes, acquiescing and bringing him to the upper floors of the building.

Tucked away within the labyrinth of rooms that lay within Zimeng House, a pot of warm tea and two cups sit between the two of you. The sounds of pleasure and revelry just barely at the edges of your mind, gentle woody incense wafting through the air as the night wind breezes in. Sitting opposite of you is the young man, grey hair long and bound at the ends, his complexion blemishless and those eyes, placid as a frozen lake, bore into you, as though trying to figure out something within you. His sword, impossibly long and not possibly able to be used by mortal hand, remains unsheathed by his side. This young man was quite obviously a cultivator, a fact that was only all the more by the odd oppressive aura he seemed to emit.

It takes a moment for him to speak, for any of you to speak yet when he does, there is now a susceptibility to his voice, one that sounded younger, one that belonged more to a child than an adult, “Did you have a son twenty years ago?”

The question, no matter the tinge of pregnability in his words, was sudden. Certainly not the kind of question one asks a high-ranking courtesan, and certainly not the kind of question asked in good faith, not in your field of work, not from a cultivator.

“If I did, that should be no business of yours.”

“And should that son still be alive? Would it then become my business?” He responds just as fast, still holding eye contact.

It is then that you notice the birthmark upon his hand, a little wing like discoloration below his knuckle. The bow of his lips so familiar to you, the curve of his eyes and the manner in which he holds himself. An image of you, an image of you distorted by the features of another and the dew of immortality.

You avert your gaze, taking in a breath before looking at him, the breath in your chest still and tight in your lungs. Rising from your seat, he lets you approach him with tentative steps, feet padding against wooden floors before you sit by his side. Pathetically, you could only rasp out, “How is he? If he is alive?”

The young man leans closer, eyes of wonder and recognition. As though just as affected by emotions deemed frivolous by his people, he manages to whisper, “He is doing well.” Then, he backtracks, a notion he appears not quite used to, correcting himself quietly, “And he has missed you quite so.”

For mother and child, it is very often that words are not needed to understand one another. Your arms that once cradled his infant form in a time long ago, wrap around him as he tucks his nose into the crook of your neck, his much broader form encapsulating yours as tears slowly soak through your silks. You cannot blame him, for even tears dew at your lower lashes.

“Mother, your son has found you.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

When your son had disappeared, you had not the chance to even name him. How could you? For someone like you, someone who could barely even read let alone write, you had always intended to give him some name that would bless him most, perhaps wish for him to become a great scholar or businessman. Yet he has returned to you as Yuanhua, ‘first magnificence’, and what truth he has grown up as.

Your darling son, pride of Fengyi Mountain, saviour of the innocent and bane of the demonic, how magnificent he has become. You could be no less prouder of him, proud that he would rise above the status of a courtesan’s son. He is so much more than you could hope he could have become, and it fills your heart with an emotion you can not fully deem delight.

You must admit however, you did not think he would become such a clingy child in his adulthood. You suppose that he is only trying to make up for the years lost on the both of you, for his loss of childhood vulnerability and yours to overindulge. It has only been a few months since he has reunited with you, yet many of your sisters have already started looking forward to his visits. They would wait at the windows that face the busy streets and look for the white head of hair towering above the crowd. It has come to the point that they would ask you about him, albeit your relation not known to them, asking whether he treats you well, whether he was looking to retire from the jianghu and get a wife of his own. All those times, you could only laugh and urge them to ask themselves, after all, that son of yours was by no means a person you could control.

Today, he has come once more, now resting his head upon your lap as his form curls in towards you. Yuanhua is quite definitely one of the larger men you have had the experience of being with, and he is careful to not put his full weight, though he is still that sticky child, holding one of your hands within his much larger, colder ones.

A small laugh escapes you, he all but rushed to your side the moment you entered the room, and with his recent absence, you can only surmise that he was sent away on a mission that took up far more energy than he would have liked.

“Hua’er, have they been working you too hard?” You hum, rubbing his knuckles with the pad of your thumb. Reaching for the osmanthus cakes plated on a table, cakes you had been gifted and intended for him to try, you bring up a cut piece for him, “Come, eat some pastries.”

He obliges, obediently opening his mouth to accept your offering. Watching him so happily eat, with an overfond smile on your lips, your other hand reaches to pet his head, an act that has him leaving into your touch, far more than you thought already possible.

“I only wanted to be with you sooner,” He murmurs.

You sigh, a reigned smile pulled across your painted lips, still allowing him to hold onto you. “Your old mother can be on her own, don’t rush even if you can.”

The thought of him being injured, no matter the fact that he is far more powerful than most, tugs at your heart strings, yanking on them with a ferocity. Though you have lived 20 years grieving your child, knowing that he is alive and that is a tangible, actual person that you now so unfailingly adore, the idea that he may possibly be harmed is torturous.

“What if you get hurt, hm?”

Yuanhua does not respond, merely tightening his grip on you as another sigh escapes. The melody for tonight’s performance comes to the surface of your mind, and as you hum and pat his back in rhythm, he lets you. Your son lets you move as you please, all too happy to follow along as he fully relaxes on you and flutters his eyes shut.

It is then that you hear the sliver of conversation from the outside, spoken in hushed voices yet deafeningly audible through paper and wood. For your ears that have grown keen to hear news of your son, it is only natural, yet it is now that you wish you could not.

“Why does that cultivator keep visiting her?” A man’s voice sounds from outside, he sounds familiar, perhaps one of the more frequent guests.

Another responds, another man and another guest. He sounds younger, his voice louder than the first’s, “You know, I heard that those people up in Fengyi Mountain are meant to be celibate.”

You look down to your son, his eyes shut and his posture relaxed. He appears to have not a worry in the world, long lashes kissing the apples of his cheek. High nose, sword straight brows and thin lips, sometimes you think you see the face of another upon his. Your child, who appears so much like you and another, it pains you.

“Do you think…?”

“That he’s a philanderer? Why not? They all think they’re above us and yet look at them,” One of them scoffs, a supercilious tone to his lilt.

The other laughs at that, odd mirth tinging his voice as their footsteps sound further and further down the hallways, “And he goes and picks the most expensive one of them all.”

“Hah! At least he has taste.”

Your heart seems to drop all throughout such vulgar conversation. You have been no stranger to slander, have been the victim of it many times in your life, but your son? Your son who had lived 20 years as an ascetic, finally allowed comfort within his mother, who is unfortunately a courtesan. How cruel this world is, to reunite mother and son only to make it so the interactions you may have, be tainted by the very career that has kept you alive long enough to be with him until now.

You look down to him once more, he is looking at you, milky jade eyes warm with adoration as his fingers interlock yours, tightly. He does not deserve such talk, he does not deserve to be the butt of such a cruel joke. There is nothing you would not give for him, and it is now that you yearn to give him freedom from such mockery. One last night, you shall have him one last night and he will return to Fengyi Mountain as their pride once more

Your son squeezes your hand and turns towards your womb. Yuanhua asks a question so casually it was as if he were a child asking his mother for another story, his voice soft as though any louder and you would crumble to dust, “Would mother still dote on this me if you knew what I have done?”

“You are still my son,” You whisper, bringing your hands up to kiss the back of his hand. Your eyes close, and it takes you a moment to continue, your throat tight and your breath stilled, “There is nothing that you can do that will make me hate you.”

“I will always love you.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The night is young, the smell of spicy oud burns through the air as the music of revelment reverb through the building. People of all backgrounds gather to find entertainment, bliss and temporary companionship. When the sun rises, the remnants of the night’s debauchery shall remain a stain upon the soul, no less visible to the judge of hell than the shameful walk one must make in pursuit of escape.

Not tonight, for rather than performing musicality or sensuality, you are granted the rare visit of an old friend.

Dipping your head, hairpins of tinkling gold graze the curves of your cheek as you greet the man before you, “My lord, it is an honour to serve you tonight.”

“Ms. Shen, no need for the formalities,” He waves you off, urging you to come closer, an offer you take. His voice is low and humming, reassuring and assuaging, he smiles at you as crows feet appear at the ends of his eyes, “How long has it been since we’ve known each other?”

When you respond to such with a familiar smile of your own, he takes your hand in his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. Truly, Lin Zheng is still your most loyal, and kindest guest. 23 years and he has yet to request another, it has come to the point that practically everyone in Zimeng House knows to see him situated in the better rooms and call for you to attend to him. It was hard to believe that this wizened 4th ranking court official before you was the county magistrate who blushed redder than a jujube when he first saw you.

His eyes ponder upon your visage, and it is a long seeded regard that seeps from them. You follow along his example, allowing your eyes to trail along his high nose and sword straight brows, features that lent him regal apertures that rivalled the imperial bloodline.

With a solemnity that could have rivalled even the underworld judges, he calls upon you, “Have you always been this beautiful? Even now you rival the ladies of Chunning House.”

“You flatter me, I am but an old maid compared to the young flowers of today,” Laughing, a kind of shyness overtakes you as you avert your gaze.

Lin Zheng only reaffirms his praise, bringing a hand to your cheek as he gently redirects your gaze to his, “No less lovely, what man would not feel shame for having not experienced your touch?”

Times must have truly changed, for when it was he who sputtered in diffidence, it seems to have become your turn to grow shy at his action. Still, you do not turn away from his affection. The older man reaches for the jug of wine on the low table and pours out a conservative amount into the two cups, offering the first to you.

As he hands the cup of wine to your waiting hand, the window shutters open with a violent swing. The sound of wood banging against wood and the tip of a sheath tapping against the floorboards further drag the two of you out of the intimate atmosphere contained within the room. Clad in dark robes and with his long silvery hair flowing in the night wind, the man calls for you.

“Mother.”

Controlled and yet, the breach of something more, something raw and broken lies beneath his low voice. He remains at the balcony, and it is as though the world has gone quiet for solely his presence. The oppressive energy that had once made you wary of him when you first met trickles out, those eyes of his that which had once been warm, seethes and rages

His voice cracks, just the slightest as he directs the heavy burden of his gaze onto you,“You sent me away, so you could entangle with another?”

“Hua’er,” You managed to breathe out, a slip of vulnerability that you had so painstakingly tried to keep within.

Li Zheng, who though had no clue who was before him, moved to put himself in front of you, pushing you behind him as he places himself as a physical barrier between the two of you. This man who grew up a scholar and took no interest in the world of martial might, still saw fit to protect you over himself. Yet this one action, this one innocent action only enraged your child.

“You said you loved me, but you would let others touch you so familiarly?”

This sudden accusation confuses you, and you rightfully respond to such an inquiry with confusion, “What are you talking about? This is my job.”

“I see,” He mutters, and it is then that you see how dilated his pupils have become, thin jade encircling a pitch dark void. Yuanhua approaches the two of you, footfalls slow and practised and cutting through the room like a knife, and that breach of violent emotion finally rips through. That though his very movements were the epitome of discipline, the manner in which he seethes reveals far more than his actions. A laugh of unconstraint leaves his lips, one that echoes in your ears before he finally sneers,“I see.”

“Yuanhua!” You can only pathetically yell out, hoping that he would come to his senses and cease whatever he seemed so hellbent on unleashing.

In a move far too swift for either of you to anticipate, he brings the pommel of his sword down upon Lin Zheng’s head, a harsh crack reverberating through the room. You could only watch as your dear friend’s form fell limp onto the ground with a thud, your son kicking him away without care, as though he was merely a pebble in his path.

With the moonlight as his halo, he looms above you, broad shouldered and stalwart. You do not recognise the man before you, do not recognise the fervency in his eyes nor the concupiscence within them. His sword is abandoned in favour of covet, and your son, your dear son pushes you to the cold ground. Though gentle with a hand to the back of your head, the rushed action still sends a dull ache through your form.

“Mother,” He breathes, rosy flush to his jade white complexion as his breath fans against your skin. Nosing along an imaginary line down your neck, lips ghosting over pulse points as he murmurs, “Don’t leave me, not again.”

He tugs down the front of your ruqun in one swift motion, exposing tender skin and bare chest to the night chill. He takes a moment to admire you. Then, without hesitation, he latches onto the soft bud and starts to suck, his tongue swirling around as it rips a weak whine from your lips. Though you push against him in some meagre attempt to put some distance between your two forms, he merely strengthens his efforts as a hand moves to squeeze your hips, the other cupping and kneading the neglected breast.

Enervated by his fervid actions, it was as though even your voice wished to give up, whether from use or carnality, you were not sure. “Stop it–!”

He ignores you, and that hand that once gripped the very hips that birthed him, sinks deeper into its origin. Pushing through cavernous desire, Yuanhua rips a particularly loud keen from your throat. It is a sound more beautiful than your skillful playing, more mellifluous to his ears than any other sound, and he smiles.

Fengyi Mountain may have taken him away from you for a reason illogical, but that is in the past, burned in the embers of the future. When he finally takes you away from this establishment, away from those greedy eyes, then he will truly be reunited with you, mother and son.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #original writing

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lillie98 · 3 days

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How to Save the World—Stranger Things 5

I’ve had some time to sleep on the episode titles and think about them, read theories, etc. and I now believe they might be real.

Hear me out: Stranger Things is all about cycles, parallels, tropes happening over and over again. The Duffers love taking a moment and repeating it in slightly different ways to prove a point. The story started with “The Vanishing of Will Byers” because we needed to place a small, innocent child in the center of our story, something to bring our character together and drive them to action. Well, that child is no longer in danger and our team is ripping apart at the seams. It’s almost like we need something similar to reunite everyone and drive them to action again.

Remember: The Duffers love parallels. Will’s disappearance brought his deeply fractured family together, uniting them for a common cause. It also brought Nancy and Jon together when their families needed them most. Now, the Byers are a united front, ready to tackle any monster that comes their way. They are the glorification of the avant-gard family. Now which family is struggling? The Wheelers. The perfect, All-America Nuclear Family: Mom, Dad, 3 kids, and a picket fence. They look perfect to the outside world, but behind closed doors, they are deeply struggling. They don’t communicate, the parents have idea what’s happening in their children’s lives, and if they’re not careful, if they don’t come together and form a united front—they’re going to lose everything, potentially causing the end of the world. (Why? I haven’t gotten that far yet!)

Now, how do we inspire them to action? Maybe by taking the child who was born to save their crumbling marriage—the one has seen everything but, up until this point, been too young to contribute. Now, she’ll be the same age Will was when he disappeared and Mike and Will are the same age as Jon and Nancy. The Duffers are trying to illustrate the idea of “The Next Generation.” This evil, this Upside Down dimension is NEVER going to stop until someone from the Wheeler and Byers families breaks the cycle. Children will continue to vanish, the world will continue to crumble, until someone steps up and says ENOUGH. The Wheelers and Byers (parents and children) must step up and face their pasts in order to move forward.

The “Stranger Things” are not only LGBTQ+ matters, they are the skeletons we hide in the closet that literally eat us alive. They are the dark, festering parts of ourselves we don’t let anyone else see. The invisible cancers that slowly and silently kill us. Until we face them head on, until we bring them to the light, they will NEVER die. Stranger Things is about owning your past, facing your fears, and finding the light again.

So yes, Stranger Things will end with Will Byers making it home from Mike Wheeler’s house on November 6, 1983, but not in a time traveling way, in a finally letting go of that scared, pained little boy who thought the world was better off without him. It’s Mike accepting his sexuality and place in his family. His role as a leader. It’s Joyce accepting love from Hopper, who must accept that he is not actually cursed, but that sometimes, bad things happen to good people, even when they think they’re doing the right thing (Vietnam). it’s Karen and Ted falling in love again and fighting to save their family. It’s Eleven discovering that love, not anger, should fuel her powers. It’s mourning your stolen childhood while stepping into the version of yourself that child never got to be. It’s stopping the cycle and creating a better world for the Will Byers and Mike Wheelers and Jane Hoppers of tomorrow. THAT’S how you become a Hero.

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i-guess-im-into-this-now · 2 days

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The Apothecary Diaries

S1E15 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

To start at the beginning:

Episode 1

My character/locations cheat sheet

Suiren - Jinshi's attendant

Lakan - mysterious officer

Lihaku - the military officer who took Maomao out of the Rear Palace

Basan - an officer who works in the palace

Xiaolan - Maomao's servant girl friend

Palace gossip! Lihaku has done a good job handling the fire investigation. But he had help from Jinshi's personal assistant! Didn't Jinshi just buy a beautiful courtesan from Verdigris House?

This shit is worth sitting up for. Master Lakan, who's peaceful nap was interrupted by gossipy military bitches, would like to hear more about Maomao. Should I be worried about this guy's interest in Maomao?

Gaoshun would like Maomao to look into an old case. If you want to close a cold case, then Maomao is certainly the one to ask.

Side note: Gaoshun just offered to take Maomao to a restaurant to eat raw pufferfish. Is Gaoshun going to get a date with Maomao before Jinshi does? Bwahahaha!

So Gaoshun was asked to investigate this case years ago. Which makes me wonder what his position is/was. I thought it was mentioned that he has been with Jinshi since the day he was born, but that can't be right either, or he would have noticed the baby swap. Unless, I mean he is not always around Jinshi, so maybe the swap happened when he was out investigating a case? Also, can people not recognize one baby from another? Or did the swap happen so quickly after the births that people really didn't know what their child looked like. Whatever, the details probably aren't that important.

So after hearing about Jinshi's new servant/concubine who can solve mysteries, Lakan approached Jinshi's man, Gaoshun, to ask for help solving a case. Uh yeah, that dude knows a thing or two about strategy and maneuvering others. Is this guy dangerous?

A similar case has arisen, a bureaucrat has fallen into a coma after eating raw pufferfish.

Maomao: Master Gaoshun. Forgive me, but is it appropriate for you to be discussing this with me? Gaoshun: It won't be an issue. Unlike certain individuals, you understand your position.

What a loaded response from Gaoshun.

He's clearly taking a dig at Jinshi. Gaoshun was frustrated when Jinshi was assigned to care for the Rear Palace, and thinks that using his appearance as a test against the concubines is beneath him. But he also has been witnessing Jinshi spiral further and further away from propriety with Maomao, and can't approve of it. I thought Gaoshun had decided to support Jinshi and Maomao when he intervened to get Jinshi to Verdigris House and rescue Maomao. But, perhaps his motives weren't to support a romantic relationship between the two, rather to bring Maomao back to the palace where she would be under their protection and within their control. The second half of his statement to Maomao, "you understand your position," is also a bit of a reminder or perhaps a warning to her. He's also saying don't try to exceed your station. Gaoshun is delusional if he thinks the situation between Maomao and Jinshi can be maintained as it is.

Gaoshun lays out two similar poisoning cases. Maomao's keen mind is already rolling through the possibilities and she asks for some more information.

Jinshi scares the living shit out of Maomao when he startles her by asking what she was talking about with Gaoshun. I find it interesting that this request came directly through Gaoshun via Lakan, and that Jinshi was not aware of it. Why not inform Jinshi? I had wondered before about Lakan, if he might be some kind of rival of Jinshi's, since he seemed to take such an interest in the gossip about him. That Gaoshun, avoided informing Jinshi about this, makes me think there is something between those two gentleman, that isn't friendly. This scene also shows us that Gaoshun does sometimes operate outside of Jinshi's domain. We saw that in the past he was an investigator, and that now he sometimes does tasks that aren't given by Jinshi. Also, Jinshi is in casual robes, with wet hair. He clearly just got out of the bath. Was Gaoshun trying to have this conversation with Maomao while Jinshi was busy. Was he trying to hide this from Jinshi?

Jinshi: You seemed to be listening quite intently to Master Gaoshun's story.

Jinshi has become a bit possessive where it comes to Maomao. We saw that when he brought her back from Verdigris House, and again when Gaoshun gave Maomao a cloak last episode. Here it is again, with her having an intense conversation with Gaoshun. I wonder what Jinshi's actual thoughts are on his possessive actions. I mean I can see that his emotions for her are making him jealous and he's not bothering to try and hide that, but in his mind, does he think he has a claim on Maomao? He may actually have a legal claim since he did buy out her contract at the brothel, but in what way does he intend to exert that claim? Does Jinshi see Maomao as something he owns? Is his jealousy connected to that? Is he frustrated that he just bought a concubine and she wants nothing to do with him romantically? Or are the feelings of jealousy that we're seeing simply from his attraction to her? Does he simply wish her to return his feelings, and want to keep other guys away from her, so they won't get a chance to pull her attention away from him?

Maomao: People tend to pay attention to stories they actually find interesting. Jinshi: Now hold on. Is that why you frequently cut me off midsentence- Maomao: Oh dear. It's getting late. I suppose I'd better take my leave.

So the ambiguity of the relationship between Maomao and Jinshi has not affected their ability banter. Maomao is still teasing Jinshi, even if the conversation may indicate that Maomao has been avoiding Jinshi. Is she afraid they may have to talk about what it means that she's had her contract purchased and is living in Jinshi's house? Is she afraid her feelings may tip over into something that is even more difficult to hide from? Is she afraid she'll have to confront Jinshi's true identity and all the repercussions that come with it? All of the above? This situation feels so untenable.

Jinshi: Come back here. I'm not done talking with you- Suiren: And I have not finished drying your hair. Hold still

Suiren really controls everything that happens in this house doesn't she? What are this lady's goals? What does she think about Jinshi and Maomao?

Jinshi watches Maomao walk away and rumbles in frustration. He's ever trying to get closer, while Maomao keeps her distance. What will it take to change this?

Gaoshun returns with the details Maomao requested.

Maomao: I knew you would deliver.

There is a real trust and comradery developing between Gaoshun and Maomao. She doesn't have the same reservations she has with Jinshi and she isn't nearly as critical of Gaoshun. Indeed, she routinely views Gaoshun with glowing praise. In many ways he's the ideal man in Maomao's eyes, even if she doesn't see him as a match for her personally. I wonder how she would accept knowing Gaoshun's true identity.

Jinshi is delighted to come upon Maomao and Gaoshun discussing the poisoning mystery. He can't resist teasing Maomao for getting stuck on this case. It's rare that she doesn't figure out the solution right away, which means she probably hasn't had all the clues presented to her yet. Not only is she very good at solving mysteries, she's very perceptive and good at recognizing clues. So far everything she's been presented are clues gathered by other people. I have no doubt she could solve this if she were able to investigate herself.

Suiren: Careful, or you'll ruin your appetite. Jinshi: I'm a grown man. Maomao: Highly debatable from what I've seen.

Okay, I'm going to side with Jinshi on this one. Like, let the man eat if he's hungry. Also, isn't this his house? Why does everyone get to have an opinion on when and what he eats? Or how he behaves. Jinshi already lives in a fishbowl with eyes on him and every action he takes. It would be nice if he could have a little slack in his own home. But that is not his fate. He's destine to be slowly driven insane by endless demands and expectations.

Finally, Maomao will be able to see the kitchen where the poisonous meal was prepared. No doubt she'll be able to solve this now.

Maomao meets up with Basen. And it took me a moment to remember where I heard that name before, but this was the officer Jinshi was sparing with (shirtless!) way back in episode 5. He was kind of a hot-headed fighter, but was humble enough after Jinshi kicked his ass. He's being a dick to Maomao here. Now I just want to see Jinshi beat his ass again. Maomao says she's never seen Basen before but that he looks a bit familiar. What the hell? Like, is he related to someone she knows? You know what, I'm already working on trying to figure out Maomao and Jinshi's parentage, I'm not going to waste thoughts for fricking Basen.

I lied. This is actually going to bother me.

The only thing I can think of off the top of my head is that he has crazy hair just like Lakan, but Maomao hasn't met him, so how can he look familiar. Fuck it.

So Maomao and Basen take one step into the kitchen and a dude runs up and demands they leave. It's not at all suspicious.

Damn it Basen does look familiar doesn't he? But like who?

Maomao finds the seaweed that is out of season and steals some on her way out. Thievery is becoming a habit for Maomao. She explains that the seaweed was improperly prepared before being shipped to this region, so it was never detoxified. She implies that it may have been intentional and the others know what to do from there.

We see a humous scene of Maomao explaining that the seaweed is toxic and proceeds to eat it. Jinshi is about at horrified as he can be. To be clear, he has the appropriate reaction for when someone consumes something poisonous. Jinshi forces her to take an emetic agent and vomit it back up before she can allow her experiment to begin. Once again we see her disregard her own wellbeing to pursue her study of poisons. It's reckless behavior. I understand that she doesn't have an ethical way to run these experiments, but one doesn't risk their own life or health for the pursuit of knowledge without having a pretty messed up sense of the value of their own life. She could have done this experiment in private and tried to hide it, but instead chose to do it in front of Jinshi and Gaoshun. I wonder if she was curious to see their reactions, or if she was even hoping they would respond this way. That they prevent her from hurting herself is a sign of their care for her. Will she be able to understand that and internalize it? I'm not hopeful.

Oh, that not at all suspicious younger brother was the culprit who bought the foreign seaweed? You don't say. Okay so he felt he wasn't treated well as the younger brother. Is this the same dude from the end of the last episode when someone was whining about being "worthy too?" So the mysterious guy who happened to be around the night Sir Kounen died, was also around to suggest to this murderous little brother, that he import toxic seaweed from the south. What is that serial killer up to? Does he have a larger goal? Is he part of a conspiracy?

Maomao, I think is tidying up Jinshi's bedroom, and is in a terrific mood, dreaming about how to use her caterpillar fungus. She accidentally is overly welcoming to Jinshi, and it is too much like a scene from one of his fondest dreams, so he smashes his face against the wall. These two cannot keep going on like this. Jinshi is desperate to move things forward with Maomao, even if he is holding back for now. And Maomao cannot pretend to be oblivious to his feelings forever.

Jinshi is exhausted. He has a lot of work to do, and Lakan has been making his life harder than usual.

Finally we get more information about Lakan. He's past forty, a high ranking military office, and a weirdo. I'm always looking for long lost parents, and this guy is a prime suspect. And he could work for Maomoa, Jinshi, or Basen. The fact that he's a "weirdo" makes me lean towards Maomao. Also, his strategic mind. Though I suppose that could be descriptive of Maomao or Jinshi, I think it fits Maomao better.

Jinshi says he thinks Lakan has it out for him, because he keeps causing trouble, plus the man has been in his office for the last few days. Probably ever since he heard about Maomao.

Jinshi is opening up and sharing his frustration about something going on in his life, and Maomao decides it's not her problem, so she doesn't need to care.

On the one hand I get it, she's trying to stay out of things that aren't her business. We see that consistently with how she avoids gossip. She may also feel that since she is merely a servant, that her opinions wouldn't be welcome here. But either way, Jinshi has decided to open up and share something, and she just disregards that. Frankly, it's rude.

If a friend wants to share something with you, you should make some effort to listen, it's how you build and nurture relationships. Of course that is likely the heart of the problem here. Maomao is terrified of intimacy, and this is a lot like actually being friends. She can't allow it. At least not with Jinshi.

We have seen Maomao sit and listen to Xiaolan, chatting about all kinds of different things, and I'm trying to remember specific examples but I think she would be willing to listen to the ladies of the Jade Pavilion or Verdigris House. I at least don't remember her ever straight up bailing on a conversation like this. It's really only Jinshi that gets this kind of treatment, and it's because he's the biggest threat.

She could be friends with just about anyone else, but with Jinshi, it's a slippery slope. If she allows a deeper friendship to grow, what's to stop her from continuing to tumble, until she fall completely in love?

Foreshadowing:

Maomao: Enough of that. It's not like it affects me, right?

Right.

And for as much as Maomao would love to check out of what Jinshi was saying, in truth she's bothered by it. The skies are cloudy, and Maomao's got a bad feeling about Lakan. She's worried about Jinshi. I wish Maomao had a therapist.

So we finally get a scene between Jinshi and Lakan. And what a scene it is!

Lakan arrives with fake smiles and words with hidden meanings. Jinshi is on guard from the start.

Lakan wants to talk about Verdigris House. He had a connection with a courtesan there who was a master at Go. Lakan lost his chance to buy her when her price went up during a bidding war. The courtesan he's talking about was an interesting one, who sold her skills but not herself, and wore a haughty expression. Jinshi unwillingly relates to Lakan when he describes the joy of being glared at.

Jinshi can't help himself and keeps asking questions even though he is aware that Lakan is luring him deeper into this conversation. Does Jinshi have an interest in this conversation? What Lakan's goals are here, Jinshi doesn't know, and I don't either, but Jinshi and I are both pretty sure it has to do with Maomao.

Lakan did something to the courtesan to lower her value, but doesn't want to reveal his misdeeds without a favor. Lakan asks to meet Maomao, and refers to her as Jinshi's servant rather than his concubine, which is interesting, following the conversation that preceded this ask. There is a mystery that Lakan wants to get to the bottom of, and he wants Maomao to take a look. Jinshi allows it. Maybe trying to find some peace from the endless trouble that Lakan has been causing him, or maybe he is agreeing to something, something mysterious that was being discussed in this conversation, that wasn't said aloud.

So time for a wild theory. I'm wondering if Lakan is Maomao's father and if the courtesan might be Maomao's mother. The thing he did to lower her value may be to impregnate the woman. Was he able to purchase the woman? Did he move her into the annex? Is Lakan a rotten piece of shit, and Maomao's mother faked Maomao's death and asked Luomen to help get her away from Lakan? If so, and Lakan suspects who Maomao may be, then his conversation with Jinshi may be a chance to see what Jinshi knows. Lay out some pieces of the story and see if Jinshi reacts.

And now I wonder, just how much does Jinshi know?! Does he know about Maomao's parentage? Is that why he couldn't help asking more questions? Is that why he agreed to allow Lakan to see Maomao. Is this some kind of tacit agreement, like fine you can see her, but don't tell her any of this shit?

In the final scene the rains have come. Trouble has arrived.

To start from the beginning:

Episode 1

Next Episode:

Episode 16

#the apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #maomao #jinshi #jinmao #jinshi x maomao

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wingedtrash · 6 hours

Note

cooper (from fallout) x reader where he rescues her from something?

Cooper Howard x !F! Reader

Kind of short, might make a smutty part 2 if y’all like it enough, otherwise use your imagination for the ending. Not proofread

Warning: mild violence, injuries, suggestive themes towards the end

The wasteland wasn’t new to you. You were born out here, so that meant you should know what you were doing when it came to surviving. But you still found yourself in bad situations.

“Oh shit-” you were cut off by the radscorpion knocking you to the sand. You hit the ground hard with a thump, the scorpion crawling quickly in your direction. You could hear more coming from other directions. You couldn’t tell how many more.

You were about to be trapped. We’re you really going to die like this. After taking on countless super mutants with their machine guns, and fire ants that could literally shoot fire. A group of scorpions were going to be your downfall.

You crawled backwards until your back hit a rock, blocking your path. You fucked up, you cornered yourself. You broke the one rule of not getting yourself stuck against a wall.

“Well fuck.” You mumbled, gasping for air. The suns rays were pounding down on you. The pain from your fall coursing through your body, you were sure to have a massive bruise down your side.

More scorpions came around the sides of the rock. You only had enough ammo to deal with one. But if you could deal with one and get it out of the way, maybe you could make a run for it. Just maybe…

But before you could put your plan into action you hear gunshots and the scorpion to your left goes limp. It’s dead, and the other 3 scorpions turn their attention to what or who killed it. You took this opportunity to make a run for it.

You hopped over the dead scorpion and ran to a nearby bus to hide behind it. As soon as you were behind the bus and had your breathing under control you realized you were bleeding. Your shirt was covered in blood, something must have cut you when you fell, you didn’t know what and you didn’t want to bother finding out. You dug through your medical supplies and found a stimpak and something to wrap your wound with.

As you were busy fixing yourself up, your savior took care of the rest of the scorpions. And came to find you hiding out behind the bus.

You hadn’t realized until you heard a man clear his throat. You stood up quick, getting your guard back up in case this man saved you for another reason besides out of the goodness of his own heart. He could be fixing to rob you for all you knew or worse.

Hand on your gun you looked up at him. “Uh-” you start, glancing over the man standing before you.

He was dressed like a cowboy, boots, hat, duster jacket. The whole works. His leather cowboy hat covered his face so you couldn’t make out any of his facial features.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t be out here if you don’t know what you’re doing.” He drawled. His accent thick.

“I know what I-” you started before he cut you off again. “Clearly not.” He chuckled, flicking his hat up to uncover his eyes. He stared you down for a minute, waiting for your next response.

With his face now uncovered, you could tell he was a ghoul. You’d never met a ghoul that wasn’t feral before.

“I didn’t need your help.” You grumbled through gritted teeth. The ghoul was starting to offend you. You had been surviving in the wasteland since you were born.

“Well you got it.” He took a step closer to you. “And just because you didn’t need it doesn’t mean you don’t owe me now.” He was now a foot from you. “Owe you what?” You asked, getting worried.

He chuckled at your now worried tone. “Where’d all that confidence go sweetheart. Oh it’s nothing bad.” He was inches from you now. Your senses were heightening, your heart rate increasing.

Were you attracted to this ghoul? That would be the only explanation for the way you were feeling now.

“I’ll give you two options. How ‘bout that?” He asked, slipping a finger under your chin to force you to look up into his eyes.

“Hmm?” He hummed. “Fine.” You finally responded, gulping down the lump in your throat.

You could feel the tension growing. Where was he going with this?

#cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard x fem!reader #fallout fanfic

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thedeviltohisangel · 12 hours

Note

Interlude fluff idea of Cass celebrating Bucky’s birthday? Google tells me he’s born on September 8th which I think is around Episode 4 so I like the idea of she knows it’s happening without him telling her (she’s a spy after all….)

Oh I would love if Cass gets her hands on John's personnel file and never tells him but just casually mentions things to see if he notices or asks and she just bats her eyelashes and giggles and twists him around her finger a little more.

BIRTHDAY FLUFF!

I HC that Cass is actually really good in the kitchen so she definitely works to procure ingredients for a cake (in France or Belgium or Germany on her missions she is picking up odds and ends for it with him in mind) and she asks the local pub if she can borrow the kitchen for a night and John is always so thoughtful and romantic towards her I would love if the roles switched a little bit.

She has Gale bring him by and he thinks its for a night of drinking and dancing and the whole ride he's like "where's Cass, she's the only one I want to see on my birthday" and she had woken him up with her head under the sheets and he had fucked her while she was still warm from sleep and bathing in the rare english sunshine but he hadn't seen her since and he was desperate to hold her and kiss her.

John stands outside the pub and watches Gale leave with a smile and is about to chase after him when he hears the soft sounds of a record player coming from the pub. Now that he thinks about, he can smell something delicious too and there are candles on the tables that weren't there last time.

And Cass is in the doorway wearing a new dress that pushes her breasts up in a sinful way and her hair is bouncing as she reaches for his hand and she has on a little apron and it looks so domestic and beautiful that John thinks of retiring right then and there to ensure he would have this sight forever.

"Happy birthday, Flyboy." And he probably kisses the lipstick off her before they are even through the door and he's not sure to respond to the candles and the flowers and the glass of champagne she traded a resistance fighter for and "I know you probably wanted a big party or something but I haven't been able to cook or bake in so long and I thought it would be nice to-" and she's rambling because she's nervous he's silent because it's not what he wanted for his birthday and maybe she should have just let them all pass out drunk at the social club and-

"You cooked for me?"

"Tried my hand at pot roast. Said it's your favorite. Baked a cake too." And he WHINES and MEWLS as he kisses her and she's laughing at how eager he is to try and say how thankful he is for her and their corner of the world and his fingers are just about to unclip her stockings when a timer goes off.

"Ignore it, baby, I want you for dinner instead."

#john egan #masters of the air #john egan fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #mota #john egan x oc #answered #cass and bucky #john egan x reader

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twilightfaerie1978 · 3 days

Text

I have a theory about August Walker. How he became John Lark. How he goes against the establishment, the old way of doing business. Hear me out.

So August was a low level CIA agent. Making his way up the ranks. But he's always been a fucking beast. Which is why he can rise as quickly as he does.

And he meets another agent. And they fall in love. Like she is endgame for him. He's an animal, there's that underlying danger about him. But NOT with her. With her, and only her, he's different. Only she sees him. But I dunno. Something happened. A mission gone sideways, or some vendetta or something, and she's taken. Held. Tortured. Maybe there's a type of ransom for her. But the CIA decides she's an acceptable loss. Maybe her father is a major player in the agency or the government. And what they want, the kidnappers, is too great. So her father, with the agency, decide she's collateral damage.

And August is just ... LIVID. Like no fucking way. And he tries to save her and fails. She dies.

John Lark is born.

And I thought of this scenario for what drove him to be John Lark because "he was just that minded" is boring. "He was just born evil" is just sooooo boring.

But a real reason to hate the establishment? That's interesting.

I thought it should be about love, because think about Fallout. There is NOTHING about him that hints he has any interest in love or sex. I mean, all villains are still about fucking their way through the plot for world domination. But not August/Lark. And why?

Because his great love is dead. Because the establishment they worked for, pledged their allegiance for, said "Nah, fuck her."

Am I crazy?

@littlefreya @shellyshellshell @xoxunhinged

#August Walker #John Lark

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biohazard-4ever · 9 hours

Note

How do you imagine Leon as a boyfriend? :333

For both our indulgence and Claire's :D

This got me while I'm still a little dry of HCs. I have been out of the fandom for quite some time (7 years) and am returning only now so, I don't have many HCs to share with... Yet... So, this will definitely be a little messy and not as good! But I'll definitely comeback to this on later dates and update it constantly.

Are you ready? Are you? (COMPLETELY SFW HCs btw)

Oh, you pressed Read More. You sure are ready!

LEON WITH AN S/O COMPLETELY CLUELESS ABOUT BIOTERRORISM:

Maybe you'll want to accuse him of being too aloof for not giving you the satisfaction of telling about his whereabouts. Your friends might even accuse him of being toxic for keeping these "shady" secrets.

If you press him too much, he may let it slip that he is working under a "legal governmental organization" (The president himself, cough) that deals with really complicated things and he would rather not put you in the middle of all this. He is doing this to protect you, damn it! Can't you understand it?

His work will often be a problem in your relationship... It is something with the potential to kill him out of stress, yet, it is something he does not discuss with you at all. Don't take it as if he does not trust in you enough to share his burden. He just isn't allowed to.

Every time he comes home, you are shocked about the new scars and/or bruises he appears with. All you know is that he travels a lot, has excellence with guns and martial arts, and the more you think about it, the scarier you get. You're no fool... You know that whatever Leon is dealing with in his work, certainly has the full potential of killing him (and you).

PDA. Please, if you are not into it... Well, what are you doing with the one guy that will imprint on someone as a duckling?! There are days he leaves work and goes back home for lunch just because he wants to feel your scent and hold you for a few extra minutes!

You are his piece of normality, and he wants to keep things that way... Maybe you read somewhere about this "conspiracy theory" where "Zombies and Bio-weapons exist". He immediately pulls your attention to check the pup store! The Golden Retrievers pups are on sale!

LEON WITH AN S/O WHO ALSO WORKS FOR ANTI-GOVERNMENT (Or, basically, Leon with Claire!)

Leon is not content that you/Claire have to deal with this in any form or way. But he will not dictate how you/she should live your life. This is your fight too, all he gotta do is do his job twice as well so that YOU will not have to deal with it. He is the pawn at the front line, if back-up organizations need to take action, he already failed his job.

He will show up in the Terra Save HQ. Yes, he will pull his Government I.D at the entry lobby while demanding access to her office in the Non-Governamental Agency. He has lunch to deliver to his girl/wife and he wants to enjoy lunch break by her side!

Every birthday is celebrated as a miracle. It is like being borne again. One more year while living this crazy life? And you two get to celebrate it together? Insane.

IF HIS S/O CAN GET PREGNANT, he will feel a little more of urgency to do just so. You know...? You two live a very dangerous job and... Leon wants to leave a piece of him to you (or have a piece of you, in the worst-case scenario, for him). If not the case, he is completely as eager to adopt a child with you.

LEON WITH ANY S/O:

They will lay in bed on lazy weekends with their lips touching all the time while talking about sweet nothings. His hands inside their shorts' back pocket. Kneading their hips and buttcheeks lovingly.

When walking through the streets with his S/O, if cold or windy, he will put their hand inside his jacket's pockets while holding their hands.

Leon does a lot of things that, for him, it is only natural and he does not really notice he IS doing it until his S/O points it out, like, when having dinner at a restaurant or just at the table of their dining room... If his S/O leans down to try and fetch something that fell or is under their chair that requires them to lean down and reach under the table, Leon will stretch his arm to cover the table's edges closer to his S/O so they won't get hurt or hit themselves when they sit back.

He has two phones. One exclusively for his work, and one his S/O has complete and free access. When they're ready to sleep, Leon will put his phone on the bed on its side working as a mini-TV. His arm works as his S/O's personal pillow while you two watch videos and whatnot (tiktok, youtube, Netflix... You name it)

Leon does not like anything that has to do with BITES. Just. Don't. Not. No funny. And especially, DON'T BITE HIS NECK UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE PUT IN A SLEEPER HOLD. Don't worry, he will grow to accept kisses and wet, sloppy kisses there. Just try and understand it, poor boy has it rough, and often his neck seems to have a red target in it whenever he is out on an assignment.

Sweet messages are not uncommon. Leon acts as an eager youngster in love and you're his first ever sweetheart! He loves to BE in love. He daydreams about your life together and expectations.

He is not a shy guy or antisocial, and maybe his easy-going personality may trigger some jealousy from his S/O but, please, don't hold it against the man. Leon is a Human-people and he loves social interactions. As he said to Buddy after inviting him to drink some beers: "I like company". And it shows! He also invited Mike for a few drinks after they returned to the USA from Spain. (RIP Mike)

Leon loves shopping. Have you seen the man's jackets and watches he uses on a daily bases? His BIKES? Leon is a good-looking guy and he knows it. He wants to stay well-dressed and always presentable. Proud to always be seen as "the handsome boyfriend of his S/O" He even would use that as his first name if you would allow it. (You don't :( ) So, be prepared for a lot of walking and clothes shopping with him!

#HC #mine #leon #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #claire #claire redfield #cleon #OC #S/O #SO #LeonxSO #LeonXS/O

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