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lemoncrushh · 25 days

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Tattooed Heart - Part II

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 3799

STORY PAGE

The pavement was wet from the rain as you stepped onto the curb. You cursed yourself for wearing your best shoes, knowing you’d have blisters by the time you got home. Looking up at the sky, you noticed the rain had let up, so you quickly shut your umbrella, eyeing the cafe in front of you. The HELP WANTED sign in the window caught your attention. With a sigh, you pulled open the door. If you couldn’t find a job today, at least you could dry off with a latte and a muffin.

“What can I get you?” asked the woman behind the counter.

“Yes, I saw your sign up front? What’s the job?”

The older man who had his back to you called out, “You got experience?”

“Uh, yes sir, if you mean waiting tables.”

The man turned around, his face expressionless. “What about cash register?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve done that too. All kinds of retail and customer service.”

“Any days you aren’t available? I need weekends.”

“Yes, sir. I mean…no sir, I’m free everyday.”

“Good. Fill this out.” The man reached behind the counter and pulled out an application, then grabbed a pen from a nearby jar, handing them both to you.

“Thank you,” you grinned. “Oh. And can I get a vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin?”

After paying for your order, you sat down at the nearest table to begin filling out the application. You were nearly halfway through it when a shadow fell over your paper and you heard a familiar voice.

“I don’t believe it.”

Looking up, you saw him standing next to the counter. He wore a black hoodie and shorts, his windblown hair pushed back by sunglasses.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, gripping the pen tightly. If it had been a pencil, it would have snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…it’s a cafe. I’m getting coffee.”

Pursing your lips, you shifted your chair so you were facing away from him. You heard him order a flat white before his sneakered feet squeaked past you to a table by the window. You grimaced as you watched him open his backpack and pull out a laptop.

“Here you are ma’am,” said the woman who had been behind the counter.

“Thank you,” you smiled up at her as she set your coffee and muffin on the table. Then she walked over to Harry, serving him his order.

“I can’t believe this,” you mumbled to yourself, knowing he had no plans to leave any time soon.

Trying your best to concentrate, you managed to get to the last page of the application before raising your head to find Harry staring at you.

“Do you mind?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Looking for a job?”

You couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or genuine.

“What do you care?” you grumbled.

“I…” he began before changing his mind with a shrug. Then he took a sip of his coffee and returned his attention to his computer.

Signing your name at the bottom of the application, you rose from your chair to turn it in.

“Why’d you leave your last job?” asked the man after he scanned your paper.

Your stomach went sour, your throat closing up. You’d dreaded that question all day. Seemed no one wanted to give a smart-mouth cocktail waitress a second chance.

“It just…wasn’t the right fit for me,” you replied.

“After two years? Zelda’s huh? That some fancy joint?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you think this coffee shop is a better fit?” the man chuckled.

“I don’t know. But I’d like the chance to try.”

Hesitating, the man shrugged. “I’m gonna need a good reference. Is it alright to call your last employer?”

“Oh. Uh…” You thought you might throw up. “I don’t-”

“I can vouch for her, Stan.”

You swung around, incredulous to what you’d just heard. He was vouching for you?

“You know this young lady, Harry?” asked Stan.

“Yeah.” Harry stood up and walked over to you. “Celebrated my birthday at Zelda’s, and she was my waitress.”

“Oh?”

Harry looked you straight in the eye and said, “She was brilliant. Best waitress I ever had.”

If your knees hadn’t just about buckled then, you might have noticed your jaw dropping. What?!

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” offered Stan. “Tell you what. Come back tomorrow. Ten o’clock. We’ll see if it’s a good fit.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Did Harry just help you get a job?

“Thank you,” you let out a breath and quickly beamed at Stan. “See you then.”

Although he remained standing near your table, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Harry as you gathered your things, gulping down the last of your coffee. Then swinging your purse over your shoulder, you turned for the exit.

“Y/N,” you heard him say, but rather than make the situation more awkward, you merely muttered a quick thanks.

It wasn’t until you were out the door that you heard him call you again, this time louder.

“Y/N!”

With a deep sigh, you stopped walking. Harry caught up to you, something of yours in his hand.

“You forgot your umbrella,” he explained.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

As you took it from him, your hands brushed, sending an unexpected electric current through your skin. You finally looked at him then, his eyes sincere. For the first time, you noticed they were a light green, a darker circle lining the irises. The wind whipped around you, and you caught a whiff of his…cologne? Perhaps it was just soap or some kind of body wash. Either way, he smelled nice. Clean. Like he’d just showered, though he’d skipped the shave. You noted the facial hair on his top lip and along his jaw, and found yourself wondering how many unshaven days it took to grow.

Suddenly, you stepped back, worried that you’d been staring and that he’d noticed. Surely, he’d noticed.

“Um…good luck tomorrow,” you heard him say as you pretended to check for something in your bag.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Why was he being so nice?

“Well…see ya,” he gave a slight gesture of his hand before turning back toward the cafe.

“Harry?” you called after him.

“Yeah?”

You took two steps closer to him, but careful to still keep a distance.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why…did you do that?”

Harry shrugged as though the answer were simple. “I caused you to lose your last job. So I helped you get a new one.”

Unable to respond, you stood still as you watched him reenter the cafe, feeling completely bewildered.

You sat in the small room in the back of the cafe during your break, sipping on a nitro cold brew that your co-worker Jill had taught you how to make. It was only your third day, but so far you liked working there. It definitely wasn’t Zelda’s, but it was better than nothing. The clientele was different to say the least, but you were enjoying the somewhat pleasant and low-key atmosphere.

Stan, the manager, had seemed to take you under his wing. You wondered if it had to do with Harry, and what exactly his relationship was to him. You assumed he was a regular customer at the cafe, though you hadn’t seen him return since you started working there.

As you scrolled through your phone, you suddenly got a text message from Shae.

Look who’s having a special this weekend.

Underneath was a link to Fine Line Ink’s Instagram page. You’d told your roommate about the entire encounter with Harry and how he’d basically helped you get your new job. Shae had wondered why on earth you hadn’t just kissed him right there in the middle of the cafe, but she always was a bit dramatic.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to feel about Harry anymore. Your head told yourself you still hated him, that he was a dick who was feeling guilty and needed to cleanse his aura. But your gut told you that he was something more than that. That he truly was sorry for getting you fired, and wanted to make amends.

You scrolled through the photos on the Instagram page, beautiful and striking images of ink on skin. Everything from delicate bracelet tats to full back tattoos and sleeves, some in basic black ink, and some in a rainbow of colors. They were all exquisite. He truly was a good tattoo artist.

Checking the time on your phone, you realized your break was over. Tossing your phone in your bag, you returned them to your locker. After a quick stop to the restroom, you stepped out into the cafe to find him sitting at the same table as before, beside the window. This time, however, he didn’t have his laptop, but rather an iPad, a stylus pencil in his hand. Jill had just set down his flat white when she gasped.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. Then looking up, she saw you. “Y/N, c’mere, you have to see this!”

You shuffled hesitantly over to Harry’s table where he sat with his back to you. Gazing over his shoulder, you saw that he had drawn a raven. The detail was so intricate, down to the branches, flowers and moon. You almost felt as though if you were to reach out and touch the drawing, you could feel the bird’s feathers.

“Isn’t it amazing?” asked Jill.

“Stunning,” you breathed.

“He’s a tattoo artist. I keep telling him I’m gonna come get a tattoo from him, but I’m too chicken,” Jill laughed as she made her way back to the counter.

A couple at a corner table got up to leave then, so you quickly walked over to clean it. As you moved the sugar container, you heard your name. You looked up at him quizzically, though you didn’t say a word.

“How’s the job going so far?” he asked.

“It’s good,” you nodded sharply.

“I’m glad. I come here at least twice a week. Have been for a long time. Stan and Carol are good people.”

“Yeah…I…I can tell.” Carol, you’d learned the other day, was the woman who had been behind the counter when you’d walked in. She was Stan’s wife.

The door opened then and a young woman entered. You secretly hoped you could go help her as an excuse to stop talking to Harry, but Jill beat you to it.

“Do you…need another coffee?” you asked him as he lifted his cup.

He gave you a smirk. “Just got this one.”

“Oh. Right. Anything else?”

“No, I’m good.” Taking a slow sip, he watched you over his cup.

You gave a curt nod before returning to the counter. It was a fairly slow afternoon, and other than a handful of customers who came and went with their coffees to go, you didn’t have much to do. Jill continued to train you on a few more things, and you were grateful for the distraction. Because even though he wasn’t doing anything other than drawing on his iPad and sipping his coffee, Harry’s presence was getting to you.

Making the rounds, you refilled napkin dispensers and Sweet & Low packets, all while sneaking looks at what Harry was drawing. You didn’t know why it even mattered to you, but something about his art was captivating. You watched as his pencil glided across the screen, how he’d sometimes use his thumb and forefinger to zoom in and out. Once, you caught a view of a scene he was drawing - not just one focal point, but rather a series of buildings along a city street, nightfall in the background. Each building had various windows lit up, as well as street lamps. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have thought it was a photograph.

Sometime in the process, you finally took notice of his fingers, how long and slender they were. You paid attention to the way they moved and flexed as he drew, and most importantly, how nearly each one was adorned with some kind of ring. Lost in thought, you almost missed it when he lifted his head to look at you.

“It’s so easy to watch him, isn’t it?” remarked Jill, saving you from embarrassment as she stood next to you. “Sometimes I forget where I am!”

Clearing your throat, you grabbed the rag you were cleaning with and stuffed it in your apron. Then as you finished with the last napkin dispenser, you caught a small smile curling on Harry’s mouth.

Finally, an hour later - an hour and eleven minutes to be exact - Harry slipped his iPad into his backpack and zipped it shut. Pretending to busy yourself behind the muffins, you watched as he slipped his arms through. Then shoving his hand in his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, grabbing a couple of bills and leaving them on the table. As he made his way toward the door, he gave a small wave.

“Goodnight, ladies,” he said.

“Bye, Harry,” Jill called. As soon as he was outside, she slumped against the counter. “Oh my God, I hate when he’s here. I can hardly function!”

Holding back a chuckle, you asked, “Does he just come here to draw?”

“Mostly, yeah. Or sometimes he works on his website. He doesn’t just do tattoos. Like, that’s his livelihood and he’s really good at it. But he’s like…a legit artist.”

“Oh,” you sounded. “You mean, like in a gallery?”

“Mmhmm. I think he had some sort of exhibit a few weeks ago. It’s on his website if you wanna check it out. Harry Styles art dot com.”

Huh. So there was more to Harry than just some drunk prick at a bar. You were anxious to get your phone and look up his website.

“Oh my God!” Jill gasped from the table Harry had just left.

“What?”

“Harry usually just leaves a couple bucks for tip. He left two twenties!”

“Seriously?” you asked, rounding the counter. Why would he do that? “He only had one coffee, right?”

“Yep. What a sweetie! Here!”

Jill handed you one of the twenties, but you shook your head. “But I didn’t wait on him.”

“Doesn’t matter. We split tips at the end of the night anyway. This saves us time.”

Taking the bill, you mentally added one more reason to your list of why this Harry Styles was more than he seemed. Mysteriously generous. Was it a good thing? Or did he have an angle?

You didn’t know. But you were determined to find out.

Shae had a date. For the first time in forever, you had a Friday night off. It was weird, being in the apartment alone on a weekend night. After making a quick, easy meal and watching a couple of episodes of SVU, you were bored. You thought about visiting your old pal John at Zelda’s, but you didn’t wanna take the chance of running into your former boss.

Tapping on your phone, you opened the last website you’d visited - Harry Styles art dot com. Over the last twenty-four hours, you’d opened it at least half a dozen times. Displayed on the main page were photos from an art exhibit in January, the one that Jill had mentioned. While the art itself had no doubt been exquisite, your eyes kept veering to the photos of the artist. He stood in a suit, much like the one he’d worn at Zelda’a. In fact, he looked very similar to the way he had that night, the main exception being that he didn’t appear to be drunk, nor was he frowning. On the contrary, he was smiling in nearly every photograph. You noted the dimples in his cheeks, the crinkles beside his eyes when he smiled, the five o’clock shadow. Even you had to admit - albeit secretly - he was a very handsome man.

As you had scrolled through the various pictures from that night, you soon came across a handful of him standing next to a woman in a long, champagne colored dress that fit her curves, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Taking a closer look, you recognized her as the girl at the bar, the one whose ear was attached to Harry’s tongue.

Nicolette.

For some reason you felt a twinge in your stomach. Jealously? Shaking your head free of the notion, you continued to peruse the website. Eventually you came to a link that brought you to the site for Fine Line Ink. There you saw the announcement at the top, advertising thirty percent off all tattoos, and forty percent off body piercing, just like the text Shae had sent you the day before.

Setting down your phone, you thought for a moment. You figured he’d be pretty busy on any Friday, but particularly this Friday with the special. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, but somehow you found yourself driving to Fine Line Ink anyway.

The familiar fragrance of incense wafted through your nostrils as soon as you opened the door. Classic rock seemed to be the genre of choice for the evening as Aerosmith pumped through the speakers. You were right in assuming the shop would be busy, as three other customers sat in the waiting area, filling out their forms.

“Hi, how can I help you?” asked a guy who emerged from the back.

“Yeah, um…I don’t really know yet,” you replied. “I just need to talk to Harry…for a second.”

“Oh. Well, he’s in the middle of a tattoo right now.”

“That’s okay,” you grinned. “I can wait.”

“You sure? It may be a while, and he’s pretty booked up. We have other artists who can h-”

“It’s fine,” you held up your hand. “Seriously. I just need to talk to him when he has a minute.”

“O-okay.”

When the guy shuffled away, you took a seat in the waiting area. You scanned the walls, various artwork adorning them until you spotted a large drawing of the Beatles. Had that been there before? Had Harry drawn it? It was really good, the artistic detail spot on.

You watched another man say goodbye to a customer and then bring another one to the back before Harry finally made his way to the front. To call the look on his face surprised when he saw you would have been an understatement. As he chatted a bit with the client he’d just finished, you suddenly felt butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey,” he said when the guy left. “Kyle said someone was waiting to talk to me. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you let the words slip from your lips.

Harry shook his head, blinking slowly. “That’s not what I meant.”

You exhaled, hoping your quick response hadn’t offended him. Your reflexes were still on alert. Addressing the other customer who sat next to you, Harry smiled.

“I’ll be right with you, Carlo.”

“Yeah, no problem, man.”

Carlo and Harry both looked at you as Harry gave a tiny grin. “Wanna come back?”

Rising from your chair, you followed Harry through the shop, to the very back where he pushed open a door.

“Come on in,” he gestured.

As he shut the door behind you, you noted the desk in the corner, more artwork on the walls, and bookshelves. Pulling out a chair, Harry asked you to sit.

“Everything going well at the cafe?” he asked you.

“Oh, yeah. It’s fine. Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?” Harry leaned against his desk, his arms crossed. You noticed how tall he seemed standing while you sat.

“Yes,” you cleared your throat. “I realized I never properly thanked you…for helping me get the job.”

His lips twitched as he held back a smile. Or perhaps a smirk. “Alright.”

With a sigh, you looked up at him. “I’m afraid I haven’t acted very grateful. I let my pride and my ego get in the way when you-”

“Y/N,” Harry interrupted. “It’s okay. You have every right to hate me. Still. I said what I did to Stan because I regretted the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve any of it. It was…the only way I knew to make it up to you.”

“Okay…” you swallowed. “Still…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But…”

“But what?”

Harry shrugged. “I reckon I should have tried to get you your job back at Zelda’s.”

You smiled, looking down at your hands. “It’s fine.”

“Really? ‘Cause…you can’t possibly be making the tips at the cafe.”

Biting your lip, you lifted your head. “Thanks for that, too, by the way.”

“What?”

“The extra tip yesterday.”

“Who said that was for you?” Harry teased with a smirk.

You couldn’t hide your chuckle.

“Listen…” he continued, placing his hand over his chest. “I feel bad. I was honest when I said that wasn’t me that night.”

You nodded, sliding your palms across your thighs. Were you sweating?

“You’re an artist,” you commented.

“I am.”

“I saw your website. You do beautiful work.”

“Thank you,” Harry grinned.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

Shaking his head again, Harry pulled his chair in front of you and sat down. Then leaning towards you, he seemed to study your face.

“I gave you plenty of reasons to jump to conclusions about me. Can we start over?”

“Start over? What do you mean?”

His dimples dipping in his cheeks, Harry held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Harry Styles.”

Mimicking his grin, you gently shook his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m really excited to get to know you better.”

“Really?” you blushed.

“Yes. Do you work tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift.”

“How about dinner?”

“No, I don’t work the dinner shift,” you shook your head.

Harry threw his head back laughing, startling you. His cackle rang through the office, vibrating every pulse in your body. What was happening? How did this guy suddenly have this effect on you?

“That’s not what I meant, love.”

“Oh,” you blushed again. Damn it.

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Oh.” Oh! “Um…you don’t work here tomorrow?”

“Nope. My night off.”

Though you tried your best to fight it, you couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across your face. “Yeah. I guess I can do that.”

After settling the plans for the next evening, Harry walked you out to the front where Carlo sat patiently waiting.

“By the way,” said Harry. “What happened with your friend? The one who wanted the tattoo.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you hesitated. “She um…went somewhere else.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Don’t be so disappointed, Harry,” you chuckled. “You forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asked, holding the door open for you.

“I haven’t gotten mine yet.”

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED

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p1nkshield · 9 months

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Estranged Uncle Au Part 3!

Jazz sat down with Danny while Clark was finishing up dinner.

“Maybe we can just tell him and he can like adult his way out of it? He is a grown man.”

Jazz and Danny looked to Clark as he seasoned the stew he was making, he turned around, kitten sneezed into his elbow and said. “Gosh! Pepper can really get you! Who are you talking about? Is anyone in trouble?”

Jazz and Danny shared a look. This guy couldn’t hurt a fly if he wanted to.

“We have to tell him Danny.”

“Okay, fine! We looked into Bru-” Danny began, but was interrupted by Clark’s phone ringing.

“Hello? … I’m on my way.” There was a noticeable change in Clark’s demeanor. “Can this wait? I uh.. have to cover one of Bruce’s galas!” Clark really does hate lying.

“I haven’t heard word of Bruce throwing another gala today.” Jazz stated in the same tone she would question Danny when he would poorly lie to her.

“It’s uh last minute! Exclusive! All the more reason to to report about it!” Clark said as he rushed out the door. "The stew will be done in about fifteen minutes!"

Before either of them could do anything Clark was already gone.

"He clearly doesn’t know how to uphold his boundaries! Its like Bruce says jump and Clark says how high! What is he making him do? Why does he feel the need to lie to us?" Jazz was suddenly so worried about an uncle she didn’t know she had like a week ago.

"He's not telling us because were just kids. I don’t know if he really has anyone to turn to but he doesn’t want to worry us. We have to help him."

Clark finished thwarting another one of Lex's plans with Bruce.

"Bats can I talk to you for a second?"

"hn?"

"You know the two teens staying at my home for the time being?"

"Jazmine and Daniel Fenton. Your niece and nephew correct?"

"...yeah they didn’t get the best impression of Bruce Wayne."

"How so?"

"I overheard that they think that Bruce Wayne is a creepy billionaire who isn't who he says he is. They also are the children of my sister who is a scientist of questionable ethics from last I heard."

Bruce cannot have a repeat Tim situation.

"Perhaps Bruce could pay them another visit to smooth things over?"

"That is some really good advice! I'll ask him if he can come over tomorrow." Clark asked facetiously

"I think he can make it. Maybe he could bring some of his kids in order to help them feel more at ease with people their age?"

"That sounds like a great idea."

It was not a great idea.

Danny was Bristling like a cat at Bruce and Jazz had a sour look on her face.

Almost every 'i'm harmless' stop was pulled. Bruce tripped on his way in, and called the kids he brought by their cutest of pet names. Bruce decided to bring Dick, Jason and Timothy. Dick pulled dazzling smiles and showed off his acrobatics in an attempt to entertain. This was met with polite but paltry claps. Jason who had been bribed to be on his best behavior talked at length with Jazz about classic authors and their best works. This headway was halted when Bruce called him Jaylad and Jason took it as a queue to do the who "Dad stawwwp!" embarrassed teenager routine. Jazz responded by becoming pale for a moment and being less receptive to whatever Jason was saying.

Tim was a disaster.

At first he was doing great bringing out all of his gala training. He even noticed Danny wasn't feeling the formalities he dropped them. It was working! Then he fell asleep. Into the snacks that were put out.

"Maybe we should go! It’s already pretty late, and we wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome." Bruce said still smiling as he wiped salsa off of the cheek of a blearily blinking Tim.

"Wha? What happened?" Tim said as he was ushered out of the door.

"You fell asleep idiot!"

"I did!?!"

Clark, Danny and Jazz heard them bicker on their way to the car. I would have been endearing if Clark wasn’t worried sick and Jazz and Danny weren’t convinced that they were in the family business of selling weapons to villains.

"So what do you think?"

"The eldest seems sleazy, the Second seemed nice but gave me a bad vibe and the youngest felt like he was doing everything he can to get Danny to like him and then passed out." Jazz listed.

"Not to mention they all seemed like they were doing everything they could to get us on their good side!" Danny added.

This is not good! Why do they hate him so much? What had Bruce done that was so off-putting?

"Uncle Clark, we need you to sit down."

What is this now? Clark let himself be pushed into a chair. Isn’t this what people do when they say something that might make them pass out?

"We have reason to believe that Bruce Wayne is a weapons dealer."

Bruce? A weapons dealer?

"Danny please show him the evidence."

Evidence?

Danny then showed Bruce the bits and pieces of confidential information.

Clark sat there taking it all in.

"We think that you may be in danger." Jazz said gently.

Him, danger?

"We keep trying to hack him but it's not really working."

"YOU HACKED HIM?!"

"We weren’t traced." Jazz soothed.

"We can get you out of this Uncle Clark." Danny said with much more assurance that his appearance can promise.

"I don't think you understand!" Clark began "I'm not in danger I can't be in danger!"

"Uncle Clark, anyone can be in danger."

Clark's head was spinning.

How was he going to convince two headstrong teens that he wasn't under the thumb of an evil billionaire with out telling them he's Superman?

#dc x dp fic #Bruce did that thing where parents expect kids the same age to be besties immediately #Poor batkids were trying their best #Clark hates lying #almost as much as wonder woman #almost #estranged uncle au

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queenimmadolla · 2 years

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MEET THE PARENTS

(Eddie Munson x Reader fluff)

masterlist

summary: you decide it’s high time eddie finally meets your parents. your boyfriend isn’t so sure.

warnings: fluff!!! plus cool parents.

a/n: based on this prompt, sentence prompts can be found here and here. this was also very self indulging; the dad in this is based heavily on mine and I lost him to cancer last year, but he loved stranger things and I'm positive Eddie would have been his favorite character for the same reasons in this story. this was, of course, beta’d by the talented and gifted @kitmon . happy reading!

“You what?”

You huffed, arms crossing under your bust as you repeated, “I want you to meet my parents.”

Eddie blinked hard, absolutely baffled by your statement. It wasn’t long before a scowl crossed his pretty features, mouth morphing into a frown while his brows pinched together.

“No.”

“What?” Your own lips twisted into a pout, tensing when he denied you.

“No,” Eddie sighed, eyes fluttering shut to compose himself. Once he’d reined in his emotions, he approached you, his hands slipping over your hips. “Look at me, kid. I’ve never been the guy pretty people like you bring home to the ‘rents.’”

It wasn’t completely true, the last time he’d met the parents of a girl he’d been seeing, he quickly realized she was just using him to upset them. While he was all for anti-conformity, his feelings had been caught in the crossfire; and he’d been left devastated. It turned out, being used hurt like a bitch.

“Well, since I’m pretty,” you agreed, hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders and tug him closer, “and I’m also bringing you home to meet my parents, I guess your logic is pretty flawed, huh?”

Eddie couldn’t fight the small smile, he knew exactly what he was signing up for when he fell for your stubborn ass. “I guess it is.”

You grinned, hands moving to cup his cheeks as you drew him in for a heated kiss.

“They’re gonna love you, all they want is for me to be happy. Luckily for you, you happen to make me very happy.”

Eddie’s arms wrapped completely around your waist, pulling your chest flush up against his.

“God, I hope I do.”

“And I’ll hide my dad’s brass knuckles, you’ll be fine,” you joked and Eddie laughed nervously, lifting you off the ground as he made his way to his bed.

“I think I’m gonna need you to reassure me a little more, honey,” he drawls with droopy eyes and a crooked smile, “but maybe with a little more skin-to-skin contact.”

The next evening found you waiting anxiously for Eddie’s arrival by the front door. Your house smelled amazing, your mother had gone all out when you informed her that Eddie would be attending dinner. She’d demanded to know his favorite foods and had called into work to have more time to prepare. You had a feeling she’d love him. Your dad, on the other hand, made you a little more nervous.

He was a big, burly man. Not as around as he’d like to be, what with being a trucker, but he was also a big softie. With you, anyways. He hadn’t liked any of your ex-boyfriends. You were positive it was because he simply didn’t like you dating anyone. But, you had a secret weapon, something neither was aware about the other. While you’d supplied a couple of details to your dad about Eddie and a couple of details about your dad to your boyfriend, you’d purposely neglected to mention–to both men– that your father and Eddie actually had something in common; their taste in music. Heavy metal, some hard rock and a couple of other slightly altered genres in-between. Your dad had more guitars than you could count around the house, though he kept his most precious one in the master bedroom, mounted to the wall in its special display case, facetiously referred to as ‘Cheryl.’ When Eddie had introduced you to Sweetheart, you had been instantly reminded of your father’s guitar.

So, you just had to make sure to bring it up before your dad could find a bogus reason to hate him. Easy peasy.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts and you quickly opened the door for Eddie. He was obviously nervous, and you could tell he was trying to seem as unlike himself as possible—something you didn’t exactly like—by wearing only a white shirt, a pair of unripped jeans you’d never seen him sporting before then, and a blue flannel. He had his hair back in a ponytail as well—that you didn’t mind too much, he looked so cute when he put it in ponytails and buns—and was holding a bouquet of pink roses.

You yanked him over the threshold, giving him a quick but thorough kiss.

He mumbled a ‘hello to you, too’ against your lips, a hand reaching up to cup your cheek but you pulled away before he could deepen it, eager to get the introductions started.

“You know, I think you’re hot all the time, even right now but I prefer when you dress like yourself.”

He looked sheepish, cheeks tinging a pretty shade of pink. “I just wanted to make a good impression."

“I know, baby,” you reassured him, a hand reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want my parents to meet you, though. I’ll let this—” you gesture down to his attire, a little more boring than anything he’d normally wear. “—slide, but if you try acting differently, we’re gonna have a problem on our hands. I want you to always be yourself.”

The smile Eddie rewarded you with had you weak in the knees, and you nearly melted when he leant down to press his forehead against yours. “As you wish.” I love you.

Satisfied, you bypassed the living room where your father was sitting on the recliner, watching tv, and made your way to the kitchen instead. He could meet your mom first.

“Mom,” you called to get her attention, she glanced up from the dish she was working on, her face nearly splitting open with how big she grinned at the sight of you holding Eddie’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie, this is my mom. Um,” you sarcastically faltered, “what’s your name again?”

She rolled her eyes at your joke, pulling off her apron as she closed the distance and introduced herself.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. These are for you.” Eddie held out the bouquet to her and the gasp she let out was comical, the hand that hadn’t accepted the flowers flew to her chest.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing, these are beautiful! You know what, I’ve got to get these into some water right this minute.” You watched with amusement as she threw her apron into the sink of all places before she dug around in one of the cabinets for a vase.

“Honey, why don’t you introduce Eddie to your father? Dinner’s ready, I’m just gonna put everything on the table, will you get your brother, too?”

You agreed and then pulled Eddie out in the direction of the living room. His palm was beginning to feel slick against yours and you squeezed it to calm his nerves.

“Hey dad.” You stopped in the entryway, trying not to appear as nervous as your boyfriend was when your dad twisted his upper half around to look at you. “I’d like to introduce you to Eddie.”

Your dad used the remote to switch off the tv (oh God, why did that simple action scare you?) before pushing himself up. He was clearly intimidating, face passive and unreadable as he approached the two of you.

You gulped, but soldiered on, “Daddy, this Eddie. Eddie, this is my dad; I’ve known him all my life.” Another intentionally bad joke, pitiful attempt to ease the tension. Unlike your mom, your dad didn’t even offer an amused roll of his eyes, just stared you down.

Eddie held out his hand, willing his nerves to not fuck him over. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

Your dad eyed his hand for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. Your eyes narrowed at him in warning and, despite how much he wanted to, he didn’t break Eddie’s hand.

Your father still hadn’t said anything though, and you knew he was quickly convincing himself to not like Eddie so you supplied, “You know, daddy, you actually have a lot in common with Eddie. He loves heavy metal, too. Plays the guitar real good, he’s in a band and everything.”

It was like a flip switched, your dad’s eyes lit up as he regarded Eddie with something akin to interest. “You play?”

Eddie nodded, eyes flashing to yours before you gave him a reassuring nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do. Pretty often, actually.”

“What do you play on?” You could tell your dad was testing the waters, trying to size him up and determine if he actually held the interest or if you two were just trying to impress him with a white lie.

“NJ Warlock, 24 fret,” Eddie answered without hesitation.

Your dad raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle, there was obviously something impressive about it but you didn’t know all that much about guitars. Except that you kind of wanted your dad’s. No real reason why, you didn’t even know how to play though your father had tried to teach you on more than one occasion.

“An electric man. I don’t mean to be rude, just wasn’t expecting that from you in that get up. You look like you’re about to sing me the entire Simon & Garfunkel discography with an acoustic.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I sort of dressed down for the occasion, a lot of people assume the worst about anyone in leather and I wanted to make a good impression.”

“If you want to make a good impression, you can show me what you’re made of. I’ve got my own Warlock upstairs, just hold on a minute. Sweetheart, I’m gonna go get Cheryl, if your mom calls us to the table, distract her for a couple of minutes.” You watched as your big, bad dad ran up the stairs like a child, eager to show his new friend his cool toy.

“Oh, you definitely won him over.” You glanced up at Eddie to find him already watching you, finally looking a little at ease with an excited grin stretching his lips.

“You think so?”

You didn’t get to reply as your dad bounded back down the stairs, jumping the last two, the white guitar with the bandana tied to the bottom of the strap clutched in his hands like it was some precious cargo.

“Check it out!” Your dad beamed, holding the guitar out to display it in all its apparent greatness. It was just a white guitar to you, but from the way Eddie was looking at it, it must have been impressive.

“Holy—wow,” Eddie caught himself, leaning down to closely inspect the guitar. “She’s a beauty. I don’t see so much as a fingerprint on it, you must treat her right.”

That was exactly the right thing to say, your dad’s chest puffed with pride under the praise.

“C’mon, I’ve got the amps in the garage. Come get us when the table’s ready, will you, sweetheart?” Your dad lead Eddie over to the garage, and with how relaxed Eddie seemed to be, you found yourself not worrying about the possibility of your dad murdering your boyfriend. Instead, you went upstairs to fetch your brother, Lloyd, for dinner. Once you got his attention, he had promptly let you know he’d be down in ten minutes, all of which you spent arguing with him for not listening to you.

The loud sound that was Eddie shredding on your dad’s guitar didn’t even surprise you, you were used to your dad playing at his ridiculously loud volume but something in your belly warmed, knowing Eddie was bonding with your hard-to-impress dad.

You ended up dragging your brother down with you just as Eddie and your dad emerged from the garage in the middle of a conversation regarding Metallica and Van Halen, your mother in tow. She hated when your dad used his amps this late so she’d probably gone over to yell at him.

“Sweetheart, he’s good at playing! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did! Numerous times! You always tuned me out.”

Lloyd was swatting at your hand that was gripping his upper arm but you didn’t release him from your hold until you’d all flooded into the dinning room. The nine year old adjusted his glasses, glaring over at you as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table. Your mom and dad sat on either end of the table and Eddie was sat next to you, your hands intertwined under the table.

Lloyd waved his hand from his place, holding his other hand to his chin as he signed his question.

Who’s he?

You’d almost forgot to introduce them!

You rolled your sleeves further up your arms, fingers signing the sentence as you spoke, “Eddie, this is my little brother Lloyd. Lloyd, this is Eddie.” You used a custom name sign you’d made for Eddie, fingerspelling it out for your brother so he’d know who you were referencing from then on.

Lloyd grinned, pleased that you hadn’t come up with something he’d consider lame like you had in the past. He stuck his thumb up in approval.

“He’s deaf,” you explained, though you could already see the gears in Eddie’s head turning as he figured it out on his own. Lloyd reached up to turn his hearing aid on, something he only did when around company or other hearing people other than you, your mom and your dad.

“Oh, uh—nice to meet you, Lloyd.” Eddie glanced from you to Lloyd, relieved when he noticed you signing to your brother, obviously interpreting for him.

Lloyd smirked, and his fingers began moving furiously as you voiced for him, “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’ve read all about you—HEY!” You slammed your fist on the table top, glaring at the little menace and the smug look on his face. He quickly twisted his upper half around, his back almost completely to you as he wrapped his arms around himself, wiggling his hands over his shoulders to mock your diary entries noting your make-out sessions.

“No fighting at the dinner table!” Your mother scolded, giving the both of you a stern look.

“He just—you always let him get away with it, mom!” You argued, brows furrowed in annoyance as you sank back into your seat.

“Stop reading your sister’s diary,” your mother said aloud as her nimble fingers signed a much shorter version of it for Lloyd. He just shrugged and began loading his plate up with food.

You rolled your eyes, positive that he’d continue to do it so you’d have to find a new hiding place for it in your own damn room. You turned to face Eddie, who appeared thoroughly amused with the interaction, a small smile on his face as yours grew abashed, suddenly shy and embarrassed about the whole thing.

Your mother came to your rescue though, “So, Eddie, I’m told you’re a senior. Is that how you two met? in school?”

Eddie squeezed your hand under the table as his nerves came rushing back now that school had been brought up, fearful of having to mention failing to graduate twice. Really gonna impress ‘em.

He tried not to let his voice quiver, “Uh—yes, yes. We have a class together.”

That’s not how you met, he’d been dealing to you for the last two years, but telling your mother that would only guarantee them forbidding your romance.

You could only sit in your chair and hope your poker face didn’t give anything away, though you knew very well your parents packed and shared a bowl when they thought you and Lloyd were asleep. You’d found the bong in their bedroom while searching for your walkman they’d taken captive after a brief grounding. Hypocrites.

Despite how badly he didn’t want to actually bring it up, Eddie felt inclined to, as though hearing it from him, unprompted, would somehow make it his saving grace.

“This will actually be my,uhm,third a-and final senior year.”

You could feel Eddie’s hand tighten around yours—though it wasn’t painful—as his body tensed up, waiting for the inevitable judgment and the comments they’d berate him with.

Instead, your mother looked slightly sympathetic but not pitying, and your father didn’t even look like he cared about some high school three-peat senior dating his kid, focusing on cutting into the meat on his plate instead. He mumbled, “High school’s a bitch.”

“Honey!”

“What? It’s not like he can hear me.” Your father gestured to Lloyd, who was purposely unaware of the discussion before him, and then nodded in your direction. “And we both know that one has the mouth of a sailor.”

Eddie was flabbergasted, mouth slightly open in shock—not only because of the lack of a negative reaction regarding his education, but also at how non-judgmental your parents seemed to be in general. He wasn’t used to that from adults. Wasn’t used to not being picked apart for his flaws.

“That’s how we met, you know. In high school,” your mom crooned, staring at your father with lovesick eyes. “I got held back my senior year and met him in my Economics class the next fall.”

Your dad snorted, lifting his glass of water to his lips with a grin. “You’re being selective again, my love. You didn’t get held back, you were expelled.”

“Minor details, I appealed it and ended up graduating eventually—but you’d better learn from my mistakes.” Your mother pointed her fork threateningly in your direction and you held up your hands in defeat.

“I don’t stick it to the man, mom. The man isn’t worth my time, here, anyways.” You knew all about your mother’s hippie past.

Your mother seemed to notice how quiet Eddie had gotten, looking unsure of himself in his seat. The motherly nature she so naturally possessed came tenderly out, “I’m assuming you were expecting a different reaction?”

He hesitated only a moment, glancing at you for support. You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning in to bump your shoulder against his arm to encourage him.

Eddie licked his lips before answering. “Yes. Truthfully, I was pretty nervous about all of this. I’m not—I’ve never been really welcomed or accepted before, with these kinds of things.” Or anywhere, really.

Despite being sat at your dinner table, surrounded by a picture perfect family, Eddie wasn’t overtly aware or self-conscious about the ink on his skin; intentionally hidden by his clothing. He wasn’t overtly aware that he was almost able to legally drink but still struggled with a high school Civics class. Being with you and your family almost made him feel like he wasn’t a freak.

“It’s a little—’’

“Daunting?” Your mother supplied, a thoughtful expression on her features.

“Yeah,” Eddie exhaled, nodding once.

“Well, you’ll find that everyone in this house has something about them that makes us a little more unique than most. I grew up in a pretty rough setting myself, one in which I was always desperate to escape. When we had kids, we decided that we’d never make them feel like they had to escape. I extend that belief to all my guests as well, you are welcome in our home as you are. I can tell you’re doing your best and you make my child—” you rolled your eyes, intent on starting a drinking game one day for every time she referred to you as her child, “—happy. Plus, I’m hoping this means you’ll actually come inside from now on instead of scaling my roof to reach a certain window.”

“Yeah, I’m tired of replacing those damn shingles.” Your dad added, even though you knew he was excited at the idea of another musician hanging around the house, one which he could have jam sessions with.

“You still haven’t. Now, pass the mashed potatoes.”

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch; Eddie seemed much more at ease with your family, comfortable and you loved watching him as they interacted with each other. Even Lloyd was developing an attachment to him;. Once he’d found out Eddie played Dungeons and Dragons, he was practically begging you to take him to Hellfire sessions, even though you weren’t actually a part of Hellfire. When Eddie offered him a spot in his next campaign, you had no choice but to happily agree.

He looked like he was part of your family. You hoped that one day, he really would be.

After everyone was done eating dinner, your father and Lloyd quickly tidied up the dinner table and hauled the dishes off to the kitchen for washing while your mother set up the living room for a movie.

You and Eddie slipped out the front door, keen on spending the rest of the night, just the two of you.

“So? Polling the audience, what does the survey say?” You intertwined your fingers with his, leaning into him as you walked down the driveway towards his van. Once you reached the van, he pressed you up against the side of it, arms caging you in as he rested his palms against the vehicle on either side of your head.

“Survey says your family is really, really fucking cool.”

You beamed up at him, eyes shining as you noticed the glimmer in his own warm, chocolate gaze. “I’m pretty sure they think the same thing about you. In fact, I think my dad may be my competition. Did you see the look on his face when you listed the bands you listen to?”

Eddie laughed, his dimple prominent as he flashed his teeth. “Sorry to break his heart but I’ve only got eyes for you, kid.”

He leaned down and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, meeting him half way to press your lips eagerly to his. He groaned as your tongue swiped along his bottom lip, slipping into his mouth once he’d given you the opportunity. You stayed there, lazily making out against his van for a good couple of minutes, oblivious to the flash of your Polaroid camera from one of the living room windows. Your mom thought you’d like to have a cute little keepsake from the night. She also thought it’d be a really good moment to display during a future wedding reception; there was no way that boy wasn’t going to be asking them for permission to marry you in the future.

She was positive from the moment you’d walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, that she’d just met her future son-in-law.

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commander-krios · 2 months

Text

With Devotion And A Little Luck

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: f!Tav/Rolan Rating: Teen Summary: Rolan wasn't expecting a tiny bard with a penchant for wild magic to get under his skin in this way, but with a little luck, his devotion will be rewarded in kind. Words: 5002 Additional Tags: Tieflings, Romance, Love, Fluff, Pranks, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Bard Tav

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The gathering was separated from the bustle of Baldur’s Gate, sequestered away in Ramazith’s Tower as they were. The company wasn’t awful, he supposed, taking a drink of wine from his goblet. This party was much better than the one at the Grove, for many reasons, but the main of them because Rolan was now archmage of Baldur’s Gate, master of his own tower, and safely within the city walls with his siblings, a new life opening up before him.

And it was all because of the irritating bard playing at the center of the party, the soft melody of her lute at odds with the swirling dance she attempted. She’d taken to keeping her hair down lately, the burgundy streaks more noticeable as the waves of her raven hair tumbled over her shoulders. Juniper was beautiful, free of a tadpole, her only responsibility to herself and those she deemed worthy of her attention.

Rolan was grateful to be one of them.

With a satisfied sigh, he walked the perimeter of the room, eyes sweeping across the other guests: her former companions, most of the surviving tiefling refugees (the children as well), Cal and Lia, and some of their allies were gathered, drinking and laughing and enjoying the very fact that they were alive and their enemies were not.

“You’re smiling more than usual.” Lia said from where she lurked, a mug of ale in her hands and the usual mischief on her face.

“Be careful, Rolan.” Cal added from where he sat on a chair near their sister, his expression parroting hers. “You might scare the children.”

“Very funny.” He snapped, but his voice held no anger. It couldn’t when he was grinning like a fool. “You cannot deny we’ve been lucky in our endeavors.”

“It isn’t luck. Not when Juniper is involved. Luck laughs at her every time she tries something.” Lia waved to where the bard was starting a new tune, joined by Alfira’s lute and Shadowheart’s singing voice. Wyll spun Astarion briefly before dipping him, a grin curling the Blade’s lips as he righted them to standing, applause breaking out amongst the group.

Rolan turned back to Lia, ready to jump to Juni’s defense if he needed to. “That’s not-”

Cal raised an eyebrow and he paused, waiting for his brother to speak. “She attracts accidents like fruit attracts flies, but then you know that.”

“Let’s be fair to Rolan. He probably likes it.”

He opened his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue when a touch of the weave passed over him. A soothing presence, to be sure, and he didn’t even have to turn to know who had joined their circle.

“Ah, it’s wonderful to see you three in such high spirits.” Gale said, the smile on his face brighter than the dancing lights that Halsin was casting over the gathering. “How is life in the Tower?”

“It’s wonderful.” Lia gushed before taking a quick glance at Rolan, grin only widening. “We never get a moment’s silence thanks to this one.”

Gale raised an eyebrow, curious, and Rolan already felt his cheeks heat. “She’s being facetious. Nothing as untoward as she’s implying happens. Besides-” He glared at his sister with a pointed look. “She doesn’t live at the Tower any longer. Not since joining the Flaming Fist.”

“And I’ve never been happier.”

Ignoring Lia’s jab, Rolan motioned for Gale to follow him, away from the prying ears of his siblings and the rest of the guests. The rumble of chatter drifted around them, a comforting lull to the evening. Stepping away from the crowds, Rolan faced Juniper’s closest friend, wondering how he might approach the subject without the awkwardness that he knew was going to follow.

Clenching his hands into fists at his side, he took a deep breath before hissing it out between his teeth. Anxiety clenched at his chest, a fear that he didn’t realize he had coiling in his gut. “Gale, I want to propose marriage.”

The older wizard cocked an eyebrow, a shocked laugh escaping his mouth. “Well, this is certainly unexpected, for sure. While I am flattered, Rolan, I must regretfully decline.”

Rolan opened his mouth to speak, before shutting it close quickly, confusion morphing into horror. “What? No, not you! Whatever made you think such a thing. I meant Juniper.”

Gale chuckled, giving him a knowing look as he swiped a bottle of some fancy liquor from the table next to them. “I didn’t know your face could get any rosier, archwizard.”

Rolan huffed, running a hand over his face, mortified. He’d walked right into that one. “I think you are spending too much time with Juniper.”

“On the contrary, I do enjoy our afternoon teas.” Gale sipped his drink, barely able to hide the grin he wore. When he was finished, he pointedly glanced around the room at the people as they moved around and conversed with others. A crowd that rivaled any of the parties they’d had since the war had ended. “So what was your plan? To do it now, here, around all of these people? Don’t you think you might do this in a… quieter environment?”

The very thought of making a public spectacle out of something so personal, so private, was almost enough to make him combust on the spot. “I… not at this very moment! I am looking for advice on how to proceed with a proposal. I… well, I’ve never done one.”

“And you believe I have?” Gale asked, the amusement on his face at least letting Rolan feel comfort knowing that he hadn’t offended him. “I think you might have the wrong idea about me.”

Rolan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to regain control of the awful turn in their conversation.

“Maybe you should consult Astarion, hmm? He might be better for planning elaborate things like this.” Gale’s eyes searched the people for the vampire. “I’m sure he’ll have some ideas. The bigger, the better.”

“No.” Rolan growled out, the idea that Astarion would help him instead of mocking him the entire time was beyond what he was willing to deal with. He cleared his throat awkwardly when Gale turned back, eyes widened in shock. With his voice under control, he repeated himself. “No. I would prefer it if Astarion was not involved.”

“Perhaps Shadowheart, then?”

That name brought up a different issue. Rolan winced, trying to hide it but knew Gale saw it when his gaze softened slightly. “I… doubt she’d want to help. It might be awkward for her.”

“How so?”

He didn’t know then? That was a surprise. Juniper wasn’t usually a secretive person. Rolan figured her fling with Shadowheart would’ve been obvious to those that spent time in camp with them, especially someone she was as close with as she was with Gale. When she’d told him about her feelings for Shadowheart, and Karlach, back when they were traveling together in the beginning… he’d had a mini breakdown over it.

“Shadowheart and Juniper… well, Juni mentioned the two of them were… close.”

Gale pondered his words momentarily before his eyes widened, realizing what Rolan was getting at. “Oh, I see what’s happened.” Gale poured a second glass of alcohol, handing it to Rolan without preamble. “You’re completely mistaken about the type of relationship they had.”

“But-”

“There was, at one point, a mutual attraction. They spent much of their time together in the beginning. Shadowheart, especially, felt a closeness to Juniper that she didn’t with the rest of our party.” Gale waited for him to take a sip of the drink, the alcohol burning his tongue before it set his throat on fire when he swallowed. Rolan hoped it helped him get through this conversation. “But- that all changed after the attack on the Grove.” Rolan met his gaze, finding it strange to see Gale watching him in interest. “Do you know why?”

“I’m certain you’ll tell me.”

“There was ample opportunity for her to choose a lover the night of the party. I remember it well. The way the attention was on her as she played her lute, chatted with the guests, drank more alcohol than her small form should’ve been able to handle. Shadowheart, Astarion, the Blade of Frontiers, our dear Karlach. I watched them all from where I sat by my tent, observing the festivities, watching them make fools of themselves because no matter how hard they tried, no matter how much flirting Halsin did or how much praise that Zevlor lavished on her, none of them had a chance.” Gale sighed, eyes far away as if he remembered that night as vividly as Rolan did.

Things were making sense now, but he needed to hear it. He couldn’t find the words to respond, only stared at Gale as he returned his gaze to his face.

“Because she chose to spend the night in your presence.”

“I…” He didn’t deserve her affection at that time, not at all. Not with the way he’d treated her. “I was awful to her. Why did she-”

“You’ll never truly know unless you ask.”

He pondered Gale’s words a moment, weighing the truth of them. He was prepared to ask another question, probably one that would’ve embarrassed him no doubt, when something tugged on the sleeves of his robes.

“Master Rolan?”

Glancing down, Rolan caught sight of Silfy… or was it Ide? Which one had the mass of curls piled atop their head? He honestly didn’t know all of their names, not like Juniper did, and he felt a flash of guilt. After everything they’d all been through, he really should’ve been making more of an effort to keep in touch with the other tieflings from Elturel. The children were especially vulnerable.

“Uh, yes? Did you need something?”

The child fidgeted, glancing at her feet and it took him a moment to recognize where he’d seen her. It was the same child he’d angrily (and drunkenly) yelled at during their stay at Last Light. More things for him to make up for, it seemed.

“Ide, right?”

She blinked at him owlishly, as if surprised he knew her name. Which, he supposed, was a shock since he too wasn’t sure if he knew it either. “Y-yes, sir.”

Rolan knelt so he could meet her gaze on her level, giving her the power when she’d had so little in her young life. He knew how awful it felt to not have control over what happened to you, to have to trust others for your safety. But she was safe, and despite how much of an ass he acted about it, he was proud to know that he helped her achieve that much. “Why don’t you tell me what you need and I’ll help you, alright?”

She eyed him warily, ochre eyes slanting suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice?”

Rolan flinched, but he supposed he deserved that. Stifling a sigh in his chest before it could escape, he glanced around the room, seeking the woman he knew would help him find the words that always failed him. Juniper stood across the room, leaving Alfira to continue the music while she, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, chatted with some of the other guests. She must’ve felt his gaze because she glanced in his direction, a smile on her lips.

His heart skipped a beat, maybe even two, at the grin that was only for him. A grin that he got to see every morning when the dawn broke across the sky, and every night when the stars were sparkling like a thousand dancing lights. Whatever it was that Juniper saw in him, even months into their relationship, he still completely didn’t understand, but he was never going to regret a single second they were together.

Rolan returned his gaze to Ide, trying to tame his own smile, if only to keep from scaring the child. “Because someone reminded me that kindness was important. And we can’t choose our pasts, but we can decide our futures.”

Ide smiled at him, reaching out to tug on his sleeve again. “Juniper is smart.”

Rolan snorted in amusement, but the child spoke the truth. At least, when it came to matters that didn’t require magic. He would never trust her with that ever again. “I’ll ask again, what did you need?”

“Oh, I wanted to do something for you.” Ide kicked her feet with her hands clutched behind her back, and for a brief moment, he swore he noticed the same type of mischief that Lia got in her eyes before she teased him. “Juniper let me braid her hair for the party and…”

She trailed off, raising her eyebrows as if she expected him to finish her thoughts. With a sigh, he took another glance in Juni’s direction, noting that she did indeed have an elaborate braid in her hair. The little hat with bells attached was also a newer acquisition, probably from Facemaker’s though Rolan didn’t know when she’d gone to get it.

He turned his attention back to Ide, watching as she smiled at him with a grin that made warning bells go off in his head. She was up to something, but with no proof, he’d only make an ass of himself if he started making accusations.

“Let me guess. You want to braid my hair as well?”

The child shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes as she responded. “It was Miss Juniper’s idea.”

He knew that was bullshit. Or at the very least, not the entire truth. While he didn’t doubt that Juniper helped Ide in whatever schemes she and the other children had concocted, Rolan remembered when he too had been a child, not all that long ago. Causing trouble was a perk of being small and presumably innocent of the world. Though, as a tiefling child, it is certainly more difficult to get away with even the smallest infractions.

And that was the purpose of this, he supposed. These children were orphans and Juniper was extending them a kindness, a place to belong, even for a fraction of a moment in time. It was more than he and his siblings ever got.

Stifling a sigh, Rolan let Ide lead him to a chair out of the way of the crowd. He sat, suspicion growing as she pulled up a stool behind him, climbing up with little trouble. She balanced on her knees, wobbling briefly, and Rolan feared that she might topple over and smash her head against the ground. But she steadied herself, putting her hands on the back of his chair.

When she met his gaze, she raised an eyebrow. “Ya need to face the other way for this to work, yeah?”

The sigh slipped out this time. He tried to get comfortable, but nothing was significantly less comfortable than having a child in control of anything.

Ide pulled the band from his hair, combing her fingers between the strands, admiring the length. Or, at least, that’s what he assumed she was doing. “Ya always so damned uptight?”

“What did you-” Rolan tried to turn, but Ide pulled on his hair roughly, stopping him with a sudden stab of pain along his scalp. “Damn it, that hurts!”

“Stop movin’ then.” She muttered, twisting a tight braid along his hairline. “Ya makin’ my work hard.”

Rolan rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, letting the menace that masqueraded as a child continue to braid what was left of his hair after she’d yanked half out. The things he did for Juniper, even when she wasn’t the one who’d asked in the first place.

It wasn’t long before he and Ide drew a small crowd…of more children.

“I can braid better than that.” One of the girls said, crossing her arms and turning up her nose at them. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with cute little braids framing her face. Braids that were pretty, he supposed. “You aren’t making them tight enough.”

A boy, Rolan was pretty sure it was the one that swindled people while his sister pickpocketed (Matthis? Matty?) stood next to the girl with braids, tapping a finger to his chin. “Arabella has a point.”

“There’s only one way to settle this.” The girl, Arabella, pulled up her own chair, climbing up on the other side of Rolan without even asking. What in the nine hells were these children up to?

Rolan shifted away from Arabella, only to get his hair tugged painfully by Ide again.

“Ouch!”

“Sit still!” She scolded him like he was the child here. Once he settled again, she must’ve turned her attention to the other girl. “You're on. Stakes?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Arabella wave another tiefling child over, Mirkon if the wild mass of curls was any indication, whispering something in his ear before he disappeared. “Tightest braids with flowers weaved in. Mattis will judge. Winner gets the last sweet roll in the kitchen.”

Last sweet roll? Wait-

“When did you go into the kitchens-”

“No usin’ your fancy magic.” Ide snapped, untangling the braid she’d been working on before the interruption.

Laughter on the opposite side of the room caught his attention. Lia and Cal were watching the situation with the joy of two younger siblings witnessing the oldest’s torture. He flushed in irritation.

When he opened his mouth to snap at them, or the children, he wasn’t picky, the words stopped in his throat. His mouth flapped like a fish’s, no sound, not a single word uttered from it. Glancing at the little girl to his left, he saw the flash of a smirk before she blinked at him, eyes wide in childlike innocence.

Did she… use Silence on him?

That little-

“Handy magic.” Mattis said from where he stood, watching the entire interaction with a shit-eating grin. “Maybe we could make use of it for…” He trailed off at the glare Rolan aimed in his direction. “Ah, we’ll talk about it later. Where there are less ears.”

Rolan tried to speak, to tell the little menace what he wanted to do with his ears, but nothing came out. With a disgruntled noise that couldn’t be heard either, he crossed his arms over his chest like a child and waited for the girls to finish their work. It wasn’t long before Mirkon returned with a handful of flowers from one of the vases.

He suffered for about twenty minutes as his hair was pulled, flowers were woven into the plaits, the scent tickling his nose. His scalp was on fire when they finished, leaving him sitting there with a frown on his face and a head full of braids.

“There!” Arabella exclaimed happily, jumping off of the stool to the giggling of the rest of the children. “What do you think, Mattis?”

The young boy approached, a claw to his chin as he studied their handiwork. “Hmmm.”

Zurgan, he could only imagine how he looked with the frippery in his hair and the ridiculous amount of braids he felt pressed against his scalp. And he still couldn’t speak. Despite having once been a child himself, he couldn’t imagine doing half the things these ones did. Zevlor was too soft on them and Juniper only made it worse.

“I'm calling it for Ide.” Mattis said with a grin, as if he liked it when Arabella glared at him incredulously. “Sorry, Bells.”

“I’ll ask him instead.” Arabella huffed, muttering an incantation to lift the spell. The tingling in his throat dissipated and he was left with a roughness in his vocal cords that he was sure would annoy him for the rest of the evening. Then she handed him a small oval mirror, small enough to carry in someone’s bag on their travels. “What do you say? Which braids are better?”

He glanced down at his mirror image, seeing his prominent nose and smattering of dark freckles, the dark scleras and fiery irises, the points of his teeth showing beneath his top lip. His dark hair was plaited on both sides, but the right was significantly looser, the flowers drooping where they were tied in. He remembered the last time he said a harsh word to Ide and lost his nerve. How could he be a critic to a child whom he’d hurt in the past?

Rolan was prepared to risk the ire of the little wizard in the making when he noticed the other decoration they’d put on him.

Mittens. On his horns, fingerless ones that bent at awkward angles from where they hung. When had they done that?

“What did you-”

The children broke off in laughter, scattering throughout the Tower in a rush, each in a different direction so they wouldn’t be found together.

With a huff, he stood, taking the mirror with him before he stopped suddenly, realizing he’d been watched. Juniper crossed the distance between them, struggling not to smile, but failing immediately when he glanced down at her, his face scrunched in irritation. His scalp throbbed painfully, the braids too tight, the flowers irritating his nose and he had to stifle a sneeze.

“Having fun?” She asked sweetly, hands behind her back as if she was innocent of any wrongdoing. It only made him suspect her more.

“You set me up, didn’t you?” He asked, even if he already knew the truth. Her smirk was enough of an answer for him. “Those children were not gentle.”

“Poor Rolan.” Juniper reached up to run a hand over his new braids, inspecting them thoroughly. A delighted sound left her throat, something close to a laugh. “They did an excellent job.”

“I’m sure they did. Even if they were clearly plotting something else the entire time.” He pointed at the mittens hanging haphazardly from his horns and the sight made a giggle burst from her. “This is your fault.”

“You don’t trust me when I say I had nothing to do with it?”

Rolan slid his hands against her waist, locking his fingers together at the small of her back before pulling her closer. His mouth brushed across her cheek, a soft kiss before he responded. “I trust you to save my life, but I also trust you to keep that same life from being boring.”

“Oh, believe me. You’ll never be bored with me around.”

Rolan glanced down at her clothing, taking in the low cut neckline, the flare of the gown down to her feet, the slit on one side that showed off her calf whenever she turned just so. It suited her as much as the stupid hat on her head did.

“You are stunning.”

Juniper’s mouth curled, and he was prepared for her teasing before she even spoke. “The bells really do it for you, huh?”

She finished her question with a jingle of said bells.

A choked laugh left him. Moving closer, Rolan brought her flush against his body. “The one attached to the bells is the reason behind my affection, if you must know.”

She laughed, breathless, her fingers brushing against the back of his neck before disappearing into his braided hair. “Be careful or we’ll be giving the guests a different type of show.”

“Let them see if they wish to look.” Rolan rested his forehead against hers, uncaring about the guests or her friends or even his siblings when she was watching him with that cheeky expression. “They should know how lucky I am.”

She flushed. He could see it against her collarbone and up her neck, across her cheeks. She was more than stunning. The glow of the magical lights made her nearly ethereal, a goddess of song and dance and happy things. “You’re charming when you want to be.”

“I’m always charming.” Rolan shifted away, enough to offer an arm, a smile on his face when she stared at him. “Care to take a walk?”

She gazed at him with suspicion, raising an eyebrow when he didn’t explain. “What more could I need than good music, excellent wine, and the people I love?”

She was teasing him. Of course she was. It wasn’t Juniper if she wasn’t poking fun at him. “Perhaps a moment alone with your favorite wizard?”

She studied him briefly, trying to discern the real reason from expression alone. He met her eyes with a lazy smirk, only for a laugh to escape her. Instead of taking his arm, she slipped her hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What makes you think Gale isn’t my favorite?”

“I won’t dignify that with a response.”

She laughed again, as melodic as her singing, and all feigned anger about his hair faded. No matter how irritated he became, whether at her or someone else, all she had to do was laugh and he forgave everything. “I’m sorry, but your hair-”

“You can say it looks ridiculous. I’ve seen it.”

She snorted before covering her mouth as if she couldn’t believe the sound came from her. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not, but I swear there was a reason.” Juniper moved closer to wrap her arms around him, laying her cheek against his chest, the gesture simple yet powerful. She trusted him beyond anything he’d ever expected and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warmth pressed against him.

Brushing his lips against the spot between her horns, he sighed, a quiet happy sound. “You always have your reasons, don’t you?”

She giggled, the laughter rumbling into his own chest, and he couldn’t stop from grinning. He truly didn’t care what the reasons were. Only that he got to hold her at the end of the day.

“Well, you know how Alfira was overwhelmed with students at the school and I offered to take Mirkon on for her?”

Juniper’s bard training with Mirkon was unorthodox, but the child was learning many things from her, enough that Rolan agreed to let them practice in the Tower on the days he was tending the shop. But what did that have anything to do with this?

“Yes.”

“And do you remember how my father took Mattis on to learn how to run a business? So that one day, he might take over the instrument shop? And Silfy, with Zevlor’s Hellraiser training.”

Pieces were clicking in his brain, but he still couldn’t figure out the path they were taking. “And was it Arabella who you wished me to take on as an apprentice?”

He felt a flash of irritation at the use of silence on him. Even if he was so inclined on taking an apprentice, he might refuse now from a childish pettiness.

“No, that was Ide. She mentioned wanting to read and…” She paused, biting her lip. “It doesn't matter.”

Her hands moved up his back, tracing a path across his clothing and around to his chest, brushing his shoulders briefly until she reached his neck. Then she played with the hair that freely hung around his shoulders. The easy touch of her fingers as they unraveled the braids almost made him shiver, the gentleness with which she worked nearly undoing him immediately.

“I was wondering if they could become a more… permanent addition to the Tower?” She hadn’t looked at him with those fiery blue eyes, but he could hear the gears turning in her head. “I figured they were already practically family, why not make it true?”

When she tilted her head up, Rolan glanced at her lips, unkissed since this morning and a dangerous feeling took hold in his chest. He wanted this for the rest of his life. The teasing, the longing, the love. The half made plans and late mornings and laughter. And a family, one he could have without fear of not being worthy. Cal and Lia and a roost of rambunctious children. He wanted all of it with this frustratingly beautiful woman in his arms.

Even if those children would probably drive him to an early grave.

Leaning forward, he captured her mouth in a kiss that shook him down to his very bones. Her lips were soft, insistent as she kissed him back, her hands still gentle as she pulled him closer. He couldn’t name every feeling swirling in him, but as soon as Juniper broke away and continued to undo the braids in his hair, he knew what he wanted.

For the first time in his entire life, he wasn’t second guessing himself.

“Marry me.”

She paused in her work, eyes wide and unblinking, fingers still against the braids still in his hair.

“We can work out the details later, the Tower, the children, the future.” Rolan promised her, forehead touching hers as he forced her to meet his gaze. She was still in shock, mouth hanging partially open. “But I want it all. With you. So I’m asking you to be my wife, Juniper.”

A laugh left her in a breathless gasp, mouth curling in a smile that he would work like hell to see every single day. “You do realize what you’re getting into, yes?”

Squeezing her sides, he pressed a kiss to her nose, a soft touch that pulled a quiet noise from her. “You’ll drive me mad every day with your incapable magical skills. Your penchant for chaos is second only to the kindness in your heart. I… do not deserve your devotion, but I’m asking for it. Please, marry me.”

Juniper laughed again, louder and slightly manic, but she finally met his gaze. And the only thing he saw reflected back at him was the same love he felt. “I promise I will drive you crazy for the rest of your life, Rolan. If you think you can handle that?”

A challenge that he’d gladly take. “Try your worst.”

Her mouth was on his again, arms squeezing him closer until he could barely breathe. And he couldn’t help, but to think that it was perfect.

#my writing #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 rolan #bg3 tav #tiefling #bard tav #tav x rolan #rolan x tav #tav: juniper #juniper x rolan

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phillippadgettwrites · 13 days

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The First Time, Every Time: Miracle Man

Rated X / 1048 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3

“The power of Christ compels you!” the old priest and the young priest shout in unison.

Streaks of holy water slash through the flesh on Regan’s legs, slicing her skin wide open. She floats above the bed, rigid and mottled, a shell of the child she was when the movie started.

Mulder’s hand slides further down Scully’s belly, slipping just under the waist of her sweatpants, and gooseflesh lights up all over her arms.

It’s actually really fucking cliche, a fact that they won’t be able to joke about for another six years. The scary movie, the dimmed lights, the flirtatious teasing about one or the other of them being too scared to keep watching. Mulder facetiously sat too close. Scully ironically pulled the blanket up to shield her eyes. He played pretend at comforting her. Somewhere along the line the joke stopped being a joke, and when he leaned forward and touched her jaw, she knew it wasn’t part of a bit.

He’s wedged on his side between her body and the back of the couch, and he appears to have aspirations of sticking his hand down her pants. Though she realizes intellectually that they’ve already made a handful of mistakes and would be wise to cut their losses, the fact that she hasn’t been laid in months paired with the empty wine glass in front of her on the coffee table are seriously clouding her judgment.

“S’that okay?” Mulder mumbles against her mouth as the tips of his fingers graze the skin beneath her belly button, and she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say anything, just shifts her hips up in encouragement and lets her body do the talking.

It truly was an innocent invitation. She owns the movie, so it’s not like she went out of her way to rent it or anything. Mulder just seemed out of sorts after their latest case, and she felt compelled to cheer him up. She typically finds moody men insufferable, but Mulder actually talks to her about the things that sour his mood, and often even takes her advice, which makes it exponentially less irritating. She’s truly flattered by how willing he is to be vulnerable with her, a trait that she initially thought to be compulsive but later realized is specific to her.

She gasps and clamps her thighs down on his forearm when he sinks a finger into her, and he immediately stills.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, pulling away a little, and she shakes her head and grabs the back of his neck to tug him closer.

Far from hurting her, he just woke up nerve endings that have been dormant since Bush was in office, but she’s not about to tell him that. She can’t remember the last time a man spent this much time kissing and touching her without trying to stick his dick in her. Just when she has that thought, Mulder gently grinds against her hip, and she feels herself quivering around his fingers at the idea of fucking him. But of course they can’t do that. They shouldn’t even be doing this.

He’s very respectful. He asks before he takes off her shirt, her bra, her pants. He doesn’t ask if he can take off her panties, but that’s only because she shucks them off herself when he stands up to slip his jeans off and she sees his cock swing free. Legs spread, lined up, sharp sting and oh. Oh, oh, oh my.

“Oh my god. You feel—” he starts, and she shuts him up with a kiss.

They can’t talk about it, it’s too…real. They’re naked, and he’s inside her, and the screen on the TV has gone black because the movie is over, making it that much darker in her living room. Scully closes her eyes and tries to forget who she’s fucking, and why she shouldn’t be doing it, but she can’t. The way he smells, the way he feels, the exact pitch of his moans—it’s Mulder. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder, god—she’s going to come. Is he going to come?

They didn’t even use a condom.

“Wait,” she says abruptly, pushing on his shoulders.

He pulls out of her and hovers there, breathless, for a beat.

“Is something wrong?”

“We didn’t—I don’t have a condom,” she says.

She can feel every inch of skin on her body burning bright red with embarrassment. It’s real. They just did that. She just fucked her partner. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Okay,” Mulder says reluctantly, sitting back.

She senses that he might have more to say about his clean bill of health, or questions about whether she’s on birth control, but after a moment he starts to get dressed and she follows suit.

“I hope I didn’t…pressure you in any way,” he says, a silhouette against the haze of the streetlights, and she’s exceedingly grateful for the relative darkness.

“No, not at all,” she assures him. “But maybe…do you think we can just pretend this never happened?” she asks, wincing when her voice cracks a little.

“Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”

She turns on her desk lamp, which gives off enough light that he can find and put on his shoes and jacket, but not so much that he’ll be able to see how red her face is, or how swollen her lips. She walks him to the door and avoids eye contact as they say awkward goodbyes, but he’s clearly lingering and she doesn’t know why he won’t just go so she can begin the process of repressing this night deep into the far reaches of her memory.

“Was it really that bad?” he finally asks, and her head snaps up to find a somewhat pained expression on his face.

“Oh, no,” she stammers. “Not at all. It was fine—it was good, that’s not why…”

A slow grin breaks out over his face as she struggles for words, and Scully huffs in irritation.

“Glad to hear it. Night, Scully,” he says, giving her upper arm a squeeze. “See you Monday.”

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she grumbles, flashing him a tiny smile before she closes the door behind him.

She’s not sure if they just ruined her favorite movie, or just made it her favorite for an entirely new reason.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic

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bl43yzey · 6 days

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TSC oneshot: Tissue Paper — also on Ao3 here

Jean's first birthday at USC.

Jean narrowed his eyes at Jeremy who sat on the floor comfortably beside his bed and prodded the tissue paper package placed on his lap. “I thought the birthday was over.”

“Not yet.” Jeremy beamed.

Jean sighed and lifted it. This last present was very light, fit in one hand. The wrapping was gray– silver.

He hadn’t seen the need for wrapping gifts at all, assuming the contents were the important part, but he also hadn’t missed Cat’s wince earlier, when he carelessly tore into Laila’s gift. He thanked Laila— but feared the damage was done.

So Jean took his time untying the ribbon holding it together, ignoring Jeremy in his periphery. The present rolled out onto his lap and stared up at him. It was a small mime figure, black and white, a beret. Jean picked it up and held it in the light.

They both studied it for a moment. “He looks kinda like you. No?”

“That’s offensive.” Jean said.

“So you don’t like it?”

Jean pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and slowly turned it. The statuette was so similar to the defective fridge magnets that were locked away in his dresser drawer. He allowed himself a small smile and let it drop a moment later, then pillowed the mime back in its pretty wrappings. “It’s good.”

Jeremy gasped and sat up on his knees, startling Jean into raising his eyebrows.

“That was basically a five star review.” He leaned his arms on Jean’s mattress and smiled at him. “So, did you like your birthday?”

Jean’s birthday was just another thing he’d had to leave behind in Marcaille. They’d never acknowledged his birthday in the nest. And before that—

‘You have to make a wish, Jean.’

I wish I could’ve given you more.

Jean stroked the mime’s pretty face with his fingertip while he thought. He hadn’t seen the appeal in celebrating; heart wrenchingly guilty over the way he’d squandered his life, while his sister rotted in the ground. He’d only expected something like this from her.

“Yeah. It was…good.”

“But…?” Jeremy waited.

“This ” Shouldn’t be for me. “I had a—”

Jean cut himself off, again. He didn’t have the right words.

‘Do we have to do this?’ He’d asked.

She giggled,“Of course, Jean—”

“You celebrate the people you love.”

“Am I not allowed to love you?” The question hung, strung between them.

He realized too late Jeremy was being facetious. Instead of brushing it off, Jean had actually stopped to consider the answer. Creating an awkward… p a u s e.

And Jeremy noticed, like always. And waited curiously for Jean’s answer.

Jeremy relinquished too many parts of himself, as natural as breathing. He didn’t have the same thorns around his throat, mangling painful phrases escaping his mouth. He just spoke, and waited, kneeling beside the head of Jean’s bed, as he had a million times before, offering. More willing to be rejected, and torn apart, than keep himself bottled away. But unbeknownst to him, Jean clutched onto Jeremy’s words like a child keeping hold of its comfort item passed the expiration date. Comforting Jean to sleep as he laid in bed at night, praying he, himself, wouldn’t be foolish enough to speak ever again.

Yet.

Am I not allowed to love you?

It echoed between them.

If Jean was smart he’d pull the duvet over his head and suffocate. Forget air. Forget light. Forget Jeremy.

But his eyes. Oh, after he’d gone, how he’d miss Jeremy’s eyes.

And Jean was foolish. Foolish enough to spill all his secrets. Foolish enough to sit frozen, and stare. He wasn’t brave enough to open his mouth and speak when it mattered. To talk through the pain that lingered in his esophagus like a tumor. He’d always been a coward.

Am I not allowed to love you?

Still, Jeremy waited. His hands were folded together, clasped on Jean’s mattress. It looked like he was praying in the milliseconds between each blink. Nothing Jean said out loud was worth any kind of worship.

An object of another’s affection was still an object nonetheless.

#aftg #pining #jean moreau #jeremy knox #the sunshine court #aftg headcanon #my fic #oneshot #tsc spoilers #tsc

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botslayer · 1 year

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I’m just saying: Amber’s blow up has some justification... It still shows a significant lapse in the writing quality of the show.

Now, rather than just point out “Mark was nearly beaten to death and was trying to help the broader community that night, which would also include the homeless.” (Things Amber is not privy to as was pointed out by someone else) I’d like to say that she has known for “Weeks” that Mark is a superhero. Not which one he was, but that he was a superhero. Fair enough. She didn’t connect that the guy she thought was a superhero was the one that showed up to the college right when the reaniman attacked and Mark vanished? She blows up at Mark for abandoning her and William. If she thinks he’s a superhero and he doesn’t fight back, that is actually a plausible response but the guy with Mark’s build, hair, and voice dealing with the reaniman right when Mark disappears wasn’t tipping off a smart girl that THAT superhero was Mark? I’m not being facetious either. Amber is clearly an intelligent, compassionate and otherwise good girl with maybe a little bit of a temper and some passive aggression. Relatively well-fleshed out character. But again, her blowing up at Mark for leaving them is completely unfounded. And even if she doesn’t piece together that that guy was Mark, when he’s in her room, in the suit he was using at the time, with his mask on and everything, the whole deal is still dumb as shit. Again, she may not have certain details but Mark makes no defense or case for himself and Amber seems to just forget that the GUARDIANS OF THE FUCKING GLOBE, you know, the world’s premiere super team, The one that was murdered all at once? God forbid Mark or ANY superhero be a little gun-shy with their identities after that. Again, the idea of that going over Amber’s head, a smart, empathetic sort, is just fucking stupid. Yeah, Mark’s not a perfect saint but the situation is completely fucked for him and everyone. He is literally in a no-win situation and that’s just how it is. The fact that Eve doesn't understand the importance of his secret identity when she also has one is insane as well when, again, the Guardians were all murdered. That is the kind of shit that is going to ROCK most superheroes to the core for a good while, I’m just saying. Especially when I’m pretty sure she would also know about Nolan, Mark’s FATHER being nearly beaten to death, too. As far as anyone can tell, that was just the same assailant but they failed to kill Nolan. William at least has the excuse that he doesn’t understand or have all that great an insight into superheroics.

#Guardians of the globe #amber #invincible #Mark Grayson #Mark #William #Atom Eve #Omni-Man #rant #this was the one part of season one I thought was too stupid for its own good #these writers fucked up #you can't change my mind

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kay-elle-cee · 7 months

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@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 14 || 874 Words || Read on Ao3 —

“I didn’t need your help back there,” the woman bites as she passes him, leading her horse through an alleyway. Her cheeks are red when James catches up with her, and he can see the tension in her jaw, the way her green eyes sparkle with determination as she tucks strands of rich copper hair back beneath the safety of her riding hood.

He bristles at this. “My apologies, miss,” he replies with exasperation, palms open as he gestures in the direction of the fray they’d just escaped. “I must have mistakenly assumed that with three of the King’s guards after you and no weapon on your person that you may have been in need of someone interceding.”

“Why did you do it?”

“What?”

“You said it yourself, three of the King’s guards are after me, why do you not see me as a threat?” Her eyes flash. “Is it because of my sex?”

James is silent. She’s quick to anger, and he’s trying to figure how best to admit that it wasn’t what she assumed, but it was how he was struck by the glimpse of fear he had seen when the guards had blocked the exits of the town square.

It doesn’t seem a wise confession.

“I can’t quite explain it,” James answers instead, head slightly shaking as he takes a careful step towards where she checks the security of the bags on her horse. When she turns around, he notices they’re closer than he realized as a surprised breath reaches his ears, her eyes gone a little wide. “You just seemed like someone who needed an escape.”

It’s the woman’s turn to be silent as her eyes continue to stare into his, and James doesn’t know what’s going through her mind, her face remaining unreadable.

“Where will you go?” he asks, and her brows furrow at the question.

“Away.”

“Away? Do you not have a destination?”

She turns around, breaking their lingering gaze as she continues to fuss over her animal. “My destination is wherever I please, and none of your business.”

“I don’t—Will you be alright? I don’t know how it sits with my conscience letting you go away with no plans or way to defend yourself.”

“I don’t need saving or protecting. I’m not the damsel in distress to your gallant knight.” She insists, and James finds himself struck as she easily pulls herself onto her horse, stroking its chestnut mane as she contemplates her next words. “If it eases your conscience, you can join me.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. Her eyes are fixated on her horse, not on him, and he thinks it might be a sliver of vulnerability cracking through her aloof exterior. James doesn’t know if she’s being facetious or if it’s a genuine offer, but he feels a strange pull that sees him stepping a little closer to the horse.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“I said alright. I’ll join you.” He appraises her, brows raising. “Unless you didn’t mean it.”

She stares back, a sigh finally escaping through her lips before her hands tighten on the reins of the horse. “Very well. Come along.”

James blinks a couple of times, still a bit in shock from this whole exchange, before approaching. He strokes the animal’s mane, placing a hand securely on the back of its neck for leverage.

“What are you doing?”

Her sharp voice is muddied by a slight hint of amusement, and James looks up at where she sits with confusion. “I’m…coming with you?”

“This is my horse.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t lead my horse.” The woman jerks her head behind her, signaling his place in all of this. “You’re behind me.”

He feels the heat rush to his face as the situation settles. Balking at the idea of it—knowing it means he’d have to wrap his arms around her for balance and feeling a traitorous stirring within—he tries to make her see his dilemma. “But that’s…” improper, he wants to say, but realizes how foolish that would sound in the midst of all these hurried, unorthodox plans.

“If you have a problem with it, you can stay.”

“No, no…I’ll…” he gestures to the horse as he moves to mount behind her, sucking in a breath at the warmth of her body so close to his, arms carefully wrapping around her waist. She stills at his touch and he panics, looking for a way to bridge this awkward moment as the ludicrousness of what they’re doing settles in. “I’m James, by the way. James Potter.”

“Evans,” she offers in response with a glance over her shoulder, and though he notes the absence of a first name, he doesn’t pry.

Instead, he lets out a chuckle. “Evans? Any relation to the King?”

The few seconds of silence weigh heavy on him, somehow saying more than her words ever could. His stomach knots with the implication, and he tries to convince himself that he’s just on edge.

“Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

And without wasting another moment, her heels dig into the side of the horse and they’re off—all thoughts of a runaway princess disappearing from his mind as his arms tighten around her in hopes of not falling.

#it's (always) you #jilytober2023 #jily #jple #james potter #lily evans #31 prompts

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hazelnut-u-out · 1 year

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EPISODE REVIEW TIMEEEE:

(contains spoilers for “analyze piss”)

sooo…. goddamn….

that was dark, and lighthearted, and inspiring all at once.

i was stoked to see rick seeking out therapy, adapting to it, and being open to growth and change.

i think because of the serious nature of this episode, i’m going to divide my specific initial thoughts into two categories- “light” and “heavy.”

i have to give this ep a 9/10 on first-watch. it feels like a crime to not appreciate this for what it is.

light thoughts:

-NIMBUS CAMEO NIMBUS CAMEO. i didn’t realize how much i love and miss this character until we got to see him again. i am so interested in his dynamic with rick and how much potential he has to be explored.

-YEEEUPPPP. this moment still holds up-

- lmao for once i found myself rooting for jerry in a fight. i’m astounded at how much that showed for his character development, too. he was defending his daughter. his actions later on in the ep are questionable, but no more petty than what we’ve seen from rick.

- it was also cute to see morty and summer be proud of their parents for once. super nice contrast from previous moments that showed they are usually not too thrilled with being associated with them (like in “childrick of mort,” etc.)

- i loved how everyone was celebrating rick for accepting therapy. jerry having his back was really sweet- and beth kissing him on the cheek. it’s nice to see this family unit show some support for each other.

- LMAO RICK IGNORING MR. GREEN BEAN WITH HIS SUNGLASSES ON

- it was so sweet to see rick genuinely happy for his family. just :) while they were climbing on board. (idk if that was him being facetious towards himself, considering he was pulling from his flask, but i thought it was cute)

-shoutout to wong for tricking rick sanchez into doing therapy homework. woman works wonders.

okay… time for the heavy stuff:

- they handled the topic of suicide beautifully and respectfully, which i assume would be a difficult move for a “comedy” to make.

i cried a lot during this episode. a lot.

- wow. just… wow. that was a lot to take in. i found it interesting that rick sought out piss master because he related to him. he knew he was probably complex and misunderstood.

it’s reminiscent of “the old man and the seat” to me, but it seems like rick found it easier to accept another “piece of shit” as his friend than he did tony, who was generally a decent person.

the fact that piss master had a daughter also reminded me of rick’s relationship with tony. rick related to tony because of his dead wife, which drove his decision to forfeit his toilet. rick related to piss master because of his relationship with his daughter, which drove him to make his death something she could be proud of (and wouldn’t blame herself for).

- building off of my last thought, it seems like every time rick decides to open up and accept friendship, they end up dying (with an exception of BP, squanchy, etc.). he’s growing, but he’s still not allowed to let new people in yet.

- that scene of him trying to save piss master was gut wrenching. just… all of it. he really didn’t want him to die. he really cared. he’s really a person- wholly and fully. piss master wasn’t just some guy to rick in that moment.

- that scene where he has a conversation with piss master’s daughter (literally SPEAKING AS piss master) hit me hard.

i really think, in his mind, he was talking to beth there.

piss master is someone rick can relate to, not only for his daughter, but the fact that he wanted to take his own life. the show isn’t shy about the fact that rick has attempted suicide before.

here’s the scenes this scene reminded me of:

rick has literally tried to kill himself in his daughter’s house. i wonder if that made him think of how that would have made beth feel- to have found him there. if she would have blamed herself…

he wouldn’t ever want his little girl to think that.

piss master is a lot like him: a piece of shit whose daughter loves the fuck out of him for some reason.

i also don’t think it’s a coincidence that piss master’s daughter looks a lot like beth. that look through the peephole at her? damn… how do you think that felt?

(can’t find a screen grab of her yet, but when i do i’ll update this.)

we know he’s a sap for men with dead wives/daughters. this one hit home.

-in the end, morty is his best friend. he couldn’t bear to hurt alone.

i don’t think that he confided in morty to be a dick, or to regress at all. i think he was trying to healthily share his feelings, but that wasn’t fair to morty. he could’ve called wong, or told her earlier. that’s what therapists are for.

- it shows a lot that morty retaliated immediately.

“i can’t sit with that!”

“and you expect me to?!”

great moment that shows his growth.

(i really don’t feel like i’m giving this episode justice, so i’m going to rewatch soon and make a full analysis).

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #rick and morty spoilers #analyze piss

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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

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Springtime On The Moor [Chapter 3]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Story Tags: Regency AU|Slow Burn|Arranged Marriage (affectionate)|Strangers to Friends to Lovers|Angst/Comfort Proofread: No lol Taglist: @trfanglophile @fairy-writes @feeiry Chapter Summary: You and Viktor finally have an actual conversation with each other, revealing family secrets and deciding what to do about your future together.

You watch as the maid exits the room quickly, straightening her apron as she goes. Part of you feels bad for demanding she control her temper in the way you did - you could have spoken less harshly, you think, and tried to reason with her.

Instead of insinuating that she owed you respect because you’re her employer.

Your father had always taught you to be kind to the working class, growing up. Explained to you that no one person was inherently worth more than another, and that everyone was just trying to make their way through life and do the best they could.

Maybe she was just having a bad day, you think, slouching back into your chair, worry beginning to creep up in the back of your mind.

What would Viktor think of you, after such a show?

Would he think you a temperamental woman? Too fiery and loud to make a good wife? Would he think you were overbearing, or classist? Or would he-

“Why did you redirect her anger like that?” Viktor asks. His voice is thankfully quiet, and you can’t detect any kind of malice or ill intent. He just sounds curious.

You peek up at him from behind your lashes, and push yourself to sit up straighter.

“I’m your wife,” you explain softly. “Matters of the home fall onto my shoulders. That includes…asking the staff to be kinder.”

You watch as his features pinch together ever so slightly, drawing into the faintest frown you’ve ever seen. The corners of his lips quirked downwards, pressed into a straight line.

“I wasn’t aware our duties varied based on gender,” he admits. “I thought marriage was meant to be a partnership?”

You’re well and truly shocked by his assumption.

Nothing in his posture says he’s being facetious or dishonest, so…what kind of rock has your husband been living under, to not understand the most basic of social systems? Even those who didn’t participate in the kinds of interpersonal games that you did, were still aware of how unions worked.

Understood what kinds of roles everyone was meant to play.

There were, of course, some special exceptions. Your father, for example: a widower of many years, now. He hadn’t grown up knowing all the work it took to run a home. Your mother had shared everything with him, all her decisions and the goings on of the day - he had been forced to play the role of both parents to you and your siblings.

But that was a very special circumstance.

Your husband, on the other hand, just seemed…oblivious.

“Viktor,” you begin, somewhat hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed without offending him in some manner. “Did your parents never teach you about any of this? About what to expect from a marriage?”

You try your best to stay as outwardly kind as you can, knowing that one small slip in tone or posture could push him away from you, and cause him to clam up. He already seemed so reserved and unwilling to socialize, and you don’t want to undo whatever progress you may have made.

But despite your best efforts, you still watch as discomfort makes its way into his expression. The slight tense of his shoulders, and the way in which he so casually avoids eye contact.

“I just want to know where I should start explaining, that’s all,” you tell him, honestly. “You’re not going to face any judgment from me, not for this, and least of all for not knowing something in general.”

You’re still, as his gaze travels over you. Looking for any sign of deceit, anything that might hint to him that you’re trying to set him up for…for something unpleasant.

A joke, you wonder, or maybe just to ridicule him in general?

You would never.

But he doesn’t know that.

Finally, he relaxes in the slightest, mirroring your form to slouch back in his seat.

“You’re aware that I’m adopted, yes?” he asks, and when you give a brief nod of confirmation, he continues. “I am the youngest of six, and I don’t share blood with any of my siblings. When my parents were no longer able to have children of their own, they plucked me out of an orphanage in an attempt to raise one last baby.”

You can feel the surprise stretch across your face, loud and prominent. Had he really been taken in so young? With how your father had spoken of him, and described him as a boy, you’d assumed that he’d been brought home around nine or ten.

But as an infant?

Where did he learn his mannerisms, then?

“We -meaning my siblings and myself- had all assumed that I wouldn’t end up with any kind of claim to the family fortune,” he explains, chewing on the edge of his thumb nail. “Even from a young age, they would not pass up a chance to remind me of my place - I was the outsider, and I had no business trying to continue our parents’ legacy.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table.

“But you share a surname, don’t you?” you wonder.

Viktor nods to your question.

“We do,” he confirms. “But that hardly matters. Not when the purity of the bloodline is in question.”

Your heart sinks slightly, knowing he must have felt incredibly lonely growing up. Having a family, and being loved by his parents, but otherwise ostracized by the people his own age. Never being allowed to expect the same treatment as his siblings, as if his background made him somehow less.

You watch as he reaches for a bottle of wine that’s been set out on the table, reading the label for a brief moment before uncorking it with a soft pop.

He fills his glass a little more than you would consider polite, but then, you couldn’t really fault him for it, could you? Especially not when he gestures towards your own goblet at the last minute, as if he’s just remembered that you might like some, too.

He’s trying.

You slide the glass towards him, and wave him off when you’ve got a sufficient amount of red nectar - a little more than you’d usually indulge in, but with dinner on the way and a heavy conversation in your midst, you feel as though you’re entitled to it.

“At least,” he finally resumes, swirling the wine around in his cup, “that was what I had thought.”

He takes a sip, and reclines back in his chair again.

“We were of the mind that my brothers would take over the business when my parents either passed or retired, and my sisters would run the estate once they were married,” he goes on. “We assumed that I would be permitted to stay in the manor as long as I pleased, as part of the inheritance conditions. All of us were happy with that outcome. The business has never been in any of my interests.”

He takes another mouthful of drink, his expression pulling into one of frustration.

“Imagine my surprise, upon finding out that my parents willed everything to me.”

He doesn’t sound angry about the situation he’d been given - not really. Fed up, perhaps, and like he had never expected his life could go the way it has.

It makes you sad, the more you think about it. Imagining your husband as a little boy, tormented by the people who he was meant to call family, never allowed to believe that he could be more than their words, or achieve anything. Not even allowed to dream.

And now, forced to marry someone he didn’t know - someone he probably had no desire to know.

“I’m…sure your brothers and sisters were not so pleased?” you suggest, earning dry laugh from your husband.

“That’s one way to phrase it,” he scoffs. “They were outraged. Even when I told them that I had no idea I was in the will - told them that I would be happy to hand over everything they’d been previously promised! All I wanted was a place I could continue working.”

You finally take a sip of the wine in your hand, listening intently to the sweet aftertaste of cherry.

“But there was no reasoning with them,” he laments, his tone growing somber. “They were scorned, and they blamed me. I knew that if I gave them anything, they…would have taken everything. I would have lost years of work - my home, any semblance of a future. Even now, they still…”

Your eyes remain trained on him, following as he stoops forward to lean his elbows on the table, pressing the tips of his fingers into his temples to rub slow circles.

A very well-practiced motion, you realize.

“My siblings have done everything in their power to drive my life into ruin. I have never been one to care for my social reputation, but…the rumours. Their threats, scaring away most of the staff employed by the estate.”

He finally looks over to you, his eyes wide with a forlorn sense of sadness.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the garden. There’s no one in town who is willing to risk their social life to care for it, so it’s fallen to ruin. I would do it myself, but…” He gestures down towards his leg - out of your line of sight, but you know that he’s pointing towards the shiny metal brace that you’ve never seen him out of.

Of course he’d love the place he’d grown up. Of course he’d want to take care of it. You’re furious with yourself for ever thinking he might have just been a careless man, unconcerned with what other people thought of him.

In truth, he cares quite a bit.

And how frustrating it must be, you think, to see something so beloved falling to ruin around you, unable to do anything to stop it. To have people actively working against you, counting and praying on your downfall.

You quietly drum your fingers on the table.

You can feel Viktor’s eyes on you, questioning and curious - and you can tell that he knows you’re thinking.

“Has your business been impacted by any of this?” you ask.

Suddenly enough that he hesitates a moment before replying.

“The family business has taken a loss-”

“No, no,” you interrupt with a wave, taking another sip of wine. “I mean your business. The deal you have with Mr. Talis. HexTech, if I’m correct?”

His jaw slackens when you reveal that you know about that. And in truth, it had required quite a bit of digging around and asking questions: you’d been far too curious about the mysterious man who’d appeared out of the darkness to ask for your hand.

He was difficult to find a trace of, you know, always careful to cover up his tracks and make sure no one saw his face or knew his name.

You would have thought him shady, were the HexTech company not so well-known.

“…not thus far, I don’t think,” Viktor finally replies.” My participation in our projects is not typically brought up when speaking to sponsors - Jayce does all the networking, and we do the rest together.”

You drum your fingers on the table some more.

“Your siblings will try, then,” you tell him, bluntly.

Worry falls over him when he figures out what you’re implying: that the people he once called family were ruthless in their endeavors, and would stop at nothing to see him brought to his knees. That they would be willing to ruin anyone’s lives to do it.

Even when they discovered his association and partnership with Mr.Talis, they would simply seek to tear him down, too.

“They have been successful in bringing you to ruin thus far,” you tell him, “No one wants to work for you, save the select few you have employed - but nowhere near enough people to keep up with the work that a house demands. Your estate is in shambles, and your name is so tarnished that the people I considered close friends didn’t show up to our wedding.”

He peers over at you, guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, and you cut him off with a wave.

“Don’t be,” you sigh, taking another sip of your drink. “I will admit that I was upset about it yesterday, but…knowing that very little of your reputation has been your choice has calmed me down a bit.”

You smile at him, sweet yet mischievous.

“I’ve a proposition for you, husband. Something that will benefit both of us.”

Viktor raises a brow, intrigued, and gestures for you to continue.

Your smirk widens.

“I suggest revenge.”

His face falls a fraction, but before he can say anything, you speak over him.

“I’m not suggesting bodily harm. I’m not suggesting any kind of like-minded retaliation, either,” you promise, easing some of his tension. “ I’m well versed in social politics. Quite frankly, I find it entertaining and invigorating - and I enjoy getting to dress up on special occasions. It wouldn’t take a lot of prodding among my typical circle to get your name bouncing around.”

You take the last mouthful of your wine, and set the goblet down on the table.

“ A couple of kind words here and there. Everyone knows that you…lack social prowess, so any word of mine would be considered an absolute truth. I’m your wife, after all - and I’m meant to know you in ways that are far more intimate than your siblings ever would.”

You don’t miss the way he fidgets in his seat at your choice of words, nor the way pink begins to blossom across the tops of his cheeks. His awkwardness is honestly quite charming, in your opinion, if not slightly frustrating.

Frustrating, because how easily does he manage to catch your interest.

“All I’d have to do would be to let slip a few things that directly contradict the rumours spreading around, to the right people,” you finish, proudly knitting your fingers together to set them in your lap.

Unsurprisingly, though, Viktor seems unconvinced.

“Do you really think that all the damage done is so easy to fix?” he wonders, almost incredulous. “Talk to a couple of your friends and let them gossip?”

“No,” you admit. “I don’t. But we don’t need to convince anyone, Viktor. We just need to make them doubt. Doubt your siblings, doubt what they’ve heard. Once people start questioning, they’ll be willing to look a little closer, and be a little closer.”

Finally, finally, he seems to understand what you’re saying.

“What would make someone angrier than thriving, despite their attempts to assure otherwise?” you ask, of no one in particular.

Your husband smiles then, and not just a small quirk of the lip. A genuine smile, laden fully with the same sort of mischief that you have. A giddy, almost playful edge to it, and…something you can’t quite decipher. A sense of longing, perhaps - hope?

“You’ve thought this out very thoroughly,” he says, “and yet you’ve only been here a day.”

“Well, it’s not just your life anymore, now is it?” you tell him, matter-of-factly. “It’s our life. Our name, our home, our reputation. And neither of us deserve to be treated so poorly.”

There’s more you want to say to him - more conversation to be had about how to improve your lives and where to start, how to fix the garden. Your entire plan, really, as unfinished as it is.

Were it not for the servants’ door flinging open, startling the two of you away from each other.

The kitchen staff begin pouring in with dishes of food, setting them out around the table so you might choose what you’d like to eat - much of it which you’d never seen before, spices you’d never smelled, colours you’d never eaten.

Viktor promises you later that you’ll speak on the matter tomorrow, after you’ve both had some time to rest - claiming he still had some work he’d yet to finish that evening, and that he didn’t want to be late on its completion.

You’ve half a mind to ask him to stay with you: to ask him to spend the night with you, as a husband was meant to - even if it just meant sleeping together in the same bed. But with his beliefs and general awkwardness…you know even suggesting something like that would make him retreat back into his shell.

You’ll just have to work on refining your plans for the manor, and hope they would be enough to impress him.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #Springtime On The Moor

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mattzerella-sticks · 1 year

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side quest (ao3 link)

Xedgin, 1k, G

In the few days since they'd been separated from their adventuring party, Edgin and Xenk had gotten into and out of many situations, crises, and jams. The latest was fixed by some quick thinking on Edgin's part, though he seemed to regret doing so if the awful mood he'd been in since their escape meant anything.

Xenk had no clue as to what might be troubling Edgin. Soon enough, the pressure erupts and the truth is revealed.

It was when the surrounding treescape began to thin, and they had nearly set upon the forest’s outer boundary, that Xenk decided to break the discomforting silence awkwardly straddling both his and Edgin’s shoulders while they journeyed together.

He cleared his throat and waited for Edgin’s gaze to flit over towards him before speaking. “That was a rather ingenious tactic you employed back there.” His hands came to rest on his sword’s hilt as he complimented Edgin. “I doubt we’d have gotten out with our lives if you hadn’t thought of it.”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Edgin turned his attention elsewhere, the normally unruffled bard suddenly bashful in the face of Xenk’s praise. His face, which had been a blank slab of marble since their escape, was now marred by anxious fissures. His lips were twisted like a gnarled root. His chin stabbed his chest and his pace had doubled. The entire scene caught Xenk off-guard. He rolled through the shock, as best he could, and kept walking rather than being fully stunned by it. He would have trailed behind Edgin if he hadn’t.

Xenk tried again. “I wasn’t being facetious.”

“Seriously.” He was rebuffed a second time. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“…Okay.”

They lapsed back into silence. Xenk used it for contemplation.

He reflected on the series of events that led him and Edgin to this moment. They were haphazard, fumbled, and mostly Edgin’s fault. If he hadn’t caustically insulted the ancient crone they were battling with, maybe she wouldn’t have split the cavern in twain and separated them from their party. From there the quest to reunite with the others had taken them down an arduous path that, most recently, involved being at the mercy of cunning bandits who had disarmed them both when they were unawares.

If Edgin hadn’t dropped onto his knees, and turned his baleful stare onto Xenk despite the daggers held against his neck, and –

“I can hear you thinking about it.”

They had soon reached, and passed, the forest’s exit. The road in front of them stretched far into the horizon with smooth, emerald plains on either side of it. Edgin had paused near the right beside a small boulder, glaring at Xenk with both his fists pinned to his hips.

Xenk scoffed. “You don’t have the feats capable of doing so.”

“It was an expression.”

“I do not care –“

“Care for expressions, I know. I know!” Edgin, without prompt, had exploded on Xenk. Then he, as if realizing how absurdly aggressive he had acted, deflated almost instantly. Edgin closed his eyes, pinched his brow between his thumb and forefinger, and took a deep, calming breath to center himself. He advanced on Xenk, his tone more stable as he spoke. “I don’t want any reminder of what happened back there in the forest, okay? What happened there, stays there. End of discussion.” He stabbed his chest plate for emphasis during every word of his last demand.

Xenk brushed his hand aside. “I do not understand your apprehension,” he told Edgin, “your plan was a success. Why are you loath to admit it.”

“Because I don’t want anyone to get the wrong ideas!”

“Well, it is just you and me at this moment. Are we not allowed to discuss it?”

“Yes! I don’t want you getting the wrong idea, either.”

“What, to you, is the wrong idea?”

“That I like you! Or… something.”

It had been named. The issue that ate away at Edgin’s patience from the moment those bandits sheathed their weapons and sent he and Xenk down the correct path was a simple matter of pride. In Xenk’s opinion, Edgin was being ridiculous. He didn’t say this to him.

He also refrained from mentioning how Edgin had no one but himself to blame.

Xenk was in the midst of strategizing their best chance at defeating their captors when Edgin interrupted his thoughts by grabbing his hand and placing a gentle kiss along his knuckles. It was Edgin who pleaded for clemency as he spun a convincing tale that he and Xenk were travelers on route to the closest city that would certify their union after a devastating skirmish brought both their feelings to a fever pitch and forced an impromptu confession. It was Edgin who leapt to his feet, their captors now the captive audience, and dragged Xenk in by the lapels and crashed their faces into each other. Xenk assumed it was a kiss. It didn’t feel that good in the moment, but the bandits believed it well enough.

He let the fruits of his argument wither on the vine as he studied Edgin’s appearance. For all the bluster he caused, it was nothing more than an act. He truly was nervous at the prospect of others discovering what he had to do to survive.

Xenk didn’t understand his shame, but that wouldn’t stop him from being kind.

“Okay.”

Edgin’s brows jumped. “What?”

“There will be no further mention of what transpired in the woods,” Xenk said. His gaze rolled across the bard from head to boot and back again. “Is that satisfactory to you?”

“Uh – um… yeah. Yes, it is.” Edgin froze for a moment, confusion having overwritten his rage and leaving him at a loss as to what he should do next. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

However, before dropping the matter fully, Xenk had a final matter to settle. He snatched Edgin by the scruff of his neck and pulled him forward, bringing their chests flushed together and gently slotting their lips together. Edgin’s hands were deathly still at his sides. The fingers not threaded into Edgin’s hair brushed the pink tinted line that highlighted his cheek as Xenk deepened their embrace. Xenk released Edgin after a few seconds, a grin brighter than the sun above shining from his face.

“Much better,” Xenk sighed. “I would definitely rather that be my first kiss than the other one.”

Edgin gaped at him. “What – your first kiss?”

“As promised, we shall say no more about this.” Xenk spun on his heel and carried on with his usual stride, not waiting for Edgin to follow him. “Come, our friends have to be close by.”

Despite not wanting to discuss it previously, suddenly all Edgin wanted to talk about was their kiss as they strode down the road, side by side.

He continued to be the most infuriating, perplexing, and somehow enchanting man Xenk had ever met.

#D&D honor among thieves #dungeons and dragons honor among thieves #xenk yendar #edgin darvis #xenk x edgin #xedgin #xedgin fanfic

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bullet-prooflove · 1 month

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Not Me: Vostanik Sabatino x Reader

Tagging: @thiashazzywriting @words-and-seeds @novamariestark @whateversomethingbruh @trublu2u @stelacole @kmc1989

It’s not the ex boyfriends Nik worries about, it’s the girlfriends. He knows what he’s completing with when it comes to other men, women are a completely different ballgame. The relationships they’re much more intimate.

When the two of you run into Marina, the girl you were with before him, Nik knows she’s still in love with you. It’s in the way she looks at you, touches you, kisses you. It riles him more than he cares to admit because she treats him like a bystander, as if he wasn’t just holding your hand thirty seconds ago.

She’s just affectionate, you say when he tries to address it later.

She wants to fuck you, is what he grumbles back.

You flick cold water into his face because you’ve just washed your hands and you think he’s being facetious.

Nik can doesn’t need a crystal ball to see what happens next, in fact Marina makes sure he has a front seat when she sees the car pulling up and kisses you. There’s a sensuality to it, her palm comes to rest on the nape of your neck as her thumb chases over the line of your jaw. You don’t pull away and that’s the thing that gets Nik.

Marina represents everything you could have if you weren’t with him. Stability, a person to come home to, someone who cares for you, who can be there for you. That’s what he sees when he looks at Marina.

He doesn’t say a word when you get in the car. The silence it hangs like a weight around his neck as he starts the engine and begins the journey home.

“I’m gonna go back to hotel tonight.” He says, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his hands dripping the steering wheel. “I have an early flight in the morning.”

“Nik...” You began but he shakes his head.

“Don’t.” He says sharply.

“Nik, don’t do this to me, don’t shut me out.”

“Get out of the car.” He snaps at you.

“Nik…” You try again. “Alana, just get out the fucking car.”

You take the keys instead.

The engine cuts out and he feels that anger dissipate along with it because the thing is he’s not really mad at you, or Marina, he’s mad at himself because he can’t give you what you deserve and that’s becoming clearer everytime he makes the trip back to LA.

“I can’t love anybody else.” You say into the silence. “If you do this right now, if you leave me you won’t be doing me a favour. You’re doing yourself one. You’ll go back to being Sabatino but maybe that’s what you want, because it’s easier than tearing yourself apart every time you have to leave.”

That’s the real issue. It isn’t that Marina kissed you, that she’d be good for you, it’s the fact that he keeps leaving and every single time he does a little piece of him dies. He worries that a little piece of you does too.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you.” He says quietly. “But I don’t know any other way to do this. I love you but I can’t see a world in which this works out for the both of us.”

He trails off, tilting his head towards you.

“I think it’s time to pull the ripcord on this thing before we do anymore damage to each other.”

You press the car keys into his hand, the jagged edges scrap against his palm as he grips them in his fist.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snarl, kicking open the passenger side door. “When you’re lying alone in your bunk in Syria or Iraq or wherever the hell they send you just remember you’re the one that gave up on us. Not me.”

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crissiebaby · 4 months

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Double Diaper Dare: Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, public humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, WAM, hypermessing, hypnosis, diaper filling, slime transformation, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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Codi’s Diary: Entry 141 (Cont.)

So I suppose this would be a good time to address the diaper-obsessed elephant in the room. No amount of self-education on the subject of sex could’ve prepared me for what it would be like to live with someone whose brain was wired to think uncontrollably horny thoughts seemingly 24/7. In that regard, Crissie was in a league of her own. From the moment I set foot in that nursery, I could practically feel her hungry, lustful eyes watching me at all times. And trust me, I have zero interest in knowing what depraved ideas must’ve been churning in her head the entire time.

Needless to say, whatever sexual desires I had for myself had to be put on the back burner all thanks to one obnoxiously kinky brat. Not that I wasn’t still horny. (I very much was.) It was just that anytime I showed even the slightest hint of being aroused, Crissie would leap at the opportunity to tease and embarrass me. It was beyond frustrating since it pretty much meant I had to be on guard around her at all times.

Eventually, I became sort of numb to her antics. That being said, after looking back over the last paragraph, I feel I’ve been a tad harsh. It’s not like I hate Crissie. She can be very kind and fun to be around given the right circumstances. I just wish she’d demonstrate even a modicum of self-control because the moment diapers are in play, rational thought goes out the window with her.

At least, that’s what I thought…

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Exiting the portal, Codi found herself standing before a large, mostly empty room with a ceiling as tall as a warehouse. Unlike Jane’s office, this place was nowhere near as warm and cozy, causing her to fold her arms over her chest. “Where did she send us this time?” she said to herself, sighing as she looked around the massive space, finding various pieces of machinery scattered about.

Thankfully, Crissie wasn’t far behind to answer Codi’s question. “Welcome to the central testing chamber of CrissBaby HQ!” she said, throwing her arms up in jubilation. Sadly, her excitement wasn’t shared by Codi in the slightest. She slowly lowered her arms, “Ahem, w-we shouldn’t have to worry about anyone happening by us for a while. Ya know, with it being nighttime and all.”

Having previously read through several of Crissie’s Test Dummy chapters, Codi was well aware of what kinds of mischief went on in here. “Well then, what’s the plan? You gonna fill my diaper up with oatmeal or force me into that locking onesie? Ooh! Maybe you’ll use that rose aphrodisiac on me and get me all hot and bothered!” she said facetiously, her words dripping with sarcasm. In reality, she had no idea what Crissie was planning but that didn’t mean she had to act like it.

Crissie responded as expected, “N-No! There’s a ton of other cool stuff in here that I haven’t even written about yet, just you wait!” She pouted as she looked around the room, hoping to come up with Codi’s next dare quickly. Since she already knew about the filling machine and the rose aphrodisiac, she was going to have to make up something even more blushy, “Let’s just look around for now. See what we can find.”

“Hmmm, I’ve got a better idea,” said Codi, a pair of metaphorical horns growing atop her head, “Why don’t we each find one invention for the other to try? Then we can do our next dares together.”

Crissie’s eyes lit up upon hearing Codi’s idea, never once thinking about what slime girl was plotting. “That sounds super fun!” she said, happy to see that Codi was finally getting into the game a bit more. She was also happy that she now had time to look through the various inventions still under observation to find the perfect one.

As Crissie wandered off into the sea of mechanical ingenuity, Codi had already set her sights on a particular device stationed against the back wall of the testing room. Approaching a tarp with a “Keep Out” sign on it, she quickly tore it off, revealing a chair with restraints built into it and a large, bulky VR headset with exposed wires all over it. She wasn’t certain what it did or how it even worked but that didn’t stop the headset from giving off an ominous vibe. “M-Maybe I’ll look around a bit longer,” she said, grabbing the tarp off the ground and tossing it back onto the machine haphazardly.

“Codi! Over here!” shouted Crissie, causing Codi’s heart to sink. She’d hoped such an enticing task as this would keep Crissie occupied for a while as she struggled with a final decision. Sadly, one look at her smug, mischievous mug told her that this was not the case.

Hopping up onto the edge of one of the tall, metal tables, Crissie swung her legs back and forth childishly as she waited for Codi to inch her way over. Closing both fists, she held her hands out in front of her, trying and failing to hide how giddy she was. “Pick a hand,” she said, bouncing up and down on her fresh diaper.

Rolling her eyes, Codi considered choosing neither and just walking away. However, the prospect of Crissie whining that she didn’t play along properly was enough for her to do the bare minimum. She tapped Crissie's left fist, saying, “There, happy?”

“Hehehehe! Very!” cackled Crissie, her booming laughter causing Codi to recoil from the abrupt noise. Opening her palm, she revealed a harmless-looking piece of gum with the words, “Bubbly Baby” written on the side.

Annoyed with Crissie’s games, Codi snatched the piece of gum out of Crissie's hand and began examining it for any clues as to what it did. Finding nothing more than the gum’s stupid name, she lamented to the usual strategy, which was pressing Crissie directly for information with the power of sarcasm, “So what? It looks like a standard piece of gum. You planning to turn me into a blueberry or something?”

“Pffffff! Nah! I don’t think that’s the kind of thing they’d make here…and if it was, Master would’ve let me try it first,” said Crissie, giggling slightly at the thought of Codi ballooning up, “Besides, you’re already purple on the inside, so it’d be a waste anyway. Just try it already. I Double Diaper Dare you!”

Scoffing at the purple remark, Codi narrowed her gaze and stuck her tongue out a Crissie before unwrapping the innocuous piece of gum and tossing it into her mouth. How much damage could one piece of gum do anyway?

Chomping down on the rubbery sugar square, Codi was overwhelmed by how sweet the piece of gum was. The simple bubble gum flavor was so powerful that it nearly caused her to gag. She quickly spit the piece of gum back into her hand before scraping off the taste on her tongue with her teeth, “Bleh! Nope! There’s a reason that gum is still being tested. Find something else, non-edible preferably,” she said, placing the slightly chewed gum back in its wrapper and tossing it in the nearby trash can.

“Awww, fiiiiiiiiiiiine,” grumbled Crissie, pouting as she waded back into the sea of inventing materials.

Left on her own once again, Codi turned her attention toward ruining Crissie to the best of her ability. Unfortunately, anytime she found a device or innovation that seemed perfect, she then had to remember that for Crissie, most of the stuff in here would work better as a reward than a punishment. No, if she wanted to get the better of Crissie, she’d need to find something that even the biggest diaper perv in the world would consider terrible.

Suddenly, before she could find the perfect device to use on Crissie, Codi began to feel a strange buzzing sensation overtake her mouth as if her teeth were vibrating. Not only that but her tongue felt so dry and tasted almost ashy, something she was not a fan of. She couldn’t believe it but she found herself missing the abundance of flavor that the chewing gum possessed. At least the sugary, sweet substance was better than this.

Searching around the room, Codi couldn’t spot a single source of water to wash the dreadful feeling from her mouth that only seemed to be growing stronger. It was getting to the point where she’d ingest just about anything to quell the awful oral sensations. Looking back at the trash can with the wad of gum inside of it, her desperation reached its boiling point as she dove into the bin to recover the lone piece. Removing its wrapper a second time, she stuffed the gum back into her mouth and began chewing, gaining some instant relief as the tingling subsided. Begrudgingly, the flavor from earlier permeated, tasting almost stronger than it did before. It was as if she was sucking on a tube of vanilla frosting.

Over on the other side of the testing chamber, Crissie continued to sort through the various doodads and thingamajigs, hoping to secure the ultimate humiliation for Codi to guarantee her victory. “Diaper glue… Nah…A nappy with a simple lock pattern on the front…Well, it's about time but no…Extra-Strength Lisp Lollies…that’s so last season…” Despite the endless array of options, nothing seemed to fit the mold of what she was looking for, at that was until she spotted something that made her heart flutter.

“Hey, Cooooooodi! Come over here!” said Crissie in a sing-songy voice. Holding a diaper with four leg holes in her hand, she felt herself getting excited at the prospect of testing out what looked to be a two-seated diaper with Codi. And with the power of Double Diaper Dare, there’s no way she could refuse. Seconds soon turned into minutes, though, as she waited for Codi to join her. Hopping up on her tippy-toes, she looked around the room, wondering where her diapered companion had run off to. With the double-wide diaper in hand, she began to retrace her steps, hoping to find Codi along the way.

Now that Codi was nowhere to be found, the dimly lit testing facility felt a lot more imposing than it did before. Crissie hugged the extra large nappy to her chest, finding comfort in the crinkly padding. “Codi! Seriously, this isn’t funny!” she yelled, her anxiety mounting as she made it back to the table that held the recently tested gum.

“Ehehehehehe!”

“Eeeeeeep!” shouted Crissie as the sound of Codi’s laughter caused her to jump. She instinctively let out a little bit of pee into her diaper, completely unaware that her diaper was swelling beneath her. Fixing her face into a frown, she stomped over to the source to find Codi hiding around the wide, metal table. “You big meanie! You know I don’t like jump scares!”

Rounding the side of the table, Crissie folded her arms across her chest as she stared down a Codi who was…playing with her feet? Lo and behold, the giggly artist wasn’t even laughing at Crissie’s expense, too focused on her own appendages to intentionally scare anyone. “C-Codi? You okay?” asked Crissie, confused by Codi’s abrupt change in behavior.

“Uh huhs! I okies!” said Codi before bellowing out another giggle. She turned to look at Crissie, her eyes centering in on the bulky, white diaper in her hands, “Ooooh! Is dat diapee fo me?! Gimme!” She reached up toward Crissie with grabby hands; a pure, unwavering smile laminated across her face.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Edited by AllySmolShork

Special Thanks to Our CrissBaby Diaper Company Investors: BeelzeDerBock BlossomBitchDolly BlushyBen DD Exminister Gun1242 LittlePissy PrincessKittenLizzi Strawberry Sweetsamantharebecca & One Anonymous Investor

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