#spoiler tags for an ad who have i become

[otterlyart]

Someone save him

#cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #critical role #spoiler tags for an ad who have i become

[everparanoid]

Make me lose my breath, make me water ┃Wriothesley

pairing: f!reader x wriothesley

genre: fluff , NSFW

rating: 18+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

tags: Cunnilingus, consent is hot, Reader is from Natlan, cuffs used inappropriately, Body Worship, My First Smut, Fontaine is France but it's not but it is, PWF, PWP, Mutual Pining, No use of y/n, Reader is Not Traveler (Genshin Impact), Creampie, biting kink, Written After 4.1 Update, Minor spoilers for 4.0 quest, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Light Bondage, light orgasm denial

wordcount: 6.1k

synopsis: The notorious Duke of the fortress of Meropide hasn't been on his A-game lately, and it shows.

Originally posted: 25.10.23 on AO3

a/n: I am now reposting my AO3 stuff onto tumblr. If you know me....no, you don't. ;) Also check out my AO3 for more wriothesley fics.

Song Inspiration: 'Water' by Tyla.

Three quick knocks rattled the door to his large office. The sound echoed up to the second floor where his desk resided.

“Come in,” Wriothesley said not looking up from his papers.

Wriothesley was a busy man. Well, being the Duke of the self-running, man-powered Fortress of Meropide wasn’t an easy job. It wasn’t exhausting either, but that was beside the point.

He took a slow prolonged sip from his teacup. The second sip in the last hour; the flavoured water had long since cooled from the general chill in the office. Not that he could feel anything beyond the normal chill of the underwater Fortress; and with the added benefit of his cryo vision he considered himself well-suited for the climate. That didn’t mean he didn’t miss the sun. Although, he could see the sun whenever he found a reason to leave the fortress, which he often didn’t.

He sighed for the fifth time that hour.

“I hear you’ve been doing that a lot,” You said ascending the spiralled staircase.

He paused and lowered his teacup, placing it on the small pile of report papers he was using as a mat. One side of his lips raised threatening to become a half smile. He quickly wiped it away.

“Oh? Have I now?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “I think I’m going to have to report you to Sigewinne.”

“Am I to assume she isn’t the one who sent you?”

His eyes met yours as you arrived atop the stairs, a hand on your hip and that sassy look in your eyes that he had grown fond of. He realised now why he had been so distracted.

He missed you.

You often frequented the fortress. First as a commissioned messenger between Wriothesley and Neuvillette, then a ‘convict’, and after that a friend and now… he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to complain about the company. It was nice having someone as into tea as he was. Not that he would admit it, but it got lonely in the Fortress sometimes. More so since he met you.

“What? You afraid of a couple of stickers?”

“You know about that?” he grumbled, glancing at the pile of crumpled Melusine stickers littering the side of his desk, freshly pulled off the back of his coat.

“I have ears everywhere, Your Grace,” you smirk, withholding the crucial fact that you were the culprit providing the stickers for Sigewinne and her Melusine friends. They paid you back in giggles and smiles, and just the joy on their small faces was enough for you.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You probably know more about what’s happening in my humble home than me,” he said. Only a half lie on his part. You had an aptitude for making tough things bend to your will. Him being the toughest of things in question. He dismissed the thought of you flashing that blinding smile at anyone other than him.

Your shoulders rose and fell as a melodic laugh left your lips and graced his ears. If he could keep your voice in a bottle, he would.

You shook your head and pushed off the railing. His attention remained on you as you took a seat on the settee a bit away from his desk.  His throat—as if he hadn’t just taken a sip of his cold tea— felt overwhelmingly dry. He cleared it gently and picked up his teacup.

“How’s the Traveler and Paimon?” he asked, taking a sip.

The flavoured water was colder. He needed to calm down lest he froze the entire thing. He imagined you would be the only one to find amusement in him sipping ice.

You crossed your legs, and your skirt rode up. He looked away respectfully, much to his dismay and the favour of his quickly deteriorating will. He didn’t remember when it happened. When he started seeing you as more than just the middle woman between Neuvillette and himself; more than just a pawn in this game against the fatui, but now he found himself knowing the way your cheek dimpled slightly only on your right cheek when you laugh; how the skin around your eyes crow when you yawn or squint; how you change to fix your posture every thirty minutes when you’re lost in a book, and your neck starts to get sore, and your lower back begs to be stretched out. He pulled himself out of his thoughts before they had a chance to spiral further.

“They send their regards and a thank you for your help with ‘the situation,’” you said making air quotes. You didn’t mention how you didn’t plan to return to them for a while, but some things were best left unsaid with Wriothesley.  

Wriothesley nodded and gestured for you to join him in for some tea.

“If you have some time, of course,” he finished.

“Of course, If you are offering,” you responded. 

You went to stand but Wriothesley beat you to it. Thankful for the excuse to busy himself with something other than your smouldering presence. If he was an icy avalanche, then you were like a raging inferno, melting him into warm water. Perhaps it had something to do with the pyro vision dangling from your hip. He glanced at the vision and caught a glimpse of your bare legs. He froze, curious about what colour you might be wearing underneath your skirt: black, white, blue, red? Instead, he was beyond relieved when he saw black shorts. He breathed a sigh. That’s so you.

“I can heat the pot, you know?” you say, growing increasingly more tired of his strange mood and equally as obscure silence. Never had Wriothesley sighed so much. Honestly, you never would have considered him a sigher; more a hmpher or a quiet snickering type.

You and everyone in Fontaine who had the pleasure or misfortune—mostly the misfortune—of knowing the Duke, knew that recently he had been off. In truth, your visit hadn’t been to express Neuvillette’s message (though that made a great cover). No, you were there because of a chain of strange letters from Sigewinne, given to you by an equally as annoyed Clorinde, telling you of the Duke’s bizarre behaviour. According to these letters, he was more attentive than usual. He had appeared around the fortress checking in on the production zones and the inmates an alarming number of four times in the last month, nearly causing several heart attacks amongst the inmates, which as a result caused Sigewinne to be on high alert from all the overworking; he hasn’t been partaking in as many fights in the ring, and he hasn’t been drinking as much tea.

It was the last two on the list that shocked you the most and was most of the reason why you were there now. Wriothesley not drinking tea? Was Fontaine’s archon a fraud?

Uncrossing your legs, you stood and approached him. Placing a hand on the teapot, you heated the water with your vision.

“Let me do that," you said.

You sounded more breathless than you had intended to, but being so close to him does that to you. He always managed to take your breath away, but you had stupidly thought that with time those senseless reactions would die upon learning more about the mysterious brutish duke. The way all crushes faded when the mystic i.e., the lack of information and the delusions of projection, disappeared. Instead, it seemed to have only worsened. A butterfly somersaulted in your stomach when you accidentally brushed your hand against his.

Wriothesley stiffened. The touch went straight to his gut.

“Why are you here?” he responded smoothly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Not that he was concerned about why you were here—he couldn’t be happier—but you were supposed to be away for the next six months on a quest with the traveler to your home region, Natlan. Had Sigewinne called you back out of concern for him? He had to be more careful around the small nurse in the future.

“Your tea collection isn’t as depleted as usual,” you observed, staring into the box filled with other miniature boxes of tea, skilfully deflecting the question.

“An interrogation. You’re making me nervous,” he joked. “I am a busy man, I don’t always have time for tea.”

The look you fixed him with was not amused.

“You always drink at least three cups a day,” you said putting stress on the ‘at least.’ If it wasn’t tea, it would be a terrible addiction.

“Wow, you’re counting? I’m impressed.”

“Which flavour do you want?”  you said, ignoring him.

“The special blend.”

Without a second thought, you plopped the tea bag into the teapot and left it to brew.

It was your favourite, and that is why he chose it. He was more of a black tea or green tea kind of person, but the special blend he had made specifically for you. You didn’t know that though; you didn’t have to, he enjoyed hearing your quiet hums of happiness with each sip. It was great fodder for his late-night thoughts.

His heart warmed, as the skin around your eyes crowed the way he loved. Loved? He cleared his throat.

“You aren’t booking yourself as many fights. Which I would be happy about if I thought it didn’t directly correlate to why you’re acting so strange,” you lectured, and to him, you sounded like a particular short blue-haired Melusine.

“I can’t help but feel that you are worried about me,” he jested.

“As anyone would be about a friend,” you said.

Friend? Yes, that was what you were. Friends.

“Friends. Yes,” he agreed albeit stiffly.

You gave him a cautious side-eye unsure as to why his tone hurt you.

The word left a bitter taste in Wriothesley’s mouth and when you offered to fill his cup again, he accepted. Suddenly needing the soothing numbing effects of his tea more than ever. You topped up his cup before you poured the heated water into the teacup that had unintentionally become yours.

 Wriothesley didn’t let anyone else use it. It was superstitious really, and he didn’t consider himself a superstitious person. However, he worried that if he let anyone else use it you suddenly won’t come back one day. Not that you would be able to tell the difference if he did let someone else use the cup; all the teacups he owned looked exactly alike, but yours was different. It was a cup with a little chip on the rim near the handle from when you decided to have your tea with Neuvillette, Clorinde, the traveler and himself after the recent troubles with the Fatui. Your cup had chipped due to the heat of your hand; he could recall the horror on your face when he informed you how much each cup cost after letting you ramble on about owing him another cup.

You eventually fell into a comfortable silence sitting together on the settee.

“Clorinde has been visiting you a lot recently,” you said from behind your teacup. You took another sip.

Wriothesley recalled his earlier meeting with the champion dualist.

“Yes, we had some tea.”

“Really?”

“Jealous?”

You turned away.

“There is no need to be, I assure you,” he said, feeling a deep sense of relief at the way you seemed so bothered by his meeting with your mutual friend. The same friend who had been lecturing him about his ‘mutual’ feelings for you. Perhaps it was because of your reaction, that he realised that Clorinde might have been right. Or he was delusional? Maybe it was both.

Wriothesley placed his mug down on the coffee table. His hand brushed your bare thigh and you both jolt.

“Who says I am jealous?” You snapped, your lip twitching.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because your lip twitches when you’re upset, and your pyro vision makes you heat the things around you without abandon. Your eyes lose that spark which makes them look like the spotlights guarding Meropide, and you refuse to look at me because you know I’ll see right through you. And I do. I see you.”

He took another sip from his tea, pretending to not notice your tea bubbling in your hand, and the crack growing on the side of the teacup.

“It’s not nice to make jokes like that, Your Grace,” you said nervously.

Your eyes darted about the office settling on anything but him. The bookshelves looked fuller than usual. Has he been reading more books?

“Indeed. It is not but come on you should know me better than that by now. I never joke about things like this,” he said. His voice was clear and sincere. “Is it so strange that I would want to give a few words of praise out of genuine adoration?”

Especially since he saw the way you’re reacting; he knew that it was real and not a fantasy from his misguided thoughts. He wouldn’t lose this opportunity to make his feelings clear. He was a straightforward guy, after all. When he knew what he wanted was within his reach he wouldn’t simply pass it up. It would be unjust. He wanted to watch you smile, to be the one that caused that smile; he wanted to be the first person you went to when something good happened in your life; he wanted to feel your skin and not just in passing touches; he wanted to let it scold him, to embrace the flames.

“Ah, it seems I have ruined the mood,” he said smoothly.

He stood.

You went to stand too, but when you did the boiling liquid in your teacup splashed your hand. You hissed and dropped it. The porcelain shattered against the metal ground; the liquid spilt everywhere.

Wriothesley sat back down on the settee and took your warm hand in his immediately not sparing a second to glance down at his soaked boots. They encased yours and worked to chill the burn; one of the many benefits of having a cryo vision. The two of you couldn't be any more different. Fire and ice co-exist? Impossible.  Unimaginable. Dangerous. The tenderness in which he held your hand sets your heart ablaze as if it wasn’t already. Had he been telling the truth? You knew the Duke better than most, and with that knowledge you know he wasn’t the type to lie about that, but did he mean it? Could he mean it?

“I’m sorry,” you said.

Wriothesley’s attention remained on the forming boil on your soft skin. He soothed it gently, trying not to give you frost-burn. Thankfully the natural heat of your skin stopped his cryo from hurting you further.

“For what?” he responded softly, bringing your hand up to his lips and breathing out cool frosty air. You felt like mush, and if it weren’t for the dull ache in your hand you would have snatched up the opportunity to run said hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. It always looked so soft and maybe he would allow you to touch it.

You pulled a face between flustered and self-loathing.

“That was one of your expensive teacups,” you managed to choke out.

He continued to blow cool air onto your hand.

“There will be other teacups,” he says, his lips barely an inch from your skin.

You wanted to melt on the spot.

“But—“

He sighed and said your name sternly looking up at you through the haze of dark lashes.

“Why would I worry about a teacup when you are hurt?” he asked and lowered your hand from his lips. “In any case, I should apologise for ruining a perfectly good meeting. If you have said all you need to say then—”

You waved your hands, flabbergasting him as you snatched them from his cool encasing, momentarily forgetting about the burn, and cutting him off mid-speech.

“No, you didn’t,” you yelped.

He half smiled at the scarlet tint of your ears, and taking your burnt hand back into his, he proceeded to gently apply cryo to the festering burn.

“Ah, is that so?” he chuckled. “Alright then, how will you pay me back?”

“Huh?”

“You broke my favourite teacup, after all. So—“ he said your name with a hint of mischief in his smooth voice. “How will you pay me back?”

“That’s not fair!” You straightened in your seat. “How can that be your favourite teacup when they all look the same? Are you just saying that to make me feel worse than I already do?”

He cocked a brow and tugged you forward. You fell into him, your free hand coming to rest on his lower abdominal. Your nose brushed his, and you felt his cool breath against your cheeks. His breathe smelt of spearmint. Your lips twitched and you tried to focus on the scar under his eye (the one you’ve always wanted to trace with the tips of your fingers) so as to not meet his icy blue stare, or to glance down at the obvious smirk on his lips. You wanted to kiss him; you could kiss him; would he let you kiss him?

Wriothesley watched your tongue dart out to swipe across your lips; he wanted to bite it; but he had more control than that. He had an image to uphold. The Duke was supposed to be fair and reasonable; he was supposed to lead by example and be a neutral figure of respect and reverence, not a brute without self-control. He pushed you back gently, hoping beyond hope that in your shock you haven’t noticed how hard he was.

“Kidding, of course,” he drawled.

Anger coloured your face and you punched his shoulder, half seriously. You hissed and shake your still very much wounded hand. You had been duelling partners for a while when you had spent a significant amount of time in the Fortress pretending to be a convict back when you were neither friend nor whatever you were now. He’d only agreed to it at the time because you managed to beat everyone and nearly him.

“You are breathtaking,” he muttered. “Come on let’s get you to Sigewinne.”

He stood and offered you his hand.

Your heart stuttered. Even though you weren’t native to Fontaine you were well-versed in their mother language, but even then, you didn’t believe your ears.

“What?” you asked.

He chuckled again, a deep and hearty sound.

“When will I stop doubting the ears of a seasoned traveler,” he said out loud although it was meant for his ears alone. He must have been mentioning your mutual friend, the blond traveler, and their small pixie pie companion, Paimon. You have been accompanying them on a few commissions and quests here and there, especially through Natlan. Which kept you away from Fontaine for significant periods of time, much to Wriothesley’s silent dismay.

However, he would never keep something so precious away from the light. He tried to keep a pet once—not that you were a pet—but he soon realised that it was wrong to keep something meant to be in the sun away from it. And if he couldn’t do it to a small animal then he definitely couldn’t do that to you. You were a traveller, not even native to Fontaine. Although you have made it clear countless amounts of times that Fontaine is your favourite region; he can’t help but feel like you weren’t meant to be chained to one place. He won’t be your administrator, the fortress won’t be your prison, and he couldn’t imagine keeping you in this cage with him. He refused to, even if his more selfish desires would have you cuffed to his desk where he could gaze upon you forever till you hated him and wished him gone.

“No, I want to talk first,” you said.

“I assure you we can talk after your hand has been seen too.”

“Wriothesley.”

Your tone went straight to his cock. You have never said his name, at least not his face. Even when you’re both around your mutual ‘friends’ you still have only ever called him ‘your grace.’ He wanted to hear you say his name again. He wanted to hear you say his name breathlessly, desperately, whilst you crumbled into each other. He cleared his throat and walked across his office hoping that the distance would stop you from noticing the obvious tent in trousers. He fiddled with the cuffs on his hips to distract himself and pulled at his tie.

“You really should go…to Sigewinne,” he said.

You approached him. He turned away from you facing a bookshelf. You brushed your fingertips to his forearm feeling the chilling aura around his skin. You expected him to pull away, for him to stop you from going past the point of no return, but he didn’t.

“Wriothesley,” you said his name again, this time with a wistful air. You don’t even realise you’re saying it. You never said it; not to him, only to the crisp cold darkness when your back arched on your sheets late into the night.

“Say it again,” he said.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.”

Your eyes widened as you realised your mistake. You have always tried not to say his name to separate your lustful fantasies from the real man.

He faced you, capturing your gaze and with it your heart too in his glacial eyes that looked so warm. “Please.”

You couldn’t help but obey. His name slipped out in a hushed prayer: “Wriothesley.”

In turn, he said yours; just as quiet, just as wanting.

“You really should go to Sigewinne,” he said and ghosts his thumb along your jaw.

“What if I don’t want to?” you stepped closer. “What if I want to stay right here?”

His expression darkened.

“You shouldn’t,” he said with no bite behind it.

You didn’t budge.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, sounding way more desperate than you intended. Before you could cringe at yourself, he had you caged in his arms, mouth cold against yours. He groaned when you bit down on this bottom lip, and for the first time, you felt his thick erection brush against your stomach.

None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of kissing Wriothesley and any pain in your hand disappeared altogether. He kissed you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth; like you were his last gulp of air before he dissolved into primordial water.

He tugged on your shirt.

“If you don’t take this thing off right now I’m going to rip it,” he said, his breath laboured.

You reached under your shirt, and he helped you slip it over your head. He threw it away and pulled you into another kiss. His hand wrapped in your hair.

You took off his tie and his waistcoat, his usual fur coat was already draped on the back of his large red chair. He stopped you unbuttoning his shirt, shaking his head, trailing kisses along your jaw, and down your neck as he walked you backwards to his desk. He unclasped your bra. He watched it slide down your arms and then tossed it somewhere that was going to be your future you’s problem.

“Up,” he ordered.

You jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck. He grasped the underside of your thighs and placed you down on the free space of his grand desk.

He bit your shoulder, and you moaned out his name in a way that had him almost feral. He lapped at the wound and kissed it. You threw your head back biting down on your lip. He continued leaving kisses and nibbles along your collarbone, slowly lowering until your breasts were under his hungry gaze. You suddenly felt nervous. You wouldn’t say you were insecure in your looks. You knew that your looks were something to behold and of which you were very proud. They’ve come in handy in your many jobs as many times as they have caused unnecessary issues but being under the watchful gaze of Wriothesley felt different… intimate. You tried to bring your hands up to cover yourself. Wriothesley caught your wrists, looking up at you from his crouched position.

“Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

“Wriothesley,” you said.

“If you aren’t comfortable, we can stop,” he assured you, although the words pained him and his dick, consent was king—always. If you weren’t comfortable, he could always sort himself out later. You were the most important thing to him. He let go of your wrists and you dropped them, letting him feast his eyes on your breasts.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

“If you change your mind, just tell me and we’ll stop,” he said. “Give me a safe word.”

“Cake,” you instantly responded.

“Cake?” He cocked a brow. “Cake, it is.”

Without a moment spared, he grasped your breasts and planted a kiss there, dragging his lips over your nipples in a way that made you shiver. He smiled to himself at the occasional whimpers that left you; even more pleased that he was the one causing them.

“I love the noises you make. I love your voice. I’m obsessed with it. I wish to capture it and listen to it whenever you’re away,” he groaned.

He dragged his tongue down, further, and further until he was on his knees, he pushed up your skirt that had been bothering him since you crossed your gorgeous legs earlier. He was tempted to have you keep it on when he fucked you, for no other reason than the thought that the next time you decided to wear that poor excuse of a skirt he knew all you would be able to think about was how he messed you up in it. The thought brought him immense pleasure.

 He slid his hands into your shorts, squeezing your thighs. The flimsy piece of black material and whatever surprise underwear beneath it were the only things keeping him from what he wanted. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to feel how you’ll curl on his tongue; he wanted to feel you gripping his hair and screaming his name as he brought you to a high only he could give you.

“These damn shorts,” he grumbled.

“I climb mountains. How else am I going to keep myself comfortable?” you asked.

He tutted and tore them open; the fabric did not put up much of a fight at all.

“I guess you won’t be climbing mountains anytime soon,” he said guiding the torn fabric down your legs.

“Those were my favourites, you brute.”

He winked up at you.

“Ah, I suppose that makes us even,” he drawled.

Was he thinking about that damn teacup right now?

“How are you?” He said, checking in on you.

“Good.”

He smiled and your heart melted a little.

He froze when he took in the sight of your lingerie.

“Were you thinking of me when you bought these?”

“Don’t get too cocky,” you said.

“Too late.”

You bit your lip. It hadn’t been intentional, your underwear matching the colour of his eyes. He trailed his nose up the soaked fabric brushing your clit. You grabbed his hair at the stimulation. You felt the beginnings of the scruff threatening to break out of his chin tickling you as he guided your lingerie aside and gave your clit an ardent lick. Wriothesley wasn’t big on savoury treats, but you weren’t savoury, you tasted like you, and you were fast becoming his favourite dessert.

“You taste divine,” he said.

“Oh Archons,” you muttered.

“They won’t hear you down here,” he said.

It didn’t take long before your toes were curling, and you were chanting his name. Wriothesley gripped your thigh with one hand and fingered you with the other, stretching you out in preparation for him; because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that you were going to cum around him. He was going to feel the way you would clench around him; he was going to watch your blissed-out face twist as he fucked you hard into his desk. Although he would love to feel you climax on his face there would be time for that. He’d be damned if this was the first and only time he had you. You were his. Morals and reputation be damned, he wanted—no, needed to be inside you. He didn’t care if the entirety of Meropide could hear you; in fact, he got off on the thought.

Just when you felt like you were about to climax, he pulled away and licked his lips. You glared at him as he stood and bent over you kissing you softer than before. You could taste yourself on his lips, and instead of it turning you off it spurred you on. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, grinding against his clothed erection.

“Do you trust me?” he asked between heated kisses.

Everything felt wet like you both were melting, and you probably were. If so, you didn’t care, becoming water wasn’t half bad if it was with him. You heard his cuffs before you saw them spinning around the two fingers that had been inside you.

“Right now, no,” you lied.

He half smiled.

“I suppose I deserve that. I guess I’ll just have to persuade you then.”

You untangled from around him. He stepped back unbuttoning his shirt and revealing lean scar-littered skin. You wanted to reach out and so you did, tracing the long jagged discoloured scars, slightly keloid. Some looked fresher than others. He shivered and breathed out a low groan when you grazed over his nipple. He raised his signature cuffs.

“Give me your wrists,” he said.

It clinked when it secured around both wrists. The spiked metal looked so beautiful against your skin; he was almost tempted to throw away the key.

“Oh no, you’ve caught me, your grace,” you teased. Something you shouldn’t have done because the way he looked at you after told you that you had triggered something in him.

“You did break my favourite teacup after all,” he said.

“I thought we were even.”

You watched him slowly unbuckle his belt and step between your legs. There would be time for savouring the moment later, many moments if he could help it but not then. You felt his erection only covered by the thin fabric of his boxers press against your vagina, he leans over you caging you between his arms and the desk.

“Indeed, we are for breaking.” He nibbled on your ear, “but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. That was an expensive cup you know some flimsy shorts won’t cover the costs. You should know I only play fair, and you got some of the tea on my freshly shined boots.”

Your cuffed hands resting on your stomach fiddled with the lining of his boxers. You lost your breath when he nuzzled into the base of your neck.

“Don’t tease me,” he grunted.

You manage to slip his cock out.

“Says the man who denied me my orgasm.”

You felt his smile on your neck.

He rubbed his cock along your folds but didn’t push in. He wanted to be sure that you’re sure.

“I don’t think friends do this,” he said as he continued to edge your hole.

“Just fuck me already,” you sassed.

He thrust into you, filling you completely. He was thicker than you expected, thicker than you had had before. You couldn’t be more thankful for the earlier foreplay because without it he wouldn’t have fit. He remained still for a while, and you slowly adjusted to his size. The dull ache of the intrusion quickly turned from discomfort to bliss.

“Wriothesley.”

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he breathed. “Don’t stop saying my name.”

You didn’t.

“Good girl,” he said.

The desk jutted, the papers shook, and books slid off the desk smacking the floor in their wake, but the sound was lost to you both. Despite his strong persona, and much to your delight, he didn’t hold back his occasional whimpers, and grunts. The sound blessed your ears like a symphony. Sometime after your first orgasm, he took off the cuffs and threw them to his settee.

He left the occasional bites and kisses on the underside of your jaw, and down to your breasts. You, in turn, added to the long scars down his back, your nails clawing into the flesh. He would treasure those when they scarred.

You guided his face up from your neck, where he had been breathing you in as if he couldn’t get enough of you into his system. In truth, he couldn’t. You kissed him deeply, filling it with all the words you hadn’t yet been able to say. You felt your third climax on the horizon as he hit the same spot that made your back arch.

“Wriothesley,” you said against his mouth. “There.”

He chased your lips.

“That’s it,” he said, rolling his hips. He slipped a hand between your rocking bodies and rubbed your swollen clit. You let out a needy moan.

 “I’ve got you,” he said as you clenched around him.

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave of primordial water. He held you to him, as he continued to thrust towards his own high, encasing you in his arms.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groaned.

 Wriothesley felt like he was on cloud nine. Being with you was entirely different from what he imagined in the best way possible. It felt like a dream having you here, in his arms, pliant to his every desire. In each kiss, he pretended that you felt the same way; that you wanted the same things. He pretended that this moment wasn’t just a moment but forever—because he wanted you forever.

He slowed down prolonging the experience and straightened up looking down at the fucked-out expression on your face. He knew he didn’t look any better. Swiping a hand through his hair, he continued to roll his hip slowly. He placed a hand on your pelvis steadying you. Your body was covered in a sheen of sweat which glistened under the light of the office. He felt like he was melting into you—like you were melting into each other.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered opening your arms for him, beckoning him home. And truly, to him, you felt like home.

He pushed his damp hair back once again, before leaning over you. With a final grunt and a spam of your walls around him, he came. He didn’t pull out right away, wrapping his arms around you as if afraid to let go.

Your thighs were sticky from your combined releases, and your body felt like it had been sitting in a sauna for hours but seeing the rare, satisfied look on his face made it all worth it. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You owe me new shorts,” you said.

“I’ll buy you as many shorts as your heart desires,” he uttered, tiredly.

“Really?”

He hummed and nodded slowly.

“Good because I think I’m going to need a lot of them if you’re going to rip them off every time,” you said causing him to perk up. “You know to repay for the teacup.”

“Oh?”

“Unless this was a one-time thing then—“you hesitated.

He kissed you again, unable to hide his smile.

“Next time let’s use my bed.”

“I’d like that,” you said.

He tried to intertwine your hands, but you winced when he brushed against the forming boil.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and to Sigewinne, for real this time.”

“First, can we have a cup of tea?” you asked.

He laughed. Of course, you wanted to have tea. He could do with some tea too; he was famished after all. He laid a kiss on your forehead and made a mental note to send Clorinde an extra box of his finest tea.

“Of course, first let's clean up and then we'll have tea. I promise, but don’t spill it this time.”

masterlist

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#wriothesley imagines #Genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #wriothesley #wriothesley fanfic #wriothesley x you #genshin drabbles #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley thirst #genshin smut #i am unhealthily obsessed with this man

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Luck

Plot: Joel, Y/n, Tess and Ellie encounter Clickers, and sacrifices are made.

Warnings: tlou ep.2 spoilers, language, violence, gore, blood, guns, death, (16+)

Word Count: 4.4k (what else for chapter 4? lol)

A/N: So the only reason I was able to get this out so fast is because chapter three and this was supposed to be one big chapter. It ended up being too long, so it got split. Please don’t make this your expectation 😂

I love reading all your comments, even if I’m horrible at responding to them. I’ve never had this kind of response to my writing and it’s a lot to keep up with. I, once again, have to reiterate that this is a 16+ series and if your name is not listed on your page, I will not be tagging you. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀 I hope you enjoy this chapter! There’s no flashback, but a lot of hints about things to come later…I’m a terrible tease 😂🤫 Enjoy!!

———————

The museum doors were covered in fungus.

“This feels like a great plan,” Y/n sarcastically stated.

Joel ignored her disapproval, going ahead and kneeling down at one of the fungal sites. He ran a hand over it before breaking through it with the butt of his rifle.

“It’s bone dry,” he reported, “It could mean they’re all finally dead in there.”

Could was the key word of the sentence. ‘Coulds’ were like ‘probablies,’ hope with barely a breath left in it. The adults all started going through their packs, puling out their flashlights.

“Oh, man…” Ellie muttered.

Joel whipped out his light and looked exepctantly to Ellie, “Marlene pack you one of these, or just sandwiches?”

“Yeah,” Ellie answered, searching through her pack.

Y/n nudged the kid’s arm, drawing her focus. “You stay behind one of us at all times,” she instructed, “Slow and steady. Do not wander. Got it?”

Ellie nodded, “Got it.” When Tess crossed her hands, a gun and a flashlight in each, Ellie took notice. “I have a spare hand.”

“Congratulations,” Joel noted sarcastically.

With her pistol drawn, Y/n watched Joel move forward. It bothered her that he had been leading them the whole way. Their talk on the highway proved he thought he was capable of more than her. He assumed that just because he’d known her when she could afford to be delicate, she couldn’t have possibly grown into a fighter. Setting caution aside, she marched forward to walk parallel to him.

“Get back,” he ordered.

“Get bent,” she grunted.

The four of them moved as silently as they could through the museum’s lobby, posters and signs proving it had once been a landmark. Y/n moved alongside Joel, at one point taking a step ahead of him and finding a corner full of dry Cordyceps.

“We’re good,” she announced.

“Oh, finally,” Tess remarked, “Some fuckin’ luck.”

“I guess we should’ve gone this way in the first place,” Joel acknowledged.

“Oh, shit!” Ellie exclaimed, the three of them ran to join her. She’d broken Y/n’s third instruction like it was nothing.

There lay a body, covered in fresh blood and claw marks through its clothing.

“What the fuck did that?” Ellie inquired.

Y/n, Tess and Joel shared a knowing look.

“Maybe,” Tess’ voice shook as it lowered, “Maybe he was attacked outside and crawled through the doors. The door was open. Could’ve been him. I don’t hear anything.”

“Who would you hear?” Ellie asked.

The adults shushed her, Joel held up a hand.

Ellie lowered her voice, “Who would you hear? Are you saying an Infected did that?”

“Shh,” Tess crooned.

“Because I’ve been attacked by one and it wasn’t like that,” Ellie added.

Joel took a breath, it was all he could allow himself. “Okay, from this point forward, we are silent,” he whispered, “Not quiet…silent.”

“What-“ Ellie began.

“No, no questions,” Joel stopped her, “Just do it.”

Having very little trust in the man who had openly admitted to wanting to kill her, Ellie peered at Y/n, who nodded in solemn agreement. Things had suddenly become very, very real.

The four of them made their way to the museum’s staircase, taking slow steps up the creaking steps. Joel and Y/n made it to the top first, only having to stop when a piece of debris fell in a cloud of dust. They shined their flashlights across the way, a massive piling of death and fungus-covered bodies laying tragically still.

Crunch.

The exes spun around to see Ellie baring her teeth nervously, a skeletal hand below her sneaker. Everyone held their breath. There was creaking coming from above them, every step they took was a step closer to being buried alive.

Joel and Y/n made it into the Independance Hall exhibit, taking stock of their surroundings and coming up clean. Ellie followed with Tess close behind her.

Suddenly, there was a crashing sound; the building was finally giving out. Lightining fast, Y/n surged forward and grabbed Ellie’s arm, pulling her forward as Tess nose dove to the floor. Y/n let go of Ellie to extend a hand to Tess, who braced herself with it and got to her feet. They barely had a second to gather their thoughts before a loud, animal noise echoed through the room.

Then came the clicking.

Y/n and Joel drew their guns together, aiming in the direction the sound had come from. They slowly backed up, Tess and Ellie moving behind them, as the noises drew closer.

Fear can stop a clock, and none of them could tell how long they waited until the snarling, shriveled monster stepped into the room.

Y/n and Joel’s grudge ceased to exist as they moved in sync, silent as the grave they prayed they weren’t about to meet. As their group passed a doorway, more clicking sounded through it. They startled, backing up as the erratic footsteps came closer.

Two. There were two Clickers.

The foursome sought shelter behind a glass display case as the Infected began to roam the room. Each of them were processing the situation spearately, but they needed to move together as one.

Joel saw the fear in Ellie’s eyes, he couldn’t take it from her, but he could prepare her. “They can’t see,” he mouthed, leaning over Y/n, “But they can hear.”

On the other side of the display case, one of the Clickers walked past, shrieking as it jerked around. It had been over a year since Y/n had been this close to one of them, she’d forgotten what it was like. The way experience melted away and fear overtook all your senses.

Joel held up a finger to the three of them. If the Clickers could pass through without noticing them, they could make a straight shot up to the passageway and be gone. Everything rested on how the next thirty seconds went.

Y/n was too afriad to shut her eyes and too scared to face the creature head on. She simply stared ahead, trembling with each sound the monster made.

They listened as it turned the corner of the display case, until it was mere inches from them.

Ellie gasped.

Y/n grimaced.

The creature spun around to them and screamed.

Joel unloaded his rifle on the creature, who reached out and dragged him forward.

“Run,” Joel screamed.

Tess took off with Ellie, shooting at the other Infected before escaping the room. Y/n stayed, firing shots at the creature as it fought Joel. It knocked the rifle out of his hands, leaving him with only his pistol. Y/n was able to wound it enough to momentarily stun it, giving Joel and her time to run away.

They sprinted down the hall, Joel turned around and fired a shot before they dove into the next room. He knocked over a podium, creating an obstacle in the Clicker’s path, buying him and Y/n a few extra seconds. Joel grabbed her wrist and threw them behind a shelving unit.

Now fear, it turns out, is a powerful thing. It can cause people to turn on one another, or it can bring them together. Y/n had spent the last twenty four hours listing all the ways she wanted to kill Joel Miller, but face to face with the reality of losing him, she was doing everything she could to save him. They both were.

Joel’s hands shook as he reloaded his gun, his flashlight tucked between his shoulder and his chin. Y/n stretched her arm out over his chest, her breath trembling in time with his as they waited…

The Clicker was right next to them.

Joel shone his flashlight around the corner, the Infected was a mere ten inches from them. Mercifully, it hadn’t sensed them, and headed around the other side of the shelving unit. Y/n peered through the dusty screens, charted a clear path, and motioned for Joel to come forward. They crouched as they walked, Y/n spotted Ellie hunched against another display case.

Joel and her quickly crossed the space and got down alongside her. Joel looked to his side, signaling for Ellie to follow them around the case. They crawled in the opposite direction, the Clicker only a few feet away from them and but a second from discovering them. It just needed to take a few more steps and then it would be in the other room….

A piece of glass crunched under Joel’s boot.

The three of them stopped.

The Clicker screeched and leapt across the case, tackling them to the floor. Ellie thrashed and yelled as it pinned her down. Joel and Y/n each kept an arm against its chest, pushing it away with their combined strength. Y/n freed her arm from between her and Ellie’s bodies, pressing her gun against the Clicker’s abdomen and shooting it three times. It stunned the monster, giving Joel time to shove it off of them. Y/n shielded Ellie, who was gripping her jacket, and Joel shielded Y/n. Joel aimed his pointed at the Clicker once again, and gunned it down as it ran towards them. He fired a few final shots, just to ensure it was dead.

The second Clicker charged towards them, Joel and Y/n shoved Ellie behind them, no time to draft an attack plan. Saving the day, Tess came from the side and lodged an axe in the Clicker’s head. Thinking quick, Joel left Y/n and Ellie to retake his rifle, firing one shot before a second that did the creature in.

Joel surveyed the Clicker, examining the bloody chunks of fungus laying around its head. Fear was enough to create doubt, even in front of fact.

“You all right?” Joel asked Tess, who was getting to her feet.

“Twisted ankle, but…yeah,” Tess answered.

Y/n turned to Ellie, “Are you okay?”

“Well, I didn’t shit my pants, so…” she responded, glancing around her in case they’d missed one. She stopped and rolled up her sleeve, revealing a bloody mark, “You fucking kidding me?”

Y/n didn’t know whether or not to be scared. Joel knew exactly what to feel.

“I mean, if it was gonna happen to one of us,” Ellie muttered.

Joel didn’t let his anxiety come over him often, but he could feel it building. Tess was tuned into him enough to see it happening.

“Hey,” she coaxed, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

The four of them filed out the top window, Y/n offering Tess her hand to help her onto the roof. Joel went to work immediately, pulling out a first aid kit and a piece of cloth.

“Put this around your arm,” Joel instructed Ellie, handing her the cloth. In the chaos, he hadn’t even thought to ask Y/n if she was injured. “You-“

“I’m fine,” Y/n said coldly, eager to settle back into blind hatred.

Ellie made her way to the makeshift bridge, a few wooden planks, and took the first step. “Over there?”

“Yeah, I know,” Joel spoke as he examined Tess’ ankle, “It looks scary.”

“That was scary,” Ellie replied, “This is wood.”

Y/n followed Ellie, her legs steadying more with each step across the divide. In the world they lived in, fear had to pass as quick as a summer storm.

“Are they always like that?” Ellie asked once they were both on the rooftop.

Y/n sighed, “Not at first. I mean, they’re always scary but at the beginning, they look…” she paused, forcing the memories out like a tide in the ocean, “They look normal.”

Ellie hummed, wandering off to the edge of the building. As Joel crossed the plank, Y/n went to stand beside Ellie. The sun was shining gold down on the remnants of Boston, illuminating the good and the bad.

This. This was what still gave Y/n hope. She needed to believe that maybe, maybe, there was a way to restore the world back to its beauty. That was the key difference between her and Joel; she still wanted to find what little good was left out there.

Joel came to stand on Ellie’s other side, peering over at the girl. “Is it everything you hoped for?”

“Jury’s still out,” Ellie gave a half-shrug, “But man, you can’t deny that view.”

Tess rejoined them, walking with new purpose. “C’mon, let’s get there before it’s dark,” she grunted, climbing over the edge and scaling down some siding.

Joel and Y/n stood at the edge of the roof, each staring out into the horizon lost in their thoughts. Their severed connection lived in the space between them, sparking and straining as it tried to pull them together.

But they’d had twenty years of ignoring one another’s memory. It was going to take more than a fight and a sunset to come to any kind of truce.

Y/n silently climbed down the side of the building, leaving Joel on his own. He glanced down at his watch, taking a valued second to himself, before heading down after the rest of them.

—————————

The rest of the way to the State House was spent in quiet suspicion. Everyone watched Ellie with more interest than before, waiting for something to happen.

When they arrived, Y/n spotted the truck that was supposed to transport Ellie and her. There was supposed to be someone outside waiting to meet them and yet, the place looked as deserted as the rest of the city.

Joel glanced at Y/n, silently asking if this was right. She answered with a distant shake of her head as she looked around them. She drew her gun and got up, stepping strategically through the grass. Joel huffed in exasperation, coming out in the open to follow her.

Y/n approached the truck cautiously, her breath already trembling like she’d already seen what lay inside. She ignored Joel practically breathing down her neck as she swung open the vehicle’s door. Empty.

Joel held up a hand to Tess, who stood with her gun aimed and Ellie protected behind her. “Stay back,” he mouthed. When he turned back to Y/n, he found air.

Y/n rounded the vehicle, examining the other side before her eyes and nose were drawn to the ground. There was a bloodied body laying underneath the truck. She knelt before it, whatever had happened to it hadn’t been more than an hour or two ago. The blood was still new, but the flies had already found the poor soul.

Joel was at the rear of the truck, bracing himself for whatever fight lay inside it. He threw the back door open and took a stance, finding the same nothing they had in the cab.

“Joel?” Tess called, coming to join them, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Joel said, looking around the corner of the truck to Y/n, “What was the plan?”

Y/n sighed and ran a hand through her hair, “Driver was supposed to be waiting here, one or two Fireflies just to verify it was us…we were supposed to jump in the truck and go.”

“They went inside,” Ellie announced, staring at the steps leading to the State House. The three adults peered over to see the bloody footprints painted on the staircase.

“Come on,” Tess grunted, grabbing Ellie’s hand and letting the blood tracks show them the way.

“Tess,” Joel called, Y/n wasn’t waiting for him to call the shots. She jogged up the stairs with the same urgency as his partner. “Tess!”

Tess burst through the doors, holding both Ellie and her pistol in front of her. Y/n flanked Ellie, ready to attack whatever could been lurking in the building. Joel followed the women, exhausted by their recklessness.

What they found was worse than they could have imagined.

Every Firefly body was on the floor, their blood spread across the slick marble.

Y/n could feel her chest cave in on itself. Her comrades, the plan to take Ellie west, hope itself, it all dead lay around her.

Tess showed the same panic Y/n was trying so hard to contain. “Okay, I mean there’s gotta be a fuckin’ radio or something, right?”

“Start looking,” Y/n holstered her gun, running to check the crates, the equipment…anything that could offer them a morsel of chance. If she could get in contact with Marlene, they could form a new plan. She’d take Ellie herself, if necessary, doubts be damned. They couldn’t admit defeat so easily.

“Tess,” Joel called, having already deduced that one Firefly had got infected and it had spread to the others, “What’re you doin’?”

Y/n threw open crates, scouring the contents for a radio, with Tess searching beside her. They both ignored Joel.

“Where did Marlene say you two were going?” Tess asked Y/n.

“Tess-“ Joel tried again.

“Just west,” Y/n answered, her breath quickening, “We were supposed to get the exact location here.”

Tess threw her hands out in exasperation, “Just west. Fuck. Okay…well, one of ‘em’s gotta have a map on them, right?”

Y/n was already examining the bodies without touching them, “Check each one.”

“Joel, can you help us?” Tess impatiently asked, kneeling next to Y/n and searching through the victim’s pockets.

“No,” Joel bellowed, refusing to indulge the fantasy any longer, “Tess, it’s over. We are goin’ home.”

Tess spun around, shooting daggers out her eyes, “That’s not my fucking home!”

Her cry was loud enough to silence the rest of them. Tess hung over one of the bodies, fighting back her tears enough to stand up and face Joel.

“I’m stayin’.”

Y/n stayed on the ground, confusedly watching the scene play out.

“I mean…” Tess almost laughed, “Our luck had to run out sooner or later.”

Joel stood perplexed. Perhaps he’d have figured it out if he had looked in between her words. In her eyes. In her quivering lips.

“Fuck,” Ellie exclaimed, her voice lowering to a whisper, “She’s infected.”

Joel felt the very ground they stood on crack down the middle, a divide separating him and the only person he’d allowed himself to care about in twenty years. The unspeakable plague had finally come for one of them, and it had attached itself to the wrong person.

“Show me,” he muttered.

“Joel,” Tess said softly, taking a step forward. Joel flinched, jumping back an inch away from her. He regretted it immediately, it was pure instinct.

Tess pulled back her jacket and shirt to display the reddening bite mark.

Y/n got to her feet upon seeing the wound, unafraid to close the distance Joel was putting between them. Joel threw out a hand to pull her back, but Y/n smacked it away and placed her fingers around Tess’ wound. In another life, it could have been extremely well done Halloween makeup. She wanted it to be.

“Oops,” Tess tried to smile, “Right?”

Y/n rubbed her fingers against Tess’ shoulder, if these were her last minutes, she wanted her to feel human touch one more time.

“Take your bandage off,” Tess ordered Ellie.

The girl unwrapped the cloth from her arm, showing the adults her newest bite mark. It was already healing.

Tess surged forward and took Ellie’s arm, holding it up to Joel. “Look. Joel? This is real,” she pulled Ellie forward, “Joel, she’s fucking real.”

Joel and Y/n spotted it at the same time: Tess’ hands were beginning to shake.

Tess retracted her arm into her person, her breaths quickening with passion. Passion for a future she would never see.

“I need you to get her to Bill and Frank’s,” Tess stated.

“No,” Joel started to argue, a flurry of emotions hitting him at once. It was real. This was real.

“They’ll take her off your hands,” Tess continued, unstoppable in her pleas, “They’ll handle it from here.”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head, sounding like a child in denial, “I can’t. They won’t take her. They’re not gonna take her.”

“They will,” Tess insisted, “Cause you’re gonna convince them.”

“I’ll take her,” Y/n said from behind Joel, “Tell me where they are and I’ll get her there.”

Tess squeezed her eyes shut, “No, it has to be him,” she looked to Joel, “I never ask you for anything. Not to feel the way I felt, not to-“

“No,” Joel said, a kneejerk reaction. He had spent so long caring for her as much as his grief would allow him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tess snapped, “Cause I don’t have much time. This is your chance. You get her there, you keep her alive…” she bit back her tears, “And you set everything right. All the shit we did…please say yes, Joel, please.”

Joel could feel what was left of his heart beginning to break. He couldn’t lose anyone else.

A strained gasp from one of the Infected Fireflies echoed behind Ellie, “Oh, fuck!”

With all the tranquility of a piano melody, Joel stepped forward, cocked his pistol and blew a chunk of the one-time human’s brains out.

The strands of fungus began to stretch out around the Infected’s hand. The signal had been sent. Within minutes, hordes of Infected would descend upon the State House.

Joel exhaled, realizing what he’d done and ran to the building’s door. He could hear the distant snarling and choking of the Infected. Whatever pitiful amount of time they’d possessed had just gotten slashed in half.

“How many?” Tess asked calmly.

“All of them,” he reported, “Maybe a minute.”

Y/n took a shaky breath and raised her gun to Tess’ head. Joel was quick to aim his rifle at her head.

“Don’t you fuckin-“

“Do you want me to do it?” Y/n ignored Joel, locking eyes with Tess. It wasn’t an act of anger, it was an act of mercy. She was trying to save what was left of Tess’ life.

Tess shook her head, taking stock of her surroundings and rushing around the room. She tipped over barrels of gasoline and crates of grenades, letting them spill across the floor. Twenty years of sin and her last act was to save. This was Tess Servoupolis. Not her reputation, not who she’d been forced to become to survive…her.

Joel watched, heartbreak etched in each line of his face. He wanted to scream, to cry, to punch, but time had numbed his emotions enough to be able to keep it all inside.

Tess finally came to face Joel, keeping a foot of space between them. She couldn’t handle watching the man she loved move away from her like she was…what she was.

Y/n backed up to stand with Ellie, feeling like they were intruding on an intimate moment.

“Joel…” Tess said his name one last time, knowing just how much weight the words she was about to say carried, “Save who you can save.”

He was holding so much back, so many things he wanted to say, even just to touch her one last time. His grief overwhelmed him, for both women he wasn’t able to save. But if he couldn’t heed Tess’ final wish, he’d never be able to look himself in the mirror again.

Joel took one last look at her, the two of them committing each other’s gaze to memory, and Joel turned on his heel, grabbing Ellie and dragging her away.

“No!” Ellie yelled, hitting Joel’s arm to try and break his grip, “We’re not leaving her! Get off me, you fucker!”

Y/n, let them pass, standing firmly planted in front of Tess. She wanted to say something, but nothing rivaled the weight of the moment. She wanted to thank her for her sacrifice, tell her how sorry she was that she was about to what was to come…something to let her feel some sort of compassion before she lost herself entirely.

“I-“

“Protect her,” Tess urged, staring straight past the Joel and Y/n’s resentment and into her soul, “Protect him.”

Y/n’s breath shook as she considered what Tess was asking of her. She wanted to know the man she loved would live to see the days she wouldn’t. Y/n couldn’t fault her that, it was so easy to care about Joel. If Tess was a better woman than Y/n and had earned that devotion he showered upon a select number of people, she would feel the same devotion to him till death.

Y/n wanted to run in the opposite direction, but she wasn’t so heartless that she wouldn’t obey Tess’ last request. She nodded, pouring out her condolences through her pained stare, and took off the same way that Joel and Ellie had.

Leaving Tess to die.

She found them outside, Ellie still fighting Joel tooth and nail. Y/n pressed her hands to Ellie’s back and urged her forward, running alongside them in a desparate effort to escape the tidal wave of Infected encroaching.

They’d put a safe amount of distance between them and the State House when the building exploded.

Joel wrenched Ellie forward to shield her, letting him and Y/n take the heat of the blast. They drew their guns, waiting for a stray Infected to pass through the violent flames, but none came. Tess had succeeded.

The three of them stayed perfectly still, except for their heaving chests, watching the fire consume the State House. Twenty years ago, Joel would have allowed himself to break down. He would have let his knees hit the dirt, his fists ball and his grief would have spilled out of him as if he was made of it.

Twenty years ago, he could feel whatever he wanted. But to survive, you had to bury your desires with the dead. Joel knew that better than anyone.

And so, skipping the eulogy and going straight for repression, Joel lowered his rifle and walked away.

Y/n, who wasn’t as hardened as her ex-love, could no longer keep her tears at bay. She crouched down in the dirt, pressing her hands to her lips in a praying position, and allowed a silent rain stream down her cheeks. Losing anyone was awful, but losing someone who wanted redemption, who wanted to atone for their sins and leave the world better than they’d found it…that was tragic. Tess had sacrificed herself to save them, to save Ellie, to save a future she could only hope came to pass. Perhaps Joel couldn’t mourn her, Y/n knew his grief was the match that lit his whole being ablaze, but she could. She would.

Ellie stood beside her, tears filling her once-innocent eyes. Her naivety had always been on life support, but it was fading with every minute she spent outside the Wall.

Deciding her momentary memorial would have to serve as enough for Tess, Y/n got to her feet and wiped her eyes. “Come on,” she whispered, her voice strained as she put a hand to Ellie’s back. She led them down the dirt, following Joel’s ghostly silhouette…

————————

TYL Taglist: @bachiracore @stolenxkissess @kayleezra @the-wistful-reader @allthesesonsofbitches @goth-detectives365 @trippovert @rh1nestonecowg1rl @emiliaserpe @khaleesihavilliard @frietiemeloen @gracie7209 @dorck26 @thegirlnextdoorssister @alanis-altair @mariwinns16 @whosscruffylooking @endofthexline @alexiaricciardo @eonnyx @pedrosmexicangf @scarlettequinn @ao-sleepy @toinfinityandbeyonce2 @deanlovescassie @turmoil-ash @sorrowjunky @kpopslur @xxlilyxx90 @midgetpottermills @presidential-facts @scoopsnini @tubble-wubble @jamesdeerest

Joel Miller Taglist: @xsnak-3x @xmoonknightlyx @simplybarnes @stolenxkissess @mandoshoney @alexiaricciardo @eonnyx @deanlovescassie @paintlavillered

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fanfic #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #twenty years later

[petit-etoile]

Astarion/Tav prompt (or Reformed Durge): "I would have you smile again. You will live to see these days renewed. No more despair." I know it's a Lord of the Rings quote but gosh if it doesn't remind me of them ;-;

this  is  the  end  of  the  world ( a  time  for  something  biblical  )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,219 content warnings: canonical mentions of death, spoilers for the dark urge storyline & astarion's act iii romance, graphic mentions of injuries, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, mental health issues & physical ramifications from the tadpole + rejecting bhaal, i highly recommend listening to the exogenesis symphony by muse other tags: canon compliant,  canon-typical violence,  character study,  introspection,  hurt/comfort,  whump,  canon temporary character death,  the dark urge as player character,  codependency,  religious imagery & symbolism,  p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

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summary:  ‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Your life is mine,’ he says, cruel eyes gazing at you. ‘Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it.’

‘I would rather die,’ you say.

His hateful eyes narrow dangerously. It was never a good idea to betray a god, nonetheless one who had created you so lovingly. His voice is a low growl when he dismisses you  —  and suddenly, white-hot pain shoots through your veins and threatens to swallow you whole. Bhaal raises his hand and your blood obeys.

‘You were made to conquer,’ he snarls. ‘To devour!’

‘I don’t need any of this,’ you spit out. ‘I don’t need you. The only family  —  I know are those who fight by my side! I will not be what you made me!’

The sickness in your belly surges until you think it will overcome you. You stagger forward until your knees hit the stone floor. Bhaal is forcing you to submit, to become what he had made Orin. This thing won’t have you, Astarion whispers against the curve of your ear. It won’t win. You’ve got this, darling. And I’ve got you. You want to believe him, but your blood-kin has done damage beyond repair. What were children beyond the sins of their father?

‘You reject my blood?’ Bhaal asks.

‘Yes,’ you whisper.

‘Then I shall reclaim it,’ he says, his promise a growl in his throat.

You were your father’s seed cultivated to perfection by determination and bravery. Now, you were nothing more than a disappointment to be snuffed out root and stem. You choke on the warmth in your throat. Your veins seem to have exploded beneath your skin. You sneeze, red oozing from every orifice.

‘I will make another who is worthy,’ says Bhaal, lifting his hand.

As he raises his hand, you are forced to kneel. Every single one of your muscles contracts in agony. The others might be shouting but you can hardly hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your blood is rejecting you. Festering inside your flesh like a disease. Like the skeleton carved into the wall, you weep blood down your neck. No matter how hard you try to close your eyes to prevent it, your rich ichor abandons you.

No, you want to tell him. The rot of his blood will end with you as it had with Orin. The abomination of murder will never set forth and harm another. You reach for the dagger at your hip and raise it, but the Avatar of Bhaal dissipates before you can strike. The weight of your body collapses  forward.

Like a wounded beast, you keen loudly, shaking your head as if that will free your ears from the blood inside of them. You were born from this blood. You were created by this blood to be who you are today. Rejecting it should be like a sin  —  but if sin is a seed, you have eaten it willingly from the hand of mortality. If Bhaal is to reject you, then you will reject his godhood.

You close your eyes as blood overtakes your sight. You press your forehead into the stone to fight your fever. You shiver and gasp. You gargle on the proof of vitriol and lean into the chilled floor, resigned to your fate. At least you wouldn’t become a mindflayer…

“No!” Astarion wails. Your heart shatters. ‘No, please  —  Not you!’

I’m sorry, you say. You close your eyes and remember the color of the sun in his hair. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. Your fingers curl against the stone, and then  —  There’s nothing. Astarion touches the sleepless bruises beneath your eyes with such tenderness you forget his strength. You lean your cheek into his palm and sigh sleepily, but even as exhaustion overtakes your body, you shudder. You’re afraid to sleep, to dream. You don’t want to hurt anyone else ever again.

‘You have to rest, my love,’ he murmurs. He allows you to lay on his hand as though it were a pillow. ‘When was the last time you slept through the night?’

‘I’m not sure,’ you confess.

‘I might be a sleepless creature of the night,’ Astarion says, ‘but you… You needn’t fear your dreams when I am here. I’ll protect you no matter the cost.’

‘And who will protect you if I sleep?’ you ask.

You must be frowning, because Astarion uses his other hand to soothe the crease between your eyebrows. He sounds so outrageously heartbroken that you want to cry. You don’t want him to think he isn’t a comfort… You haven’t slept beside someone in so long, and the warmth of his body has always lulled you to your dreams peacefully until recently.

Astarion swallows thickly. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of this. I’m with you forever and always.’

But what if there isn’t an always?

‘There is always a future for you and I,’ Astarion vows. ‘Now sleep. He can’t control you as long as I’m around.’ When you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His eyes are a soft cerise, and his cheeks are high and sleek, his lips plump and his hair soft and curled. An angel. You’re unable to control the way you reach your hand to touch his cheek, smearing a crystalline tear across his wan skin.

‘Who are you?’ you whisper, voice caught painfully in your throat.

‘Hush now, my love,’ he whispers. He presses a sweet kiss to your mouth, and when he pulls away, his lips are ruddy and wet. ‘Thank the gods… I thought I had lost you.’

Oh, you think. You remember now. This is the man from your dream… You try to recall the details of how you know him, but it’s hard to follow a train of thought. You turn from side to side. It’s so hard to move, to focus. Your limbs feel as though they are made of lead and marble. Everything aches. The tips of your fingers and your nails down to the little bones in your toes. Your head, though, is the only part of you free from intense pain. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from the veil of your memories. You rest your arm across your waist, too tired to keep it lifted.

‘Who…’ Your brows furrow in confusion. ‘Who am I?’

‘I know you were once a child full of life and love,’ the angel says to you, gently cradling your face in his hands. ‘I know one day you were afraid and unsure and half-mad. I know you stained the streets red with cruelty and devised a plan larger than all of Faerûn. But I know you are strong and that your heart is good. You saved the tieflings, and you saved the refugees, and now you will save the world that threatens to be plunged into darkness.’

You smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all,’ you confess.

The angel shakes his hand, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His voice breaks. ‘But I know it to be true, so you must believe my every word. You are brave. You are kind. You are good. You are my love, and I know that I am loved by you in return. You are a protector,’ he tells you. ‘You have protected everyone, and now it is time to protect yourself. You have survived two gods and now you must survive a third.’

The knot in your throat grows larger with every word. You think you remember now. Yes, you can remember it all very clearly. You know the weight of his hands like baptism. You turn your cheek and kiss his palm, smudging his skin pink.

‘Astarion,’ you whisper.

Your love smiles down at you, your blood dribbling down his chin.

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s not worry about that,’ he shushes you, massaging the bruises beneath your eyes. ‘Come, let us get you cleaned up.’

‘I don’t think I can walk yet,’ you say. Admitting it makes you feel weak.

‘Don’t worry,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I can carry you.’

‘I will bloody your clothes,’ you say.

‘Bloody them,’ Astarion says. ‘I don’t care.’

Astarion does carry you. He carries you all the way back to the inn, to a private room just the two of you share. He orders a tub to bathe you in and then takes an hour to scrub your skin clean, carefully cleaning your gore from your hair and scalp.

You watch as Astarion passes a bar of soap against the skin of the top of your arm over and over again until it is red then pink then flesh. Then, he gently twists your wrist. He cleans the underside of your arm next, and your palm. He washes your fingers until they do nothing but shake in the cold air. You curl your fingers around his.

‘Was it hard?’ you ask him.

‘I will never forget the smell of your scent,’ Astarion replies.

He moves to wash the hollow between your collarbones, encouraging you to recline in the water. He washes your chest and your stomach until his grief washes over him in waves. His chin shakes until a sob escapes. He presses his face into your hair and wails softly into your crown. When he’s done weeping, Astarion returns to his cleansing. He speaks not of it again. There is so little of you left.

You often wonder how much of your brain is left between the parasite and the hole your father has left you. Sometimes Jaheira still looks at you as though the rot of your father isn’t entirely gone. You don’t blame her. You’re waiting for your control to snap. You were good once. You could be good again. You want to be good again.

Shadowheart smiles at you now. Lae’zel no longer frowns. Even Wyll has taken up eating beside you again when it’s nighttime and the adventure can go no more. Gale pours you an extra serving of wine. He says you need it. Karlach lets you hold Clive at night when Astarion goes hunting, and he goes hunting often now. It makes you wonder if your blood is vile.

Part of you wants to ask him if you’ve done something wrong. You’ve committed no crime, but you feel like you have. Your memories of before are slipping away. Your memories of now seem to do the same.

You wait in your tent that night for Astarion to return, your blanket pulled around your head and shoulders. You rehearse what you’re going to say. You want to reassure him you’re not angry. You just…feel loss. Empty. The loneliness nips at your bones like crows at carrion.

When Astarion slips inside, he looks guilty. It almost makes you want to change your mind, but you have to know. You feel as though you’re going mad. A flightless bird trapped in a cage. Like Dame Aylin trapped in Shadowfell. He refuses to meet your gaze.

‘Have I done something  —  ’

‘You,’ Astarion says through gritted teeth, ‘are perfect. Every time.’

You want to cry. ‘Then why do you avoid me?’

‘Avoid you?’ Astarion repeats incredulously. He looks at you now despairingly. ‘No, that isn’t what this is at all. I would never avoid you.’

‘You’re hunting more often,’ you say in a low tone, a whisper. Accusatory.

‘Can you blame me?’ he asks plainly.

It’s your turn to look away in shame. ‘If it’s too much, you should sleep somewhere else.’

‘I don’t want to be apart from you,’ Astarion says.

‘Then how do we fix this?’

‘You cannot fix what is not broken.’

‘Astarion,’ you plead. ‘Hold me or  —  I don’t know who I am anymore.’

Astarion wraps his arms around you before you can say another word. His lips are like a halo against your head. Each kiss he presses against your scalp is a prayer from a sinner. You turn your cheek, and he kisses you so passionately it makes your empty head spin.

You relearn who are you in his arms that night. And as he regales you with tales of your history, you think you can imagine them in your mind’s eye. He kisses your wrist. He tells you a happy memory when he kisses the curve of your belly, and when he kisses your ankle, he promises you that everything will be worth it.

It wasn’t you that was the problem. There wasn’t a problem, not really. Only an impiety he wanted to atone for. He struggles with telling you, but when he whispers it against your thigh, you understand.

‘Your blood,’ he says, voice strained. ‘I cannot escape the smell.’

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, but he shakes his head and his hair tickles your sensitive skin.

‘No, I  —  It is my shame,’ he confesses. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lech.’

Astarion struggles to put his words in a coherent structure. When you died, he was horrified and distraught. Only the gods know how hard he wept seeing you lifeless. Yet it was his vampiric nature that had betrayed him almost as much as your life’s blood had betrayed you. He felt hunger.

How could he be sad when he was so ravenous? Was he not an evil man, or is this what made him evil? That, in all of his beautiful tears and lamentation, the urge to devour you, bones and all, nearly consumed him? Your death was horrible, ugly, wretched. Your death was beautiful and coveted.

Astarion devours you again that night, mouthing and licking and sucking at your swollen core. He makes you a martyr in his grief. His tongue teases you over and over again. When you’ve climaxed once, Astarion seeks out to make you do it again until your legs are shaking violently and your voice has gone hoarse. He doesn’t take you that night, not in the traditional way, but he swallows you up regardless.

It isn’t until afterwards when he’s laying with his head on your chest that you understand his tragedy. It’s a misfortunate impossibility trying to grieve when you can’t stop salivating. Astarion thinks you’re horrified by the admission, but after knowing your past, it was hard to feel scandalized by anything.

You pet his curls away from his face, watching as he listens to the hum of your heartbeat. He might have it memorized by now, but each time it beats, Astarion’s eyelashes flutter with admiration. It is a hymn, a doxology, a liturgy that only he knows the words to. After all, he wrote them on your skin and immortalized them forevermore. He is so beautiful, you think, when there is no trouble to be seen.

You were once both trapped by your dark god’s design. You had set yourself free. You had sprouted the wings of a swan guided by the empathy you had planted in a garden as a child. It would be Astarion’s soon, and you would carry him in compassion until the thorn crown was placed upon his brow.

Astarion’s eyes are closed. In your perpetually confused state, you mistake him for having fallen asleep and resort to doing the same. The city becomes chilly at night and your skin is decorated with gooseflesh. He rises almost immediately and you try to chase after him, fingers piercing through a ghost.

‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ Astarion says immediately. He drags his cape from the corner of the tent and lays it across your shins. ‘You were shivering.’

‘I’m not used to this  —  ’ Will my mind ever be the same? ‘  —  chill.’

‘I will be here,’ he promises. ‘Here, let me hold you for the night.’

You clumsily trade places with him, and he tucks your blanket and his cape around your body as tightly as he can. He kisses you passionately and you taste your familiarity in his mouth. It’s so sweet that you sigh. ‘I know what you did,’ Orin says hatefully, spitefully, cruelly. Her voice is like honey.

‘What have I done?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t know?’ she asks. ‘Filthy rotten blood-kin undeserving of our father’s gift!’

You repeat yourself. ‘What have I done?’

‘You,’ Orin spits, ‘think your grey matter deserves to be loved! I should carve it out! I should make it disgusting and sticky again! Split it’s skull open! You foul traitor!’

Slowly, you pull Orin into your chest. You hug her and smooth her hair down her back. Her arms wrap around you begrudgingly until the lovingkindness causes her to rupture. She sobs into your neck hideously, clinging to you. She wails and she wails until you are both children again staring up at your grandsire for approval.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Orin tells you, hiccuping. She wipes her nose with her fingers. ‘It isn’t fair.’

‘I love you, blood-kin,’ you say. You kiss the top of her head.

‘Slaughter kin,’ she says sadly. She holds your hand with her snotty palm.

‘Sister,’ you say. In the coming weeks, your mind hardly gets better. Memories are still missing. You catch yourself gazing at the mirror longer than you expect to. You used to be so beautiful. It’s hard to recognize the face staring back at you. You touch one cheek and then the other. You turn your head and watch your jawline.

No, it still isn’t you.

You take the knife in your belt to your hair and begin cutting away pieces you don’t remember. You lean forward and smudge your eyes before sitting up straight and trying again. You recognize a part of yourself. You chase that feeling. You press your hand against your heart. You smile faintly. Astarion sobs so hard you think you might lose yourself. You’re at a loss of what to do. He’s alive but he keens like a dying deer. It’s supposed to be healing, you think. Cazador is dead. His reign of terror should end. Astarion is saved and he saved himself. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

Slowly, you step forward one foot after another. You collapse to your knees at his side. It’s easy to pull Rhapsody from his fingers. You drop it by his side. Slowly, as if in a dream, you hold him like you held Orin. Astarion sobs harshly into your collarbone and clings to you so tightly you might break.

‘I thought  —  I thought  —  ’ he cries brokenly.

I thought it would make me feel better, he says without saying. You shush him and pet his hair. Cazador’s blood smears against your cheek when Astarion burrows his face into your neck. You let him linger. You aren’t sure how long you sit on the hard marbled floors, but when you stand up, your knees creak so loud you’re almost insecure about it.

This time, it’s your turn to carry Astarion. He won’t let you pick him up, but you hold him by his waist. You carry him past your allies, past the onlookers who once saw you in opposition. You order the maids to bring you a bath, and as Astarion hiccups in the water, you bathe him.

You wash the taint of Cazador from his body. The soap cleans the dirt and the blood and the memory. You wash his chest and his belly and Astarion thanks you hoarsely. He looks at you, and his eyes are so wide and beautiful that you cry too.

Dying isn’t easy. It isn’t beautiful or romantic or a sweeping gesture. Dying is painful and hideous and ugly, and you have saved Astarion from a lifetime of torment. Rather, he did it by himself with your help. You swipe the soap against his cheeks and use a rag to clear it away. Astarion’s hair is somehow curlier when it’s wet, and you part the curls so they’ll dry without tangling.

Astarion watches you miserably as you towel his hair. You wipe droplets of water off his skin and slowly slide him into his smallclothes. He accepts your blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, staring at the wooden floor, at his feet.

‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I would never let you be alone,’ you say.

It isn’t what you bought the room for. Really, you only wanted to wipe the blood from his face but now, you climb into the sheets next to Astarion and hold him tightly. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about the future. He doesn’t want to talk about his siblings either or the thousands of spawn waiting to hang on his every word.

And you can’t even blame him. The gods know how long it took for your tongue to become free from the weight that held it still after you betrayed your father. Karlach said you talked a lot before, but now it’s hard to say anything without wondering if your words are in the right order. Astarion cries softly as if to not awaken you from your slumber, but you can’t fall asleep. You can’t toss or turn either, but dreams evade you.

Dawn peeks through the window. Dawn-bringer, Jergal had called you. You slide out of bed carefully then and cross the room. You draw the curtains shut. Astarion watches you curiously from where he burrows in the sheets. His brow furrows adorably when you climb back into bed and plaster yourself to his spine.

‘Ah,’ you say monotonously. ‘The sun is gone. I suppose we'll stay in until it returns.’

After a day of lounging, Astarion still isn’t ready to talk about what’s on his mind but he watches you do your favorite mundane mortal things with explicit interest. He has you read the book you’re reading aloud, and if it takes you a few hours to struggle through one chapter, he says nothing about it.

Every once in a while, another one of your companions comes to sit in.

Lae’zel tries to commend Astarion for his warrior’s heart without sounding stilted, but eventually she gives up on complimenting him to sympathetically let him know she understands. They had all seen Vlaakith. Karlach brings Clive by and carefully arranges him in the bed next to Astarion. She tells him that he’s fucking awesome and asks permission to hug him.

The touch nearly sends him spiraling.

Gale approaches in his usual manner. He brings Astarion a bottle of wine spiked with blood and lets him know he’s available to chat whenever Astarion feels up to it. Wyll spends thirty minutes apologizing for the bad blood between them, which is funny considering their bickering was hardly vitriolic. Shadowheart visits and gifts him a perfume that makes his lip wobble dangerously.

Jaheira, Minsc, Boo and Halsin come together solemnly. They might be the least offensive of the bunch. Boo gives Astarion a thousand kisses on his cheeks, and Jaheira finally tells them a story of her youth. Halsin has Astarion drink a potion, not because he’s injured physically, but because it should help with his pain. Minsc tries teaching you a Rashemen dance, but Astarion laughs for the first time that day and you do too.

‘It is good,’ Jaheira says, ‘to see you both smile again.’

You touch your mouth shyly. Your cheeks are sore. Astarion’s smile fades slightly but returns in full, timid confidence lighting his features once more. Halsin crosses the room and opens the curtains you’ve closed. The light douses the room in holiness, and you turn your face to watch the sunset, unafraid of what the future will bring.

‘That which troubles you will soon be over,’ she promises. She pats Astarion’s hand, and although she doesn’t say it, you know he’s her son. ‘You will live to see these days renewed. There will be no more despair.’

You’re both left alone again together. Astarion beckons you to the bed instead of your chair and you join him, carefully sitting atop the covers, a respectable distance between your thighs. You inhale carefully.

‘You did the right thing,’ you say. ‘Not completing the Black Mass.’

‘Perhaps I had inspiration,’ Astarion replies. ‘You had a chance to become the Slayer, a being more powerful than you could have known. But you didn’t.’

‘I betrayed my father,’ you whisper, staring at your hands. ‘And he killed me for it.’

‘And if I had completed Cazador’s ritual,’ Astarion says, ‘I would have become Mephistopheles’s whore. I refuse to bow to the whims of others. Being an Ascendent…was blinding me to the truth.’

You look at him curiously then. He confesses to you his sins. He has thought of ascending, and thought of it often but it was never to protect himself. After a certain point, he wanted to protect you too. Your Urges had been mistaken for something else then. A possession, an invasion. Astarion sought to exorcise you of your demons.

But when you had died and the diseased lifeblood fled from your veins, Astarion realized the truth. The ascension would not have helped him protect you. It would have tainted him. It would have contorted him. Rising above all other vampires, Astarion would have become cruel like those before him. He does not want to be cruel to you. He wants to learn kindness as you have. He reaches for it like he chases the sun.

Astarion takes you by the hand, smoothing your skin with his thumb over and over. His skin is cold beneath yours. You curl your fingers into his. He did not want to make you a slave, not again. Not to him.

‘You are the dawn-bringer,’ Astarion says. ‘Even if I never see the sun again, I am free.’

‘I love you,’ you say, voice shaking. ‘I’ll be with you. In the darkness.’

‘You fool,’ Astarion laughs affectionately. He leans across the distance and kisses your temple. ‘There is no darkness. You are daylight incarnate.’

You look at him sharply.

‘I’ve been thinking about something,’ he says. ‘It’s…been on my mind all day, but I think it’s time. Say you’ll come away with me.’

You and Astarion dress slowly. You would follow him almost anywhere, but this is different. There’s something to be done. You don’t dress in armor, and for that you’re almost grateful. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of seeing blood.

But it isn’t blood or anything blood related that Astarion takes you to see. One minute, you are wandering Baldur’s Gate at night, and the next, you’ve come to the hollow of a tree where a gravestone is coated in vines.

‘This…is where my old life began,’ Astarion tells you softly. ‘Beneath there, I was turned into a monster. But Cazador is dead now and I get to decide my own fate.’

Astarion tells you in painful detail about his transformation. How his wounds fused themselves shut but the pain never went away. He tells you about breaking through the wood of his demise and the fear that flooded his veins and how, just when he thought he had found his savior, Cazador had laughed wickedly with his cruel glowing eyes.

‘I was his,’ Astarion murmurs, ‘but not anymore.’

He kneels before you on the dirt before his tombstone and bows his head. The prodigal son returned home. The sight of it causes your heart to squeeze. You want to step away but you can’t. You’re afraid.

‘There is nothing left of the person I was before,’ he tells you. ‘I am free to become who I want to be, free to start a new journey. I have all the time in the world to figure out who I am and what I want, but I think I know.’

‘I love you,’ you say again. ‘You’re what I want.’

‘You were by my side through all of this,’ Astarion says, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. ‘And now I want you to christen me. Inaugurate me here on the site of my rebirth.’

This is another dream. You hold your hands over Astarion’s head and sprinkle imaginary water over his head. His eyes close instinctively. Love washes over him, something golden. You kneel down and pluck a flower from the earth and it does not bleed. Relief floods your veins. For once, you touch something and it does not rot. Carefully, like a ghost, you slide the flower into Astarion’s hair and watch as his crimson eyes spill open with tears and devotion.

Astarion kisses you, and for the first time in a long time, he presses his body against yours. He takes you that night in the dirt. His leg is tucked under yours, his cock against your core, his lips never leaving yours. Astarion recites verses in your ears until you burst with ecstasy, tightening around him so much that he can hardly move. He cradles the back of your head to comfort you as he drinks your blood. He cradles your head tonight because he loves you.

‘I am yours,’ he whispers against your skin, ‘and you are mine.’ You aren’t sure when or how Astarion has the time, but he presents you with a gift the night before the world ends. He wears a matching flower from his grave pinned to his armor at all times now. And on his hand, a ring with a silver band. He slides one over your finger as well and kisses your palm as you slowly realize what it means.

The family you’ve chosen throws you a celebration. The next day, Dammon arrives and shows you your repaired armor now dyed white.

You cry for hours out of happiness. ‘This could be the last chance we have for this,’ you whisper to Astarion.

Everyone keeps telling you that a light has returned to your eye, but you don’t see it. It isn’t until you’re laying naked with Astarion again, his skin pressed against yours, that you think you can see it too.

Astarion fucks you tenderly until you’re sore, and you cry and plead sweet things against his shoulder while he holds you safe in his arms. When the pleasure becomes too much and your spine arches from the mattress, he pulls you into his lap and holds you safe against his chest. You kiss him until your lips are sore.

 ‘Your life is mine,’ Astarion murmurs. ‘You belong with me, my love.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you moan weakly.

He has taken you again and again this evening. He doesn’t say it, but Astarion is afraid of what tomorrow might bring. You have outsmarted gods and men. You have found goodness where there was nothing but darkness. You refuse to be afraid now.

‘We were made to conquer,’ Astarion says. His mouth is like a fire across your cheekbone. You shudder around his cock.

‘Take my love,’ Astarion commands you, so you do.

You kiss a ruby bruise into his neck, and Astarion fills you with a grunt. He doesn’t part from you. He guides you back down into the sheets and burrows against your body as if determined to climb between your ribs. You smile. Astarion has already made a home in your bones and flesh. He has eaten the rot from your core and recreated you anew. You were not his sin but his salvation. Perhaps he was yours too.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #extremely #aeristarion #coded #from ，carcosa . #anonymous #my fic #this might be my favorite thing i've written in a really long time #i think it vaguely fits the prompt i tried my best #sometimes...................sometimes.

[twstbookclub]

Slowly, Surely, Sadly

Summary: Who would've thought one smile could make you like someone? Of all people, you never expected to fall for Riddle—not after his overblot. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Slow Burn, Minor ADeuce Shenanigans again, Unrequited (maybe not, who knows?) Feelings, Spoilers for Book 1 if yall haven't finished it Word Count: 3, 304 This is my first time writing full-on angst. I already had this plot in mind last April, but this was my only chance to finally write it all down. I hope I did my job, and I'm sorry also not sorry for the feels. I was running on 5 hours of sleep and a hopeless romantic playlist when I wrote this. I hope yall enjoy, though 💕

Whenever you looked at Riddle, the memory of his swollen cheek and tear-brimmed eyes overlapped with his stern expression. Even with the constant lectures and helicopter parenting becoming less frequent, you could never forget his ruthless reign over Heartslabyul. His first impression was that of a tyrannical and merciless ruler, and you’d never forget that.

Yet, you could never forget how he looked like a lost child in a garden of roses when Ace punched him that day.

“Would you like to sample one of our teatime treats, Prefect?”

Riddle’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts. Your eyes darted from your teacup to the housewarden. An expectant yet patient smile curled his lips, which was a stark contrast to his natural frown. Your eyes lingered on the smile on his cherubic face.

“Sure,” you answered, somewhat in a daze. You took a sip of your tea, before your nose scrunched a little. Before Riddle noticed your grimace, you put the teacup down and dropped three sugar cubes in your drink.

You didn’t miss the amused twitch of Riddle’s lips from the corner of your eyes. This action would have earned you a reprimand and a lecture on one of hundreds of Heartslabyul’s rules. After his overblot and the incident in the rose garden, Riddle was becoming more lenient.

“You should mind your sugar intake—” Well, he’s still working on the leniency, but he’s trying— “Do you prefer a tart, a cupcake, or a cookie? Maybe you’d like to try a slice of today’s cake?”

You gave Riddle your preferred dessert, then you watched him reach over the table. Dainty, gloved fingers curled around the dish, before he brought it to you. You gave a brief nod and a mumble of thanks, before you took a bite of the treat.

“...!” You quietly moaned from the sweet taste that melted on your tongue. With a hand on your cheek, you slowly chewed to savor the sugar that graced your tastebuds. Your eyes seemed to sparkle as you dug into more of the dessert.

“It’s so good!”

You didn’t miss the satisfied smile on Riddle’s face, still cherubic and radiant. Amidst the chatter and raucous noise in this week’s Unbirthday party, you somehow heard the hint of pride in the red-haired sophomore’s words.

“Of course, that’s to be expected. Trey’s baking skills are the best in Heartslabyul—possibly in the entirety of Night Raven College.” Riddle paused, before softly adding, “I prefer his strawberry tarts, though. It’s a shame he couldn’t make any for today.”

The wistfulness in that tone of his made you pause. As Riddle took his own sip of tea, you couldn’t look away from him.

One afternoon, you marched through the silent corridors of the arcane academy. Heavy footfalls echoed in your ears, as if to mock you. The reminder of why you were wandering the halls alone made you frown.

“Where the hell are you, Grim?” You mumbled, head turning left and right, as you stomped. All the doors were closed shut, and voices could be heard through them. You doubt this area had an empty classroom at the moment.

Professor Crewel’s scowl and his whip flashed in your mind. As much as you loved Grim and his snark, you’d rather not face the wrath of the dog-loving professor. Brows furrowing, you grumbled again, “If he skips alchemy lessons again, I’m going to wring his neck and—”

“Prefect?” The gentle voice forced you to a halt, and you blinked at Heartslabyul’s warden in front of you. Riddle looked at you with a raised brow, before he crossed his arms and tapped his heel on the floor.

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you, but…” He paused, eyes roaming your face. “You don’t seem to be in a good mood, and your class is about to start. I passed by Ace and Deuce heading towards Professor Crewel’s classroom earlier.”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and sighed. You were already on good terms with the housewarden, and you’d rather not get collared for misdirecting your annoyance.

“Hi Riddle,” you greeted with a small, strained smile to be polite. “I’m actually looking for Grim. I lost him in the crowd during the lunch rush, and well…”

You tried so hard not to curse the lovable, annoying puffball. Another heavy sigh left your lips with a shake of your head. The strained smile became an apologetic one. Riddle stared at you, most likely scrutinizing something about you. Maybe he was judging you for letting Grim get away.

“I shouldn’t be keeping you here. It’s nice to see you, though—”

“Hold on,” Riddle stepped closer and reached for your tie, “your tie is crooked. Let me fix it for you.”

You held your breath, biting your tongue to stifle any surprised noises. The red-haired sophomore was too focused on fixing your tie to notice your reaction. His knuckles brushed your chest as he tightened the knot, and you tensed. He didn’t even ask for permission. He just took initiative, and it reminded you of a doting yet strict mother for some reason.

“You should be more conscious of your appearance,” Riddle reminded kindly while smoothing the creases of your uniform coat. He stepped back and seemed satisfied with his intervention. His lips stretched into a satisfied smile again, and you couldn’t look away.

“Now, off you go. Professor Crewel isn’t forgiving when it comes to tardiness.”

“R-right,” you stuttered with a faint warmth on your cheeks. You were tempted to slap yourself for losing composure like this, but you wanted to keep your dignity. Riddle would think you lost your mind if you did.

“Thanks, Riddle.”

His smile softened, yet it grew wider. The sharp and scrutinizing gaze melted into one of appreciation. Your heart skipped a beat. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Something fuzzy and warm filled your chest as you stared at Riddle. Your fingers twitched, as if longing to touch Riddle in some way.

It was ridiculous, but you didn’t dislike the feeling either.

“You’re welcome. If you’ll excuse me, I should be heading to my own class. I wish you luck, Prefect.”

He skirted around you in one, fluid motion. The click of his heels echoed in the empty corridor as you watched him go. His short figure carried a sense of dignity and pride, something that used to terrify and annoy his wards in Heartslabyul.

It used to intimidate you, but you couldn’t look away from him now. Even when Riddle turned a corner and disappeared, you couldn’t stop staring.

Ever since that day, you couldn’t stop noticing these things about Riddle. His entire face brightened, eyes glittering and cheeks flushing pink, when presented with a strawberry tart. Whenever he smiled, his gray irises seemed to hide behind the chub of his cheeks. He always looked red in the face whenever he was embarrassed, but the addition of a scowl and wide eyes showed his anger instead. His voice always raised in pitch, becoming less gentle and more crazed, whenever he became agitated and enraged. He even lost his formality and courteousness at that point: language becoming more crude yet still refined.

One day, while preparing for a game of croquet, you pointed out how happy Riddle seemed when he took care of the hedgehogs. Ace shot you a weird look. Deuce looked perplexed, lost even, when his eyes darted to you.

“Really?” He asked, looking between Riddle crouched on the ground and you who looked surprised. “He doesn’t look any different. How could you tell?”

Brows furrowed in confusion, you told them, “It’s not obvious, but he’s smiling. See? His eyes look brighter when he looked at the hedgehogs, too. Oh, and there’s the fact that he gently pets their heads with a finger. He’s avoiding touching their quills, and he’s trying not to agitate the tiny things.”

There was a long, uneasy stretch of silence that followed your answer. After a moment, Ace’s stunned look shifted into a mischievous grin. Deuce mirrored his expression, and it reminded you of that one time he lost his composure and beat up a pair of upperclassmen.

“Huh, really?” There was an intrigued and knowing tone in the redhead’s voice. Meanwhile, Deuce turned to look at Riddle as if to verify your observation. Although, the ravenette was still grinning, as if he knew something you didn’t.

In that moment, you realized you were screwed—so, so screwed.

Upon seeing your confusion warp into a crestfallen and horrified realization, Deuce clapped a hand on your shoulder with a snicker.

“Looks like the Prefect has a crush,” he teased, but you wanted none of it. Ace followed with an incredulous yet amused, “Really? Housewarden Riddle? Strict and overbearing Housewarden Riddle? Oh, your standards are buried six feet under, Prefect.”

A hand smacked Deuce’s own off your person, and you began to stumble over your words. Both lovable yet annoying idiots laughed it off, while you half-heartedly threatened them with a raised fist.

“Shut up, or I swear to the Seven—!”

Ace and Deuce laughed louder, nearly howling and sniggering in delight. As they clutched their stomachs and you grabbed the collars of their uniforms, Riddle’s confused and curious stare was left unnoticed.

Riddle continued to invite you to their weekly Unbirthday parties as an honorary guest. He still offered you desserts with little to no comment on your sweet tooth. He still fussed over your appearance whenever you two passed each other in the halls. He always gave you a subtle smile, despite his stern demeanor. The more you spent time around the housewarden, the more dread weighed in your stomach.

You couldn’t ignore the flutters of your heart, how it flipped and did cartwheels whenever Riddle treated you kindly. No matter what he did, you always felt like you were floating and walking on clouds.

You still longed to touch him—maybe brush back a stray strand that fell over his forehead. You wanted to know how it felt to hold his hand. Maybe even take a stroll in Heartslabyul’s rose maze with him, hand-in-hand and talking about anything. You wanted to spend teatime alone with him. You wanted to see him smile after taking a bite of a strawberry tart you made for him. You wanted to gaze at the moon and the stars with him in the comfort of Riddle’s dorm room, just sitting together in that window alcove with pillows and blankets.

You wanted to do so much more with Riddle, but the large mirror before you spelled the end of your hopes and dreams.

“Well, Prefect,” Crowley began with a jovial tone, which was a stark contrast to the despair that gripped your heart, “I found a way for you to return to your world. After long, grueling hours of searching for the solution, I fulfilled my promise to you, and I even gathered your friends here for a heartfelt farewell.”

You called bullshit on that, but you still appreciated Crowley’s effort. True to his word, all of the people you befriended surrounded you in the Mirror Chamber. The occasion was treated as a formal one, if their dorm uniforms didn’t make a statement already. Everyone had varying degrees of restrained emotion, as you stood before the mirror that led to your home dimension.

Grim stood behind you with clenched paws and glassy eyes. You spotted Ace and Deuce grinning, but there was a hint of a strain in their smiles. Kalim was close to bursting into tears. Leona stared at you with a neutral look and a hand on his hip, but the harsh dig of his fingers told you otherwise. Azul wore his usual smile, one reserved for business, and Jade had a polite smile as well. Floyd didn’t share the same sentiment. The more capricious Leech brother scowled as if he ate Lilia’s cooking after being promised a tasty meal.

You didn’t dare look at Riddle. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You can’t.

Crowley spread his arms with a self-satisfied smile that both irked and endeared you to him. “Aren’t I a magnanimous and gracious headmaster to do something like this for you?”

He made a show of spinning on his heel and walking towards the doors to the Mirror Chamber. With a flamboyant wave of his hand, he exclaimed, “I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes and well-wishes. However…”

Crowley looked at you from over his shoulder, and your throat tightened at the soft smile that curled his lips.

“It was a pleasure to have you here, Prefect. I would’ve loved for you to stay until graduation, but alas. I wish you all the best once you return home.”

The last thing you saw was a swish of his cape, before a heavy weight nearly toppled you to the ground. Tan, bejeweled arms hugged your waist as a loud bawl harshly rang in the room. You didn’t even need to look to see that it was Kalim blubbering through his tears. Jamil’s alarmed voice echoed in your ears, and that seemed to be everyone’s cue to surround you.

Tearful farewells, wistful wishes, and unfulfilled promises filled the enclosed space. Grim clung to you all this time, all the while mewling and whining about how he’d lose his henchman.  Still, he was crying his eyes out. The large mirror was obscured from your sight, as if the unusual group of friends you made during your time here intended this. You couldn’t help but laugh—a bittersweet sound—as everyone tried to get a word in with you. Even Malleus came to say his goodbyes, though he seemed more reserved than usual.

Then the dreaded moment came: Riddle approached you with that same smile, the gentle and subtle one he always graced you with. Everyone who noticed the shift in mood somehow left space for you and the Heartslabyul housewarden to talk. You almost giggled when you overheard Jade scold Floyd for whining about this.

You forced your smile to widen, even if your eyes stung and your throat tightened again. Your voice cracked at the end, but that could be mistaken for holding back tears.

“Hi, Riddle,” you whispered as you felt your throat tighten more, “I guess I’m leaving before I could have another Unbirthday party with all of you. I was so excited to try the macarons, too.”

The gentle smile became forlorn, and it reminded you of that time he lamented over not having strawberry tarts in that one Unbirthday party. A twinge in your heart made your breath hitch, but you hoped Riddle wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really,” he told you with a falter in his smile. The corners of his lips hitched up, as if that never happened in the first place. “I wanted you to try some tea from the Queendom of Roses as well, but… that may never happen now.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, finding it hard to breathe. The sting in your eyes worsened. Some invisible hand squeezed your heart, as if threatening to puncture the fragile thing with its talons. You maintained your composure as much as you can.

You couldn’t help but admit, “I wish I could have more time with all of you.”

I wish I had more time with you.

“I wish I could watch the third-years graduate. I wish I could see all of us graduate here, even if I don’t have magic.” You chuckled, and you found yourself with loose lips around Riddle.

“I want to have more Unbirthday parties with everyone in Heartslabyul. I want to have lunch with everyone in Mostro Lounge. I want to watch the next interdorm Spelldrive tournament and cheer for your guys. I want to spend Christmas and welcome the New Year with everyone. I want a lot of things, but… Well, I’m going home.”

Riddle’s smile slipped, and you watched him visibly swallow with a subtle frown. Even when he wasn’t smiling, he still had a gentle look on him.

“Who knows, Prefect? Maybe there will come a time when we find a way for you to visit and vice versa.” Riddle sounded so unsure, so hesitant, in his reassurance. Still, you appreciated it.

You ignored how much your heart hurt and your jaw clenched when he said that.

“I hope so.” Chuckling, you kept your arms to yourself as you smiled at Riddle. He was becoming a blur of red, white, and gold. Warm tears already spilled down your cheeks, before you even realized what was happening.

You couldn’t see his reaction, but you raised a hand to wipe away your tears. While the heel of your palm rubbed your cheek, you mumbled, “Sorry. I just…”

A white handkerchief was offered to you, and you took it with murmured gratitude. Your eyes were drawn to the embroidered initials of Riddle’s name on the corner. The cloth felt soft on your skin, and you found some comfort in that.

“Keep it,” Riddle told you with that smile again, “so that you would remember me every time you see it.”

Your mind blanked at his words. Riddle referred to himself rather than everyone in Heartslabyul, even everyone in NRC. Heart fluttering and throat tightening, you resisted the urge to sob. Hope came as a surge of warmth and the weight of dread in your chest.

Not now. Not when I’m leaving.

With a smile, melancholic yet bright, you dabbed away the last of your tears and tucked the handkerchief into your uniform pocket. A burst of courage let you wrap your arms around Riddle in a hug with a whispered, “Thank you. I’m going to miss you—all of you.”

I’m going to miss you more.

Normally, Riddle would be flustered at the sudden gesture of affection. You expected a loud stutter and an indignant scolding, but he simply returned the hug. His face was buried in your shoulder, and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“You’re welcome.” You heard him whisper, followed by a faint sniff. Something warm and wet soaked through the coat and into your shoulder. You hugged Riddle tighter, as if to hide him from the rest of the world at that moment.

Too brief for your liking, Riddle pulled away with that same smile. His eyes appeared to be glassy, reflecting your tearful expression and wobbly grin. Your heart twinged again, and your jaw clenched.

It was that smile that damned you the moment Riddle fixed your tie for the first time.

“I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?” You asked, laughing off your dread and despair. Riddle seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Your heart stuttered as you watched him open his mouth with reluctance.

Something held him back. He shook his head and merely smiled at you again.

“Of course,” he murmured, eyes hiding behind his cheeks again. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Prefect.”

In that moment, you’d have stolen the stars from the sky if Riddle wanted to make a wish. You’d bake tarts and cakes in the Heartslabyul kitchen, even if it ended in a mess of flour, if he wanted sweets. You’d stay past curfew in his dorm room to stargaze, if he was willing to break the rules just this once. You’d shower him in kisses, hugs, and cuddles if he hesitated to spell out his desire for affection.

You’d stay in Twisted Wonderland if he asked you to.

Swallowing your heartache, you forced a smile—bright and brilliant, putting the sun to shame. Your gaze never left Riddle, while unspoken feelings laid heavy on the tip of your tongue. Reality crushed your daydreams and wishes, reduced to rubble and dust. The next words felt final and absolute.

“Goodbye, Riddle.”

What remained was the handkerchief with his stitched initials in your pocket.

#riddle rosehearts x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #twst angst #almost teared up in this one ngl #my first riddle fic #and it's angst #my brother was playing kh3 while i was typing this help #fluff #twst fluff #angst #romance #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst fanfic #writing #fanfiction #AdminCressa🦋 #CressaWrites🦋

[imgeekgirlfan]

Down The Road (F1 x Reader) SMAU Season 1

>> Down The Road 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous Part : Next Part

Taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius , @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @jpg3 , @tsukishimawhore , @minkyungseokie , @roseseraj , @bbhyuneee , @omgsuperstarg (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply )

A/N : I'm trying to write in time for the #QatarGP because I want the storyline in Part 2 to continue in real-time (spoiler alert: from Episode 3 onwards, there will be a one-year time skip). I hope you enjoy the racing and the fic too. If you do, don't forget to like and reblog. It's great encouragement for me, who has been sitting with a sore back at the computer for hours to write this SMAU fic

note ; age-gap, a bit of mentor/student relationship

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Season 1 : ── 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐬 ── (Lewis Hamilton x Reader) S1 : E02 𝐾-𝑝𝑜𝑝 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟

Beyond the thrilling competition on the F1 track, the off-track relationships of F1 drivers have also become an exciting topic for fans. That's precisely what's happening with Y/N, a rising star in motorsport, whose relationship with Lewis Hamilton, a seven-time World Champion, is being closely watched. Is it real, or is it just a theory from fans? It's a tough question to answer definitively, as only they can shed light on the situation.

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Source : GQ Sports (On YouTube)

On this episode of "Actually Me" Formula 1 driver Y/N goes undercover on the internet and responds to real comments from fans on Twitter, Instagram, Wikipedia, Reddit, YouTube, and TikTok. How does it feel to be the only woman racing in Formula 1 today? How does she handle the pressure of competing in a male-dominated sport? Which driver is she closest to? And the most pressing question everyone wants to know : What is the true nature of her relationship with Lewis Hamilton? Are they friends, colleagues, competitors, or something more?

For this final question, she simply laughs and replies cryptically, “You guys should ask him (rather than asking me), because I’m curious too.”

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Source : Formula 1: Drive to Survive (On Netflix)

In the show “Formula 1: Drive to Survive” Lewis Hamilton finally opens up about his relationship with Y/N for the first time after it became a hot topic on Twitter world recently. Hamilton said “It’s hard to explain, but we have a very special bond because we’ve known each other for a long time,” He further defined her as the ‘special one’ in his life, yet he still remained enigmatic regarding whether their relationship contains romantic aspect or not.

Additionally, he delves into their personal closeness, mentioning that Y/N is very much a Gen Z personified, enjoying Twitter and often sending funny memes to everyone. He humorously reveals that she sometimes replies to him "OK Boomer," when he doesn't quite grasp the memes she sends.

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Source : Lewis Hamilton's Instagram Story (update)

Lewis Hamilton posted a picture of himself wearing friendship bracelets and tagging @Y/N on Instagram Story before deleting it 11 minutes after

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Source : Twitter (update)

Rumors about a romantic relationship between Y/N and Lewis Hamilton started circulating after a Twitter exchange between the two, leading fans to speculate and gather evidence suggesting they might be dating.

This wave of speculation has received both positive and negative reactions from fans. Some fans disagree with the dating rumors, while others support them. drawing parallels to the F1 version of Tom Holland and Zendaya

While the rumors have been hot topics among F1 fans on Twitter, there has been no confirmation from either Y/N or Hamilton.

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Source : Y/N’s instagram (update)

"Get in, loser We're going to do hotlap"

Y/N posted on Instagram that she will be doing a hot lap for the team's VIP guest in #QatarGP There's speculation that the guest might be a fellow racing driver like Alex, Albon, or George Russell, especially after she previously did a hot lap with Russell without any sign of Lewis Hamilton

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Source : Lewis Hamilton's instagram (update)

"Ready to go with the winner @Y/N"

Lewis Hamilton posted on Instagram, confirming that he is the VIP guest who will get a hot lap with Y/N. Followed by a massive response from fellow F1 drivers and fans who are closely watching their relationship.

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Source : Y/N and Lewis Hamilton's instagram (update)

Y/N and Lewis Hamilton have arrived at the Lusail International Circuit to prepare for the #QatarGP race tonight. The media has been informed by their respective teams that there will be no interviews or comments regarding the rumors about them. They will solely focus on their performance in this race.

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Source : @PopBase

Reportedly the famous spanish singer Úrsula attended the Formula 1 race at #QatarGP amidst fresh rumors among fans that she might be rekindling her relationship with Y/N. This comes after her recent divorce from the Hollywood actor last month.

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𝙏𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙚𝙙 (in the next chapter)

If you like it, don't forget to like and reblog for me.

Cr.https://x.com/PopBase/status/1708629114025116047?s=20https://twitter.com/GridRivalhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b025AznQiGk&ab_channel=GQSportshttps://www.instagram.com/p/CyBimW-Ocyr/

#f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 twitter au #smau #f1 smau #down the road fanfic #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #famous!reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton smau #lewis hamilton social media au #qatar gp 2023 #formula one x you #formula one x reader #formula one x y/n #f1 x y/n #formula one fanfic #lewis hamilton x y/n

[pluralthey]

is there a good place to start if we want to learn about idletry? im very interested in the story and all the bits and pieces revealed so far but i dont know if youve like, stated the basics both about the characters-in-story and how you’re releasing the comic

hi there. unfortunately, idletry became a passion project very abruptly and many details were added very quickly without regard for how long the project would take. once i did realize how large the project was, i decided that i would not even kid myself on the idea of holding in spoilers for the next 5 years, and those two factors combined make the information available very chaotic and slapdash -- somewhat intentionally.

i don't even have the comics tagged separately for easier access among the idletry content -- although, i could go back and give them a separate tag.

i can summarize the story and say that it's about a funny little talking honey badger/tasmanian devil named jessie gaylord who has for the last 10 years of her life been on heavy psychiatric medication in an attempt to mitigate a pervasive delusion that the world is a fictional story. she also has a notorious aggressive streak. these medications work primarily by leaving her so tired that she sleeps most of the time.

the story begins when her medical team has run out of typical medications to try, and they must order an older, more aggressive type of drug which is not commonly used anymore, and has a lengthier process to manufacturing and approving the drug. during this time, she is not on any medication, and she becomes more urgently fixated on convincing people that the delusion is true.

she ends up attempting to contact the writer, who is referred to as God, and she receives a response. she immediately attempts to write the story herself, and she's granted the ability to do anything within the story so long as she can write it out. (the intricacies and limitations of this power have been elaborated upon in a bunch of fragmentary posts, so i won't try to condense it here)

at the end of the first act, she kills the first writer and becomes the new God of her world. the rest of the story is about what she does after acquiring omnipotence, and it heavily features a character named fate -- or shiloh, as jessie calls her -- with whom she enters an intimate relationship.

she has a happy loving family composed of a father named adam, a mother named evelyn, and an older sister named emily. there is a later minor subplot about a cult following who worships her after she becomes God, and this cult is initially organized by an ant called samanthuel -- or samwich, as jessie calls them. these are usually the other characters i mention and i am too lazy to link them right now

the comic itself is currently being written. the script stands at around 51,000 words at the time of writing this as i work on the second act. after it's written, i will let it simmer for a few months and then write a second draft to start to relieve the story of its bloat. depending on its length at that point, i will either need to write a third draft, or i will start drawing the comic.

chances are, during the second draft, i will start to thumbnail or sketch scenes which receive little to no editing, as i know they will likely remain relatively unchanged even through multiple drafts.

the sketch strips are to tide me and an eager audience over in the meantime, but they've sort of dried up as i focus all of my attention on finishing the first draft and taking care of a puppy that was kind of just forced onto me.

i've made a couple of full-length comics before and they have taken years. it is, unfortunately, just the nature of the process. for idletry, i plan to self-publish the comic. i've never published something in print before, so that is the most daunting part for me.

the plan at the moment is to crowdfund this, but, to be frank with you, i no longer pay rent, and i care very much about having this comic as a printed book. i have no issue with paying the cost of printing out of my own pocket by the time it's done and am even anticipating that outcome ahead of time, despite having a pretty reliable audience by now.

i'm on the fence about releasing a digital book version, as i very much want to retain digital color versions of the pages that are more vibrant, but due to the explicit adult content of the story, i don't want it to be free-access.

tl;dr: it's about a lesbian incel with anger issues who's given omnipotence.

i'm still working on the story because i want it to be good.

i'm planning on printing it as a physical comic book once it's done.

#idletry #not art #ask #asks #as a frame of reference your average actual words-on-paper novel is 60k words

[oshiawaseni]

My sibling, who is an anime only said they would not be surprised if BKDK became canon considering the depth of their relationship, their interactions, and their character development regarding each other ... despite how Bones added in Izuocha scenes and cut out some critical BKDK moments in most of the seasons so far... And, seeing how one-sided the "love" is between Izuocha, which I believe is deep admiration as of reading the manga- I have to say I agree.

Izuocha, is fine on the surface but is unhealthy. Izuku would not pay attention to Ochaco they he would need to if they were in a relationship. And Ochaco only saw "Hero Deku" rather than all of "Izuku", which would cause her to unknowingly encourage Izuku's reckless self-sacrificial behavior.

BKDK is different because not only they know each other beyond the surface level, but they also have their sights on each other and the mere presence of their partner inspires them to become better and stronger people at heart because they have genuine love for each other...

I honestly do not understand what is in the Dudebros' mind other the fact that they are lacking emotional intelligence and critical thinking... but I will just enjoy what they are missing. (Sorry for rambling...)

Hi anon! Sorry it took me a bit to get back to you (reason in tags). Let me just reply to your ramblings with some ramblings of my own :)

I actually really enjoyed Season 6. The only thing I faulted Bones for, was creating that jarring opening that made out like Ochaco was the hero of the retrieve vigilante Deku mission (which sadly only fueled izuochas more on mhatwt), when it was 1000% Katsuki's doing and there is one panel which proves this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

See this? Who is the one standing in front of Shoto and Tokoyami, addressing the whole class? It's Katsuki! Not Ochaco! She was seated with everyone else. This is why it's so frustrating when they say she was the reason Izuku was brought back to U.A. That arc was all about Katsuki's feelings for Izuku and wanting to return his smile.

He was even so worried he lost sleep over it, wondering where Izuku was, if he was okay… he must have stayed awake in bed, thinking and thinking about Izuku and how he could get him back. Katsuki was used to Izuku being by his side, and it was the first time Izuku had willingly left it. It provided him clarity about how important* Izuku was in his life, which only made him worry even more. (*see also: crucial, vital, imperative, watch me emotionally die slowly inside if you aren't around me anymore.)

Katsuki losing sleep, at a time Izuku was not sleeping was such a symbiotic soul mates power move Hori added in for flavour. I love it SOOO freaking much. There are no lengths this man won't go, to prove how in sync they are with each other, how much they need each other, the empathy they share with each other, even on a completely spiritual level where they share in each other's sufferings, *without even knowing it* such as right here, just like Katsuki wants to share all of Izuku's burdens so that he's not crushed by them.

But with that said, though Bones really dropped the ball on the opening (and 5 previous seasons...*ahem*), there were a lot of curious changes that happened in season 6 that I did love, like Izuku dropping the "tachi" in his sentence which turned his line into "He hurt the person I love…" (instead of people)

and as we saw more of these additional changes Bones made, it got us wondering, did Hori have some regrets with the manga that he was unhappy about and wanted their romance to be more obvious? Was it only natural to get anime viewers up to speed before season 7, because they were going to find out through manga spoilers that Katsuki and Izuku are actually in love? I'd like to think so.

Changes I remember off the top of my head:

Reaching out for little Izuku's hand during Katsuki Bakugou Rising

Katsuki waking up and thinking "Deku…" and remembering his Rising sacrifice and being still hurt from it.

Izuku waiting until he was in Katsuki's arms before he apologised, which made their words of "I'm sorry" and "I know" more intimate and personal to each other. Like Izuku needed Katsuki's forgiveness the most, and Katsuki needed to let Izuku feel that he understands him the most.

Izuku's little "Ka-..." (the English dub did not catch it but I know other dubs did) as he was passing out, which made the entire hug scene feel so much more romantic.

"I'm gonna say your name when I wake up" vs "I'm gonna say your name when I fall asleep." BkDk: Always on each other's minds. All the time.

And one of the most interesting changes of all…

So get this, Ochaco gets a hand hold grab in the opening which canon-wise holds about as much weight as an "illustration" … and in the actual anime content, she grabs his wrist area instead of his hand like in the manga. Making her hand hold IN THE CANON CONTENT so impersonal. Almost as if to make up for the horrible opening they made. Why this was done still remains a mystery to us today… but I hope it's because Horikoshi asked them to make Izuocha stop being seen like a couple, and more like the friends they are.

And then, about the "brothers" "friends" comments antis love to make about bkdk. Well yeah, they're coping. In fact, Hori has shied away from labeling them friends several times when he could have! "Midoriya-kun is our friend" says Iida - with multiple people from the class, including Ochaco, presented in the panel… and Katsuki is nowhere to be found.

Or like when sAFO called Katsuki "Izuku's closest person" (motto mo naka ga ii) where it would have been WAY more natural to call him "shinyu," aka, "best friend." But that's the thing, Hori runs away from calling them friends like it's the plague LMAO

Really makes you wonder… was sAFO (I'd rather just call it AFO at this point because it's his personality being dominant vs Katsuki) alluding to hidden romantic feelings Izuku hides for Katsuki that his secret gaydar quirk picked up? Could be. In a way, at the time it happened, it felt to me like Horikoshi himself was talking to us through him, telling us very explicitly, "You're damn right. They're gay."

Either way, skirting around this label for them is being done on purpose by Hori. Like his hidden way of saying "Yeah they might be acting a bit more like the best friends they were always meant to be as kids, but their feelings for each other are not 'friendly' AT ALL. Because platonic friendship is not where these two are headed." And there are STILL hidden feelings they haven't managed to say to each other yet! The content Horikoshi has been itching to draw for YEARS that he is finally getting to. All that soft bkdk romance we've been waiting for is coming SO SOON!!! and I am HERE for it anon! 🔥

2023 will forever be known as the year of BkDk canon... these are very exciting times. <3

#asks #bkdk canon #kana writes #bakudeku #I had to write this almost completely twice over bc tumblr editor decided to delete my whole post XD fun (and I was so frustrated I'm sorry #this ask was getting a bit long so I will stop here but all your ramblings about bkdk were true anon you got a good understanding of them! #togachaco anon I'll try to briefly answer you soon but look for my togachaco meta it's not that far down on my blog - though... #my feelings are still a bit conflicted now because #I am coming around to the jealousy/envy theory as well so it's anyone's guess however what I will say is that OCHACO HAS REALISED THINGS #and those things WILL be revealed #And it's most definitely not going to be she's got a crush on Izuku #but I will write about what I WANT to see happen soon as a lover of shoujo myself :D (it just might not be what will actually happen...)

[olderthannetfic]

Hi OTNF!! Sometimes I like to read this fandom problem blog that receives submissions from people all over Tumblr, recently this was posted and I wanted to know what you thought of it: The tag types of "Tags update as story is written" or "additional tags to be added" or "Rating may change." Fuck those. I don't care if you add some extra benign tags as the story goes along, and you realise you wanna add more content that's just there, or you realise your fic maybe went a bit harder than you expected. Some stories get their own life. But at the same time, if you knew you'd want to add certain content, or that the rating was gonna go way up from what you tagged in the beginning, why did you not tag it from the start? Especially when the tagged content becomes a big part of the story, or influences the story strongly. And then you find out that the Author already had been planning adding this type of content for a long time, they just FOR SOME STUPID-ASS REASON didn't wanna add the tag until it actually happens. You're supposed to tag so the people can make an informed decision if they wanna commit to your fic, so for the love of the tagging-system, actually TAG ALL YOUR SHIT FROM THE START. Same shit for changing ratings. I hate it when someone plans from the start to make the story explicit, but doesn't change the rating until they've reached the NSFW sections. There's a reason there's a tagging system. So do you just not understand how that works? Or are you just being kind of as ass on purpose? This does not help when avoiding stories with specific content you try to exclude from your results. It's even dumber if the reason is to "avoid spoiling the fic readers", because anyone coming later to the fic is going to be "spoiled" by the tags regardless. And if you know you wanna add porn, or gore, then rate the story appropriately. Rather categorise it too high, than fuck around with people who don't wanna read explicit content. As a writer who uses the Archive, I want to put my 2 cents in. When I'm writing a fic, a long fic for example, I want to tag the stuff that actually DOES appear at that time so that I'm not clogging other tags/people don't think I'm spamming to inflate my readership (And I DEFINITELY do not want something I worked hard on to get reported for spam). I do get the frustration at reading a fic and then something changes like the rating, but as a writer, sometimes things go off script and one thing that's rated T or M might eventually become E just based off the writing juices doing it's thing(tm). To me, the "Additional tags to be added" is kind of like CNTW, it's something the reader has to make a decision if they want to risk getting invested/read that particular fic. It feels very much like a "damned if you do/damned if you don't" situation. What are some of your thoughts on something like this?

--

Writers are always going to vary in their favorite approach, and readers who act like there's one right answer are idiots.

For me personally, even if I'm posting as I write, I do have a solid idea of where the fic is going, and I strongly prefer—both as a reader and writer—to have all of the tags in place at the beginning.

I also don't like over-tagging for warnings and only want to see/use tags for the basic main content of the fic, which does make it easier to know ahead of time than if I tagged every tiny thing.

I think spoilers are a dumb reason not to tag things.

So I agree with the complainer's tastes...

...but at the same time, they're acting like these ought to be rules, and AO3 is designed to accommodate a lot of different people with different styles, so I think their attitude leaves something to be desired.

[noforkingclue]

New Friends?

Summary: you always felt that the hotel you worked at was slightly creepy but you passed it off due to it being an old building. However, a chance encounter one night changes everthing.

Author's note: I was inspired by this after seeing the last ever Ghosts episode, so spoilers for that if you haven't seen it. I honestly can't believe the series is over and I'm definitely going to need to re-watch it at some point!

Hope you like it :)

BBC Ghosts tag list: @violetlucreziastuff,  @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

Why did all the creepy things happen at night?

Why didn’t horror films happen during the daytime when it was bright and there were lots of people about? Why was it had to be you who was working the night shift?

Why did you have to have all these fucking questions?

A couple had decided to leave in the middle of the night and of course you had to draw the short straw to make it presentable. Ok, so you wouldn’t be doing a full clean but your manager wanted it to at least look presentable in case there were any late night guests. You let out a huff as you let the door swing open as you inspected the room. Your old line manager wouldn’t be making anyone do this. This new one was a bit of a stickler to the rules and almost seemed to have it out for you.

You fluffed up the pillows and pulled back the duvet. There were no suspicious stains on the sheets so they’d do in a pinch. You made a note to change them in the morning as you made your way to the bathroom. Best to check that as well in case your guest were vicious serial killers who killed their latest victim in your room.

At first you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. You let out a sigh of relief as you turned around and froze. Ok, maybe you theory about them being serial killers was more accurate than you initially thought. You slowly crept forward and narrowed your eyes. There wasn’t a lot of blood for a decapitated head. In films there was always gushing blood but this-

“Hello.”

“Ahh!”

You cried out and jumped backwards, scuttling away. Your eyes widened in shock and you raised a shaking hand.

“What the… you spoke…”

“Well, yeah! Wait,” the head frowned, “you can see me?”

“I’m imagining this,” you stood up and ran a hand over your face, “I’m imagining this. I’m… sleep deprived, that’s it!”

You staggered back ignoring the cried from the head. This was all in your mind. You hadn’t been sleeping too well lately and that was why you’re seeing random talking heads.

Right?

*

“I know you can hear us.”

“Come on, just one word.”

“It is incredibly rude to ignore people when they are talking to you. Did your parents not teach you any manners?”

You put your hands over your ears as you continued to walk quickly down the corridor. For the past week you had been followed around by what you assumed (but didn’t want to believe) to be ghosts. You were just about keeping it together but you could see your colleagues becoming concerned. Your new line manager was becoming harsher, not just with you, but with everyone and that added pressure wasn’t helping.

“My dear if you would just-“

You slammed the door of the room you were meant to be cleaning in one of the ghosts (you think one of them called him Thomas?) face. You knew you were going to get in trouble for that later but you could always pass it off as the wind slamming it or it slipping out of your grip.

“I think she wants to be left alone,” said one of them (possibly Pat?), “you remember how Alison was when she first saw us. Give her time.”

You let out a sigh of relief and picked up your cleaning supplies. You headed into the bathroom and paused when you saw a familiar head in the bath. You sagged and sat down on the floor, back resting against the tub.

“So I’m not going insane?” you asked

“That rather depends on what you class as insane.”

You closed your eyes and leant back. Maybe you should just give in?

“I’m Humphrey by the way.”

“Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you, well, meet you again and as much as I can while I’m in here.”

You leant over the bath and smiled at him.

“Better?” you asked

“Yeah.” Humphrey frowned, “You alright?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You look a bit stressed.”

“Just my manager being a dick. Giving me too much work that I can’t always complete on time. Throwing her weight around and acting like a jerk. God, sometimes I really just want to-“

You let out a frustrated noise and sat back down.

“Sounds like you want a bit of revenge.”

“Revenge? I just want some breathing space.”

“Well if there’s one person who would be good at that.”

“Who?”

“Julian.”

“Julian?”

You jumped when a ghost stuck his head through the wall. You had been getting used to that happening but you could never get used to that happening. You didn’t need to see Humphrey to know that he was rolling his eyes.

“I heard my name,” Julian said, giving you what he thought was a charming smile, “in what way do you need my expertise?”

As you glanced up at the disgraced politician all you could think of was,

‘Well, what’s the worst that could happen?’

#fanfiction #bbc ghosts #reader insert

[mvrtaiswriting]

Reiner Braun - Wonderland (part 2)

Hullo! Part 2 of Wonderland is finally here! I know I previously said it would only have two parts, but it is highly likely I'll need at least one more part before calling it quits! hope you enjoy this <;3 (part 1 here) (part 3 here)

Follows AOT timeline, so please be mindful of any spoilers ahead. Specifically, this first part contains spoilers from season 4 (ish). The segments and different timezones of the story are divided by quotes from different Taylor Swift songs, which were vital for the formation of this idea. More specifically, the song that served as the backbone for this part of the story was Wildest dreams, from the 1989 album (I wish there was a Taylor's version for it, but we'll have to wait I guess.) This part also used Illicit affairs, from the Folklore album and Getaway Car, from the reputation album.

gn! reader.

usual AOT violence.

1.3 K words.

-> tag list for my dear readers who were waiting for an update! lmk if you want to be added &lt;3 @maliakealoha, @turituri09.

I thought "Heaven can't help me now".

A familiar scent tingled your senses, you could recognise the smell of his cologne even in such a busy street, with Sasha shoving ice cream up to your face and local food sellers frying their specialties in the main road. You took a quick glare over the crowd, scanning the millions of faces just to see him standing against one of the shop's wall - his eyes locked on your figure since God knows how long, merely hiding away from the rest of the Survey Corps. It was a miracle Levi didn't notice him staring - things could have escalated quickly otherwise.

You took Hange and the rest of your team to explore the city, explaining everything about their cultural and technological development.

"You've picked up the accent."

Jean scoffed, now bored of listening to everything you had to say. In the past 9 months, you had a full immersion experience of Liberio - you even managed to obtain a driving license. Hange had told you to maintain a discrete profile whilst trying to acquire as many skills as possible, and you did. Onyankopon as your main teacher, you had managed to completely blend in with the citizens of a nation that tried to exterminate your own population, destroying the city you grew up in and killing the people you loved. A nation that birthed Reiner, the love of your life, your nemesis - everything and nothing at the same time, the person that gave you everything and scarred you the most.

When the meeting was over, you greeted everyone and decided to part ways with them.

"They'll get suspicious if I won't be back.. Have fun for me too!"

You said, leaving the building before anyone could stop you or convince you otherwise.

Make sure nobody sees you leave. Hood over your head, keep your eyes down.

Finally entering what had now become your home, you took off the hooded cloak and hang it by the door. Hold habits die hard after all - and despite your cloak didn't have the wings of freedom on its back, it still reminded you of home, of Paradis, of your mission.

"Did they like it?"

Reiner said, greeting you at the door with a warm cup of coffee and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. You only nodded in response, smiling weakly and accepting the cup of coffee. Making your way to the sofa, you let yourself fall on the soft fabric and kept silent. Replaying the day you just spent with your fellow comrades, you wondered whether it was fair for you to hate Reiner so much. Now that you're sitting in his apartment, drinking his coffee, living in his town. It's easy to wonder what life would be like if it wasn't for all these little games, the wars, the hate. You never questioned your loyalty towards Paradis, but sometimes you wished Reiner questioned his. After all, he was serving a country that hated him down to every stupid cell of his body.

His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room.

Tangled up in bed, you're full of him. Reiner's finger tips slowly drawing imaginary patterns on your soft skin whilst he tries to catch his breath. Making love with him was always exhausting, full of passion, and hate, and love, and remorse. It was an explosion of feelings, something that felt so right but so wrong. Loving him was incredibly easy - his features had grown with him, so much sometimes you could almost forget what he did. You could only see the beautiful man he had become, the thoughtful, loving man who only wanted to redeem himself. Who fell on his knees the first time he saw you again and begged for your forgiveness, because his feelings were always real. Because he had loved you since the first day of training as cadets and continued to do so even after so, so many years. Because he hated himself for what he did, wishing he stayed - wishing he would have known better.

It was always easy for Reiner to hit your soft spot, he was your only weakness. Your only motivation. If only your friends knew about this.. no one would approve this. But now your hair smell like his cologne and his lips taste like you, creating a bubble that you hoped would never pop.

"Say you'll remember me."

You whispered, passing your fingers through his blonde hair. Reiner raises an eyebrow in response, melting into your touch.

"Once this will be over."

You whisper again, biting your lips to try and stop the tears from flooding your eyes. His rough hand caresses your cheek and you melt onto his touch, your face slowly adhering to his palm. The sorrow your hearts feel is the same, after all, he only has a few years left.

"I will. Rosy cheeks and all."

Reiner answered, pulling you closer to him and hugging you tightly to his chest. You smiled, grabbing his face between your hands, taking your time to admire the handsome man you lover was. The way time and pain have marked his face, tracing little wrinkles around his forehead and eyes. His strong arms were now holding you and keeping you safe, and that's how you wanted to remember your lover. Handsome, in love, and yours.

It's no surprise I turned you in, 'cause us traitors never win. 

When you snuggled out of bed that morning, Reiner was still in deep sleep. Gentle snores filled the room and allowed you to dress up silently, packing the few thing you had left in his room. You took a second to observe him, as if you could photograph this moment with your pupils. The white sheets were messily covered his toned body, the bed still messy from the night before. You stared at him for a little longer, whispering a little "I love you" to him before leaving that apartment forever. Closing the door behind your back, you put the hood of your cloak on to cover your face - and wondered if he felt the same way 5 years ago, when he ran and never came back. If he felt the same ache in his heart, if he felt this much love for you - if he felt as a traitor.

It was too late to think look back now, as you put your new ODM gear on. Levi had been rehearsing the plan all day, everything was ready: Eren would signal the start of the counterattack.

Standing on the roof of a building, you observed the plan unravel swiftly, everything going according to plan.

"Everything okay?"

Jean carefully asked, noticing how you zoned out when Reiner crossed the stage. You shook your head weakly in response as you hoped with every fibre of your being he would not be Eren's aim. If Tybur was the main target of this campaign, why was Reiner even remotely involved?

Before you could even think twice about it, you were flying around buildings, fighting civilians and avoiding any stone Eren's titan would throw. You fought, you killed. The blood of civilian's that greeted you every morning and sold you the coffee you loved so much was now on your hands, and it was hard to ignore. It was hard to think that a more diplomatic approach wouldn't have solved things. Rushing to the airship to retire and follow the orders received from your superiors, you looked at Liberio for one last time. Scanning through the building, the smoke, the shots, you finally managed to catch a glimpse of the Armoured Titan. A bittersweet smile formed on your lips as you followed the titan's movements from above - it looked as beautiful as its owner, as crazy as this might have sounded. A chuckle escaped your lips as a tear streamed down your cheek, burning your skin as if your eyes were leaking acid.

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed.

#aot headcanons #aot x y/n #reiner headcanons #reiner attack on titan #snk reiner #reiner x reader #reiner braun #reiner x y/n #shingeki no kyojin reiner #reiner aot #reiner x you #reiner x oc #reiner fluff #reiner fanfic #reiner fanart #reiner brown #armin x reader #jean attack on titan #jean aot #jean x reader #armin aot #aot x reader #aot x you #aot imagines #aot fandom #aot oc #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #aot x gn!reader

[skeleton-klng]

Out of the billions of Dracula adaptions, I've never seen one where Mina becomes a vampire hunter. I mean, in cannon Dracula tortured her fiance for months, killed her best friend, and tried to kill her. Later in the story, she meets and works with Van Helsing, who's like THE vampire hunter of modern culture. With some small changes, you'd have the perfect backstory for a vengeance-fueled vampire huntress seeking to rid the world of the monsters that arbitrarily destroyed her life.

edit: Added some spoiler tags

#dracula daily #daily dracula #vampires #mina murray #spoilers #dracula daily spoilers #dracula spoilers

[alieinthemorning]

Hello!I already read your rules like 3 times but I made any mistake please tell me-

Anyway can I please request platonic headcanos of diasomnia family(mainly silver and lilia) with silver sibling!reader?reader is also adopted by Lilia and is not biologically related to silver,they are younger than him and have much more lively personality,they also get flustered easily.l and really care about their family

(I JUST NEED SOME WHOLESOME STUFF PLEASE)

Found Family [Diasomina Family]

Content: Found Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Character(s), Familial Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Book 7 Part 3 Spoilers

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Lilia found you in the woods at a very young age. You were not far from his little cabin, sitting at the edge of the lake, peering into its waters.

"Are you lost, little one?"

You shook your head.

"Is your family nearby, then?"

You shook your head again. "They abandoned me. Told me to not return."

And that's all it took for him to take you in himself, he already had Silver, and he was doing well enough, surely another child wouldn't prove to be difficult.

You were a quiet child, even more quiet than Silver. However, your eyes were much move expressive than you might have realized. You were some kind of Nocturnal Fae, perhaps of a long forgotten race because he had never seen another with eyes as interesting as yours.

When you didn't like something your pupils would become thin slits, and when there was something you liked they would grow considerable.

Lilia found that quite adorable.

He often found you and Silver outside, sitting against the largest tree in front of the cabin. Silver of course was asleep while you had a book in your lap.

"What are you reading, little one?"  Lilia asked as he sat down beside you.

"Ohana: A story about an animal who was shunned being different."

Another thing about you was that you were very blunt and up front. He assumed it was something you learned from your previous living situation.

You tilted your head, a small smile gracing your lips. "But then, after a few hardships, the animal found a family. Just like me—Like us."

Lilia smiled himself, resting a hand on your head. "Yes, just like us."

Silver had an abundance of alarm clocks to help wake him up in the morning. However, none worked as good as you simply calling his name.

"Silver, it's time to wake up." His eyes always seemed to open easily, and found you immediately.

You gave him your usual small smile. "Good morning, Silver."

"Good morning."

And then you were gone while he got ready. Once he was done, he would find you indulging in your morning tea with Father, Lord Malleus and Sebek. Sebek was of course loudly praising Father and Lord Malleus, Lilia was going along with it while you and Malleus quietly sipped on your tea.

He took his spot next to you, and you immediately filled his cup, adding two sugar cubes. Just liked he liked it.

He thanked you with his usual smile as his body become more attune to the usual flow of life around him.

Sebek didn't like you at first. You were weird. Your eyes were too sharp, it made him feel like you were staring through him. He also didn't like how you were seemingly better at everything than he (and Silver) was. You were better at swordsmanship, being able to pull off moves that Master Lilia had only shown once. And yet you never bragged about it (he disliked that about you too).

You were actually able to cook, so your training was cut short so that you could make them a meal for after training. And he hated to admit it, but your cooking was even better than his mother. However, as much as he disliked how good your meals were, he was also thankful that because of them he didn't have to eat Master Lilia's cooking.  You also seemed to rotate each of their favorite meals. You always seemed to remember the small things about them.

Even now, you approached him at lunch, two plates in hand.

"For you, Sebek." You placed a plate of salmon carpaccio in front of him. Then you woke Silver up before sitting down yourself.

He glanced away from you, swallowing his pride. "...Thank you."

"Think nothing of it."

He thought a lot of it.

You and Malleus often found yourselves strolling the paths of Night Raven College in the dead of night when the students were in their dorms, the teachers had returned to their homes and the only nightlife was that of the ghosts and fairies.

Tonight, something was weighing heavily on him.

"What is on your mind, Malleus?"

He chuckled. He liked that about you. You always knew when something was amiss and would immediately hone in on it.

"I find myself thinking about what will happen after Silver departs from this world." He paused, "Sebek as well, as he is only half-fae."

You hummed. "They will die and we will live on. What is there to think about?" Your tone was flat— nonchalant.

Malleus glanced down at you.

Your pupils were sharp.

Ah, you were as effected as he was.

Then after a few more silent moments, you spoke up. "...I do understand that they won't be with me forever, so I must make the most out of the time I have with them now., so that I'm only left with fond memories of them."

Malleus felt his lips flicker upward as his gaze turned toward the starry sky.

"Yes, I suppose you are correct..."

"To those I've met before, and to those I'll meet hereafter...

"Meet in a Dream."

Soft eyes met periwinkle.

"Good morning, Silver."

He helped you properly orientate. "We have to help Father and Malleus."

You nodded, "Yes, we have to save our family."

You asked for headcanons, so I wrote snippets. 

A something that might have not been clear:

You're a kinda of ancient nocturnal fae who has a kind of dilating pupils. I wanted to also give you glowing eyes (more so like mood ring eyes lol), but I didn't want to give you an eye color, so I scrapped it (saving it for the OC ig because I SURE HAVE BRAINWORMS OVER THIS CHARACTER SOMEHOW, ANON HOW DID YOU GIVE ME BRAIN WORMS LOL)

Peep the few references btw lol

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

#alie requests #alie requester: anon #twst fanfiction #platonic reader insert #platonic diasomina family #lilia vanrouge & reader #silver & reader #sebek zigvolt & reader #malleus draconia & reader

[runnning-outof-time]

Within the Halls | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - for @evita-shelby ‘s 420 followers celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: What started off as a fairytale ended up being a nightmare.

Warnings: implication of suicide attempt (slight season 5 spoilers), mention of weapon

Word Count: 420 — I did it, Juli!!

A/N: this is so very different than any other story I’ve posted on here. It’s my very first vingette, and the first time I’ve written something without dialogue. I took inspiration from one of the prompt lists that you’ve reblogged recently. I believe the prompt was ‘the house wasn’t haunted after all. Only the being that crept within the halls’…I changed it up a little bit to fit into the sentence I added it to. I hope it all makes sense too. Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!!

———

Arrow House was starting to feel more like a prison each day. The dark, mahogany floors and walls that were once rich and warm now felt like the encasings of a coffin or tomb. (Y/N) felt like they were burying her alive.

(Y/N) met Tommy shortly after everything went to shit with the Shelby family. She came into the Shelby Company Ltd. as someone who could manage the money, since its former treasurers were then behind bars. Along the way, she found herself becoming more and more fond of Tommy. It seemed that he also felt the same way.

She stayed on the board as the company's stand-in treasurer until the rest of the family were released from prison. What she thought would be the last day of association with the Shelbys actually turned into the rest of her life. Tommy asked her to marry him before she was able to leave. They’d be together for just over a year at that point, and the love that was shared between them was almost inseparable. So of course she said ‘yes’.

The years that followed their rather rushed wedding were what could be perfectly described as ‘married bliss’. Charlie loved (Y/N), and quickly took to having her around the home. He was thrilled to have a solid mother figure in his life now that he was at the age where he was making sense of the things around him. The love that Tommy and (Y/N) shared rivaled any that were found in the fairytale books that she’d read to Charlie before bed. She’d even started thinking that she was in some sort of dream.

Things changed though when Tommy accepted his position in Parliament. With the newfound responsibility and power came a temperament shift. It was also around this time that the energy that was felt inside Arrow House shifted drastically. (Y/N) felt like she was being sucked deeper and deeper into a pit of darkness. And it was worse when Tommy was around.

She tried so hard over so many months to figure out what had caused this shift. In the meantime, she and Tommy drifted apart; to the point that she didn’t recognize the person who, hardly ever, slipped into bed with her at night.

It wasn’t until she found Tommy face down in a muddy field with a revolver discarded beside him that she realized the house wasn't haunted after all, and it was instead the beings that crept within the halls.

———

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

[kaletastrophes]

The great Ethan Hawke once said “I’ve always had a thing for Westerns.” I, too, have always had a thing for Westerns. And a thing for Ethan Hawke. And, for the past year, a thing for Pedro Pascal. And next month all of my things are combining into one big thing. A film called “Strange Way of Life”, a Spanish western (anti-western?) about two former friends (lovers?) reuniting after 25 years apart.

To celebrate this momentous collaboration of all my "things" I would like to submit to this website a small collection of Westerns I believe would be helpful to watch before the release of Strange Way of Life next month. I’ve tried to give each film in the list a summary and a small explanation of why I included it in the list.

Some of these I’ve included simply because of how wonderful they are, some because I believe they’re going to inform Strange Way of Life in one way or another, and one because I, no lie, watched it in a movie theater with Ethan Hawke himself at a film festival he put on.

(@the-ginger-hedge-witch hi! I hope its okay to tag you the western queen in this! I thought maybe you would be interested in this western love fest.)

Without further ado:

Westerns I believe would make wonderful companion films to Strange Way of Life:

Red River

How does one delicately say….the scene in which Montgomery Clift meets John Ireland is so homoerotic and so sexy it’s almost unbearable. Have you ever wanted to watch two cowboys compare the weight and size of their dicks by trading guns? Well you’re going to love this film! To put it simply, as a wonderful youtube comment said, “give me one heterosexual reason for this scene. SPOILER there isn’t one!!” Exactly. This film has been hailed in film history for 2 things: the first being that Montgomery Clift burst onto the scene in this movie with a new way of acting (the method) that was so incredible it changed film acting forever. Literally. FOREVER. The second being, this is one of the gayest westerns ever filmed and has been viewed as one of the brightest examples of how homosexuality always found its way past censors. Clift and Ireland were lovers in real life and wow does that come through in every second of this film. Yes, sadly, John Wayne is in this film, but please don’t let this deter you. It’s simply incredible.

Summary: A father (John Wayne) and his adopted son (Montgomery Clift) feud over the management of a cattle drive from Texas to Kansas.

Unforgiven

What happens when one of our greatest Western actors ever, Clint Eastwood, thinks "actually Westerns promote an unrealistic black and white version of history and a kind of violence that is unrealistic at best and actively harmful to our society at worst"? You get THE Western to end ALL Westerns. (Note: please heed trigger warnings for this film!)

Summary: After a sex worker is assaulted, William Munny (Clint Eastwood) comes out of retirement to take one last bounty job and must finally confront the violent and reckless past he thought he left behind.

The Wild Bunch

One last job goes bad trope? Check. Men who have aged just enough they cant understand the modern world that now surrounds them? Check. Men driving themselves to madness after they violate their code of ethics by betraying a friend? CHECK. This film has it all, and it's why its considered one of the greatest Anti-Westerns ever made. And, as I've now mentioned twice before on this site lol, the wine scene in the Strange Way of Life trailer is, I believe, a direct retelling of a scene in this film.

Summary: An aging outlaw gang on the Mexico–United States border plan to retire after a final robbery but find themselves having to adapt to the changing modern world of 1913.

Hud

Paul Newman is HUD! Would you believe I added another Anti-Western to this list?? A father and son fight after their cattle falls ill. Thats the simple summary. My summary: What happens when masculinity becomes so toxic it's like a disease infecting everything and everyone around it? HUD is what happens. This is one of the films I watched at Ethan Hawkes film festival, Paul Newmans West, earlier this year. It's staggering. Hawke has clearly spent a long, long time thinking about Newman, Westerns, and his own life and career. Its hard for me to imagine he didn't carry at least a piece of this performance with him into Strange Way. (Note: please heed trigger warnings about this film as well!)

Summary: Honest and hard-working Texas rancher Homer Bannon (Melvyn Douglas) has a conflict with his unscrupulous, selfish, arrogant and egotistical son Hud (Paul Newman).

The Power of The Dog

ANOTHER gay anti-western?? Yes. YES. One of my favorite films. Loneliness and internalized homophobia destroy, we all know that, but it feels like it's never been said more powerfully or put more fully on display than in this film.

Summary: A domineering rancher (Benedict Cumberbatch) responds with mocking cruelty when his brother (Jesse Plemons) brings home a new wife and her son, until the unexpected comes to pass.

Brokeback Mountain

The film that started it all! Almodóvar famously turned down directing Brokeback Mountain in 2004 because he felt the studio would stifle his vision. “(Strange Way of Life) could be like my answer to Brokeback Mountain."- Almodóvar  What more is there to say? A watch (or re-watch) is imperative.

Summary: In 1963, rodeo cowboy Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) and ranch hand Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) are hired by rancher Joe Aguirre as sheep herders in Wyoming.

Extracurricular Films

Westerns staring Ethan Hawke:

The Magnificent Seven

In a Valley of Violence

The Kid

The Good Lord Bird (miniseries)

Westerns staring Pedro Pascal:

Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Triple Frontier

The Mandalorian (series)

The Last of Us (series)

Films shown at Ethan Hawke's Film Festival, Paul Newmans West:

The Left Handed Gun

Hombre

Hud

The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean

Buffalo Bill and the Indians or Sitting Bull's History Lesson

Highlights from Pedro Almodóvar's directing career:

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!

All About My Mother

Talk to Her

Bad Education

Volver

Parallel Mothers

#I love movies yall! if you wanna talk about ethan or pedro pascal or movies or westerns that would be swell just reach out! #Ethan Hawke #pedro pascal #movies #Pedro Almodóvar #strange way of life

[pazpatas]

Remember this is only my opinion you can disagree;]

I don’t know if anyone will agree but, I hate the yaoi fanart of Hannigram and Lacho. As a guy who is actively involved in the Hannibal and Better Call Saul / Breaking Bad fandoms, I am really not comfortable with these types of art. The characters aren’t ruined but it seems as if people miss completely the point of the shows.

Lacho is just… meh and shouldn’t be a ship. Like BRO THEY HAVE NO CHEMISTRY (in my opinion) and I know it’s hard to say, but Nacho Varga and Lalo Salamanca are straight men… who deal drugs and are just cool criminals. I get that there’s not a lot of people you can ship in this fandom, but these are just cool characters and y’all are ruining them with your horny bullshit.

Edit: I removed the lacho tag, you can stop commenting about me being rude. Damn y’all like to attack people who don’t have the same opinion as you.

Hannigram is a ship and it’s a very cool one! I like it, but when it’s done correctly:

There’s 3 whole seasons cooking this delicious soup of nuanced interest between Hannibal and Will. I love this series, especially as an asexual, because it shows sexual intimacy in a much more complex way and from a completely different perspective. At least, it is different from how we usually see it in media.

This intimacy is here to make us observe, these people; them and only them, in the rawest selves, between each other. That’s why it is so important. NBC Hannibal shows different characters in these moments, adding music and interesting visuals; they play with colours and sounds of fungus. Every scene is just so cool to watch and not as awkward as it usually is. I like how it looks like, people are merging in one. Sex scenes, like Alana with Hannibal and Margo with Will’s intimate shots, can also portray something that is happening subconsciously outside the very scene, disassociated from the moment.

(Hannibal spoilers season 3, 13 episode!!!)

Now, the coolest thing is that the relationship between the murder husbands doesn’t need sex. In my opinion, it’s purely intellectual! When it get’s physical its because they’re both killing the dragon. That was their intimate connection, the first time truly being with each other, not divided by two sides. They are one, together versus the dragon. After that, Will sees Hannibal; by that I mean that he sees his whole nature, and he can’t go back. His family is an illusion of something normal, but Will has reached something greater. After feeling Hannibal’s way of viewing the world he feels that he belongs. Of course, after realising that he is now with Lecter; that they are not understood by the world they exist in, both of them need to become even greater than their actual form. They had to die because their love is spiritual. By transcending into a bodyless form.

Hannibal, for me is the sanest character, he is always fine. The only moment when he’s not alright, is when Will “betrays him”. In Florence, Dr. Lecter is reckless, he kills a lot more than he needs to. He sees people, who he consumes, as pigs. It doesn’t feel bad killing them, because they’re just little animals walking around. He of course enjoys their company, humans can be befriended and he spends time with them with pleasure. It is still possible to eat them, except Will. Lecter, after Grahams betrayal, doesn’t trust him anymore. He does not want to show his true self to him anymore. Hannibal regrets opening up after he truly thought that he could be understood. So, Dr. Lecter convinces himself that Will is also just some meat. Yet again, seeing Will, after Florence, being on the same side, when they’re both confronted by Mason, Hannibal sees Will as a partner. A partner in a love crime.

SO NOW PLEASE FUCK OFF WITH YOUR PENCIL DRAWING OF NBC CHARACTERS FUCKING EACH OTHER /ref (welcome to the internet by Bo Burnham)

P.S. I realy like cute mini comics those are cool and funny keep doing them 💪

Again only my opinion, you can disagree, I literally don’t care. I would like to know your opinion actually!

#pazpatas #hannibal lecter #hannibal #will graham #hannigram #opinion #nbc hannibal #better call saul #bcs #breaking bad #nacho varga #lalo salamanca