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stevebabey · 11 months

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@scooprtroopr ur tags on this post inspired a lil something and well, here you go friend <3 / also omg this fits for @steddie-week’s prompt pining! tehe / you can also read it over on ao3 :)

Steve gets that this is how karma works.

You do something bad, you don’t have the best intentions, you trample on one or two people’s feelings selfishly, yadda yadda. Then what do you know? Next month, it’s happening to you. What goes around comes around, right?

That’s how karma works. Steve gets that.

And yet, the sting in the morning when another hookup has crept out in the night feels so goddamn unshakeable. It slices through his ego, hitting every feeling on the way, and cuts right down the bone, and it hurts.

But it’s karma though, Steve knows that. He’s left a girl more than once or twice, and snuck back out the window he had crept into. Stumbled back to his car in the early morning hours.

(Steve pointedly ignores the old part of him that was- is so hesitant to stay — after the iciness of his first ever hookup, who had wrinkled her nose at the thought of him staying the night.

Who had patted him on the cheek in a near condescending way, a girl the year above him, and said, “Don’t overstay your welcome, yeah?”)

So when the other side of the bed is empty when he wakes, he knows he’s lost another game of ‘who can sneak out on who?’

Which Steve hates — it’s why he stopped going over to his dates house and instead started bringing them back to his. Hoping they might read that his invitation to stay the night extended right out til breakfast. Hell, til lunch if they wanted.

No one has come close to overstaying their welcome in the Harrington house.

Empty sheets rip a new ache in Steve’s chest and he groans, a pitiful noise because— of course, he hasn’t stayed.

Karma has the biggest bone to pick with Steve Harrington and he was really hoping it would be done after all these years. Evidently not.

But… Steve can’t help how much more this one hurts because this one was Eddie.

Steve tries to not let regret coil in his gut. Rolling over he buries his face into his pillow, eyes scrunched shut as he tries to think it over logically. Rationally. Ignores the burning in his throat.

Maybe he’s a fool for thinking Eddie would be different from the past.

But the buildup — before there had been flirting, there had been friendship, proper company between the two of them where there were no expectations. That may very well be due to the fact both of them were dudes but… Steve was so sure. So much of him believed Eddie would still be here when he woke up.

Steve huffs a loud sigh into the pillow. Pretends his chest doesn’t hurt a little bit.

“It’s fine,” He murmurs to himself, voice thick with sleep. His fists clench into the sheets for a moment. “It’s fine.”

He drags himself up and out of bed. Tugs on some stray sweats hanging over the back of his desk chair and ducks into the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, hair tousled and eyes still sleepy, Steve eyes the shower through the reflection. He should, probably, but he might get stuck on a loop in there.

Where did he go wrong this time? Why didn’t he stay? Why didn’t any of them stay? Why did—

Steve splashes cold water on his face instead, rubbing probably a bit too forcefully at his eyes. He spies the faint pink shape of Eddie’s lips, a mark left on his neck. His fingers grace over it lightly, softly, like a lover would.

Memories hazed with lust remind him of how it had got there, Eddie’s body on his, Eddie’s hands in his hair, Eddie— without thinking, Steve scrubs at the skin harshly. He wishes it wasn’t there. Wishes there wasn’t any remnant of Eddie left behind.

Steve doesn’t need any mementos to remind him he’s been left behind again.

He needs food, needs to get on with his day, Steve decides. The bathroom door swings closed behind him and Steve tries his best to wrangle his thoughts as he wanders out to the top of the stairs.

A run. That’s what he needs to clear his head. A long run til his heart is pounding in his chest so hard it hurts, til his muscles start burning, breathes coming too fast and his head is finally fucking quiet. Yep, that’s precisely what he needs to shake the sting of last night.

Steve’s so enwrapped in his head, thoughts swirling, that he get manages to get halfway down the hall to the kitchen before he hears the radio. It’s not loud, just enough to carry out the kitchen. Strange. He doesn’t remember leaving it on last night.

His feet carry him into the kitchen, another yawn creeping up and he rubs at his eyes, blinking a bit blearily and— and stops in his tracks. There’s someone at the stove.

Eddie’s at the stove.

Standing in the morning sunlight, hair lighter than ever, puckered scars along his arms standing out. He’s clearly ransacked Steve’s drawers, a pair of Steve’s plaid pj pants hanging low on his hips, his own softened band tee from yesterday still on. It’s had its sleeves hacked off, the fabric curling up into little rolls. Steve feels his stomach rise halfway up his throat, his hopes going with it. His heart does a strange stumbling pitter-patter.

He must make a noise because suddenly Eddie’s peaking over his shoulder and smiling at him.

“Hey,” Eddie says, shifting a bit to turn more toward him. Steve can see that he’s cooking, something delicious wafting up from the sizzling pan. His chest tightens, pure surprise wrapping around his sternum and gripping - so much, he can’t control the expression on his face.

“Hi,” Steve breathes. He’s still frozen where he is. He stayed. Steve blinks, taking in the scene before him; Eddie has clearly been puttering around, putting together some sort of breakfast. He fucking stayed and he’s cooking.

Eddie takes it the wrong way. He skittishly looks over the benches, covered in his mess, and tugs on the ends of his hair nervously. “I- it’s a mess, I know, I’m real sorry. I was gonna clean it, I just thought you might like…”

He trails off, unable to get a read on Steve’s expression. Steve doesn’t blame him but he can’t fucking stop his chest from feeling like it’s being pulled open, his heart from feeling like it’s soaring. He huffs an awed laugh, a smile curling at his lips.

Eddie deflates a bit in his relief, giving his own smile. He turns back to the stove quickly, giving the skillet a bit of a shake to keep it from burning and Steve draws closer, feet finally moving. Eddie watches him from the corner of his eye, barely biting back his grin as Steve gets closer. He hovers, feels the heat of Eddie’s back they’re so close.

He tries to feel brave — he stayed — and keeps his closeness, peering over Eddie’s shoulder at the skillet on the stove. It’s the Munson Special that Eddie’s cooked a few times for him over at the trailer; eggs, potatoes, shit tons of cheese, maybe a vegetable if he’s feeling healthy.

“Was gonna bring it to you in bed, but,” Eddie laughs, still tinged in nervousness. He sets down the spatula to tuck his hair behind both ears, glancing sideways at Steve as if trying to understand his silence.

He stayed and he cooked and he’s nervous. Steve thinks he might be holding his breath in disbelief, head dizzy with relief. With affection.

Very slowly, Steve’s hands move and, like he’s waiting for Eddie to flinch away, settles then very gently onto Eddie’s waist. His fingers curl into the soft fabric and Eddie makes a little chirp of happiness and leans back.

Leans into Steve a bit, like he wants his touch the morning after everything and Steve releases a shuddering breath, hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder. His hands grow a little more bold, sliding around to hug him around the middle.

Eddie’s cheeks have turned pink and his grin hasn’t faltered.

“Made me—” Steve starts, but his voice is a bit raspy. He clears his throat, avoids Eddie’s burning stare. “Y’made me breakfast?”

Eddie nods, his curls brushing against Steve’s cheek as he does. His tummy is warm beneath Steve’s hand and his hair smells good and Steve just wants to burrow into him- he tucks himself closer and is rewarded with a content noise from Eddie.

“That’s not weird, is it?” Eddie asks suddenly, picking up the spatula again and beginning to fiddle needlessly with the food. He flips it once, then again, so it’s on the same side as it was before.

He sounds a bit sheepish when he says, “I’m not sure- I haven’t ever really— I’m actually just gonna shut the hell up before I say anything stupid.”

Steve laughs quietly. His hands tighten around Eddie’s middle, head tilting so he can bury his grin into his shoulder— his heart is going haywire, going a million miles an hour, because karma is finally through with Steve Harrington and he gets to have this.

“S’not weird,” Steve mumbles. He thinks about pressing a kiss into Eddie’s shoulder.

“Ha, you said snot,” Eddie retorts with a childish snort and Steve can’t help it, he laughs at that too, muffled laughter into his t-shirt. Then he presses a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, quick as lightning. Rests his chin back on it like nothing happened.

Eddie still stiffens just a bit- turns his head just a bit to glance at Steve and fuck, Steve can’t help the way his stomach swoops.

Because Eddie softens him unbearably with those nervous brown eyes, his pink lips twisted as he tries to hold back his grin. Steve’s beginning to understand that both of them seem equally surprised that this is happening.

Eddie’s free hand moves, pausing only briefly in a moment's hesitance, before it covers one of Steve’s on his tummy. It’s cold, much colder than Steve’s, and he covers it with one of his own instinctively.

Eddie’s trembling fingers give him a little squeeze. Steve thinks he must be able to feel how hard his heart is beating from where his chest is pressed against his back. It’s a lot to deal with; this perfect morning in the sun, the soft sound of the radio, the sweet boy in his arms.

They’re both grinning to themselves. Eddie focuses back on the food before him, doing all his work with one hand, and starts a little hum.

The radio switches to a love song.

#[holding my hand to my ear like im tryna harmonize] gaYyyYYy people in my PhOooooNe #enjoy some short and sweet mutual pining #both can't believe this shit is happening to them #but steve especially #but it IS! eddie thinks he's the cat pajamas!!!#ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddieweek2023

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astarions-darling · 6 months

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An Indecent Proposal Raphael x FemTav/Reader

NSFW mdni tags: inappropriate touching, edging, panty sniffin', raphael is a dirty little pervert, clothed male, naked female summary: you barge into Sharess' Caress ready to give Raphael a piece of your mind. however when you get there, things do not go as planned. read on ao3 via source (this is pretty dialogue heavy because Raphael likes the sound of his own voice. and I don't blame him. this is also silly.)

You don’t bother to knock when you reach the door with the little shiny plaque that says “Devil’s Den” in an ornate script. The door isn’t locked, so it swings open effortlessly when you barge in. The tirade ready to fall from your lips falters as the door closes with a soft click behind you and the hand you had raised in righteous anger pauses before limply falling to your side.

Raphael is lounging in one of the overly gilded armchairs that furnish the den, a glass of something that looks both incredibly alcoholic and expensive dangling from one hand as he regards you with that infuriatingly knowing smile. None of that is why the cat suddenly has your tongue; it's that he has shrugged off the outer layer of his clothing and sits there with his white shirt unbuttoned. The view of his bare chest isn't a particularly novel sight—after all, you share a camp with several people, and some—like a certain large elf—enjoy being one with nature on any occasion they can get. It's more of a shock to see Raphael in such a state of undress; it would be a lie to say you had never considered what lay beneath his neatly tailored clothes. But you would have bet all the gold in Faerûn that Korilla stitched him into them every morning to ensure they stayed perfectly in place. Right now he looked so...deliciously dishevelled.

“My, my," comes his amused voice, "does the squirming tadpole hinder your manners as well, little mouse?” The gentle timbre of his voice washes over you and it's enough to snap your attention to his face. “Or have you always been an uncouth little beast that flounces in without knocking?”

You frown at him, your irritation flaring up again. Your fingers flex—though not in a fit of pique but because your mind has been lost to the thought of running your fingers through the hairs on his tanned chest. That bloody distracting devil. Why did you come here again?

"Did you come all this way to gawk like a gutted fish or did you have something you wished to say?" He raises a brow, tipping his drink towards you. "If you wish to stare, I am, of course, happy to oblige—though that will cost you. This establishment operates on a quid pro quo basis, you know."

Quickly you shake your head, trying to wrangle your thoughts. The devil stands, unfolding himself gracefully from his chair and languidly striding over to a nearby credenza on which an array of bottles and glasses sit. He moves with care, never rushing, and with a deliberate air you can’t help but admire. He makes you feel clumsy.

You watch him carefully pour some rich amber liquid into his glass. It looks like steam rises and hisses above it for a moment before disappearing. The man turns to you, the corner of his lips quirked.

“I’d offer you a drink but I’m certain you’d decline.”

That presumptuous bastard. You’re too irritated to wonder if this is a trick on his part, which is foolish. But he too easily gets under your skin and so you open your mouth to retort.

“I would love a drink,” you say petulantly. You watch him take a sip, hating how you can’t stop yourself from watching his tongue flick out to catch the remnants of it on his lips. He fills up another glass before passing it to you. You watch the amber liquid swirl a moment before throwing it back quickly.

An incredibly stupid thing to do. Whatever it is, the liquor burns your throat and has you spluttering as you bend over coughing. You hear Raphael’s low chuckle of amusement before a glass of water is conjured out of thin air and hovers before you. You snatch it, guzzling it down just like the beast he claims you to be.

“What the bloody hell was that?” you ask, wiping at your mouth with the back of his hand. You catch his nose wrinkling at your lack of decorum. “I think my insides are melting!”

“Cease your melodramatic caterwauling,” he says, casually taking another sip of his own drink. Smug bastard. “It will pass.”

You cough again, feeling the liquor heat up your veins. You blink a few times before the alcohol simmers down, leaving just a pleasant warmth in your belly. Liquor and spirits had been few and far between while on your little adventure—well, anything half decent that is. The swill you’d managed to get was no better than vinegar. You’d stupidly agreed to let Astarion steal some expensive-looking vintage from the wine festival in the Lower City…which had ended up with you spending the night in a cell. Sometimes that elf was the clumsiest person you’d ever met. With that thought, you suddenly remember why you’ve come here.

“I would like for you to stop sending Korilla to spy on me,” you demand as the devil places his drink down so he can re-button the cuffs of his sleeves.

Did he go deliberately tan on some beach, you wonder? That thought spirals and you’re suddenly picturing lying in the sun on some perfect beach while his skin glitters with salt and sea.

“You should be thanking me.” His lilting words are annoyingly pleasant and they drag you out of your daydream. “After all, if dear Korilla hadn’t been with you a few nights ago you’d probably still be a trapped little mouse in a cell.” He smirks, picking up his drink again and tilting the glass toward you. “Stealing wine, really?”

You decide to keep your mouth shut, something that you mentally congratulate yourself for. It was true that Korilla had been the one to free you from your dank cell. Which was a lucky thing; you didn’t want to hurt people while trying to break free, but it would have come to that if the warlock hadn’t intervened. Raphael watches you carefully, an easy smile on his handsome face, his confident casual air annoying you more than anything else.

“I will withdraw Korilla’s eye from your camp,” he says after a few minutes, his voice thoughtful, “if you give me something in return.”

Of course. You sigh. What did you expect?

“I’m not giving you my soul just for that, Raphael,” you scoff. “If I wouldn’t take one of your deals for the hammer then I certainly won’t trade it just to stop your little dog from following me around.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking such a thing,” he says smoothly, ignoring your little jab about Korilla. “I desire a mere trifle. Inexpensive!” The devil laughs, a warm pleasing sound that has your lips twitching and skin flushing despite yourself. “I promise you won’t even miss it.”

You frown. What did you have that he would want? Soul coins, perhaps? But surely Raphael couldn’t know you had some in your possession, could he? But also they weren’t inexpensive…not in the least. What in Balduran’s name could he possibly want from you?

“What?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

He tuts. “You really do need to acquire some manners, little mouse. Too much scurrying around with scoundrels and vagabonds.” He sighs, taking a sip of his drink before grabbing a different bottle. You watch him uncork it with ease and pour the dark red liquid into a silver chalice. When he proffers it to you, your hands take it carefully. “Perhaps this may be more pleasing to your sensitive mortal palate.” You watch the candlelight flicker over the wine before you bring it up to smell. Inhaling, you let the notes of cherry and plum assault your senses, the sweet richness of it utterly inviting. When you take a sip, you let it sit on your tongue for a moment to savour it before you close your eyes and swallow. You hadn’t had anything that good in…well, you don’t think you’ve ever had such a decadent wine before.

When you meet Raphael’s gaze again, you shift on your feet. Your fingers grip tighter on the stem, remembering where you are and who you’re talking to.

“It’s nice,” you say, idly swirling the glass. “Well, what do you want then?”

“Your knickers.”

There is no hesitation in his words, he shoots them out quickly and effortlessly—like Astarion would shoot an arrow. You nearly spill the wine in your shock. You’re certain you’ve hallucinated his words or perhaps this is a weird dream. Maybe you are still tucked in your bed at the Elfsong Tavern, dreaming about devils and their insanity.

“You want my what?”

“Your knickers,” Raphael repeats, his easy stare watching you as a multitude of emotions flicker over your face.

So you had heard him correctly. The man doesn’t even act like he’s asked for anything unreasonable. Disbelief has you standing there with your mouth agape. Is he trying to humiliate you? He must be. Was this some sort of strange ploy to get you to agree to his insane deal of the hammer for the crown?

“Why?” The word falls out of your mouth gracelessly, but you aren’t here to cater to Raphael’s want for proper etiquette.

“Why anything?” His voice is low and tinged with amusement as he finishes his drink. He leaves the glass on the credenza to walk closer to you, his hands gesturing as he continues to talk. “Why does the fox chase the hare? Why do little thieves steal wine? For the thrill?” He pauses, head tilting to the side as he regards you. He grins at you. “For pleasure?”

You despise the way he inflects the last word. It sends a rolling shiver down your spine.

“If you’re trying to humiliate me, consider it done.”

He feigns hurt, or you think he does, as he sighs dramatically. You wish he would he would dress himself back in his tunic again, or at least do up his shirt buttons as your eyes can’t help but flick to his exposed throat and chest as his shirt shifts with his movements.

“I would never dare dream of humiliating you, my dear.” Raphael's words sound sincere, but you do not trust him. He’s a devil. It’s like a constant mantra you have to repeat yourself. You are aware that devils can’t lie, but they can certainly bend the truth—just enough—so that it won’t break. “How it claws at my heart to hear you even utter such a thing.”

“I didn’t know you had a heart,” you retort.

“You wound me again, sweetling.” Hand over supposed heart, Raphael smiles. “Indulge me. I do not ask for much.”

It was true, it really wasn’t much. A heavy sigh and then you hear yourself utter a resigned, “Fine.” It was ludicrous but you couldn’t see any harm in it. And he hadn’t produced a contract to sign—just a gentleman’s agreement, as it were. You were not going to tell any of your companions that you had traded your panties for some freedom. Nine Hells, you hoped you could sneak back into the tavern without them noticing. Perhaps the alcohol has loosened your resolve and has you acting so stupidly but you can’t see anything wrong with the arrangement. With another sigh, you ditch the wine on a nearby table before you turn to leave, but Raphael calls after you.

“And where are you rushing off to?”

“To the tavern,” you say, turning back to face him, “to fetch you your perverse prize.”

“No.” He takes a few steps closer and you catch that hint of spice and musk that wafts from him. “The ones you are wearing, little mouse.”

You suppress a shudder. He’s never been so close to you before, he’s manoeuvred himself into your personal space. The heat and power that radiates from him is intoxicating, more so than any drink upon your tongue, and you’re suddenly reminded of what he is underneath his welcome facade. Yet that doesn’t stop your mouth from opening.

“There are plenty of boutiques around here if you’re that desperate for some new lingerie, Raphael. No need to take mine.” You stick your chin out, matching his stare as you can’t help but add, “As lovely as I think you’d look in pink lace.”

The man’s face doesn’t change, the easy smile remains but you can see the brightness of his eyes—as if you can sense their true infernal nature behind his human disguise. He seems pleased with your reluctance to submit to him easily. Something that you hate to admit makes you pleased in return.

“Pink’s not really my colour,” he muses, fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully, “though I am sure the flush of it against your skin suits.”

Those words do not help you’re suddenly racing heart but you try to ignore his silver tongue. Shifting on your feet, you try to get your mind back in order. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for somewhere to change though there doesn’t appear to be anywhere.

“How I do enjoy watching the little wheels turn in that pretty head of yours.”

You glare at him. “Where can I change then, devil?”

He laughs and then spreads his arms wide. “Right here.” At the look on your face he continues, “You mortals are so easily flustered.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Please, as if I have not seen bare flesh before.”

Later, when you are tucked in your rented bed, you will blame the alcohol. But for now, you simply begin to undo your clothing, starting with removing your boots. He takes a mere step back, those eyes watching you the entire time until you are standing there in nothing but your underclothes. Feeling self-conscious, you feel the flush begin in your chest and work its way up your neck but you refrain from trying to cover yourself up and stand there with your hands by your side as your body tenses. The look on his face hasn’t really changed, but again there is something behind the eyes. A reaching hunger. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you, can devil’s see a soul? Does it call out to him and do his hands itch to pluck it free?

Raphael walks behind you and instinctively you go to turn but his warm hands reach out to hold your shoulders, keeping you where you stand and your toes scrunch at the soft rug beneath to curb some of the tension now beginning to coil in your gut. The lingering touch as he holds you burns into your skin, not due to his infernal nature—though you do sense that he feels rather warm than a regular man—but due to the way your traitorous body reacts to his touch.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I just want to remember you as you are now, before your flesh is torn asunder by writhing tentacles.” His hands slide down your sides, leaving a trail of gooseflesh and a horrible twinge of arousal. “Before your lovely skin is slippery with mucus and…” he leans in and you feel the tip of his nose behind your ear making you shiver, “you lose that delectable scent.”

You can feel the deep rolling timbre of his voice against your skin. You are too aware of him behind you, your muscles tense as you try to resist the entirely too tempting urge to step back into him. “I am not giving you the crown.” You manage to utter the words though they come out in a whisper. But you are still somewhat proud that you can utter them at all.

“You will.” His fingers touch your neck and you can’t suppress the shudder. “I see your little vampling has taken a bite.”

You twitch as the soft pad of his finger grazes against the puncture wounds on your neck.

“It helps him fight better.”

His hum in response tickles your neck but you refrain from responding. What would you say? That you like letting the vampire feed on you occasionally? That the searing flash of pain mixing so deliciously with the heady feeling of Astarion drinking from you is unlike any sort of pleasure you’ve experienced before? No. The devil did not need any details.

“I’m sure it does.” Raphael's words float against the shell of your ear and you are momentarily aware that you have a literal devil hovering by your shoulder.

The pad of his finger once more traces the puncture wounds from Astarion’s bite. It feels like a bolt of magic whenever he touches you, though the shock of it is far too pleasant and it goes straight between your legs. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth but you manage to unstick it just as he pulls away.

Raphael moves around you until he is once more facing you. You feel flushed, far too aware of how your pulse is thudding in your neck, yet he looks perfectly calm and collected, breathing even and standing there as if you were merely discussing the weather. When he drops to his knees before you, you want to scream but you are too transfixed at the sight of him before you. You can barely think when his hands reach up towards your underwear. You stare dumbfounded, some part of you still blaming it on the alcohol, as you watch his long, elegant fingers trace the pattern of lace by your hip.

“They do look lovely on you, little mouse, a pity.”

You find your tongue again and manage to mutter, “I can undress myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he purrs. You wish you could cast Silence on him. “But what sort of man would I be if I didn’t lend a helping hand?”

Quickly you look away, face burning in embarrassment as your mind easily imagines how helpful said hand could be. He really shouldn’t be allowed to speak in such a way. Did he cast some kind of spell on you? Did he put something in that drink? Or were you just simply this spellbound by him—perhaps not something to dwell on, you decide. You feel his warm breath against the top of your thigh as his fingers slide up under the band of your knickers at your lack of response. You realise you’re holding your breath as he slides the lace down your legs. You risk a glance down but quickly flick your eyes away—his face is far too close to your bare sex. If he moves his head even slightly you know you will feel his breath on your cunt.

Standing there, you wrestle with the idea of stepping back or just blasting him in the face with a spell. Not that you are very good with spells. But damn does his touch feel nice, his hands are so damn warm and soft as he oh so fucking slowly slides your underwear down. Raphael hasn’t said a word and it’s been at least a minute—that must be a record. The lace finally reaches the ground and he taps your ankle.

Wordlessly you lift a foot and his low response of, “Good girl,” has you desperately fighting to control your stupid dumb animal body’s response. Your fingers itch to steady yourself on his shoulder but you refrain…just. Luckily all your adventuring has improved your athletics and you’re determined not to give the devil the satisfaction of stumbling before him into a wanton heap.

His thumb slips under the fabric still hanging around your other ankle and tugs at it. You’d been staring at the wall straight ahead, eyes fixed on a portrait hanging in some ornate frame. But at the tug, you glance down and see Raphael staring up at you, that smug smirk plastered on his face. Could you get away with kneeing him in the face? Lords above, could you get away with yanking him by the hair (and it was such lovely hair) and between your legs? Both are tempting.

“Little mouse?” His voice is a long lilting drawl and he tugs again at your knickers.

You lift your foot quickly, again saving yourself from tripping over, as he slips it off your foot and stands. You stand there a moment, dazed. Your skin still feels like it is on fire, he must be able to smell your arousal…you can. And you can see the way his nostrils flare as he stands and you watch the devil bring the pink lace up to his face and inhale. Now would be a great time for the Elder Brain to try and shake free of its bonds, you think.

“Did you just—”

With a snap of his fingers, you're suddenly dressed. “Was that so difficult?” “Why didn’t you just do that to take them?” you ask incredulously. “Where would be the fun in that?” He straightens the lapel on your clothing and adds, “Remember, I will still be here when you are ready to admit you need me.”

You grit your teeth. “I don’t need the hammer.”

Those deceptively warm eyes regard you and he smiles again, making your hands itch. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs, and in that moment you realise that is not what he means. But you do not get a chance to speak as with a wave of his hand you find yourself disappearing in a flash of crimson-tinged ash before you are teetering on the steps of Sharess’ Caress in the warm evening air. That smarmy, panty sniffing, bastard. As you begin the walk back to the tavern, you tell yourself your frustration has nothing to do with the way he had touched you. Nothing at all.

When you return to the Elfsong, you attempt to sneak past the group as they eat around a large wooden table. Of course, you can’t get past Shadowheart, the cleric spotting you and instantly dragging you to the table. You slide in, squished between her and Gale as she begins to question where you’ve been.

“Nowhere,” you say with a dismissive shrug, proud of how natural it sounds as you grab a bread roll and try to ignore the lingering throb between your legs. ”I just went for a walk.”

You feel eyes on you and look up into the knowing gaze of Astarion. “A walk, darling?” He leans in across the table and you see his nostrils flare. “An exhilarating one, I take it?” He sniffs again. “Climb any cherry trees on your…walk?”

#.writing #sneef sneef #lmao this is so dumb #bg3 fanfic #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x tav #but it was fun #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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kitkatt0430 · 10 months

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So big shout out to SquidgeWorld for the news update acknowledging and encouraging the use of the tilde relationship identifier for queerplatonic ships!!!

I actually had a bit of a hand in how this one came about, which is pretty fun. (Story time!)

So a few years ago the Character A ~ Character B format was introduced over here on tumblr to represent QPRs. There is a post I know I rebloged a few times buried on my main somewhere about this and I'll have to try to remember to dig that up later. And there was bit of a push to try and get Ao3 to officially acknowledge the tilde or at least for those of us who write fic there start using it in tagging regardless of official acknowledgement and see what happened. And, well, what largely seems to have happened is that the tag wranglers have let us use the tilde, but there's been no official acknowledgement as the Tag Wrangling page for relationships on Ao3 still only discusses the '&' and '/' identifiers. (If there was anything official said about it elsewhere, sadly I must have missed it.)

I started using the tilde... two years ago? I think? And went back to update some of my existing fics to add in ship tags with the tilde. I still made sure to keep the Queerplatonic Relationship tags because those are still the best way to find fics that have QPRs included in them. And I've seen a few others using the '~' out in the wild, but discussion about it kind of faded again. If you knew, you knew. And if you didn't... there was always that Queerplatonic Relationship tag.

Then, about a year ago, I signed up for SquidgeWorld. I'd never heard of it before (which is likely because I'm just not super active in fandom outside the niche I've carved for myself; I admit, I am a bit under a rock at times...) but Squidge been around in one form or another since 1994. One of the fanfic authors I followed was moving their works there and so I followed and did what I always do on new sites I'm curious about - I lurked.

Fast forward to more recently. Fanfiction.net that I've been loyally using as my backup fic location for years after leaving it as my main fanfic archive... it's getting buggier and more unstable by the year. I don't intend to pull my fanfiction off it - I will leave what's on there up until the site collapses in on itself - but the day is coming ever nearer that the bugs and lack of tagging updates will finally make cross-posting there entirely too much of a hassle. And much as I love Ao3, I don't like the idea of only having all my fanfic in one place. I've seen enough archives big and small get destroyed over the years that no matter how stable or permanent Ao3 feels... I'm more comfortable knowing my fic can be found in multiple places. (Of course, the biggest hurdle for getting my fics cross-posted in multiple places is... executive dysfunction.)

I started finally cross-posting to SquidgeWorld recently and honestly just didn't really think too much about it when bringing over fics tagged with the QPR identifier. I just copied over the Character A ~ Character B tags and hit post. :D

But admin-squidgie over there - who I believe is found here on tumblr using @squidgiepdx (hi! Thanks a bunch for the news post!) - asked me about the tilde usage and what that was being used to represent. So I responded with an explanation about how it was a relatively new identifier used because queerplatonic relationships aren't really well represented by romantic or platonic identifiers. And then admin-squidgie got back to me to let me know there'd be a news post soon about this new identifier type. Which was so awesome.

While the wrangling guidelines haven't been updated on SquidgeWorld to note the use of the tilde yet (and could take a while, I know official docs always wind up being the last thing updated), the news post really is a very big deal for those of us who like to write and read queerplatonic ships.

For those of you interested in cross-posting or moving your fanfic to SquidgeWorld, I do recommend the archive. I've lurked long enough to see that the community there is pretty friendly, the interface is a clone of Ao3's so it should be familiar to a lot of you and is easily customized to make it more accessible (or covered in rainbows if you prefer ^_^ ), and (as seen here) the admin over there is open to helping make the archive an inclusive place for all of us.

And with at least one fanfic archive both acknowledging and encouraging the use of the queerplatonic relationship identifier, it'd be nice to see information on that making the rounds here on tumblr again. I bet there are a lot of aspecs who don't know about the identifier but who would be glad to know it exists and start using it themselves.

#kitkatt0430 rambles #fandom news #queerplatonic relationship #relationship identifiers #queerplatonic relationship identifier #using the tilde for QPR tagging

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prince-liest · 1 month

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Yo, I'm writing a pre canon fic in which young fanboy Vox gets assigned as Alastor's assistant by Lilith, any tips for characterising him?

I think you have a lot of room for leeway and playing around since you're working with pre-canon, but the main points that I tend to at least personally keep around as a scaffold for writing Vox are:

He's got a Charisma modifier of, like, +4. This doesn't mean he's always suave - in fact, he's pretty pathetic around Alastor in particular! But he knows how to put on a performance that appeals to his intended audience, whether that be a customer base whose trust he's winning over, or a fellow Vee that he's trying to wrangle into behaving. He switches between ridiculous showmanship and collected CEO, and this works for him despite both personas being rife with overcompensation.

Every single one of the Vees including Vox thinks they're the only normal, reasonably-behaving person in the room, it's wild.

He's smart, he's capable, he's manipulative. He's good at knowing what people want and how to leverage that to sell them those things. The general population thinks he's #goals thanks to the image he puts forth.

He's a piece of shit that has no qualms with Valentino's behavior with Angel Dust, Velvette selling date rape drugs, or abusing his own hypnosis ability to manipulate people into buying his products (which include spyware literally advertised to voyeurs). This is part of the fun of this character!!

I think he has a lot of very fun physicality to him (as do most of the Hazbin Hotel characters), and I really recommend re-watching some of his scenes to get the hang of how he moves and interacts with people physically because you'd be surprised at how much that can add to characterization even in a non-visual format like writing.

...I also genuinely think he's kind of a horny bastard, to whatever extent and rating your story could even use that, but that's me extrapolating from his behavior around both Alastor and Valentino. It's just a fun cherry on top of the "low impulse control around Alastor" thing, because he's got so much going for him on the intelligence front that it's really funny to me when he tangibly switches to thinking with his dick.

And, of course, on the subject of Alastor in particular:

He's obsessive, and Alastor makes all of his impulse control go out the window. I started using the "Vox's One-sided Psychosexual Obsession with Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)" tag for a reason, and it's that I think it's in fact really funny how much evidence we get in canon that Vox doesn't just hate Alastor and want to dominate him, he'd also probably roll right over into the affectionately wheedling persona he uses with Valentino if Alastor suggested he'd take it well.

We don't just see Vox wanting Alastor dead, we also see Alastor telling us that Vox first asked him to join him; the torn-in-half photo of them standing together; and Vox pretty much popping a boner over Alastor getting wrecked by Adam, nevermind how manically he jumps around to get a word in before Alastor even shows his face during Stayed Gone. Even his little "Fu-uu-uuuuuck!" at the end of the song is like 50% actual despair and 50% :pleading: emoji. He wants Alastor, obviously, and I think a lot of the anger that he's projecting at Alastor in canon is specifically anger at being rejected, which is frantically covering up the fact that he is still desperately, embarrassingly into the radio deer. If Alastor won't join him, Vox has to beat him.

Anyway, I love this funky little TV. This was by no means a comprehensive guide or anything like that, but I hope it helped share at least some of my personal thoughts on writing him!

#ask #personal #Anonymous #hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #meta #my writing

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 8 months

Text

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot Pt 2

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 1926

It’s Snoggletog and you’re very, very tired. You’re definitely weird about it. So is Hiccup, but, as you’ve figured, he’s always a little weird.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse

You wished you hadn’t stopped long enough for Mrs. Thorston to catch you, but she had. The busybody had wrangled you into bringing buckets of water one by one to all of the houses in their area, so that they could all have the luxury of hot water for laundering and bathing that night.

Because apparently all their dragons were busy, Hiccup skipped out on his chores, something about making up responsibility, making up for that boy and she didn’t have the time to do it for herself. And of course, since you were there, that must have meant you were free and volunteered.

She then talked about her son a little bit and then the Chief, who brought an odd blotchy puce blush to her face, and didn’t take too kindly to you bringing up her husband or her daughter.

All the dragon riders lived up by the forge, which was where the families of higher repute lived, meaning all the ‘respectable’ people were up by the Chief. To keep ‘em close and all that. You weren’t sure why that surprised you but eventually it kind of made sense.

Of course they’d be the wealthy kids. They were the main characters, after all. Cool kids and whatnot. It annoyed you a little bit though.

You’d even brought water for said Chief. And his kid. Who was absent.

“What are you here for?” The Chief asked, looking very intimidating and large. You still hadn’t figured out how to say his name in old norse. Everyone else just said ‘Chief,’ so you figured it was a respect thing. The people you worked around looked so scandalized when you asked about it, you decided to just learn it by waiting for someone else to say it first.

“Water,” With shaky sore arms, you held out the bucket. It was really heavy. And you were a normal person with a normal muscle mass, unlike everyone on this cold godforsaken island.

When he didn’t react, you grabbed the handle and let it swing back, pursing your lips and pointing backwards to the basin you’d lugged up the hill, which you knew was theirs, because Mrs. Thorston pointed it out. And you left it there in front because you weren’t sure if the guy was home and got cold feet after poking around the front yard for a bit.

“That was, ah…” said the Chief, who was very gruff and confused. Rightly so, “Very nice of you.”

It seemed his interpersonal communication skills were somewhat lacking. Which was relatable enough. You didn’t want to be here, either.

“Mrs. Thorston said to tell you she sent me,” You grumbled, “and that she’s free at sundown, something about her husband being out, which I thought was weird. She wanted me to put in a good word. I’ve not been paid at all, she just talks too much to get anything else in edgewise and I just got cold feet trying to say no. Honestly, I don’t know, I’m tired and just kind of want to go home now.”

“Alright,” he said, with furrowed eyebrows. Then you turned around, dumped whatever water that hadn’t splashed out of your bucket into the basin. Then paused and turned back.

“Wait!” You declared, only barely recalling what had brought you up the cliffs in the first place as the boss was halfway lumbered back into his home. He reopened the half closed door, looking down at you with an exhaustive ‘what now?’ look on his face.

“This is for your son,” You held out a crummily wrapped paper package with one arm, considerably less shaky because it was a lot lighter, “It’s thanks for helping me out earlier, I think. Also, could you ask him to stop staring? And blowing things up. It’s getting kind of creepy. Goodbye.”

You waited, forcing a smile. Three separate expressions cycled across his face before he’d thought to respond.

“...Goodbye.” The Chief said. You took that as permission to leave, bucket in hand and ran off.

Slogging through the snow was annoying, especially when you were living in an era pre-snowpants. Someone was going to have to salt the paths or something because it was getting ridiculous.

Astrid, with a tray full of Yaknog. You grimaced as she turned, moving so you stayed out of her view and ran off before anyone but Hiccup could see you.

“I-Just…” Hiccup buried his head in his hands, “Toothless hasn’t…I’m a little worried.”

He was really getting it all out. Like, opening the gates out of nowhere. You just asked how he was. You were fine with it though, he looked like he was stressed. To the extreme.

“I dunno,”

“Do they usually do this? I mean, I don’t remember seeing a lot of them last Snoggletog but also I haven’t been here that long.”

You were kind of confused, actually, when you had seen a few but figured the Red Death probably wouldn’t have been as tyrannical if it didn’t make them work through holiday. And boy that must have been a bummer. Birth and no child leave.

“Maybe, I mean, I would be worried too.” You look down at your basket, wondering why it was always when you were doing laundry, “But also, They’re probably off having babies or something.”

“Having babies…?” He looked at you oddly. You hoped you hadn’t been too on the nose.

“I mean, yeah. I guess. What else?”

You shouted as a very large, very meaty gronkle burst out of the doors to the stable, a very skinny, very scrawny viking on its head.

You couldn’t help but to have forgotten how this part was supposed to go, though you would have hoped it would have been more comfortable and that you would have not been involved. Unfortunately, there was no way for you to have known that at that exact moment in time, Hiccup would be swept away to the dragon breeding grounds and you would be stolen away with him.

It was probably the worst ride of your life, spent tangled up in meatlug’s paws, Hiccup’s leg wedged against your gut the whole time, the two of you shouting directions at each other as you tried to simultaneously hold on and figure out some semblance of comfortability.

The landing wasn’t too nice, either, Meatlug figuring to just drop the two of you against hard rock, leaving you unbelievably close to the edge of the cliffs. Also unbelievably close to tumbling to your death in the ocean. At least it was over now.

“You were right.” You heard Hiccup say as you lay flat against the ground. Hiccup had already gotten to his feet and was looking awed-ly around him at all the dragons and their nests.

You threw your arm up over your eyes, hoping maybe to catch a few extra minutes of sleep.

You tapped your fingers and resisted the urge to whistle as the dragon you were riding, a self important purple nightmare flying closely next to Hiccup on Hookfang, bounced up and down in the air. You were starting to get a saddle rash, even though you two were going saddleless.

“How come your pen’s empty?” You shouted across the air. Immediately after, you regretted your decision. He probably didn’t even hear you.

It was still kind of tense between the two of you after he’d assumed you died earlier as you were trying to sleep. It was really embarrassing thinking about it and you struggle to push the memory down.

“What?” Hiccup shouted back. This was so awkward. You could have been sleeping by now if you hadn’t been dragon kidnapped.

“Yeah, you have that pen near your house?” You try again, ”I don’t know, I always see it empty. I kind of always keep expecting something to be in there and I don’t know why.”

You almost regret not sitting behind Hiccup like he’d offered, except you always valued your personal space and he was really nervous about it which made you kind of uncomfortable.

Hiccup does something with his hands and your dragon moves to fly just above Hookfang, maybe to help make speaking easier. It doesn’t do much to change the directory of the wrecked ship with all the baby dragons on it because you’re only on one of the many dragons holding it up.

“Oh yeah,” He sighs in a fake way, looking in the opposite direction, “It’s more of an honor thing I think. We were always too high up to have any sheep or anything, the higher they are, the easier they’re stolen, but it just felt right to have it, since my dad’s the chief and all.”

“Huh,” You lean against your dragon's neck, propping your head up with one elbow as you struggle not to nod off mid-air, “Have you ever thought of starting a garden or something? The space is open now. It would be nice.”

“Uh, I dunno. Maybe.” He said. You pinched yourself as you two settled back into awkward silence. It wouldn't due to fall off, especially not at this height.

You guessed he hadn’t had the time, or Stoick had forgotten to give it to him earlier. Bummer. You spent a lot of time on it. Or you didn’t. You were too tired to think.

“Hiccup,” Stoick scolded.

“You made this for me?” His face turned bright red like he was really embarrassed or something as he pulled open the little paper package.

It wasn’t that bad, was it? Whatever.

You had to carve your own box. Had to be really careful not to hurt your fingers doing it because your knife was kind of dull. Inside was a sketchy portrait of Hiccup.

A little while ago you figured portraiture was a big deal here. And it was better than Bucket’s. Bucket was the best artist here. To be honest, the Vikings here weren’t really artistically talented. So.

“T-thanks?” Hiccup managed to cough out, his dad slapping him congratulatory on the back.

“Yeah,” You dropped your head down on the table, before doing a kind of pathetic roll off the side, “No problem.”

It didn’t matter that you were in the Great hall or that there were hundreds of vikings yelling and cheering at each other as they got their party started. You were just really dead set on taking your very well earned, very long, very nice nap.

Your dream, and, coincidentally, also the event that started it all;

You blinked tiredly at Hiccup as he tried and failed to look… Normal? He gave you this weird all-teeth-bared expression before trying and failing to lean against a burnt fence post and he stumbled into Toothless’ back.

Toothless, of course, was still busy trying to murder Hookfang with both his eyes and his plasma. It was like watching a drunk try to shoot a duck.

Everything behind Hiccup was a little bit on fire. It was kind of crazy. You rubbed your eyes, not completely sure of whether or not you’re awake.

With Snoggletog around the bend, you’d been working in what felt like overtime as everyone pulled you left and right to put something or other up and to help herd and mend whatever else. You felt that it was very possible you’d collapsed and were having some sort of fever dream.

“Thanks.” You said, really, really confused. Well, he did ultimately kind of help you.

“Happy to help.” He gave you a thumbs up, before groaning as Toothless, in his distraction, sat down on his chest.

#hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #how to train your dragon #httyd #fanfiction #httyd imagine #x reader #toothless #fem reader #female reader

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cryoculus · 1 year

Text

— guard dog 02 ⟢

pairing: thoma x assassin!reader

summary: in which thoma proves to be one of the most insufferable captors in teyvat. how someone like him sees himself in someone like you is a complete mystery.

word count: 3.5k words

notable characters: thoma, kamisato ayaka, kamisato ayato

tags: found family, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut

warnings: nightmares

notes: so, i've decided to cross-post these two per day instead of one per day :')

header art cr: pncgnsn on twt

masterlist

“R-Retainer?”

You didn’t miss the uncharacteristic stutter of Ayaka’s voice when she’d said the word. You couldn’t blame her.

To your side, Thoma nodded too enthusiastically to be genuine. “You heard right, milady. I discussed it with her earlier this morning, and Miss Kira has agreed to be your temporary retainer. Only until the Kujou clan is out of her hair, of course.”

“It would be an honor to serve you, Lady Kamisato,” you managed through gritted teeth that could somehow pass for a smile. Thoma still nudged you with his elbow as a warning, though. “Even if it’s only for the meantime, I owe it to your family for nursing my injuries. I’d like to repay your kindness however I can.”

Ayaka seemed at a loss for words, blinking at you with those silver-blue eyes of hers like it was the first time someone showed her a hint of gratitude. You almost felt bad for being a fraud. Almost.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she sighed, staring at the cup of tea in her hands before meeting your gaze again. “Your duty lies with the war between the Sangonomiya resistance and the shogunate. You mustn’t waste your time tending to the whims of someone like me.”

“Oh, but I will,” you insisted, just as the bastard chief retainer instructed you to do. “Besides, with how my, ah, infiltration turned out, the resistance might’ve listed me off as M.I.A. No one’s going to be searching for me for a good while, milady.”

After that little…conversation you had with Thoma, you reverted back to your false persona as Kira of the resistance come morning. Though you had absolutely no moral obligation to stand by the terms of your agreement, you decided to play along for now.

Naturally, your voice of reason rebelled against the notion. Letting yourself be manipulated into the situation you’re in without a fight? As if.

But…you weren’t about to call for back-up like you should, either.

Kujou Sara’s feather never left your person. Once Thoma had gotten you a fresh change of clothes, you made sure to slip it inside the intricate folds of your garbs—never to be seen by anyone else.

When the chief retainer confiscated your powdered crystal marrow, you didn’t resist. Surrendering your murder weapon would take off the suspicion that you were carrying something else, and Thoma even met your cooperation with a promise of ‘a lighter sentence’. Whatever that meant.

Not that it mattered, though. Because even if you kept Masahito’s contingency plan around, your pride as a mercenary prevented you from using it.

You were beyond repulsed as you recalled how quickly you bit the bullet the night Thoma had cornered you in the kitchen. Years of relying on no one but yourself, flushed down the drain—all because of some crafty blond foreigner! You rated the humbling experience a 0 out of 10.

And then there was his master plan to turn you into Kamisato Ayaka’s friend.

That part was the most confusing. Was Ayaka so sheltered that Thoma had to wrangle in a fugitive like you just so you could be friends with her?

“I suppose there’s no harm in accepting,” Ayaka murmured, cheeks red with embarrassment. “D-Do tell me if there’s anything I can do to assist. I can even have someone contact the resistance for you—”

“There’s no need for that.” Thankfully, Thoma had the foresight to beat you to it. “Communicating with Sangonomiya might endanger the clan’s relationship with the shogunate. We can shelter Miss Kira for the meantime, but we mustn’t act publicly, milady. Else, it will implicate the entirety of the Yashiro Commission.”

You hated to be in agreement with the man who strung you around like a puppet, but… “He’s right. You’ve done way more than I can ever hope to repay, Lady Kamisato. The last thing I want is for you to be under open fire.”

The princess nodded glumly, and her expression tied your stomach into knots.

Lying through your teeth used to be something you did without a morsel of shame. But having to feed Ayaka all this blatant dishonesty on a silver platter…

You didn’t want to dwell on it.

Once your quick audience in the pavilion had been adjourned, you pulled Thoma to the side.

“This isn’t permanent, right?” you hissed quietly. “I’m not going to be stuck here forever, right?”

A smirk curled on his face. “Hey, the Kamisato Estate would make a better prison than the police station in Inazuma City. I have all the evidence needed to hand you over to the authorities, but thankfully, I’m kind enough to give you another chance.”

You almost slipped up when he mentioned the police station. Right. You never told Thoma who hired you to kill Ayaka in the first place, nor did he press on the matter. It would do you no favors if you told him that no, the police won’t arrest me since I’m actually in cahoots with the Tenryou Commission!

So, with bitter resentment coiling in your gut, you let him go. You’ll figure something out and bust out of here in one week, tops. Maybe.

“Oh, by the way.”

You turned around with a disgruntled look. “What?”

Thoma had that no-good smile plastered on his face when you met his gaze again. “Now that you’re officially a Kamisato retainer, do you have an idea about what responsibilities come with that title?”

Oh, no. You were not liking the sound of that.

Swallowing thickly, you replied, “No. Why?”

The horns on his headband might as well have grown in size because this man was an absolute devil. Thoma’s mischievous grin scaled tenfold and you prayed to the Electro Archon herself to just strike you down with lightning from where you stood.

This was going to be a long week.

“Have you ever been inside the palace on Watatsumi Island?”

Ayaka posed the question on your third day as her temporary retainer. You looked at her with a hint of curiosity and barely concealed exhaustion once she’d uttered the words. Though you’re willing to play along with this charade for as long as you had to, your escapades from the last few days practically drained the life out of you.

You never really knew what a retainer’s purpose was. You’d always just assumed they were scoundrels who rode on the coattails of their charge—basking in their status just to flaunt the privilege to others. Perhaps you were right about that when it came to the other noble houses in Inazuma. In the Yashiro Commission, however…

“Hey,” the princess called out with concern, as she made poured you a cup of tea. “Thoma has been overexerting you, hasn’t he? I know these chores are part of a retainer’s work, but he can be a bit…mean sometimes.”

You blinked at Ayaka slowly, gaze drifting from the princess and onto the teacup she’d offered. While the amber surface glimmered softly in the lantern lights, the mere mention of Thoma’s name was enough to snap you back into your senses.

That scheming little…!

He’d subjected you into countless hours of manual labor, despite the fact that you were someone who’s supposed to be recovering. That seemed to go over Thoma’s pretty blond head and, by extension, your own because the man has a knack for driving you up a wall.

“Miss Kira~ Ayame needs some help airing out the futons and doing the laundry. The other attendants are running errands, so you’re the only one who can do this.”

“The grass around the estate seems like it needs some leveling. You’re up for the job, aren’t you?”

“Ah, Miss Kira. Just in time! Lord Ayato is very particular about sorting his book collection. We have boxes of new arrivals at the entrance. Can you help take them up to the second floor?”

“Do you happen to know your way around the kitchen, Miss Kira?”

Not only were you swamped with your newfound responsibilities as a maid retainer, but you’re also expected to carry out your agreement with Thoma, still. In the daytime, you were but a humble refugee paying back the Kamisato clan’s kindness, and by twilight you were Ayaka’s so-called friend.

If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve assumed that she was behind your captivity in the first place. That Ayaka had been the one to order Thoma to blackmail you into becoming a servant of the house.

But horrible people like that were easy to pick out. Takes one to know one, they said. And now, with Ayaka staring at you like a mother hen, you knew that she didn’t have a single scheming bone in her body.

Kujou Sara’s feather felt heavier in the folds of your yukata. Suddenly, you weren’t so sure if it’ll take you just a week to do your job and break out of this place.

“This is nothing,” you insisted, seating yourself by the pavilion steps to appease the princess. “You were asking about Her Excellency’s palace, right?”

Once Ayaka had gone to bed, and you’re left to tidy up the tea set you’d used with her, Thoma swooped in like a lone wolf in the night.

“You’re a pretty good liar, you know,” he commented, pouring himself a glass of water. “If I wasn’t as perceptive as I am, you would’ve had me completely fooled.”

You glared at him. “Don’t use my talents to stroke your own ego, asshole.”

“Hey, not everyone can fabricate a tale about Sangonomiya Palace. Looks like someone’s been reading up on their childhood storybooks,” he complimented with a smile that made you roll your eyes.

“That reminds me,” Thoma mused as he completely ignored your prior aggression. “Where are you from, exactly? I’ve heard of the wandering mercenary who always manages to stay out of the shogunate’s radar. I honestly thought you were an urban myth until you decided to personally grace me with your presence.”

You scoffed. “You’re not the one I’m after.”

“Hmm… That may be true, but I’m the one who’s keeping you in check right now, aren’t I?”

There was that look again—the one that made your blood pressure rise to unimaginable heights. Thoma wasn’t exactly someone you’d describe as sleazy.

As cunning as he was, the blond still had an air of maturity to him that you normally wouldn’t associate with crafty fixers. Maybe all that noble honor bullshit from the Kamisatos gradually rubbed off on him.

That didn’t mean he was above being a conniving bastard, though.

“So, will you humor me with a quick background check or no?”

“I’m not an idiot,” you hissed. “If you want to get dirt on me, you’re going to have to try somewhere else, pretty boy.”

The words slipped before you could even think about them, and the effect was almost immediate. A sordid smirk replaced his typically carefree smile, and you’ve never wanted to get swallowed up by the ground more than you did now.

“Oh? First it was ‘guard dog’, and now ‘pretty boy’? I certainly don’t mind the development, though,” Thoma simpered, tipping his head back while he drank his water.

You hated how it took you a moment to peel your gaze away from the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Once you managed to put away the ceramic tea set, Thoma was still hovering around the kitchen. Like a ghost that just wouldn’t leave you alone.

Neither of you said anything. You merely held his stoic, emerald gaze in the silence. Now that you thought about it, you’d never really taken a good look at the guy. He pissed you off beyond belief. Why should you take the time to stare at him?

But here, in the muted light of the kitchen lanterns, you’re granted a glimpse of how Thoma’s hair was still so vibrant in the near-darkness. How his eyes looked like they belonged to someone born miles away from the shores of Inazuma. But when your gaze slowly drifted to the pendant sitting beneath the jut of his collarbones—

“Ah, I best be off,” Thoma spoke up—making that blip of curiosity fade back into nothingness. “See you in the morning, Miss Kira.”

Before you could wrench out a response, the chief retainer had already left.

“You want me to spar with you?” Your tone was laced with disbelief, and Ayaka hid her face behind her fan as she laughed.

“Why, yes,” she admitted, legs swinging ever-so slightly by the elevated platform. “It would be an honor to spar with someone as learned with the sword as you.”

You frowned. “I’m a nobody in the ranks of the resistance. I don’t even have a Vision. Sparring with me doesn’t exactly warrant much honor, milady.”

“Your stories don’t seem to convey the same thing, Miss Kira,” Ayaka interjected. “And if you’re the nobody you claim to be, why would Lady Sangonomiya entrust you with such an important espionage mission?”

Because I lied to your face. Have been for days now, you wanted to tell her but didn’t, for obvious reasons. “If I was as important as you assumed, then they would have already rescued me without a fuss,” you sighed—diligently trimming the shrubs in the garden the way old lady Furuta taught you the other day.

“Now, now. You’re milady’s friend, aren’t you? Humor her a little.”

You shot Thoma an irritated look, which you quickly masked with a smile. This guy just had such impeccable timing as always, huh?

“Master Thoma,” you addressed him nasally. “Forgive my insolence but I just don’t think I’m fit to be Kamisato Ayaka’s—”

He effectively shut you up by plucking the shears in your grasp, exchanging it for a very real and very sharp Kageuchi sword. You gaped at him like a koi out of the fish pond.

“Well?” he probed. “You’re not about to keep milady waiting, I suppose?”

You weren’t sure if you’d just gotten rusty after days without practice or if Ayaka was just that good. It’s been a while since you’d held a sword, and you knew perfectly well how your technique could dwindle if you didn’t constantly hone it into habit.

But you had the inkling that, even if you’d been in tip top shape, the princess would have no trouble making you yield, still.

The pebbles on your backside dug into the fabric of your yukata as Ayaka pointed the edge of her blade against your chest. Heart pounding loudly in your ears, you sighed—letting your head fall back into the sand as you let the borrowed sword clatter from your grip.

“You’re mean,” you told her as she helped you back up. “You knew I was a walk in the park, didn’t you?”

Ayaka blushed. “Ah, I apologize if it seemed that way. It’s not everyday that someone agrees to spar with me…”

“Ehh?” You purposely drawled your tone as you gave her chief retainer—who was watching you get your ass beat on the sidelines—the stink eye. “Master Thoma doesn’t even indulge you? How cruel of him.”

“It’s quite the opposite, actually,” Thoma replied. “We’ve exchanged blows so much that she’s already grown bored of our sparring sessions.”

“T-Thoma!”

“Don’t say it’s not true, milady. Hm… What’s that?”

Turning your gaze to where Thoma pointed his gloved hand, you practically felt the blood in your veins run cold. You darted back to the sand garden you’d ruined with your fall—plucking a lone black feather off the ground before Ayaka or Thoma could get a closer look.

“Ah, it’s a feather I found while sweeping the entrance the other day,” you explained hastily as you slipped it back inside your clothes. “Where I’m from, feathers are said to bring good luck is all…”

Ayaka seemed quite interested. “You mean, Watatsumi Island?”

“No, I’m actually from Yashiori.”

Thoma arched an eyebrow at your admission, and you had to conceal how mortified you were at your own slip-up. The part about feathers bringing good luck was already a senseless bluff on its own. Why didn’t your brain just continue the string of lies?

Relax, relax, you thought to yourself. Thoma couldn’t possibly know that what you said was actually true, right?

By now, you should have known better.

It’s always raining on Yashiori Island.

The never-ending storm has been there for as long as you could remember. You didn’t even know what the sun looked like anymore.

It was for that reason that people from the neighboring islands rarely set foot in this place. After all, what person in their right mind would go out of their way to visit the Orobashi’s graveyard? But as young as you were, you didn’t believe in all the tall tales.

It wasn’t the rain that kept people from visiting Yashiori. It was something else. Evil and intangible—a curse that turned your blood into ichor and ground your mind to dust.

One by one, the people from Higi Village succumbed to the malignant illness. When the village chief buried your father’s corpse, you’d asked Mother if there was any hope left, but she only shook her head in resignation.

The traveling doctors had played an important part in keeping the villagers alive, though. They said that lavender melon soup should be able to cure the Tatarigami’s corruption, and you believed them. Because the people around you started believing that this wasn’t the end of the line. There was still hope.

But one night, blood dribbled from Mother’s nose as she tucked you into bed, and the next thing you knew, she’d hemorrhaged all over the sheets.

Doctor Naoko, one of the traveling doctors, took you in after that—telling you that you should live on for your parents’ sake. It’s not as if you had much of a choice in the matter, though.

He lived in a house that was too close to the Great Serpent’s skeleton for comfort. But you knew orphans didn’t have the right to complain. Instead, you helped them treat the villagers with their miracle soup—brewing lavender melons all day to serve to everyone that needed it.

Your solace, however, lasted for no longer than two months.

“Care is also a form of remedy,” Doctor Naoko told you—blood leaking from his eyes as he handed you a blade with trembling hands. The metal felt unforgivingly cold on your fingertips, and your limbs shook from where you stood.

You had your suspicions that he’d been corrupted by the curse, but to go as far as asking you to end his life…?

“You care, don’t you, little one?”

But Doctor Naoko never died at your hand. Never had to feel a blade pierce through his flesh. No, he ended up dying of blood loss and organ failure before you could even move an inch.

You’ve never even held a sword even once before the entire ordeal.

But shortly after…it became your lifeline.

The mansion was deathly quiet.

You made sure to silence your footsteps as you emerged from the kitchen with a glass of water, not wanting to rouse any of the other retainers in the first floor.

It’s funny how you suddenly started caring about the well-being of these people, but after that little nightmare, you actually wanted to focus on everything else but yourself.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this, but you best tread carefully, Thoma. She’s still a ruthless killer no matter how much you try to tame her.”

Upon hearing the tones of conversation at the end of the hall, you paused. It’s been about two weeks since your (temporary) inauguration into the Yashiro Commission, and you’ve never once seen Kamisato Ayato’s face in person.

He’s been quite the elusive one—always preferring to eat his meals alone as he locked himself in his study. And if Ayato wasn’t wasting away in his lonesome, he spent his time outside the mansion. But as absent as he often was, you did, however, know what the Commissioner’s voice sounded like.

“So were the rest of our retainers,” you heard Thoma sigh. “Isn’t it the Kamisato clan’s personal preference to hire both ex-convicts and people with criminal records alike? What’s with the sudden change of heart, milord?”

…Ex-convicts? People with criminal records?

Suddenly, the sound of rustling fabric. You could almost picture Ayato holding Thoma by the collar.

“Our real retainers have long been cleared of their charges, and have expressed a genuine development in character,” he spoke slowly. “That woman, however… She’s the first assassin that got past the gates, and the first one you’ve willingly let get so close to my sister.”

“Aha, I take it you’re worried, then?” Thoma bantered as if he wasn’t talking to his boss. “I’m a good judge of character. If I believe that someone was truly capable of killing your sister, I never would have let them live at all.”

Somehow, hearing that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. There’s something about the contrast between his playful tone and the gravity of his words that made you realize he was dead serious.

“And what makes you think she won’t try to finish the job?”

Thick silence permeated the air for so long, you wondered if they quietly left and adjourned the conversation somewhere else.

But just before you could poke your head outside the hall, you heard Thoma speak once more—so softly, you barely caught the words.

“Well…” He cleared his throat, as if…he’s flustered. But how could someone brimming with confidence like Thoma be—

“She reminds me a little bit of…myself.”

<- previous | next ->

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin fanfiction #genshin x reader #thoma fanfic #thoma smut #thoma x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin thoma #cryoculus #guard dog

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leadflowers · 2 months

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Character arc - Niobe von Valancius

portrait by @mayoonrices

I was tagged by @bnbc to participate in @fuchsiareign's Rogue Trader character arc prompt and it sounded like fun!

Niobe's arc is a strange one, and I'll explain why in due course.

To begin with, it's a story of love vs duty and pushing the limits of both in search of the answer to the following questions: which is strongest? Can a balance be achieved? Ultimately, it is a story of personal sacrifice for a perceived "greater good" (no, not in the Tau sense, that's heresy. ;) )

Niobe was born in a world of privilege most citizens of the Imperium could only dream of, but that doesn't mean her life was easy. From an early age, she was groomed to take up a specific position within her family hierarchy: ambassador to the other noble courts in Scarus sector. It's a role she then fulfilled for 2 decades, always on the lookout for ways she could advance her house's interests while undermining their rivals. It was a world of secrets and intrigue and double-dealing and she was profoundly lonely despite being surrounded by people.

Then she was summoned by Theodora von Valancius, THE von Valancius to whom House Theseis which she was part of was related by blood, but distantly enough that they had no right to the name. Until she took up the mantle of Rogue Trader, that is.

In some ways, her new duties weren't entirely unfamiliar to her: she had long been wrangling people with hidden agendas and uncertain loyalties, and she had the poise and authority to go with the title of Lord Captain.

Other things she had no idea about and had to learn as she went along while trying to keep her protectorate from falling apart. Part of what initially brought her and Heinrix close was her appreciation for his sharp intellect and sensible advice.

Then Commorragh happened. That constituted Niobe's "fall from grace" when she almost lost her life, her retinue, her love but most importantly of all, she lost some of her humanity. In order to save Heinrix from further torment, she grovelled before Tervantias and begged for his release, an unforgivable act in her eyes (and that of the Imperium). It left a deep scar and fuelled her existing xenophobia to unprecedented heights. She had never been fond of xenos, but after this she absolutely loathed them and hunted them down with extreme prejudice. She became less inclined to be merciful, and more likely to make examples of those who displeased her.

As for her relationship with Heinrix, it ended in a mutual agreement that their respective duties came first. He went on to become the next Lord Inquisitor while Niobe continued her tenure as Lord Captain, and the two met as often as their many responsibilities permitted. They had a son, Lysander, although Heinrix only found out about it 3 years after his birth.

This is where things get complicated, because I have two possible endings in mind for her - a bittersweet one which is in line with the ending slides I got and a much darker one which I came up with on a whim but which kind of tempts me to make canon. XD

In the first possible ending, she and Heinrix join forces many decades into the future for one last mission against the enemies of mankind, and die gloriously in battle, side by side, by ramming the ship into an enemy dreadnought.

In the second possible ending, Niobe's son Lysander manifests psychic powers and is taken away for sanctioning but doesn't make the cut and is sacrificed to the Emperor instead. Niobe, who had been very reluctant to let him go, is stricken by grief and becomes less and less interested in running her protectorate. Instead, she ends up locking herself up in her son's old rooms, which had been kept completely closed off and left untouched since his departure, and becomes a kind of Space Miss Havisham. In her deeply depressed, hopeless state, she is vulnerable to the predations of Grandfather Nurgle who corrupts her mind and body and gradually those of everyone in the estate. Eventually Heinrix himself calls a purge of that part of Dargonus.

Phew! That was a lot of text!

#rogue trader #von valancius #wh40k rogue trader

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randomingoftherandomness · 7 months

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There is a thing I don't get, why Yuanzhi was so against the idea of Ziyu becoming the sword wielder?

Just because he wanted his brother to be it? Or because of the rumors about Ziyu's mother? I mean, Shangjue was always logical on the reasons why he didn't want Ziyu to be the leader while Yuanzhi seemed to just do what he was told to do.

I read an answer on Reddit where Yuanzhi was described as Shangjue's dog, with no opinions of his own, petty and oblivious. Many people regarded him as the true villain of the show because he caused pain and played tricks for no real reasons. Do you think he is like that? Only smart for poisons?

Me to the Redditor who said that:

Knuckle and buckle, kids, you're on the Gab Meta Train.

1. Gong Ziyu started out hella unqualified and everyone knows it

Don't come at me and tell me Gong Ziyu was the most worthy candidate to be the Sword Wielder because based on the first character setup, he definitely was not it. He was known to frequent the pleasure house, he stumbles home drunk in broad daylight, he has no involvement in the family's affairs, and he is most definitely more known as a dandy than anyone who is being groomed to take over the helm of the family.

Honestly, off the bat, in real life, would you want someone with a proven track record to lead you and protect you and your interests, or would you want some dude who is better known for hanging out at a brothel than he is actually handling paperwork or has a track record of maturity?

Yuanzhi, who is younger than Ziyu, but already is contributing to the day-to-day running and the development of tech and research for the family.

Which means...?

He has skin in the game about who he wants to lead him in the family. And that's a very valid stance to take. It's more than "oh Gege told me to do this, so I will" because that's such a sad 1 dimension take, and again, to that Redditor:

Of course, we as the audience know that Ziyu will shape up. He will step up and he will answer the call, so to speak. But Gong Yuanzhi and Gong Shangjue did not. And if you really think about it, they're pretty much 'employees' of the Gong company. They just didn't agree with what top management decided and vocally voiced that opinion.

If you reeeeeallly want to think about it, they were just unionising :)

(gonna put this under a read more coz it got long)

2. Gong Shangjue has instilled a mentality of "Family First"

Relating to the first point.

Shangjue is obviously Yuanzhi's North Star. He is who Yuanzhi is shaping himself to be, and for all we know of his character, of course he would. He's basically the perfect man to aspire to be in a society like theirs.

So, when Shangjue says, "Family is the Most Important", don't you think Yuanzhi is gonna listen? Gong Shangjue is Gong Yuanzhi's most important person. He's family in a way that the rest aren't. Even if he doesn't outright say "I want that position", Yuanzhi would have done anything to help support him and get him there.

And going on the point where Shangjue and Yuanzhi were on Ziyu's case coz of the rumours that his mom was possibly pregnant when she married into the Gong family; I know other users on the MJTY tag have quite possibly discussed this matter (shoutout to @kingsandbastardz @swiftletinthecloud @romchat for their lovely metas and analysis posts ❤️ I consume them with much gratitude and glee), but let me crudely try to wrangle what has been beautifully said into my my own words;

For a family that prides themselves with being very strict about their familial rules, the fact that there is some measure and level of doubt persisting about Ziyu's parentage should have and must disqualify him from the position itself. Ziyu's dad could have easily kiboshed the rumours but he didn't, why?

More than that, the implication given to Shangjue over tea was that the position of Zhiren was always meant to go to him. Rewatch that scene where he last saw his uncle. Tell me differently.

The whole paternity issue is just one facet of a very Ziyu shaped problem. Having a murky paternity will raise issues of succession. Why do you think the nobilities of Europe back then had a court of people, usually people of importance, to be present when a marriage was consummated and a child was born? This is to make sure that there was no doubt that the marriage was legitimate and the line of succession and paternity remains unbroken.

(there were always exceptions to the rule, of course, but you get my drift, right?)

Of course, we got the resolutions to all of these issues; Ziyu was always the bio son of the Zhiren, he probably didn't kibosh the rumours because he never wanted to have his son carry that burden of leading the family when he could tell that his son had always wanted to leave the Valley, and Shangjue never coveted the position in the first place, he just wanted the right person to lead.

3. Yuanzhi has no opinions

Yuanzhi's just a dog to Shangjue? Well, if he's a dog, I wanna be one too Woof Woof.

Yuanzhi has his own motivations and drive. They just so happened to be Gege-shaped. I don't see how that warrants being called someone's dog.

He doesn't have his own opinions? Bro quite literally almost died to prove a point that the porridge was poisoned and Shangguan Qian cannot be trusted. HOW IS THAT NOT HAVING AN OPINION?

WERE WE EVEN WATCHING THE SAME SHOW???

Honestly, it's Reddit so I shouldn't be this surprised about the hot takes that happen on there, but damn if some people lack two brain cells to rub together to critically consume the media in front of them.

4. Yuanzhi is a reactionary character

Think about it; how many times throughout the narrative did he cause problems for no apparent reason?

If anything, don't you think that Ziyu & co. are the ones who deliberately do things to antagonise him and Shangjue? It's almost midnight as I am typing this and the old noggin is starting to lag, but let's focus on the blood GPS incident.

Yuanzhi saw that the people in the Yu residence were being a bit suspicious so he goes to snoop (cause + reason = reaction). Jin Fan is best boy, but Yuanzhi did not instigate that fight, he did (with good reason i know i know). (offense + defense = reaction). Ziyu & co. tried to stuff him into the closet (*snerk*) and what does he do? Bites down until he bleeds because he knows Gege will find him if he sniffs him out. And he did. A successful reaction.

In my opinion, he's like gunpowder -- left alone, they'll be fine. When given a spark, will react.

And again with feeling... To the Redditor who spouted such utter shite;

Class dismissed

#if it sounds like i have taken offence and would like to challenge to a duel of honour at dawn; it is and i do #I'm filled with fight me energy #gong yuanzhi #GRRR HOW DARE THEY #their brains must be smooth #the lights must be on but no one is home #because you can't be that stupid can you?#oh wait. yeah. yeahhh you can #my journey to you meta #my journey to you #gab rambles

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wander-wren · 14 days

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almost escaped the anti-ao3 posts this donation round but of course today i get smacked with a few, so i go hunting for this year’s arguments, which, as expected, touch a lot on palestine.

what i’m seeing here is a shitton of inflammatory language and very few sources, and even fewer sources that aren’t screenshots of That One Tweet. most of the arguments from both sides are made on things that aren’t entirely true. i dislike this. so let’s clear the air a bit, hm?

1) ao3 is a racist/zionist organization

ao3 has had its scandals, including the 2023 management scandal in its full glory, which you can read about at the linked fanlore article. that covers several different areas where ao3 messed up. i will not defend these instances. i will, however, point out that very few of the current anti-ao3 posts mention them.

additionally, there is this fanlore article specifically about the issue wherein a volunteer was told to remove “from the river to the sea, palestine will be free” from their status, which is the singular piece of evidence referenced for ao3’s zionism. it has been spread that the otw banned or kicked out this volunteer, which is untrue; they left voluntarily. the otw also offered to allow the volunteer in question to change the status to “i stand with palestine,” communicating the same message in a less polarizing way.

you are allowed to dislike this decision. i do. but the otw slack is first and foremost a professional space, and they are within their rights to ask for political discussion to be kept out—or, in this case, to a politics channel so it can be opted out of. i am not currently aware of anyone having asked the otw board to ban or otherwise address pro-israel sentiments in the slack server, so i cannot actually make any statements about unequal decisions, because those decisions were not made.

ultimately i do not disagree that otw/ao3 have made poor choices rooted in racism in the past, but i also believe many of these posts discussing it now are performative, inflammatory, and misleading, which is not helpful

2) donating to ao3 during a genocide is bad/selfish/racist/etc

there are always problems in the world. this is literally the same argument as every previous year with new paint on it. people can care about more than one thing.

3) ao3 is a scam/mismanages money/gets more than they need/is horrible for not paying volunteers

here is a post i made last year breaking down ao3’s budget. what’s funny is, i saw a post going on for paragraphs about how they “calculated” that ao3 has 2.8 million in reserves (assuming their 2023 numbers shook out, it is like $1.5 million at best. these numbers are public and easy to find) and that they have “no idea” what to do with it and are deliberately not being transparent about it (they have publicly stated in news posts exactly what that money is for).

one very confusingly-worded post seemed to argue that it is morally wrong to have volunteer library workers, which is the same as ao3? something about master’s degrees? i just thought that was funny because. like. what. do you think the volunteers are the ones with a master’s in library science, friend?

also, people have said it’s a scam because they don’t update the site, and i’m like….what do you want them to update, exactly? i just want more tags wrangled. i suppose that translates to me wanting an update on the servers or whatever bit of hardware is limiting the tag system. otherwise i don’t see why you have to fix a good thing.

4) ao3 hosts evil bad fanfiction

ah, the age-old “child porn” argument. or racism is a big one this year. do i have to get into this one? it’s so goddamn annoying. just read the about page or a wiki article with your eyes. anti-censorship. yada yada yada. also, if you use the phrase “child porn” i do not respect you or take you seriously.

okay, first of all, fanfiction does not meet the definition of csam. it’s fanfiction. it’s fiction. there are tags for a reason. none of it is illegal. most of it has been published in real books for money before. you can hate it, but it deserves to exist, and with the way explicit material is getting deleted off the internet (see: wattpad’s new policies, google drive’s new policies), ao3 is a last bastion in the storm.

5) you should check out end-otw-racism for more helpful info

honestly i thought this movement was dead by now, but i’ve seen a lot of it mentioned today so i went to check. some things i found, scrolling alllll the way back to august:

a pinned post from SEVEN months ago that is several paragraphs of back-patting from the mods about how much “work” and “goals” have been accomplished and how grateful they are to the community. no mention whatsoever of what those goals were or what specifically was accomplished. also says the mods are going on break for a while, which presumably is still in effect

a few posts about the otw’s board meetings for various months, each rehashing how a board meeting runs and when the next one is being held. no information about what questions or comments the organization wants to focus on for each meeting or specific actions supporters should take

post about substack being a nazi site now (this is the only post i fully respect)

more board meeting reminders of no substance

a post reviewing the board elections, going over each candidate. the post acknowledges that no candidates mentioned the campaign or its specific goals, and instead grasps at vaguely related topics as if to show the volunteers are listening to them and they have done something

more board meeting reminders

a post about an update to the board’s strategic plan for 2023, which also acknowledges that the update does not really do anything end-otw-racism wanted it to do. many instances of “could have been a great opportunity to” do what they wanted. this one DOES finally state eotwr’s “recommendations” for the next strategic plan update, which literally all boil down to “more transparency,” which i suppose is fair enough

absolutely NO mention of palestine whatsoever

post on the weibo scandal, which is fine but generic, and again, not something brought up ever again despite being made in AUGUST

here i will give you a reminder that some of eotwr’s goals, particularly the ones around moderation and censorship, were unrealistic given the otw’s mission. while i believe eotwr started with good intentions, it seems to have rapidly dissolved into something performative and did not have solid enough organization to actually make any difference. their silence on palestine (and they are still posting despite the “break”) also makes bringing them up in convos about otw’s potential zionist leanings very weird.

at the end of the day, support ao3 or don’t. your morals and reasonings are your own. just don’t lie about them in ways that can be easily disproved, mkay?

this discourse also made me realize it’s been a minute since i reblogged a proper donations masterpost for palestine, so i am on the hunt for a good, up-to-date one now. feel free to link me any you know of.

#ao3 #anti ao3 #pro ao3 #otw #otw board #wren wrambles #wren attempts fucking nuance on the piss on the poor website #i’m problem going to regret posting this but fuck it #stop spreading misinformation #and maybe i wouldnt have to

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butmakeitgayblog · 8 months

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Midwestern Lexa and Clarke dancing to “can’t take my eyes off you” by Lady A 😍😍.. it’s one of the best country love songs out there and this is coming from someone who hates country music 😂 And just imagining Lexa slow dancing with her wearing a cowboy outfit head to toe and softly singing along with that twang ughh my heart

The thing is, in a town of 200 people, Clarke was fully expecting to have to keep her queerness tightly under wraps. It'd been part of what made her hesitate to accept the job at the local clinic in the first place. The knowing just how much she was probably going to have to hide this huge piece of herself.

But then Lexa went and boot-scooted her way into Clarke's life with those eyes and those lips and that god awful accent, and that smile that manages to make her agree with damn near anything. Which is exactly how she found out that not all small towns in the heart of the ol' sprawling USA treat queerness like it's something that makes a person defective. There's still bigots of course, and the few regulars about town who send them a look of disgust whenever they walk by hand in hand. There's even a few who refuse to go to Clarke's clinic once they find out who the new resident is dating. But she had to deal with that occasionally back in the city as well. So, nothing new. Not really.

And she knows it helps that Lexa knows everyone. Like... literally everyone. Knows them, knows their siblings, their children. Hell, even their grandparents.

Lexa's such a central piece of the way their little town survives that Clarke sometimes kinda feels like she dating corn-fed royalty. Or the commander of prairie grass and butter cows. The queen of neverending soybeans.

Or well... The homecoming queen of soybeans feels more apt...

So it's not entirely surprising when Lexa makes her tag along to the end of summer community "get together" they have her first year living in town. It's not surprising when she tells her to dress for the heat of the day and then the chill of the evening. And to wear comfy shoes.

"Cuz I'm takin' you dancing."

It's all beer coolers and picnic tables weighed down with an assortment of homemade dishes that people keep referring to as "salads" despite every last one of them containing a generous amount of mayo. There's a designated dancefloor in the middle of all the hubbub that consists of nothing more than a particularly arid patch of main street's only lawn, sectioned off by nothing but four bare lumber posts that have been driven right into the ground. But they certainly class it all up with a few strings of white Christmas lights stretched overhead that twinkle once the sun goes down.

These people are nuts.

But Clarke kinda loves it.

Especially getting to enjoy it from the comfort of Lexa's arms. Because that's how they spend the majority of the afternoon: waking around, talking to whoever, eating whatever plate of food someone sticks under their noses. They listen to the farm folk complain about the weather, and the town folk complain about the price of gas, and of course Lexa guides them by the table full of sullen teenagers forced to be there just to listen to them complain about how stupid this whole town is.

The trials of dating a natural born diplomat.

They let the church ladies wrangle them into helping set treats out for the kiddies after supper is done. They play some game horrifyingly named 'cornhole' (which Lexa is disconcertingly good at 🤨), and Clarke learns the correct way to shotgun a beer from a very nice gentleman apparently only known by everyone as 'Big Ed'.

It's a nice evening with her new community. A real salt of the earth kind of experience. And she enjoys it all with Lexa's arm resting loose around her waist for everyone to see.

It's not until the sun's fully set and the fireflies have already gone to bed that the music gets a little more soulful. A little more twangy. The kind that Clarke's only just grudgingly starting to appreciate. And when a particularly slow song starts playing she already knows exactly what's coming, the only surpise is that she wants to dance to it just as much.

There's just something about the way Lexa holds her when they dance to this kind of song.

The Christmas fairy lights twinkle overhead and the quiet chatter fades to the background as they sway together among the few other couples dancing. Lexa holding Clarke's hand against the steady thumping of her heart in her chest. Relaxing into the feel of Lexa's other hand rubbing circles on the small of her back, while she rests her cheek against the faded shoulder of Lexa's flannel.

Lexa had told her it used to be her dad's before he passed. That it always reminds her of watching him and her momma when they used to slow dance late at night in the cramped space of her childhood kitchen.

Clarke is kind of in love with running her fingers over its time-worn softness every time she wears it.

And there's really nothing for it when Lexa pulls back just far enough to look into her eyes at certain parts of the song. The way the green of her own has darkened to nothing but midnight and stars as they barely move, song almost forgotten, so lost in each other they are. The way those damns lips that can talk Clarke into enjoying so many things she always thought she'd never want to be a part of twitch just at the edges. As if they want nothing more than to sing the words just for her.

I love when you tell me that I'm pretty when I just wake up

And I love how you tease me when I'm moody, but it's never too much

I'm fallin' fast, but the truth is I'm not scared at all

You climbed my walls

So lay here beside me, just hold me and don't let go

This feeling I'm feeling is something I've never known

And I just can't take my eyes off you...

It just feels right to lay her head back down and nuzzle into the crook of Lexa's shoulder, pressing a barely-there kiss to her neck just to say, "I know. Don't be scared, baby... I feel it too."

#midwestern au #i want you to know FOR THE RECORD that I don't even generally care for Lady A #but ya got my ass with this one 🥴#clexa #anon

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wyvernne · 2 years

Text

II. In which Diluc finds himself grappling with fatherhood

tags: Diluc Ragnvindr/Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, kidfic, implied pregnancy

although no pronouns are used, this drabble centers around implied pregnancy

word count: 1077

A shrill, whining cry sounds from the bassinet across the room. You move immediately, struggling to push yourself up.

Diluc curses. “Liebling, please. Let me tend to him until you’re well again.”

You shoot him a vicious look. He tries not to dwell on it, tries to remind himself you’re still in considerable pain and have a long road to recovery. It was a tumultuous birth. He’s— he tries not to think of how things could’ve ended, had the right doctors not been there. There’s few times when Diluc is truly grateful for his wealth, but this is one of them.

He pulls off his gloves, setting them aside. His son wails, wriggling in the bassinet, but once more, Diluc hesitates. Clean. He needs to clean his hands first.

Diluc takes care to scrub every inch of his hands. He hears you sigh behind him. “Prinz, you cleaned your hands just a few minutes ago. I’m sure you’re well sterilized.”

He turns, frowning. “I’ve touched things since then. Need I remind you the doctor said—“

“‘The doctor said to take care to have clean hands when touching the baby,’” you mock, huffing. Diluc’s frown only deepens. You’re in pain. He needs to be sympathetic and sensitive to your emotions, especially now.

The process of picking up the baby is a challenge in and of itself. He slides a hand under his little head, making sure to support his neck as he lifts his son. The doctor had shown him how to lift an infant multiple times at Diluc’s behest. Even so, there’s an unfamiliar anxiousness in his chest, a pounding in his heart that doesn’t cease until his child rests firmly against his chest.

He’s so— so small. Diluc had stared in wonder at his little figure for hours, enamored by his tiny fingers and scrunching nose. He had cried, too, of course. The doctor had the decency to step out to fetch clean water just as the floodgates opened.

Holding his son in his arms for the first time brought an unfathomable wholeness to Diluc. It felt like all the scattered pieces of himself suddenly realigned, falling into place. Where they had always belonged.

“Good baby,” he murmurs, patting the infant’s back gently.

The walk from the bassinet back to the bed feels like miles. Diluc is careful with every step, wary of any potential missteps that could cause him to jolt too suddenly.

By the time he reaches your side, you’ve managed to wrangle yourself into a sitting position, much to Diluc’s dismay.

You seem to know, at least, that Diluc wants to take care of everything. Of you. Of your newborn son. The problem lies in the fact that there’s only one of him.

Again, he’s gentle laying the baby down in your arms. “I’ll feed him, Liebe. Just… please don’t get up while I fetch the bottle.”

You stick your tongue out at him, soothing a hand over the fussing newborn’s stomach. “Hurry, or I’ll feed him myself.”

Diluc retrieves one of the prepared bottles from the cooler nestled by the changing table. It was Albedo’s invention, really, and although his generosity surprised Diluc because of how unacquainted they are, Albedo calmly explained that it was Kaeya, in all his enthusiasm, that had requested the device.

Maybe uncle would be the right term now. He hasn’t the mind to think about it, not when his brother still shows up every day pestering Diluc to let him see his new nephew.

There is a proper order to these things, after all, and Diluc doesn’t want to let Kaeya anywhere near you or the baby until you’re fully recovered. He can very well see the baby through a window when the time comes.

He sneaks a glance at you as he warms the bottle in his hand, flitting elemental energy carefully around the outside of the glass. You’re speaking quietly to the baby, but it’s the expression on your face that makes Diluc’s heart soar. Gentle, unadulterated love, is what it is. It’s what he feels for you both in turn.

Perhaps he really doesn’t deserve any of this. For a moment there’s an ugly, horrid blossom of doubt in Diluc’s heart.

Shit. He’s heated the bottle too much, now.

He curses, testing the milk on the inside of his wrist. You seem to know what’s wrong immediately.

“It’s alright, Diluc,” you soothe, “Just come here while it cools.”

As always, you peer right into his heart. He settles next to you, careful not to disturb the still fussy baby. You let out a soft laugh. “Cautious as always, hm?”

Diluc reaches out a hand, rubbing his son’s cheek with his knuckle. “He’s so small. I’m worried he’ll break if I’m not careful.”

You whack at his shoulder with your free hand. Gods, even though you’re unwell, you’re still ridiculously strong. “Oi, stop with that talk. We’re married. We have a new baby. Isn’t this supposed to be one of the happiest times of our lives? Let’s just bask in the afterglow of it.”

It’s—

It’s quite the image, you two. A child who is so obviously Diluc’s, fiery red hair just beginning to curl. And you’re still glowing, so pleased with yourself despite what you’ve gone through. Diluc is just. So undeserving of this. Of you. This kind of happy ending was never meant for him.

The baby’s rhythmic, pleading cries start up again, as if he’s suddenly been made aware of his hunger once more. Diluc jumps at the sound, startled.

You say nothing, only give him a meaningful eyebrow raise. You know what to do, you oaf. Well. He is the one who has a dozen books on child rearing scattered around his office, after all.

He’s careful. So careful. You help lift the baby into his arms, settling his little head in the crook of Diluc’s elbow. His son really does most of the work for drinking. Diluc only has to hold the bottle, angle just as the doctor showed him, and his son finally settles down, content to just eat.

Diluc feels a little foolish for finding something like this so incredibly wonderful. But it is. His child suckles happily in his arms, feels safe, even, and that alone quells so many of the worries brewing within his heart. You’re right, as always. There’s no reason not to bask in the afterglow.

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witchofthesouls · 1 year

Note

More on Cyber June and kids being war trophies / fae captives by Smokey and "Orion" ? 🙏

(So much misunderstandings, culture clashes, and weirdness from Other!heritage.)

It’s found out that June and none of the children have T-cogs after a medic at the trading outpost examined them, which explains why June wasn’t able to transform into a default alt-mode, couldn’t scan for a mode, and the lack of vehicular traits and kibble on her new frame.

She can’t hide the sudden panic when the medic simply opens up her abdominal cavity and just sticks her hands inside. The only reason why she hasn’t bolted away is the fact that the med-berth immediately connects into a mecha’s systems and keeps them still.

Of course, the kids feel it and immediately start panicking as well.

This is the start of the pretend relationship between Optimus and June since he’s trying to wrangle three terrified sparklings, be a translator between June and the medic, and attempt to add more context for June on actions that should be innate to a Cybertronian while playing as the supportive Conjunx on his spouse’s check-up because only family is allowed in private spaces.

Some of the local sparklings get very interested in the newest additions to the community really fast. They had never seen someone like June’s armor: robe-like and how it moves like cloth rather than solid armature. Plus, they’re quite enamored by how predatory species seem fond of Jack, Miko’s agility in the ponds and rivers, and Raf’s rock-eating habits. As well as Smokescreen’s shadow puppets.

The phrases: Got’chu! and Can we keep this? fills the adults with apprehension (Optimus), excitement (Smokescreen), and fondness (June).

Optimus is wary of the wildlife as warned by their host. Plus, he has very vague impressions of danger that not even the Matrix could suppress from Orion Pax's sparkling days.

Smokescreen thinks it's an absolute hoot that Responsible Jack is the one to venture away and drag back his loot, especially things he hadn't seen or even heard of. He thinks Jack looks like a proud photovoltaikitten or a fledgling cyberowl showing off to his carrier his hunting efforts.

This doesn’t even phase June. This was Jack’s early childhood, chasing after critters and hauling back wild animals to her lap: owls, crows, lizards, cats, dogs, snakes, and tarantulas to name a few…

Of course, Jack and Miko tried to hide a wild Timbre wolf puppy in the barn.

It’s fascinating to see a toddler gnaw and chomp on materials that either need specific equipment to harvest or would make a medical visit necessary. Not with Raf, though. It’s a dietary supplement.

So many mecha are side-eyeing the rag-tag group. It seems completely far-fetched that the two mechs kitted to Pits and back are willing to leave the third adult in such a… vulnerable state, especially with three little ones running around them. Crosscut, the pathfinder that brought them to such a distant planet, was nipping the more unsavory rumors in the bud.

“Orion” had built them a cover based on certain truths. Yes, Earth is a planet that’s very far away and has societal structures and cultural practices that are very strange. Hence, why June's weapon systems are inactive/dormant, and why she has no combat training. It’s very unfortunate they had separated from their cohort. A traveling malfunction. Oh, they met by random chance, a hostage situation from terrorists that the 'bots stepped in.

And straight-up lies. Yes, there was a spark at first sight and it grew from there. They're pledged, but not full Conjunx out of pragmatism. The sparklings are very young, in case something happens...

While there are skeptics, most vaguely believe that they’re together since June’s frame accents match the same blue on Optimus’ armor.

There are bets on whether or not the mechs sired those bitties. Mainly Orion with Jack for their similar features and facial expressions. There's some debate if Smokescreen is Miko's parent or her sibling. Seekerkin tend to stick close to one another. Everyone is stumped over Raf…

It still doesn’t stop people from questioning things since June’s armor has connotations, while the overlapping platelets are extremely durable and very flexible, it still gives off a really vulnerable appearance. Something out of a high-class bordello with its cut and style...

Cue Smokescreen balking and Optimus trying to block anyone’s view whenever June takes off the armor of her hands and forearms to feel something properly.

“You’re able to manipulate the connection-link between your protoform and armor, it connects nervecircuits, pressure sites, and sensory-relays as close as possible to actual physical touch.” “I can what now!?”

There's something going on with the newest additions. Some things aren't adding up...

June and the sparklings drop into deep recharge in consistent intervals. It's as if they're operating on a different rhythm compared to everyone else.

It's odd that June is familiar with or has a frame of reference when it comes to cooking, mechanicrops, and domestic mechanimals, while the mechs are either stumped or confused by it.

June struggles with containing her EM field. It's heavy and dense and wants to sprawl everywhere, particularly around the children. She doesn't realize that it can overpower others very easily, especially when very few can match its density. In public, Optimus is the one that has to guide and contain it.

While there are many warnings about venturing into the forests and stepping away from the marked roads and well-treaded pathways, June has little issue with navigating through the tricky and treacherous terrain and seems to always find her way back, no matter the confusion.

Jack has a habit of leaving trinkets at the strangest of places and saying cryptid and/or off-putting things. "The birds told me..."

Miko, tiny she may be as a sparkling, is very much War-Forged and a daughter of the sea: she has a sixth sense for danger and predatory intentions.

There was an incident where the local medic had to administer emergency services for the poison some of the sparklings had eaten. One of them had mistaken the deadly and dark chromium cap for its edible, paler counterpart and mixed it into the group's snacking bag. While Jack received treatment and was watched like a hawk by the adults, he never suffered any negative side effects. Unlike the others, who were vomiting, sweating, and had abdominal pain, Jack was his usual self and he ate the majority of the dark, dusty cap; he misses the rich flavor and hopes he can find more in the forest where Mistrunner got it.

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randomwriteronline · 3 months

Text

Pohatu was not here.

Kopaka registered the thought in an objective manner, not angry nor relieved, and kept laying down in the half miserable little cave in Ko-Metru which might as well have been his sad attempt at a den.

Misfortunes and blessings always come in groups of six; so of course six Visorak had stubbornly remained in Metru Nui even a thousand years after being told to scram, one for each of its sections, and of course each Toa Nuva (Takanuva notwithstanding, furtunately) had gotten bitten by one of the disgusting little pests while exploring the desolate city that felt so incredibly unnatural compared to the island paradise they had just left, and of course the Hordika venom had ensnared them all in an iron fist and mutated them into six new unwanted flavors of monstrous Rahi-adjacent beings.

Sure, they weren't alone in this hellish situation: there were the Matoran, and the Turaga, and the Rahaga, and Keetongu. Technically speaking, this should have been a non-issue, and it shouldn't have been taking so long to be rectified - it was just a matter of wrangling the Nuva up all together, making them hold hands, slapping the majestic Rahi in their circle of friendship, and boom. Problem solved. No more Hordika. But things could never simple, and this time the new complications were caused by the very simple fact that the venom had that annoying effect of adding on top of the already horrendous packaging of the new forms a nice complementary picnic basket of inane oddities and instincts that had immediately taken over the Toa's lives and made them even harder to handle than they already were.

It is one thing to deal with a bunch of seven-foot-tall children who came out of their canisters full of elemental powers, a lot of fighting experience, and no knowledge of the world whatsoever. It's even more of a hassle to look after those same barely matured kids after they've promptly gotten even more power, instantly had it stripped away, regained it, gotten the tar beaten out of them by snakes in gundam suits, and gained a brand new even taller baby brother. All things considered, the former Toa Metru and their villages had done egregiously already.

But to deal with semi-feral Toa was a new can of beans entirely.

Not that the interested specimens were having an easier time wrangling themselves - by all means, they were failing at that rather spectacularly: Gali had begun voicing her displeasure with her brothers in more assertive manners, which would have been very healthy if she also hadn't fallen into a habit of roaring them into submission and smacking them around like Kohlii balls if they were too stubborn for her opinion; Tahu had put Ta-Metru under a protective seige of one, essentially, yelling at his siblings to piss off when he saw them come too close and whining inconsolably when his cries and growls frightened the Matoran away from him as he tried to groom them clean almost obsessively; it had taken roughly two days to find Lewa after he'd mutated, plus one and a half to catch him, the other half to convince him not to start another round of Tag across the Metru and another good dozen hours to make him promise to engage in less expansive games before they had to do all that again, because keeping him put did not work; a group of Matoran was now glued to Onua to keep him company and give him little safe excavation tasks so he would not dig directly through the Archives' floors and into the deepest pits of the world, because the last time he absentmindedly started doing that he almost collapsed half of Onu-Metru and thank the Great Spirit Taipu had managed to drag him back up or they might have lost him forever to the depths; and Kopaka, of course, had gotten an enormous anxiety attack due to his horrifying appearance and had decided that the only way to handle this was to disappear into the mountains for an indeterminate amount of time, possibly forever, avoiding any and all contact with civilization before either his looks scared someone to death or he was laughed at into his grave.

Pohatu was fine. Because of course, Pohatu was fine. He'd gotten the sensory overload of a lifetime for all of ten minutes, and then he'd gotten immediately over it and taken it all in stride. As Pohatu does.

He'd very quickly acclimated to his new body, senses, instincts, and secret languages, and since there was technically nothing wrong with him he had been allowed to leave his Metru and try to help out his siblings regain their minds from the intensity of their uncontrollable Hordika moods. His intervention had generally proven irreplaceable in those terms: just by splaying himself on the ground he was able to calm his brothers and sister's boiling rage, he could coax them into playing or stopping almost on command, and thanks to the way he angled his body at every step his mere presence soothed them into a more agreeable state. He'd even managed to find Kopaka and be admitted into his sad little recluse home, bringing him toys or food or water and tending to his needs - including his fears and his desire for privacy from wayward Matoran who tried to seek him out, reassuring them that their Toa was just fine and they needn't worry about a thing.

Perhaps he was almost a little too comfortable in this situation. Almost like this entire ordeal had given him a new role among their group, their pack - that of the peace-keeper, of the calming presence, the one who keeps everybody happy and at ease for the sake of themselves and those around them - which nobody else had been able to fill, thus easing his nagging worries about what exactly he brought of worth to the team. Maybe this was how the Hordika venom was trying to corrupt him, promising a shield from his anxieties in exchange for his and his siblings' real natures.

Kopaka pawed at the ground and furrowed his expression. His mind felt too disgruntled and heavy for these thoughts.

His entire being had been feeling too disgruntled and heavy for anything in the past few days. It was like having a weird itch in a point of the back that is just unreachable without putting yourself in an awkward position that is just as if not even more uncomfortable. Standing up was a chore, and while moving around did help it wouldn't stop the annoying sensation from sitting all over him with a light but maddeningly ever shifting weight; so he generally preferred to lounge around lazily as he allowed the days to pass him by, looking like the spit image of depression. Not that he was depressed in truth, he felt anything but - he was just... Fatigued. Lethargic. Uninterested. Maybe just too busy trying to shake off that bothersome feeling to focus on anything else around him. He had responded so differently to so many different stimuli already, he reasoned, so who was to say this couldn't have had something to do with the climate, then? If that was the case, he hated that. How dare this new form make him so tired and devoid of energy in his preferred environment and weather. He wasn't going to look for a hotter place to stay at, that was certain: the Hordika could be as miserable as it wanted here in the snow, but the Toa refused to be made miserable by migrating to any of the other Metrus.

While he'd been stuck in this funk, Pohatu had been stuck at his side. He hadn't seemed too worried about his condition, but he definitely wasn't too keen on it either: he was always gently coaxing him into at least some activity every day, usually through some of the puzzle toys that Onewa would carve for him and that he placed with Kopaka's reach, not forcing him to engage with them but offering him some low effort entertainment nonetheless, or simply sitting or laying by his side to nap with him if he really couldn't stomach to move at all. He had decided to handle the hunting for him as well, as he was clearly too distracted by his inexplicable condition to fetch food properly. It was logical to imagine that he was off getting breakfast for the both of them right now.

How nice he was, Pohatu. Nice and reliable. A real sweetheart, when he put himself to it.

Normally, when the Rahi instincts within him stirred and dropped their muddled thoughts into his mind, Kopaka snarled and shook his head in an attempt at getting them out of himself; he was his own master, thank you very much, and he did not need nor let alone want some incorporeal semi-voice to tell him what to think or do or feel.

In this case, however, he didn't fight back against them. Why should he? They were right. Pohatu was nice, reliable, and a sweetheart. Those were simple objective facts he had known and been keenly aware of for months by now - nothing less, nothing more. Even an idiot would have come to the exact same conclusions, because they were true. The mere fact that the Toa of Stone had thought of seeking him out to check on him in the first place and then decided on sticking around in a relatively unobtrusive and pleasant manner upon seeing his sorry state spoke volumes of his kindness and patience already. None of their other siblings would have managed to stand him like that, especially in their current situation.

Yes, Pohatu was so kind, the beast within him nodded as it began kneading at the ground: a very kind, very good being. He was open and friendly, so willing to listen even when he got bored, terribly stubborn and yet also fast, strong, protective, steady - maybe his quick thinking got the best of his common sense and he was not too smart at times, but that wasn't anything Kopaka couldn't fix. He had proved himself to be a great provider in times of need, and awfully loyal to boot - so many chances to desert him in favor of someone else, someone more agreeable, more fun, more pleasant, like he was, and yet it was always the Toa of Ice he was drawn to the most... He was so good at handling smaller beings as well, taking care not to frighten them too much if unnecessary: when Matoro had come around looking for Kopaka on Nuju's behalf, Pohatu had taken it upon himself to greet the Matoran in his peer's stead, carefully posing himself to appear as inoffensive as possible so that the little hunter would not react violently against him. He had even helped Matoro on his hunt, and made sure to secure him on Kopaka's back so that he would have a safe trip back to the slowly rebuilding Metru while he carried enough food for all of the villagers waiting - even allowing them to actually bask in their Toa's presence for a few minutes before his anxiety demanded kicking and screaming to be whisked as far away from people as possible again, yet another wish fulfilled by his Stone peer's unmatched affability reassuring Turaga and Matoran alike that he'd look after him. A kind heart in a powerful body; yes, his instincts purred again, making his entire frame stretch out across the ground with a sudden rise of delight, Pohatu really was a great candidate, and Kopaka was so caught up in the satisfaction of that assertion that he didn't even stop to wonder what that meant.

He pulled himself to his feet, feeling reinvigorated all of a sudden. His joints popped with a pleasant feeling, and a strange antsy excitement coursed through them in careful jolts: he began pacing around the cave restlessly, almost trotting, his previously stifling itch turning into a soft energy that pervaded his entire frame. His stomach shifted a little with a low rumbling growl and his mouth started to salivate: he probably must have been hungry, though he didn't quite feel like eating yet, either. Strange. No matter. A great candidate, his instincts kept repeating, a perfect candidate, and despite not knowing what exactly the phrase referenced he couldn't help but agree wholly, feeling more and more energized.

If Pohatu had said he didn't miss his normal body, that would have been a plain lie - but he had to admit, readjusting his teeth's grip around the poor no longer breathing thing that had the unfortunate duty of being his and Kopaka's breakfast today, that wading through the snow on four legs was much easier that on two. It still wasn't ideal by all means, what with the wet feeling it left on him and having to trudge through it because he couldn't help but sink in the freezing cold stuff; however, he'd take the mild discomfort over nearly falling face first in the white cover at every other step.

His back wagged a little. What was he excited about, he wondered briefly, interrogating his rumbling instincts? The speedier travel, the food in his mouth, or the fact that he was almost at his destination? The Rahi in his chest made him jump into a few piles of snow for the fun of it: a bit of all of that, he assumed in the end, plus the hopes that Kopaka would be awake enough to eat with him. The Toa of Ice had been woefully under the weather recently, laying around most if the time, not even wanting to go out hunting. He wasn't big on playing, Pohatu had realized very quickly - or at least not on the sort of roughhousing that their other siblings enjoyed destressing through from time to time, which made sense considering his character. No, he had much more fun tracking down scents and footprints, stalking little beasts with his light paws barely pressing dents onto the snow as he almost slid across it only to suddenly jump high!, and lodge his snout into the candid mound so hard that his spine bent from the momentum and sent him sprawling on the ground, tiny unmoving prey proudly secured in his jaws so tight that it probably hadn't even realized what had happened. He was a joy to watch, frankly, so graceful and goofy and happy - it made Pohatu almost whimper ruefully at his inability to emulate him: they could have had fun racing each other after ice lizards, or maybe one could have hidden in the snow and the other would have had to track him down and pounce him, or even just going off to find food together... Kopaka's sudden melancholy had managed to keep him even from his preferred source of fun, and if it kept going on like this the Toa of Stone was going to start seriously worrying for him.

It wasn't anything to be scared of, his instincts soothed him once again: it was a normal if fragile state for his peer to be in, just passing a little slow. His mere presence was helping, he was certain of it - he just had to wait for the right signal. After that, everything would have gone right back to how it always had been without a hitch. In the meantime all he had to do was take good care of him and make sure his needs were met.

It was very, very important, to show he could look after him so well; the Toa of Ice needed to be assured of that as much as possible, lest he found him unsuitable in the end. The beast within made his stomach clench at that discomforting thought, no doubt just as worried about losing such a close friend as Pohatu himself was. Felling his anxieties mount over his spine, the Toa breathed through his occupied teeth and calmed himself: there was no need to worry about such unlikely things, he reasoned, when Kopaka's body language had been consistently hollering with delight whenever the other so much as caught a glimpse or whiff of him. He had cuddled him out of his worst moments and offered him all of his support, and right now he had some fresh breakfast in his mouth just for him - or mostly for him, if he wasn't hungry enough or instead felt inclined to share. Pohatu could admit that hope was mostly gluttony, as he'd had quite a few snacks of his own already while stalking down a good enough prey for his friend, but still, eating together did always feel nicer than doing so all alone... But that wasn't important: the sight of the entrance brough him back to the present.

He readjusted his grip on the meal again and slipped into the cave, easily making his way into the innermost chamber. To his delighted surprise, Kopaka was up and about, looking much more energetic than he had in the past few days: he threaded across the ground restlessly as if looking for something, although his snout was not grazing the ground following a track and his stance was very different from the one he adopted when out hunting. He made a few quick turns, joints essentially sparking with energy, aching for something indeterminate. His curious, quiet enthusiasm stirred a satisfied excitement in Pohatu's chest, the source and meaning of it unknown; the Toa of Stone decided to make himself known by throwing the prey a little further in front of himself (just in case the other didn't feel like fake-battling for it for fun) and letting a long shudder cross his body to shove off any snow on it and make a curious yet mostly indiscreet noise which would have surely gotten the other Toa's attention. As predicted, Kopaka turned to look at him; Pohatu noted with no shortage of curiosity that his eyes were unusually clear.

He pointed with his snout to the breakfast he'd caught for his friend, wiggling with pride just a little bit. And yet, despite the rumble in his gut certainly pointing towards his hunger, the Toa of Ice did not even look at the tasty morsel but instead kept his gaze fixed onto his peer with a sort of twinkle in their light blue color, a quiet wordless excitement that made Pohatu's back straighten a little by reflex. Still in perfect silence, Kopaka trotted over to him until their noses grazed one another as though to sniff him - which made it all the more surprising when instead he ducked his head under the other's jaw and leaned heavily against him, rubbing between the crook of his neck and chin. Before the Toa of Stone could fully grasp the motion his friend had already slid his entire body against that spot, the bumpy spine massaging his tough skull from underneath it before slinking away once more, putting a little distance between them but immediately turning to look at him with that same strange gaze while Pohatu stumbled a little in an attempt to follow along so that the velvety feeling would continue. It struck him only then: Kopaka smelled really, really good.

Did he want to play? Kopaka never wanted to play. Not roughhousing. But something in the way he posed himself before him was very deliberately making him want to flatten to the ground and jump him, roll with him, push him, cling to him. His eyes frantically looked all over him, trying to decode his physical language and coming up with blanks - he seemed to be nudging him closer to something, but what? He'd never seen his siblings speak like that. His confusion was slowly overwhelmed by another feeling, one he couldn't put a word to - his instincts were clearly familiar with it though, seeing as they were singing along with it, exalted, delighted, bursting with joy: their reasonings weren't fully comprehensible (many of them weren't) but amidst the confusion clouding his mind he still understood the enthusiasm coursing through him, and that this was fine, this was great! He had done everything just right! Kopaka was over the stars about the careful and attentive way he'd been treated, and now he was inviting him! Waiting for him! All he had to do was follow his lead!

The Toa of Ice watched him intently. He trotted closer once again to repeat the motion: something in Pohatu's chest jumped as he felt those hips rub against his chin, and one of his legs rushed above and over them, to trap him - which caused Kopaka to swiftly slink away again, widening the gap between them with a sudden stiffness.

Right, right - this was Kopaka's game, under Kopaka's rules.

The Toa of Stone flattened to the ground sheepishly, asking for forgiveness with wide guilty eyes. He hadn't meant to do anything wrong, he'd just gotten a bit too excited... Could he really blame him? No, he read in the smooth tilt of his peer's head, he really couldn't, not when they both had that confused antsyness animating them. Another chance, just one, alright? But be careful this time. Just follow my lead, the cadence of his steps said as he approached him for the third time while his new tantalizing smell bloomed from him so magnificently that it almost made his peer shake, and wait until the right time. I'll show you. You will? I will. You promise? I promise.

Pohatu held himself very still as their snouts almost touched. On his best behaviour, wasn't he? Kopaka's throat rumbled, pleased and amused; his nose dug into the crook of the other's neck playfully, to make him squirm a little and ease him up. No need for all that formality - just pay close attention. His head slid under the Toa's chin, rubbing against it as he slid forward, and soon his skull was replaced by his neck, then his shoulders, then his back, his waist, his hips... Just as his tailbone was about to break contact, something snapped for the both of them: Pohatu shifted in an almost liquid manner until he was essentially laying on him, legs aligned with his own, chest and stomach pressed against his spine; Kopaka wriggled beneath his weight until he deemed himself comfortable enough, and his entire upper body went down placidly, laying on the comfortably cold ground while a sweet nose rubbed his nape affectionately and tickled it by sniffing.

A sudden pressure caused them to pause for the fraction of a second, confused. But their insticts purred loudly in tandem, the vibrations rattling through them so comforting and soothing, reassuring them it was alright, reassuring them everything was just fine and normal and good, everything was going perfectly, and they were doing so very good; so the Toa were gently sat back down once again and simply watched, curious, a little excited even, as the Hordika resumed to move in perfect synchrony, filling a void they didn't even know was there with a comfortable warmth.

The sensation was so good that they didn't even register anything else they might have been doing. The rest of the world didn't exist: there was just comfortable weight, their bodies' shapes fitting together like puzzle pieces, a gentle ondulating rhythm, and purring.

So much delightful and delighted purring.

All of a sudden the pressure increased again, much more forceful: Kopaka grumbled and squirmed at that, stopping his intense kneading as discomfort slithered into his mind. Pohatu was quick to nuzzle the side of his head in order to soothe him, promising it wasn't anything to be concerned about - but he too could feel it, some kind of uncomfortable opposition that kept him from going forward. He just needed a moment, a very quick moment, and if he could relax for just a second, if he could help him... They slipped closer against each other in unison, growling quietly to get rid of the foreign sensations together, and the action produced a welcome feeling, like sort sort of tactile equivalent of the onomatopoeia 'pop', dissolving both the pressure and the unpleasantness back into their rumbling enjoyment with a pair of long sighs.

The strain of getting through that moment had worn them out completely. They laid down on each other, not moving a single inch, eyes closed and breathing even; their paws rested close while they absentmindedly rubbed cheek to cheek, exchanging every now and then little licks to comfort each other without any real purpose, and their instincts continued to purr intensely, praising perfectly satisfied their performance.

They prattled on within their chests and minds about things that the two Toa couldn't hope to comprehend nor really wanted to try decoding at the moment, tired as they were.

Pohatu reached out enough to pull his morning haul a little closer: Kopaka nibbled on it without even prying an eye open, just thankful for the offered breakfast. They shared it like that, one laying over the other, buzzing with quiet affectionate rumbles between bites, wondering lazily what all of this had been about. By the time they were picking off the last morsels from the protodermis bones they'd each individually come to the conclusion not to think about any of this too much. The Toa of Ice was clearly feeling much better anyways, and his peer didn't seem to have caught whatever had been plaguing him during their strange game - so all in all, everything was back to normal.

It wasn't like this once in a lifetime happenstance was going to have any long standing repercussions in the future anyways...

#bionicle #kopaka #pohatu #kohatu #random writing #suggestive #extremely vaguely so. just the way i like it #its a hordika au! technically canon compliant due to it happening between lomn and iod but idc too much really #a discreet amount of the characterization for the nuva comes from crystaltoa's analysis tho i added the idea of pohatu wanting to stay rahi #also about that last paragraph.#:)#i will cancel this if i get too embarrassed

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astronomicalfluffweek · 6 months

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Fluff Week FAQ

General

Which characters/dynamics are you particularly interested in?

JJK – literally all common ones unless they’re illegal, particularly the first years & gojo (including all the variations - itafushi, platonic!itafushikugi, the gojo-megumi thing, the gojo-itadori thing, and of course, the much less explored megumi-nobara thing). No very-rare-pairs please, unless 100% platonic! I usually don’t like them. Also, bear in mind I may have to google characters if they come from Kyoto school because I literally forgot all their names.

HQ – I like most characters, but am especially fond of iwaoi and bokuaka (sakuatsu at a push). I love all team dynamics, with a special soft spot for the JNT and Seijoh. Again, no rare pairs please (even platonic, in this case) but I will know who most characters are!

TGCF: fengqing. I’m obsessed with fengqing. And hualian, of course. Basically Xianle trio + Hua Cheng and all their dynamics.

My favourite character is Hua Cheng, followed by Feng Xin, and then – you’ll hate me for this – Pei Ming. Please bear in mind that if you write about any niche characters from tgcf, or those that only appear later in the books, I will not know who they are :( He Xuan is about my limit for late-appearing characters, and he does not appear very late.

Do you mind which ships I use?

Not at all, as long as they aren't a major rarepair, or use characters I've never heard of. If you're not sure, don't be worried - you can always just ask! Either DM me or drop an ask in my inbox.

Are there any examples of found family you could suggest?

Yep! JJK is 100% found family, so there's no issue there - the school dynamic, gojo's dynamic with the students (particularly megumi), the first years' dynamic, the second years' dynamic, the teachers/adults dynamic...

HQ also has plenty of examples. Each team dynamic, duo dynamic, and mentor/mentee dynamic offers something new!

TGCF is a little harder. Nearly all the ships have an element of found family, but there's the Xianle trio and, if you want to get a bit ridiculous, the calamities can also be pretty funny if you wrangle them properly...

Fanfiction

Is reader insert ok?

I'd rather your not, but if you're only really comfortable with that, then go for it!

Is there a word count?

I'd like it to be over 1000 words, but I've yet to meet a writer who struggled with writing too little....

How would I post my work when the time comes?

Assuming you're posting on A03, please submit it to the Astronomical Fluff Week Collection (astronomical_fluff_week), and you can gift it to me if you like. More on this closer to the time!

Art

What kind of art are you looking for?

Any and all! You can do a comic, a drawing or painting, some silly doodles, a meme, anything!

How would I post my work when the time comes?

If you're posting on tumblr, please post with the tag #astronomical fluff week, and tag me in it! More on this closer to the time...

If you have further questions, my DMs or inbox are only a click away! Please only submit asks to @astronomicalfluffweek, but you can DM @astrowaffles or any sideblogs I have!

@grungeeuvu

@jdjdddnn

@vintageskeletons

@love-nakamura

@erros429

@fridakahloblvd

@drpepper-spokesman

@eternally-tired-muffin

@mmmcheetos

@average-hua-cheng-fan

#astronomical fluff week #haikyuu #jujutsu kaisen #tgcf

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day0walker · 1 year

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i want to have little xavier and benji dolls and make them kiss and hold hands because thats what they deserve

Thank you anon I'm using your ask to post @fr0ntier 's present from me for the day 😌

“Starting to think you have a claustrophobia kink, or something.”

Xavier’s lips are pressed up to Benji’s throat so he can feel the vibration of his words and it’s enough to make him feel like a dog sniffing out a treat—unleashed and a little fucking feral about it. His teeth pinch the other man’s skin a little, earn him a sound that’s close to a whimper before Benji manages to wrangle it in. The soldier’s hand winds into Xavier’s dark red hair, shoves his head backward until it’s ground against the shitty leather seat of the car. The backseat is not spacious enough for someone as long as Xavier—nor is it spacious enough for someone as stocky and thickly built as Benji.

But, when you’re a criminal, trying to wrestle out spare time with one of those good SAS boys, you really can’t pick and choose the place. And tinted windows are helpful, unless some bully comes across the parked car and wants to instigate a ticket. Which case, Xavier does have a crowbar underneath the backseat. Not above using it to scare off the police; one more broken law under his belt.

Besides, that just means Benji has to be on top of him and they have to be pressed together in ways that aren’t entirely comfortable. He’s got a belt buckle pressed into the back of his spine and Benji’s leg is half crooked, his other folded around Xavier’s leg. It’s a mess of them both, but he wasn’t regretting all but kidnapping the man into the back of the car.

“You look stupid hot in your uniform,” is how Xavier chooses to reply, because he doesn’t want to think that maybe he does have a thing for tiny enclosed spaces. Or just has them for when Benji is involved. Because their bodies are warm together, he can smell the other man and it makes his chest expand in a way that hurts. Also, he’s hard as a fucking rock, but ignoring that. “Like, duh. I’ve been around military guys my whole life—but, man, you wear these pants real fuckin’ well.”

He punctuates it by squeezing Benji’s muscular thighs.

“Yeah? And I got a cramp in my leg that’s making me murderous, man. So if we doin’ somethin’, let’s have it.”

Xavier feels confused for a moment, looking at Benji hunched over him. His dog tags have slipped over from his military issue shirt, swinging a little. They’re different looking from Shadow tags—because of course Graves would get them their own cute, special ones, keep them all separated from the pack. He wants to yank Benji down by them, but instead, he pushes the tags up and back into his shirt. The soft feel of his fingertips on that barest hint of skin is enough to make a little firework go off inside Xavier’s lower stomach. He pats the other man’s side happily.

“Your accent’s cute.”

“Xavier, Christ—”

“Dude, I have you in the backseat of a car—I’m really not trying to fuck right now—”

Benji’s weight adjusts enough to make Xavier see stars again, that grinding sensation pushing his own tactical belt harder into his hips. He has to bite off a sound that would be half pained and half, really, really, really not pained.

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Move,” Xavier grunts, hands on Benji’s side and trying to manipulate their bodies.

“Piss off, you’re too big—Don’t grin like that. I didn’t mean your co—Wanker, you’re—Ow—Xavier.”

Benji is seething out his words by the time Xavier manages to get on top of him. He’s panting with the exertion it took to move them both, but his face is proudly lit up now that he’s maneuvered himself to look down at the combat medic. One of his legs is fallen into the footed area of the backseat, the other hitched up a little, but firmly on Benji’s side. He looks flushed and pretty and Xavier’s hand takes his chin, full palm and fingers holding him in one giant grip.

When he kisses him, it’s the same as their first kiss, just with a lot less blood. Still maybe, too much tongue. He can feel either of their facial hair making burns across their skin, he can feel the movement of Benji’s entire body up against him. He can taste the man, and it makes him feel that much more tight and wound up and almost angry. Xavier kisses harder, feels Benji’s hand wind back into his hair. Feels the scratch of his blunt fingernails and it makes Xavier unhitch, lean back and sigh out a sound that has Benji’s facial expression looking obscene.

“Why’d you yank me in ‘ere if we’re not…” Benji’s words trail off, his throat bobbing with a swallow. Xavier’s lips feel tingly from how hard they’d been pressed to his mouth.

“Sometimes, when I look at you,” Xavier starts, hand trailing over Benji’s chest. “You, this good boy soldier, with all your good boy soldier buddies. Man,” he leans in, grinds his cheek against Benji’s, grinds his full body down on him. He huffs out and then breathes in deeply the smell of Benji. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s like—Man, I wanna fuck you.”

“Look, no offense, mate—I’d be doin’ the fucking. Like, look at you. You’re asking for it all the time, practically.” And it makes Xavier laugh, makes his teeth bite into Benji’s cheek, which makes Benji’s hand slap down hard on Xavier’s thigh—probably aiming for his ass, but they’re all wonky, crunched up against each other in the weirdest of positions. Still makes Xavier’s hips buck forward, their tac’d geared bodies hard together.

“No one’s fucking anyone,” Xavier says, wrapping hands around Benji’s wrists and pinning them up against the back seat window. He’s shocked that Benji doesn’t immediately rip out the grip—the man’s strong. Real strong and Xavier knows it. Is very fond of how strong he is, but Benji’s looking up at him, like he’s curious, but like he’s also—nah. Not afraid. But, something else is there. Worry? Suspicion?

Xavier lets a wrist go to slide his arm up under Benji’s shoulders and grunts when he gets them both close again.

“Ignore my boner.”

“I’m trying, mate. Trust me. I am trying.”

Then Xavier kisses him again, his fingers tightening around Benji’s wrist, his thumb pressing against the pulse point. He kisses him until both of them are struggling to breathe and then he parts just to kiss him again.

“Like, all I could think of, watching you, was how bad you needed a fucking hug.” Xavier’s chest is tight to Benji’s, so he can feel the way the medic flinches, shudders full body. Probably has to do with the belt buckle Xavier knows was just shoved into his own tail bone. “Man, it’s crazy how bad I just want to—Dude, I could squeeze you till you fuckin’ snapped in my arms. I mean, not literally. You’re like, very broad. Very muscular. But you get it right?”

“It’s hot when you ramble, Xavier, but real hard to follow the plot when you’re drooling.”

“I’m drooling?” He quickly swipes a hand over his mouth, cheeks dark and red. “Anyway, let me get to the point. You ever look at someone and instantly want—not like want to fuck them? Right? But want,” he tilts his head and looks at Benji and really looks at him. Scruffy, tired looking, worn at the edges and frayed about. Xavier’s thumb digs into his wrist again, makes Benji’s brows pinch harder, his lips part to speak again. “Like just a hug? Right? You get that, right?”

The car windows have fogged because of all their heavy breathing. And Xavier’s leg is quickly going numb. He feels a nervous sensation in his stomach, a weird fluttering—that has nothing to do with the semi half hard on he has pressed against Benji’s thigh.

“Yeah,” is how the medic replies, after a long stretch of silence. His words pop a bubble and Xavier falls back down on him.

“Jesus, never make me explain myself again. That was like the most I’ve strung a thought together in a month. And it didn’t even include explosives; which are the more fun things I get to do as a criminal—”

“Look, merc, let’s keep kissin’ alright? I got to rendezvous with SAS eventually.”

Xavier rises up from where he’d laid his head on Benji’s chest and he pretends not to see an extra emotion on the mans face when they kiss again. Pretends not to notice how much softer and supple his body is against him. Pretends that it doesn't make Xavier’s chest hurt to think about it; that Benji might have had someone not content enough with a stolen fucking kiss in the back of shitty car, limbs getting sore and cranky from being shoved together like this.

#original writing #xavier #xavier x benji

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