#there's more pairs that i think they would get ironically that i might add in a different post if someone asks

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 15: Reclamation

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

A maelstrom of emotions dithers over the union you share. He seems unsure of what exactly he should be feeling as it fluctuates between fear, doubt, and bewilderment in a tumultuous outburst. His thoughts are akin to walking on the dark side of the moon - frigid, wilful in their grip on him with an undecipherable sapidity.

“What do you mean?” He shakes his head, eyes bouncing around as his brows pinch, creasing his forehead. His voice is detached and reticent, a masterpiece of regret and dolour. “I wouldn’t do such a thing, surely. Would I? Hells below. Did I?”

“You must have,” you conclude, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I don’t remember you doing it, but I can’t hear or remember it.”

Astarion jumps to his feet, nearly pitching you off his lap in haste, but he grabs you at the last minute, dragging you up with him. He pulls his trousers up but leaves them loose as he paces fitfully, muttering and mumbling to himself and wracking his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t understand,” he utters, half to himself and half to you. “I just do not understand. Why would I do such a thing? How long ago did I do this? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

It’s not your fault.

“I think it was before I…” you trail off, squeezing your eyes closed at the memory of Astarion stalking you through the Crimson Palace hallways like a predator, caustic venom spitting from his lips, every word eating away at your soul.

“Left me,” Astarion finishes with a note of despair, like a cold hand laid upon your bare soul. “You can say it.”

You nod sullenly, dropping your head, deject and wayward.

His emotions are flickering through your mind and body like a kaleidoscope of lightning strikes, each blinding flash incomprehensible in its intensity. You focus, but Astarion stops dead as you try to catch and hold them, and the connection is severed.

You are once again empty, a barren midnight sky that’s misplaced the stars and moon. Your eyes snap to Astarion, but the scarlet of his eyes looks hollow with madness as he regards you with the wariness of a wounded animal. He looks at you like he doesn’t know who you are, and it sends a wave of alarm coursing through you, causing your palms to heat.

He retrieves his shirt from the floor, always keeping a close eye on you as if you might pounce. He’s unreadable and cold, the iron countenance of the Vampire Ascendant shrouding him like an icebound veil. Without a word, Astarion darts out of your room, descending the stairs at a whirlwind pace that would be perilous for anyone who wasn’t so agile.

“Astarion?” In confusion, you chase after him without much thought, nearly tumbling down the stairs, and grab his arm. “Where are you going?”

He rips his arm out of your clutches with a bestial snarl. “Don’t touch me!”

“Just wait,” you plead with him, casting Misty Step and blocking his trajectory to the door. You can’t make heads or tails of this shift. “Please. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”

“You can’t help me.”

Astarion tries to get around you, but you won’t secede any ground and hold your position with foolish defiance. He grabs your arm, pivots, and thrusts you backward, throwing you to the floor. When you look up at him, those crimson eyes are starting to flick and fade like a star in the throes of death.

“Do not try and stop me again,” he growls, taking stalking steps toward you with a choler tinge in his voice. “Bad, pet.”

Astarion laughs, leans down, and grabs your ankle. He squeezes until the bones are wailing and threatening to break under duress. You whimper, beseeching cries for amnesty, trying to crawl away.

“Master, stop! Please.” You barely recognize the word as it jumps off your tongue in your agony. The haunting palette of bruising is immediately stained on the ghostly white canvas of your skin.

His grip is suddenly snapped away, and he springs back, grabbing his head with a pained groan, shaking it from side to side furiously as he roots himself in place. His breath falters as his eyes meet yours with a hysterical acidity as their claret shifts from deep and warm to shoal and dull as if covered by a thick layer of dust.

“Sorry,” he totters unsteadily on his feet, his lips parting with erratic breaths that make his chest jump aperiodically. His heart beats so hard in his chest that the sound is almost ear-splitting. “Hells. I’m so sorry. I— I— must go.”

Astarion does not even close the door in his urgency, and you’re left naked, clutching your ankle on the floor, staring into the street with your mouth agape. You cast Telekinesis to throw the door closed and limp around the manor, closing the heavy drapes to block the sun.

“Fuck!” You scream at the emptiness surrounding you as you pull yourself up the stairs on your lame ankle.

As you bathe, you allow your body to submerge into the spacious tub. You force yourself to forgo the useless impulse to breathe the air you no longer require and sink. The water’s surface contorts above you like an uneven mirror, twisting and warping reality. Everything is falling apart, and you feel like the sand of a beach being dragged away piece by piece with every crash of another wave upon the shore of your life.

Your heart would be beating recklessly in your chest if you hadn’t been alleviated of life. Colourful promises of love and breaths of forever in a realm of temporary fill your eyes with tears that seep into the water. Time stands still, and your doubt settles and masks your bravery. You’re one step closer to losing him entirely, but you must be fearless. Neither you nor Astarion can afford for you to fall.

Closing your eyes, you run headfirst into memories, searching your soul for all the places that feel like home.

The thudding of boots, the drip of rain that sneaks through the fissures in the bricks, the skittering and squeaking of vermin — everything echos off the stone in Moonrise. The fire throws foreboding, eerie shadows in slinking shapes across your tent that make you uneasy. No one wanted to camp here for the night, with the Absolute Cultists only floors below, but it had been a long journey through the Shadowlands, and the hungry shade had sapped everyone’s strength.

You flop restlessly on the furs in your tent, unable to trance. You had been counting the cultists inhabiting this wretched place as you made your rounds, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout. The omen of the arduous battle hangs over you, and you’re trying to devise some semblance of a plan to wipe them out in stages. You were never a very strategic planner. Typically, showing up and raining fire, violence, and death have worked for most of your life. Even with the help of the Harpers, one mistake could spell disaster.

Your ears twitch as you hear the rumbling murmurs bounce off the walls, and you’re out of your tent in a blink with fire ablaze in your palm, fearing the cultists have figured out that you don’t fit within their ranks. Taking a lap around, you take a quick headcount, checking your friends off one by one until you hear a soft, breathy whimpering.

Astarion…

Crouching by his tent, you whisper his name, but he does not answer. You recognize a nightmare when you hear one, and your hurt lurches in your chest, fingers hovering just over the door of his tent, but you don’t open it. Your proximity is usually enough to calm him without waking him, and this time seems no different. The trashing has stopped, and his muttering has ceased.

You sigh, relieved, and lay down at the door, curling up on the hard stone. You will rest here tonight if it means you can bring him even a scrap of peaceful rest.

“Darling,” Astarion purrs in a rugged timbre, heavy under the weight of drowsiness. “Whatever are you doing?”

You smile and flop over to peer into the hypnotic, heavily-lidded eyes. Astarion yawns, fangs peeking from his lips, and grins back at you.

“You were having a nightmare,” you whisper, making sure to keep your voice down so it doesn’t wake the others. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. I’ll stay here tonight.”

“You were going to sleep out here on the stone?” He cocks his head, quirking a brow at you. “Why?”

“It seemed to comfort you,” you shrug.

"I meant, why would you sleep out here when there's a perfectly good bedroll in my tent with me?”

“Oh,” you say, sitting upright with a jolt. “That’s okay, Astarion. Really. I’m perfectly fine out here.”

“Get in here, weirdo," Astarion giggles, grabbing your arm and giving it a gentle tug.

You hesitate, but he tows you harder, and eventually, you relent and crawl into his tent. You sit in the corner, trying to make yourself small, wrapping your arms around your knees.

Astarion huffs exasperatedly, “You do realize that we’ve had sex, yes? You were hardly shy during our little late-night expeditions.”

“I’m not shy, not with you,” you giggle but avidly watch how Astarion’s jaw clenches, fingers tangling into the furs. “You’re hungry. I can see it. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable to be so close to a food source in a confined space.”

“I’ll admit, it’s not easy when you’re so very delicious with that lovely neck, begging to be tasted,” he grins, an artificial smile meant to put you at ease. Astarion notices that he cannot fool you, and his fingers rifle through his hair. “I’m fine. Truly. You’re not in any danger around me. I can control my hunger.”

“Danger? Oh, Gods! No, Astarion.” You shake your head at him, offering your hand, and he takes it. His thumb sways softly over the back, “I’m not afraid you’ll hurt me. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. When’s the last time you fed?”

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. There was that cultist I made a snack of a couple of days ago. You needn’t concern yourself with it. I’ve gone much, much longer without a meal.”

There’s a bleakness shading the sculpted angles of his face that makes your heart palpate with empathy. You don’t have to ask for confirmation. Cazador obviously starved him as some form of punishment. It makes your palms heat in reflex as you seethe. You don’t care what it takes. You are going to kill the motherfucker who dared torture this man that’s stolen your heart.

“Astarion, whenever you’re hungry, I’m happy to offer my neck. All you have to do is ask.”

“That’s very… sweet, but the very shadows of this place are hungry.” Astarion sighs, wrapping his arms around his waist to smother his hunger pains. He smiles, “As much as I would absolutely love to take you here and now, you need your strength. We have many battles ahead.”

“Don’t be dumb," you tut, moving your hair away from your neck. “I need you strong. I am capable of deciding this for myself. I don’t need you to do it for me.”

“Dumb? Darling! You wound me.” He theatrically scoffs, hand to his forehead, falling back as if you slapped him, with a shallow chuckle, “I have received many slights in my life - Insufferable, insolent, insignificant, but this might be the first time I have been accused of being dumb.”

“Well, they say there’s a first time for everything,” you smirk, levity uplifting the lilt of your baritone. “Consider this your first.”

“You are racking up quite the catalogue of firsts,” he chuckles, shaking his head, propping himself up on his elbows. “Are you sure? I am truly of sound mind. No one is in any danger.”

You crawl toward him, heart rate accelerating with every forward movement of your hands and knees, “Will you please shut up and bite me already? Before I berate you for believing I think you’re a danger.”

Astarion’s hand wraps around your arm, persuading you closer with pressure, but he does not so much as glance at your exposed neck. He’s fixed on your eyes as if he’s found heaven hidden within them.

“Then allow us to dine together,” he nods slowly, eyes still moored to yours as he sits upright, prompts you to turn, and holds your back steady against his chest. He kisses under your earlobe and hints his lips down the column of your neck until he settles on that rhythmically pumping vein. He kisses it, long and lingering, and groans, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you sigh, barely able to contain your body’s excitement as it trembles in his arms.

His fangs puncture your skin like icicles, impaling the soft flesh, but it ebbs and dulls to a paradisical strumming before your mind has time to react and withdraw. For a vampire that has not fed on thinking creatures much, he’s remarkably gentle and has only become more tender since you started these little meals. He draws from you in unhurried pulls, tallied and modulated as he listens, and his palm splays across your chest over your heart to determine its pace in case he does not hear it accurately.

You feel your ethos skimming through his veins, warming his skin, flushing the tips of his ears, an antidote to his pain. You sigh mellowly, and your fingers untwist from his trousers, going lax. His arousal hardens against your back as he removes his fangs from your neck, tongue lavishing at the residual weeping wounds with broad, flat strokes and moaning a chilled breath over the shell of your ear.

Astarion turns your head toward him, catching your lips in a blistering kiss tinged with the coppery piquancy of your blood. His hips buck into you with a growl, and his hand veers toward your aching clit. You stop him short, grabbing his hand with a shudder.

“What are you doing?” You breathe against the needy, silken embrace of his mouth.

“You’ve been ever so generous,” he purrs. “Allow me to repay your charity in a language I speak proficiently.”

“No,” you break away from the kiss and his arms. Your head swims, bloodless and faint. Your heart hammers, trying to pump the blood no longer within your veins. You sway on your knees, and Astarion supports you with a hand on your shoulder lest you faceplant, “This isn’t a tit-for-tat offer, Astarion. There is no repayment. I am just one friend assisting another. That’s all.”

“I— You don’t want me?”

His genuine confusion encases your heart in a boiling bubble of sorrow, “You know I do, but not like this. I don’t want you if it’s compensation for my blood.”

“I’m sorry. It’s the only thing I know,” he looks bashful. If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s blushing, but that must be the rush of your blood through his veins. “Would you at least rest with me tonight while you're woozy? I will hear if anything untoward happens in camp, and I can protect both of us if need be.” He puts his hands up innocently, “I will keep my hands to myself. You have my word.”

“Do you think--" you trail off, bringing your hand to your forehead that seems to beat in time with your angry heart and groan. “That is to say— Could we —“

“Good Gods, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “Spit it out already before you lose consciousness. I did not take that much.”

Your arms drop by your sides, and you giggle with him, suddenly lethargic, “Never mind. I’ll sleep over here.”

“Now, who is being positively dumb,” he scoffs, clicking his tongue at you. “If you want to cuddle, you have but to ask. You know I do rather like cuddling with you.”

“If you know what I want,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Why are you making a spectacle out of me?!”

“Entertainment,” he shrugs, laughing carefree and alight with humour.

“You’re terrible,” you mutter.

“I know,” he smirks, lying back and extending his arms, twitching his fingers in the come-hither motion. “Come on, love. Let’s have a cuddle, shall we?” 

The bath water has turned cold by the time your eyes slide back open. You’re still lying at the bottom of the tub, in a watery grave like a sunken ship. How long have you been in here? Once your brain recognizes that you haven’t taken a breath in what could be hours, instinct takes over, and you propel yourself upright, coughing, sputtering, and gulping down the air furiously.

You scoff at yourself with antipathy. How long will it take for these responses to abate? When will your body just accept that you’re fucking dead?

Wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you listen for the comforting thud of Astarion’s heart but are only met with tomblike silence. It frightens you, making your stomach feel aflutter in your abdomen, reminding you of the Gur attack when you thought you lost him.

You slip into a long-sleeved, purple dress and tentatively peek outside. The velveteen embrace of twilight has cloaked the sky, but the cloud cover is thick, eclipsing the moonlight. You can smell the rain before the heavens have decided to cry. Reaching out to the bond, Astarion does not answer your call.

Fuck this.

You trot through the street, smelling the air. You wince with every step as the injury to your ankle smarts, but the bruising is already receding. It will not be long until it’s healed.

Unfortunately for you, the streets are still relatively busy, and your bloodlust is ever-present and a daunting task to control as you swerve and juke around people. Your mouth waters, and you shake your head like a wet dog to rid yourself of the smog that dampens and threatens to dwarf your self-restraint. The rain starts to drizzle, just as you predicted. The drops plane down your face, and you curse the skies because the scent of the rainfall on the dry stone of the street hampers your ability to detect much else.

You arrive at Wyrm's Crossing and follow the strong scent of blood outside a structure you are familiar with - the flophouse where Astarion's siblings were. The building is ominously dark and far too quiet. You sniff the air. It tastes almost bitter on your tongue, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the metallic richness, but you vaguely make out notes of rosemary and bergamot. You try to open the door, but it’s locked. Locks are hardly a challenge. You cast Knock and crack the door open. The fragrance of blood wafts so thickly in the air that you swear you almost see technicolour as you swoon.

It’s pitch-black inside, and your feet immediately come into contact with a stiff, cold mass on the floor, tripping you. Fire bursts to life in your palm, and mutilated bodies greet the illumination with milky eyes. Some have their intestines spilling out of their abdomens like gooey red ribbons. Others are missing the bottom of their jaw with their meaty tongues lolling out. These people were not just merely killed. They were brutalized, mutilated, and mauled.

A thick slick of congealing blood sloshes around your boots. It drips off the ceiling and down the walls like scarlet raindrops shed from dark skies, softly signifying sorrow's sharp sting. If your heart had not already hardened to macabre scenes like this, you imagine you would be sick. Instead, true to the monster you’ve become, it takes considerable effort not to drop to your knees and start lapping up the sanguine nectar like some thirsty mutt.

You are veritably shaking under the duress of temptation as you crawl over bodies to the one heartbeat that remains. Astarion sits at a table in an alcove in the back with a bottle of spirits clutched in his hand, several more littered around his feet on the floor. He stares abstractly at nothing, a million miles away, bleak and cold.

“Astarion…” you whisper, trying to get a decent look into his eyes.

“Darling?” His brows round when he looks at you, frowning and narrowing his glossy eyes. “You are afraid. Oh, no-no. Don’t be afraid. I didn’t mean to…” He’s confused, and it breaks your heart. “I killed them all, but I don’t remember. I am me now. I’m me - Astarion.”

“I know,” you purr, noticing that he seems to have to remind himself of who he is. “It’s okay.”

“Okay?” He scoffs, bringing the bottle to his lips and tilting his head back. He sways in his chair, causing it to creak, “This is about as far from okay as it gets. Did you not hear me? I killed them. I killed all of them.”

“I heard you,” you cradle his cheek and walk his gaze away from the body he seems fixed on. “We need to go home, Astarion. Before somebody finds us here.”

“Why?” He snaps, gesturing around with a satirical chuckle, “I will probably just kill them too. Or perhaps I will simply compel them to forget their names or their entire lives. Why stop there? How far do you think my power goes? Do you think I could compel them to forget how to breathe?”

“Astarion, please,” you slip the bottle from his fingers and crouch with your hand on his thigh. “Come with me.”

“I hurt you again today,” he sighs, staring at his empty hand with furrowed brows. “How do you sleep with me in the same residence? The same bed? How can you even stand to look at me? Gods. You must fucking hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you cannot help the tears pricking your eyes. He looks lost as his eyes roam aimlessly, climbing toward the ceiling. “I love you.”

“You love me… Do you regret it?” He whispers, curling his empty hand into a fist repeatedly as if he’s unsure if the hand he’s looking at belongs to him, “Helping me complete the Rite, allowing me to turn you, falling in love with me.”

“No,” your answer is immediate, and the uncompromising intonation surprises even you. “The only thing I regret is that we did not know enough about the Rite.”

“You’re lying,” he concludes, hollow, distant, and abject.

“Open the bond and check my truthfulness if you wish,” you retort. Your whole body shakes as you try to make sense of this broken man before you, “I wanted to be with you for eternity. Everything has a cost. I paid it willingly.”

“Do you know why I turned you?” He asks, face contorting with an anguish you did not believe you would ever see adorn his features again. The corners of his mouth are downturned, eyebrows dropping at the ends, “Do you know why I was so adamant that this was the only way our relationship could continue?”

“I don’t know, Astarion,” you sigh soft and sullen. “I don’t care. What’s done is done.”

“Tell me!” He snarls, slamming his fist into the table and cracking it down the middle, “Tell me why you think I did it! Tell me why you think I fucking killed you!”

You finally relent and sob openly. “Why do you do anything now, Astarion? You wanted to possess me, control me, own me, and make me your obedient puppet.”

“No, my love,” he heaves a tremulous sigh, shaking his head. His eyes are vacant and unseeing, blinking slowly. “Nothing so sinister as that. I was afraid. I was still fucking afraid. I knew you would age and die while I remained the same forever. You would leave me alone again, and I feared a world, a life, without you. I took your life and bound you to me for eternity for no other reason than selfishness, but I always was remarkably selfish. Wasn’t I?” Astarion gazes around at the grisly affair of his making, “Why can’t I remember? I am sick. Aren’t I?”

“We will save you,” you slip your finger under his chin like he’s done to you so often and direct his gaze to yours. Your eyes blister with resolve, and your voice bleeds the same, trying to fill him with strength, “But I need you to keep fighting, Astarion. You must not give up.”

“For you,” he murmurs as his eyes finally appear cognizant. Astarion slides out of his chair, descending to his knees before you like you made you do a lifetime ago, and wraps his arms around you. He presses his cheek against your stomach and whimpers, fingers curling into your clothes. “I will fight to my last, my love.”

Sunlight filters into the window, golden rays bathing the room as your eyes flutter open. You nuzzle against the silk pillowcase before your mind bombards you with memories of your skin loosening, dripping, cracking, and the agony that arrested even screams from your throat. You nearly leap off the bed in terror, but solid arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back against the strong muscles of a warm chest.

“It’s okay,” Astarion purrs, grappling with your trashing. He places a soft kiss on your shoulder. “I am here. The sun cannot harm you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

It takes your still hazy consciousness a moment to accept the promise of safety before you relax in his embrace with a sigh and roll over to face Astarion, looping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck. You can smell his blood pumping through his veins just below the surface of that pristine, silken skin, and your mouth waters. Your body urges you to bite, stomach knotting into cramps with the promise of that aromatic, richly decadent blood.

So close.

Before you know what you’re doing, your mouth is open, fangs hovering, and your body seizes. Astarion laughs genuinely, such a sparkling, airy rumble from his perfect lips as they pull into a smile against your cheek.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” He giggles, pushing you away, shaking his head with that playful glower, “Can’t get enough? I’m not surprised.” Astarion sinks his fangs into the fanning veins of his wrist and holds it out to you. “Remember, no biting and mind your teeth.”

You’re almost drooling at the oneiric vision of the weeping wounds. The scent of his blood is intoxicating - warm, full-bodied ferrous. The bright red drink of the Gods is a stark contrast to his pale skin, and it takes everything you have in you not to lunge for it. The offer of his blood is new and a little unsettling if you’re being honest.

“Go ahead,” his eyes dart to his dribbling wrist, brows furrowing at your hesitation. “This is no trick. Feed.”

He looks contrite, but there is a new tenderness in the way his eyes are fixed on you like you are shelter from the storm brewing behind his scarlet irises. You cannot handle it any longer. You take his wrist as gently as your fumbling fingers can possibly manage in your near frenzied bloodlust, bringing your lips to the wound. It tastes even better straight from his body, and your eyes roll back with a moan as you focus with a substantial amount of effort on drawing in slow, measured sips instead of trying to drain him dry in an instant.

“That’s enough,” Astarion instructs eventually, tugging his wrist just slightly. You could never get enough of this ambrosia on your tongue, descending into your stomach and making your nerves combust with delight. Your grip tightens on his wrist, and you growl at him, low and throaty.

“Hells,” Astarion groans pleasurably, eyes rolling back. His body trembles with excitement and pleasure. He enjoys this as much as you. He shakes his arm roughly and commands a little more harshly this time. “Love. I said that’s enough. Don’t be a greedy thing now.”

It’s enough to crack the haze that’s fallen over your mind, and you throw yourself from back, detaching from his wrist with panicked breaths. You’re sure when you look at him again, you will be staring at the embodiment of Mephistopheles psychosis, “I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m sorry.”

“Hey-hey,” Astarion coos deeply, like a warm auditory hug on a cold winter’s night. “It’s alright. I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?” You cannot help the stain of surprise that blooms in your voice.

“No, love,” he chuckles, his fingers pressing into your waist, encouraging you to cuddle, and you curl up against his side. He sweeps his thumb across your lower lip, gathering the blood smeared on it and pops it into his mouth with a sly grin. “I was a young vampire too, once upon a century, and I was certainly over-enthusiastic with my consumption of you the first time. It takes time. I can help you with it. We can practice like this.”

Your brows furrow, creasing as you try to think through the residual film of mist. This man is entirely too perplexing. It feels like you’re always trying to run from him, convincing yourself that everything is a trick, that you must be on guard at all times so you don’t get close, but is this just a way for you to hide from what you fear most of all - that you will be unable to save him, and you will lose him all over again.

There’s just no fucking time for this anymore. There is no more time to lose.

Astarion directs your gaze to him, “What’s going on in that beautiful mind?”

“Do you remember what you said last night?”

Astarion’s brows round, and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Yes.”

“Was any of it real?” You murmur, pushing yourself upright so you can look at him. You request the bond, and Astarion and you unite, transcending time and space, melding together. It takes you a moment to gather yourself, “Or were you just drunk?”

“I meant every word.” Astarion turns suddenly serious, sitting and sagging against the headboard, “I wish to speak to you about something.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” He combs his fingers through his hair, “You called me Master. I do not wish you to call me that - think of me in those terms. Is that how you see me? As your… ugh,” he casts his eyes to the ceiling, “Master ?”

“No,” you snap, but it’s a lie, and you know it, which means he knows it through the union. You backpedal, “Yes. It is what you are, Astarion. Whether you or I like it, I am your spawn, and you are my master. This is just reality. It will do us no good to pretend that the dynamic of our relationship is different.”

Disappointment slashes across the bond like a blade cutting into your heart. It’s so strong that it physically aches in your chest, and you splay your hand across it and whimper.

Astarion shakes his head, eyes downcast, “I do not want to be your master, little love. I never did. I did not make you a regular spawn.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Astarion. What do you mean you didn’t make me a regular spawn? What other kind of spawn is there?”

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut momentarily, taking a deep breath, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He leans, opens a drawer and produces a book that looks ancient. Its cover is dulled by timeless centuries, and its spine is broken with loose pages precariously tucked in. His fingers tap the book, staring at it as if he dreads what he’s about to do.

He gives you a skeptical sideways look and passes you the book, “Page 152.”

Opening the book, you flip through the musty, yellowed pages until you reach page 152, titled “The Dark Kiss.” You scan the page, reading it once, twice, three times while Astarion stares at you with an unreadable expression. You can feel him in your head, looking through your eyes, thrusting into the folds of your mind, penetrating the softness of your soul, caressing your most intimate thoughts.

There’s trepidation in him. Your soul practically quivers under the weight of his unease. He is afraid of your reaction, and the entity within him is stoking those glowing embers of worry with its babbling breaths of affirmations, trying to ignite an inferno of fear that will melt through the shackles of his control.

“You need to explain this to me, Astarion,” you gawk at him, swallowing thickly as the information slowly sinks in. You’re unsure if the nervousness making your stomach warp is truly yours or his.

“I made you my bride – consort,” he does not look at you when he speaks. His eyes stare blankly at his twitching fingers. “How many times did I bite you that night?”

“Uh,” you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to recall the memory fogged over from blood loss, “Three. Once when we had sex, once on my wrist, and then my neck.”

Astarion nods, “I don’t remember much from that night, high as I was on the power of 7000 souls, but I do recall my intent. I bit you three times, as described in the book you’re holding, and then gave you my own blood. I told you this bond was unique to you and me because it’s only shared with a bride.”

“I’m sorry.” You rack your fingers through your hair, tousling it into an incomprehensible mess to match your whirling, tangled thoughts, “Are you trying to tell me that we are - what? Vampire married?”

Astarion smirks at the bewilderment adorning your face but looks bashful, “I suppose that’s an accurate description, yes.”

“And you declined to tell me this until now because?”

“Honestly?” Astarion’s eyes drift once again to the ceiling, “I meant to. I had every intention of telling you the truth, and then... I enjoyed the power, the superiority I had over you. I saw fear in your eyes when you looked at me, and I liked it. I liked you believing you were nothing. I wanted to revel in it. It fed the sickness within, and then I was... lost for a while.”

“What does this mean for me exactly?” It takes incredible effort to keep the rising panic from your voice.

Astarion’s eyes widen as your whirlwind of terror is added to the mixture of emotions between you, “It means you’re not quite a spawn, not quite a True Vampire, but as close as one could get while still being bound to me and under my control should I choose to exert it over you. I believe it can be reversed, should you wish it so. I’d have to do a little research--”

“No!” you blurt out in a yelping retort that makes Astarion flinch. He assumes your anxiety is due to being bound to him in such a way, you realize. The truth of it is your panic is a shadow looming over the increasingly dire odds of everything you stand to lose.

A friend. A lover. A partner. A... husband?

You smirk at the notion, pushing away that worry - you have time to worry later. Right now, you want to enjoy this. It’s the closest you have gotten to Astarion telling you he loves you. Perhaps, the closest you will ever get, and some sad speck of your soul laps at that wound and dabs it with this new information as if it might cure the incurable.

“Well,” you shift into his lap, leaning into the asylum he’s promising you through the bond, “I’m definitely going to start calling you husband now. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

“HA!” Astarion giggles, shaking his head with an endearingly lop-sided grin. His unkempt silver curls fall and bounce carelessly, “But of course. I can deny you nothing, wife. I wish to try and undo what he,” he corrects himself. “…I did - your name. I might be able to reverse it, but I’m not entirely sure how. You need to trust me, and I can feel you do not.”

You’re a little bemused that there is something Astarion doesn’t know how to do, and you grin at him, your fangs peeking out of your lips.

“Good Gods,” he rolls his eyes at you with a heartwarming smirk. “I am all-powerful, not all-knowing. Compelling is instinctive. Releasing it is another story entirely.”

You want to trust him. Gods above, you long to trust him like you used to, but how can you, given what you know? You wrench on the tide of the bond, causing it to spill and break over you as ocean waves crash upon boulders that dare protrude from its surface. You scour the chords of the harmony, picking them apart note by note, feeling for any sign of manipulation, deceit, or ill intent. Astarion flinches, squeezing his eyes shut with a wheeze, but he does not attempt to stop your search. You find nothing, but then again, he is the Vampire Ascendant. If he wants to hide something from you, he will.

If you want to get your name back, you have little choice.

“Do it,” you confirm.

“Look into my eyes,” Astarion purrs in a deep baritone. “Remember, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing.”

Bringing your eyes to his, the crimson in his eyes sparks alive, like little matches aglow in the red sea, and you have never seen sparks quite so beautiful.

The sensation starts mellow, like the flow of a calm spring, as it trickles through your mind. It feels like liquid fingers whispering against your psyche. The sensation makes your skin prickle, and goosebumps erupt all over. You want to shudder, but your body cannot move. Tributaries branch off and stream until your whole brain feels like it is being grasped by a hand.

And that’s where the pain begins in a sudden influx, a steely, jarring stab, and it feels like his fingers are in your brain, parting every crimp, crease, bend and wrinkle like you are a tome to be read. You’re unsure how long you can take this as he picks your mind apart, looking for whatever compulsion does. You manage to let out a whine, and his eyes flick.

“I know it hurts,” he soothes. “Just a little more, I think. Can you hold on?”

You can only whimper your response. You’re not sure if it sounds like a no or a yes. He continues his dismantling forage, ferreting around in your mind. Suddenly, something changes. All those tributaries and calm, flowing springs snap into one spot, and white-hot pain blooms in your eyesight, blinding you. You’re positive he’s cutting a piece of brain matter right out of your skull. You want to writhe, to scream, to beg him to stop, but you cannot.

You wonder if you might pass out, and then you hope you pass out as the pain becomes more than you can bear. Sharp, like a red-hot blade, has punctured your skull, pierced your brain, and is now broiling against your grey matter. Your vision starts to tunnel, black borders encroaching, blurring everything but the glow from Astarion’s eyes.

Just as you think you're going to lose consciousness, a knot untangles, an invisible barrier crumples, and the bondage on your body eases.

“Hey,” Astarion jostles you, fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair behind your ear. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you breathe shakily. “It’s fine. Did it work?”

“I think so?” Astarion rubs the back of his head. “There’s only one way to know for sure. Do you remember your name?”

You think hard, trying to pull it from the deepest recesses of your memories, but you can’t remember it. “No.” You sigh, “Can you say it to me?”

“Illyria?” 

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, please enjoy ☺️

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Yay! Tav can hear her name, but does she actually remember it?

I'm leaning into the "Dark Kiss" bride/consort theory because why not?

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion x oc #astarion x named tav #fangs and fractured hearts

[mattynmarns]

Please do the dteam sunglasses post

hi anon you have no idea how much fun i had doing this

ok first for dream: he has a strong jaw, a round face and dark eyebrows

on the left: holbrooks aka the most popular men's sunglass. like every outdoorsy suburban dad owns a pair. they're square so they'll make his jawline pop and they're made for wide faces so they'll be comfortable too also these ones are green and i think he'd like them :]

on the right: the sutros. these are a pick for both dream and sap bc while they scream I'm Straight And I Like Football they're also oakleys and are made for guys with dream's face shape so they'll fit really good and frame his face really well. also i think sap would think they look cool and buy them bc of that lmao

on the left: the dolce plastic aviators that i have wanted for a literal entire year. they're big and wide and they will look really good with dream's jaw. a lot of people like the classic rayban aviators but 60's, 70's, and 2000's retro is in rn and the plastic will last a lot longer and look more stylish

on the right: one of my favorite pairs of pradas like its hard to see in the screenshot but the sides are teal and yellow which would look SO COOL with dream's hair and eyes and skin tones. also they look kinda funky at first (retro babey) but like. my brother tried these on and they looked SO GOOD its not fair and my brother looks fairly similar to dream in hair eye skin tone etc so i think dream would absolutely slay in these.

for sap he still has a very masculine face shape (strong jaw, dark eyebrows) but it's slightly more angled than dream's jaw so i wanted to highlight that higher cheekbone in my choices

on the left: some classic wayfarers, sap def has a smaller face than dream but still very masculine and these would highlight that while also giving him a very simple, classic look. these i think fit his personality more than anything (which is surprisingly important for sunglasses)

on the right: traditional clubmasters are going to be a really similar look to wayfarers but because they're part metal, they'll give a little more shape to his face and the softer edges will bring out his higher cheekbones

on the left: burberry percys which are going to be similar to the wayfarers in that classic look that draws out all his features nicely and i chose this pair specifically because of the slight slant at the bottom to make his jaw line look really good (also the tortoise color will compliment his hair really well)

on the right: burberry eldons which are a pair i personally got very recently and are part of the newest burberry line. they're the bigger more masculine version of the small, square, and dark sunglass trend and the square look will contrast with his round cheeks and softer nose to give a cool balanced look

for george i didn't pick nearly as many but he has an oval shaped face and nice dark hair and he can grow a bit of stubble which means the entire sunglass world is at his fingertips. like oval shape faces fit basically anything (although disclaimer i don't think the round glasses he was wearing during name your price were the pair For Him SORRY BUT HE'D LOOK BETTER IN SOMETHING MORE SQUARE) but yeah i think if he wanted to go for more masculine shapes, sap's picks would also look really good and i think the pradas in dream's picks would look fucking amazing on him like colors. shapes. EVERYTHING

on the left: prada 17ws aka the tiktok sunglasses aka the bad bunny sunglasses aka the pete davidson sunglasses etc etc but i think these would look really good on George like they're trendy but they're the 60's and 2000's retro with the thick sides that make everything Stand Out. george is made of contrasting cooler color tones with his paler skin and dark hair and eyes and this pair will only highlight that

on the right: the gregory peck oliver peoples sunglasses that I've only ever seen irl once when i fixed them for a lady (i think i swooned when i saw this pair) the style is round but not too round just enough so that it gives some contrasting edges with george's oval face and the round lenses that stand out. the bridge esp has a more traditionally European look that you'll see in persol glasses but the pair as a whole is understated and classic

#this was SO MUCH FUN you have no idea omg #there's more pairs that i think they would get ironically that i might add in a different post if someone asks #but YEAH #also also when i say round or wide face I'm not saying that in a n.eg way AT ALL its literally what they're called in our trainings #a lot of bigger guys have wide and or round faces and dreams a bigger guy so that makes sense #ask #anon #also if anyone wants me to do this to other people (cough the rest of dtqk+ cough cough) I TOTALLY WILL #and last thing but idk if any of these would look good on them irl i just kinda made this based on my exp #based on what similar looking people got and what looked good on them

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

omg okay so I’ve been trying to think of something appropriately AMAZING to ask you for your celebration so I raise you: 💬 Put Joel and Pin situation… DOUBLE DENIM JOEL (like him for actors and actors) she finds him a jacket? and she tailors it for him…. PLEASEEEE

I love you 🩷 so happy to be your friend

Double Denim

Seams sleepover micro drabble request | 825 words | warnings: none other than that a confident Joel is a sexy Joel, double denim menace | can be read independently of the series but is part of the Seams universe

Joel stares at his closet, stumped.

He says closet, but it’s more of a glorified wire rack mounted onto the wall next to his bed. And while his collection of clothes has grown from what he crossed the country with, it’s not much more than a bunch of shirts, jeans and underwear. It’s enough that he always has something to reach for when he rolls out of bed - usually unwashed and crumpled - but hey, who’s judging?

But now, for the first time in longer than he can remember, Joel doesn’t know what to wear.

He could go for the jeans he was wearing yesterday, his nicest pair, but he got paint on it right on the crotch thanks to a clumsy manoeuvre, of all places. And he could wear that (marginally) smarter red plaid shirt that he knows you like, except there’s a stain on the front that he never managed to get rid of completely.

It’s just not good enough.

Joel shakes his head in disbelief. This is absurd. He’s a fifty-three year old man fretting about what to wear in the middle of the fucking apocalypse. 

What’s probably even more absurd is the fact that it’s movie night in Jackson. He’s taking you to see Casablanca, and then to dinner afterwards.

And he wants to look nice for the occasion. 

For you.

There’s only one thing to do.

You look up from the shirt you’re ironing when the doorbell rings over him at the Outfitter, and you smile. ‘Hey, what are you doing here?’

He gives you a peck on the lips. ‘Hello, sweetheart. I uh - I wanted to buy some clothes.’

‘Oh, did something break?’ you ask, setting down the iron and giving him a once over.

‘No, I just - wanted somethin’ new.’

Joel smiles at the quizzical look on your face, always so open and expressive despite your shyness. He knows his answer comes as a surprise to you, as it did to him.

He watches as your mouth parts with a grin, excitement in your eyes. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Joel Miller partaking in some clothes shopping?’

He winks. ‘Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?’

‘Alright, so, what were you thinking?’

‘Some nice jeans, and a nice jacket - maybe,’ he adds with a touch of uncertainty.

You don’t look like you expected that answer, and you tease him in reply, ‘Nice jeans and a nice jacket? Whatever for?’

Instead of answering straight away, he reaches for your hand and pulls you close. The sweet gasp that escapes you makes his heart swell with possessiveness, and he dips to brush his words against your lips. 

‘For you, sweetheart.’

You duck your head, more from habit than actual coyness, and you curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt to keep him flush against you. ‘Are you trying to romance me, sir?’

‘I might just be, ma’am,’ he answers with an insolent grin. ‘If that gets me a discount.’

Rolling your eyes, you jokingly push him away and instruct him to wait here, before disappearing into the back of the shop.

Joel is browsing the jeans rack when you return, your hands full. At the questioning arch of his eyebrow, you explain, ‘Someone brought these in the other day, and I thought they’d fit you.’

‘Settin’ clothes aside for me? What would Maria say?’ he tuts, shaking out the jeans and the shirt with a skeptical look. ‘Denim on denim?’

You feign exasperation, pushing him towards the dressing room. ‘Just try them on, you insufferable man!’

It’s deja vu as you wait, hearing him disrobe on the other side of the curtain, and you cross your arms and try not to tap your foot, impatiently, excitedly -

When the curtain snaps back, you can’t help but stare.

Joel cocks his head to one side, a lopsided smile at his lips. ‘Well?’

A parody of your first meeting months ago, you parrot the same words back at him. ‘What do you think?’

He turns on his heels to face the mirror, pulling on the lapels of the denim jacket, perfect for mild autumnal evenings that don’t warrant his winter coat, but are a touch too cold to venture outside in just a shirt. The mid blue wash matches that of the jeans, comfortably mid-rise and straight cut, with the cuff upturned at the ankle of his brown boots. Without even thinking about it, hands in the pockets of the jacket, he twists around to check out his ass in his reflection, as unashamedly as you are.

Unlike that first time, Joel doesn’t need any prompting to answer your question. 

‘I look fuckin’ good, sweetheart.’

With a grin, you slide your hands around his waist, down his ass, and into the back pockets of his jeans, biting your lip when you watch his eyes darken at your boldness, while you preen in the easy confidence that fits him even better than these jeans.

‘Hell yeah, you do.’

Note: Thank you for this super cute prompt @undercoverpena! I tweaked it a little bit, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ❤️ AND I've been dying to put Joel in this ensemble, thank you for making my dreams come true 😘

#fuckyeahseams #seams sleepover #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader

[weirdmageddon]

💿⚛️ davejade headcanons

sorry for leaving you guys waiting on this for like a week lol i kept being like “tomorrow for sure” but falling asleep but anyway here it is. i might add more to this if i think if anything but reblogs might not reflect the up to date source version so you can always find it here

most of these are pointing out stuff thats basically canon anyway but whatever lol. basically canon headcanons

dave tries to impress jade to get her attention because he likes her

this ones for you *misses hoop by 5 feet*

he doesnt mind jade’s inane riddles honestly. he isn’t perturbed by how she just knows things like rose is, because he doesnt think into it too far. he trusts her

he spends a lot of time indulging in her interests and showers her in his music and poetry

they draw things for each other a lot <3 jade has the pictionary modus and seems pretty good at drawing and of course dave sent her sbahj as furries in the mail. sending jpegs over the internet is BABY NONSENSE. real boys send their childhood friend/crush pictures they drew for them through the INTERNATIONAL POSTAL SYSTEM to an unspecified island in the middle of nowhere, pacific ocean that gets packages dropped by plane so the recipient can tangibly hold it and hang it in their room

actually i was going through the commentary and hussie addresses it as such:

“Also notice her SBaHJ furry poster, which was clearly a very thoughtful gift from Dave”

aww

jade would give dave a "cool" plushie of a tiger or something nd he keeps it on his desk . froot’s beautiful idea

he loves her plushie sensibilities. so much less unnerving than his bro’s phallic puppets. they're still soft but no cognitive dissonance this time about the softness coming from foam puppet ass hoorayyy

theyre still reading homestuck on act 4 but they understood them instantly

jade humors dave’s ironic cool facade because it makes dave feel more comfortable without feeling too exposed, but it’s because of this that he feels like he can open up to her because she isnt prying. (im still not over the smile here btw. only jade could make dave smile after a fucked evening where he spilled juice on his turntables and accidentally skewered an innocent crow with his sword and broke his window this mf is TYPING. also getting a bit of joy out of the fact that the only visible suit on his cards-themed bedcover in this panel is a heart)

but he knows that jade is not unaware of what he's hiding. couldnt even refute her lol

from the knight’s perspective, it’s “i’m not as [blank] as i appear. i want you know that about me if i know you well and trust you, or i DON’T want you to know that about me if i DON’T know you well. the reason is that i want to know that i can trust you to avoid turning my insecurity into a Whole Thing”

basically she allows dave to take initiative when HE feels comfortable and confident in sharing the things he’s self-conscious about. this really helps him be comfortable and form a strong bond with her

dave would wrap his arms around her to “ironically” imitate a pair of tangle buddy squiddles (while actually concealing genuine affection basically unbeknownst to himself) but he winds up looking just a little too into it for just an “ironic” bit yall……

jade is slower to realize her deeper feelings since she shows love to everyone (so long as theyre deserving of it!!!) it just hits her one day that she actually Likes him in a special way, while for dave it is more dynamic and gradual but very on the downlow, expressed in creative acts and services

once dave actually recognizes he’s really caught feelings for her down the line, dave and jade happily do the tangle buddies hug all the time. its like their handshake. its their weird couple thing

these two when together as a unit they do not give a shit about what other people think of them

this shit lol:

Creative Fucking Powerhouse the two of them

davejade ass song to me

jade is quite spacey and super appreciates dave’s level-headedness and steady pragmatism while at the same time not being a rigid stick in the mud about it. for example when they were acting as each others’ server players dave was advising her but it was appreciated by jade

sorry its just literally socionics duality LITERALLY THIS IS THEMMM (also i spent WAY too much time making these graphics and integrating texts from multiple sources please appreciate it)

fittingly with that, as ouroborista writes about the opposite space-time aspect dichotomy,

Space and Time are the fundamental Aspect pair. Their job is to make shit take place. To create novelty. Between them they span not only all of existence but also the inseparable twin approaches of any creative project. Space goes for breadth, for ideas, for expansive, holistic input, while Time goes for needlepoint focus and a rapid-turnover ability to pull through on the prompt. There’s a reason why these are the two Aspects necessary for any successful session of SBURB.

jade is literally always having a little giggle about him. dave is a funny guy. lame court jester ass boyfriend

he’d draw his post-ironic fursona and show it to her with the usual deadpan expression on his face, eyes obscured by his shades. but jade will look at it and when he sees her smile and laugh it makes it all worth it. his cheeks feel warm and he’ll smile slightly like “heh heh”. dave the type to smile like an idiot over anything jade does like his mouth keeps making a thin line and hes trying to fight it but . Jade

dave thought jade looked absolutely stunning in her 3 in the morning dress his mouth probably stupidly hung open the tiniest amount seeing her after swapping into it

of course she only wears it for what she considers "very special occasions"…..spending time with dave seemed to be a very special occasion :)

jade think dave looks sharp in his suits!!

imagine jade adjusting daves crooked bowtie and lapel and his palms start to sweat and he darts his eyes from behind his shades and chews the inside of his cheek she making him nervous bro 💯

jade is definitely the teaser and dave is the teased. still i dont think jade teases dave as much as john and rose which is why he feels more comfortable opening up to her about his shit. her teasings are much lighter and inconsequential

despite how funny and informal he is dave is a classy well-put-together romantic. he is responsible and harmonious in how he choses to present himself. remember when he got secondhand embarrassment from rose when she was drunk before her date with kanaya and he suggested to her and kanaya that the two reschedule? … he’d NEVER do something like that. sober. suit is ON. hair is neatly combed. he is right on time, not too early not too late, and his first words are “yo whats up”

dave has this designated driver energy about him

after dogtiering jade’s dog ears can perk and flatten, adding even more expressiveness

jade has so many hobbies and interests i think she’d get dave into horticulture somehow unironically

theyre both the kinda mf to ask “would you still love me if i were a worm”

dave’s hands are warm

jade’s skin can be cool to the touch in some places like the back of her arms or shoulders and dave places his hands there to warm them. or by rubbing them or something

idk just some associations space is cool and time is warm to me. the vaccuum of space is cold and time is associated with gears which are associated with generating heat and dave’s classical element is fire and jade’s is earth and her planet is initially covered in snow and daves is covered in lava idk…. just makes symbolic sense i guess but its also cute in its own right

dave would love going to the beach with jade on earth c cause the ocean is so boob i mean boob i mean boob i m,ean boob i mean SHIT . blue. blue

this Fucking animation bro

she infodumps about science and he sits his ass down to listen

jade does this (excuse the fact that the url is roselalonde)

#homestuck #davejade #dave strider #jade harley #headcanons #spacetime #hs

[moralesmilesanhour]

my neighbor's a punk

summary: you move into a new apartment with a noisy neighbor. inspired by this prompt list! wc: 922 A/N: just wrote this for some practice. I'm getting better at writing longer drabbles, I think! As always feel free to reblog and leave your reactions in the tags or comments. As of the date this is being posted, my requests are also open! (pls check my pinned beforehand)

You had never seen a garden so beautiful.

Vibrant blossoms of yellow and orange greeted you as you hauled two medium-sized boxes carrying the last of your things through the entrance of your new apartment. Their fragrance wafted through the humid summer air, delighting you and confirming that they were, in fact, real. But for the past couple of days that you had been in the process of moving in, you’d never once spotted a gardener or seen the sprinklers turn on. Curious.

The modest apartment had only a couch to occupy the living room, which was currently still dotted with cardboard boxes. A freshly-ironed shirt and work pants lay neatly folded on top of one. You stepped over a few to get to the kitchen, where various unopened appliances were strewn about the counter. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, you made a note to finally put everything away in the cupboards tomorrow evening after work.

No TV meant your only sources of entertainment for the time being were your phone and your laptop. It was now evening, and you were slouched on your sofa in the midst of a harrowing ‘Game of Thrones’ episode when a violent guitar riff ripped through the air and made you jump.

These thin-ass walls…

Whoever was playing (very well, you might add) seemed to be next door, so it didn’t take long to follow the sound to the correct number. You knocked impatiently and rang the doorbell too, for good measure. It took a minute for the music to come to a halt before the sound of heavy footsteps approached the door and you heard it unlock.

Once the door creaked open, you weren’t sure where to look first.

Your eyes darted back and forth between the array of piercings on your neighbor’s face and dangling from his ears, the wicks styled to shoot out from his head like an explosion, and his bright red plaid pants before landing on a pair of large eyes set deeply within a dark, angular face.

Judging by the way his pierced brow quirked up in amusement, you weren’t the first to give him a weird look, and wouldn’t be the last.

You remembered how to speak.

“Oh, um- hey,” you began, “I live next door, and I heard you playing–”

The young man’s face lights up and he interrupts, “Oh, d’you like it? It’s a song I’ve been workin’ on for the past few weeks. Finally got the bridge down.”

You blinked. 

“I mean…it’s not bad. It’s great, even, but–”

“Say, I haven’t seen you around before,” he pointed. “You new here?”

The man spoke with a strong Cockney accent, you noticed, with a tinge of something else that made a couple of vowels run together.

“...Yes, I moved in two days ago,” you sighed. “Now that that’s out of the way, I was about to ask if you could maybe play a lil’ quieter? You’re very loud.”

The realization seemed to dawn on him that you weren’t here to applaud his sick guitar riffs, and he winced. You almost felt bad for disappointing him, but you had a show to binge.

“Ah shit, my fault. Got too used to playing on full volume after the last neighbor moved out,” With a hand placed over his chest, he promised, “Won’t happen again.”

You nodded with a tight smile. 

“Thanks. Goodnight,” you said as you turned to leave.

The next few days were quieter, though you could still hear the neighbor’s guitar through the walls at a much more manageable volume. Sometimes you would hear the man humming to himself in his baritone voice. Eventually, you were so used to it that you found yourself falling asleep to the sound.

One Saturday morning, though, you awoke to the peculiar sound of silence. Normally by now you’d be hearing the first few chords of…whatever the guy was working on, then he’d reach the end by mid-afternoon. Part of you wanted to check up on him, but reason held you back; you’d only spoken to him once. Maybe he was just taking an off day.

Unable to return to sleep, you decided to shower and take a walk outside while the air was still comfortably cool.

As soon as the early morning sun hit your face, a familiar head of hair came into view.

There stood your neighbor–band t-shirt and all–in the garden in front of the apartment. Watering the flowers.

Mystery solved.

“So you’re the reason the plants haven’t died yet,” you laughed, causing his head to snap up.

He grinned, and lifted his watering can proudly. “Sure am. Bring some color into the place.”

“I thought it was awful quiet around here,” you remarked. You toyed with the hem of your t-shirt. “How’s the, uh…song going?”

Something between delight and surprise graced his features and made him look boyish. 

He smiled, revealing a crooked front tooth as he replied, “Almost done with it, actually.”

There was silence for a beat, and the both of you shifted awkwardly where you stood. 

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off. 

“Mind playing it for me when you’re done?”

The tall man seemed about ready to run laps around the block at the suggestion.

Quickly setting his watering can down, he replied, “Thought you’d never ask, mate!”

He jogged his way around the perimeter of the garden and over to you. “Can I get your name while we’re at it?”

“Y/N.” You stuck out your hand, and he shook it.

“Hobie.”

#hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown fic #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x gender neutral reader #atsv x reader #moralesanhour

[strawberry-cowmilk]

outfits the brothers would pick for mc

-> mc lets them choose their outfit

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

a/n: time doesn't exist for me now and it was in my drafts for an eternity so here

content warnings: none I think

-----

Lucifer

you'd have to ask him really nicely to dress you (but this man is soft for you of course he takes the time to make you happy)

something close to his style, so a freshly ironed button down with a waistcoat and dress pants or a tight midi skirt depending on which one you'd prefer

for shoes he chooses loafers from the same brand he wears

the colors are generally darker, he'll involve stuff like black maroon and navy in the outfit

Mammon

he's immediately on board when you ask him

you are getting put in cargo pants and a tank top first of all, if you wear cropped things, the tank top will be cropped, or a long sleeve turtleneck if tank tops aren't your thing

mammon will let you pick whether you want a pilot or a racing jacket with the look, and chunky sneakers as shoes, also you'll get rings and sunglasses just like him

every item is from a designer brand, and the colors are black paired with neon tones

Leviathan

he'll say yes, but there's a good chance he'll put you in anime and tsl merch

of course he chooses the ruri chan hoodie both of you got at a con, he has no idea what bottoms and shoes to choose though so he might leave that up to you, but if you insist on having him choose he'd go for jeans and sneakers

levi just wanted you to wear the hoodie, and since he has the same one you two can match

Satan

I mean it's not like he's busy so sure

he will either dress you up like a detective in a novel or add some cat themed clothes there's no in between

for the detective option he'll add a trench coat and a tie to the outfit (he'll probably be recreating one of his own detective outfits on you)

he'll probably give you cat socks to wear regardless of anything, they'll be covered by the shoes anyways

Asmodeus

really? he can do anything he wants?

if you don't want to walk around in something like metallic pants you'll have to tell him now or he grabs them (if you prefer a skirt he'll get a metallic skirt)

the color of your shirt will depend on the color of the metallic bottoms, like if they're more purple your top will be purple or another cool toned color

if you're okay with it he'll do your makeup too to match the outfit

Beelzebub

he doesn't consider himself to be very fashionable so he's surprised you asked him

he'll just look at whatever he's wearing at the moment and grab the same pieces for you

one thing is for sure he will not put you in heels because he's scared you might get hurt (even if you're experienced walking in them)

if he happens to be wearing his workout clothes he'll ask you if you want to do some exercises with him

Belphegor

he'll do it but there's a good chance he'll just grab the first stuff he sees in your closet

if you own any cardigans he'll pick one though

when belphie shops for clothes he's looking for comfortable stuff, so that's exactly what he's going to choose for you

in his eyes some sleepwear counts as clothes you could wear outside, especially some pants

and he'll be lowkey proud of the outfit he chose for you

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me swd #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines #gn!mc #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #beelzebub obey me #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #belphegor obey me

[wildemaven]

The Beginning: The Proposal

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

WC: 3528

Warnings: language, established relationship, 2nd POV, mentions of food and drinks, im going to refrain from any other things to not give anything away, but it’s all fluff

A/N: It’s here!! I’m excited and nervous!! Happy to give these to a little more love and a little bit more backstory to them. Normally I have a full blown moodboard (and I do) but it would give away too much so I’m opting to not have one but if you’re interested in seeing it, I can post it in like a separate “spoilers below” post. Also, reader’s nickname is revealed in this, so any future posts will have it when referring to her (so much easier to when trying to avoid a name). And last but not least, their song picked by y’all is Lover by T.Swift and there’s a playlist linked below.

Edited to add a big thank you to @noisynaia for letting scream at her my thoughts!!!

Okay. I hope you like it. And if you ever want to scream about these two with me, my ask box is always open.

Previous / Series Masterlist / The Proposal Playlist / Weekends Masterlist

Sometimes the beauty of life is allowing it happen organically.

Delicate bits of time woven together through fleeting moments— in varying degrees of inconsequential or life changing events.

Momentous is how you would describe your life in a single word at this very moment in time.

The last 6 months had been a whirlwind for you and Frankie. Since that night you’d both not only confessed your love to each other, but also deciding to spend the rest of time together.

You’d convinced your landlord to let you out if your lease early, due to you being a exemplary tenant for several years. With the help of Frankie and the guys, you were able to box up your things and move into Frankie’s house across town.

It had taken a few weeks to unpack your life into this new space, but you felt a sense of accomplishment once everything had a place and mixed in effortlessly with Frankie’s belongings.

You’d both decided early on to keep your engagement to yourselves— a secret for the two of you to savor and enjoy.

Not that you were worried about what others might think, but this felt like a special kind of thing you wanted to bask in before sharing with your loved ones.

And when the time was right, everyone would know.

*

Your schedules had been booked and busy, so you’d both decided to take a random Friday off to spend some extra time together. You were excited to have a 3 day weekend, alone with your fiancé. Which also meant sleeping in as late as you wanted and taking your leisure time to extricate yourself from your cozy lush surroundings.

The bed dips a bit as you turn and stretch out your slow waking form.

“Time to get up sleepy head.” His voice is still your favorite part of waking up. The soft cadence tickles every inch of your body, better than any cup of coffee ever could.

“You let me sleep in, thank you.”

“You looked comfy all wrapped up, figured you could use a few more hours.”

He kisses you, it’s sweet and laced with a hint of bitterness from his morning coffee.

“Mmm! Good morning handsome.”

“Mornin’ Beautiful. There’s a coffee and a danish on the nightstand for you.” You shoot him a questioning look, amusingly taken aback and confused. “Don’t look at me like that. They were all out of croissants this morning, so I went with your second favorite.”

You accept the offer, rolling on to your stomach to reach for your coffee. You get lost in the first sip and savor its creamy rich flavor as it hits every waiting taste bud.

“Alright sleeping beauty. Time to get your ass outta bed and get ready.” Giving your backside a few pats before heading for the bedroom door. “Our appointment is at 3 and then dinner reservations are at 6. Gonna go iron my shirt and clean up my shoes.”

“Hey!” Playfully yelling for his attention as he walks away.

He stops just outside the door, turning back towards you.

“I love you.” He serious expression relaxes and his face lighting up instantly.

“I love you too.” He shoots you a wink before turning to carry on.

It takes you a minute to get yourself up and moving. Bites of your delicious danish and sips of your warm latte aid in your efforts to get yourself ready.

Your mundane routine of showering and prepping for the day were taken at a deliberate pace. Enjoying the balmy spray of the water, soothing the slight aches and pains that had built up over the last week, the feeling of relief is almost instant.

Toweling yourself off and slipping on your cozy rob, you finish readying yourself with a simple makeup look— nothing too fancy or bold, just enough to accentuate your most favorite features.

The garment bag containing your dress for the day was tucked away in the back of your closet. You were so excited to finally get to wear it and eager to see the look on Frankie’s face when he sees you in it.

It was muted in coloring, an off shade of white, it wasn’t anything you’d ever considered for yourself but the moment you’d tried it on there was an instant reaction of sorts. It’s silky smooth fabric hugged your body in such a way that you couldn’t help but feel like it was made for you.

Jewelry and shoes finished off the look, taking yourself in fully as you stand in front of your full length mirror. You hands smoothing over the dress, admiring every detail of your reflection.

“You look stunning.”

Your eyes immediately drawn to Frankie in the mirror leaning against the door frame.

Your breath catches at the sight of him. His head cocked to the side as he admires you, hands tucked into his pant pockets, suit jacket hugging his broad shoulders over his freshly ironed shirt— the top buttons forgotten about in true Frankie fashion.

He pushes himself off the doorframe, taking a few long strides until he is crowding behind your spot in front of the mirror.

His eye contact is direct, holding an intensity that makes you dizzy. Your body tingles when his large hands slowly rest on your shoulders, his thumbs toying at the delicate straps of your dress.

“Frankie…” His name floats over your lips as you look at him with an ardent smile.

His eyes never stop watching you as he leans down pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, your eyelids flutter as the sensation of his lips ripples through your body.

Your hand comes up to caress the side of his face, his beard trimmed down, the stubble causing a bit of resistance to your touch.

You can’t help the tiny moan that escapes from your throat as Frankie begins to press kiss after kiss along your neck, tilting your head to completely give into to his wandering mouth.

“If you don’t stop, we’re never going to be on time.” Your breathless, knowing that it’s a slippery slop of carnal desire once things start to heat up.

He kisses you one last time before standing to his full height.

“You look so pretty.”

“Pretty?” His eyebrow raises at your comment, not he doesn’t think a man can be pretty, he’s just never saw himself as such.

You turn so you’re fully facing him, hands resting on his chest as you look at him with a sweet gaze. “Yes, pretty. And your hair looks good too.” Your fingers lightly combs through the sides just purely for the experience of touching him some more.

“You think so??” You nod softly and lean into kiss him gently.

“Let’s go handsome.”

*

It was a 45 minute drive, which gave you both plenty of time to enjoy each other’s company. Chats about work and plans for the next few months permeated the truck cabin. 70’s ballads filled the in between silence, but usually evoking laughter from you as Frankie would do his best to stay in tune with the music.

This was now a regular feature in both of your lives. These days spent together, relishing each and every moment, were your favorite. Weekends alone or with friends had you craving adventure as much as possible. But even the slow paced weekends, at home had become a cherished time for the both of you, wanting to absorb each and every moment before the work week was knocking at the door.

The large building towers over the street as Frankie pulls into the parking spot. Its florid design was beautiful for a giant cement building, the front covered in windows and ornate decorative details that are reminiscent of older times.

The weather is warm and sunny as you make your way to the building, Frankie’s grasp on your hand is grounding, giving it a few subtle squeezes as you walk through the glass doors.

The air inside feels cold and stale as you wait for the next available window, very on brand for such a building. A slight shiver has Frankie pulling you in to him, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Next!”

“Good afternoon ma’am. We have an appointment, should be under Morales.”

She doesn’t respond as she clicks away at her keyboard, squinting at her computer screen through her wide-rim glasses.

“Do you have all your proper documentation with you today?” Straight to the point and zero enthusiasm in her tone.

“Uh, yes ma’am.” Frankie hands her the small stack of papers she had asked for. You squeeze his hand now, 3 times as a silent ‘I love you’.

“It’s says here Mr. Morales you’re previously divorced. Do you have proof of dissolution? Otherwise you may not proceed with your application.” She asks as she continues to hold the papers that she hasn’t looked at yet, not even looking away from the screen.

“Yes. It’s in the with the other papers. It was an amicable dissolution, we both signed and agreed to end the marriage—“

“I don’t need your life story sir, just the proper paperwork.”

“Right. Sorry, ma’am.” 3 more squeezes to his sweaty hand, thankful that Frankie is handling her crankiness so calmly and with a smile. She clearly has been doing this for years and has zero intention of small talk.

Her fingers continue to click more buttons and she scans through the papers, inputting the information into the proper boxes. And after what feels like a long process, she’s printing out some new documents, stacking them with the ones you’d given her and hands them back to Frankie.

“Please wait for your name to be called.” Barely making eye contact as she adjusts herself in her chair.

“Thank you ma’am. Have a great weekend.”

“Mhmm. Next!”

“Clearly your charming good looks had no effect on her.” You snicker into Frankie’s shoulder as you both walk to the sitting area, trying to keep your comment contained between the two of you.

The minutes tick by, the space is eerily quiet, so you keep talking to a minimum while you wait.

The other chairs are filled with what look like other couples, all most likely there for the same reason.

You take in the sweet older couple who sits across from you. They must be in their 80’s and yet they have a young innocence that seems to envelop them. Their hands anchoring them to each other as they sit snuggled in sweetly. You can’t make out their conversation, but the way she is smiling and looking at him, it feels like she completely taken by him as has been for awhile. He pats her fragile little hands as he talks and every few minutes he looks at her like she’s the only one in the room— your heart nearly implodes at the gentle kiss he gives her forehead.

It’s like you’re looking at a glimpse of your future. A love so authentic and undying, strong enough to endure hardships, a vivid and passionate life together that never gets tiring.

The soft whisper of your name catches your attention.

“You okay?” 3 gentle squeezes to your hand, the reciprocated gesture tugging at your heart.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just happy to be here with you.” You smile emphasizing your words.

“Alight, we have Morales up next! Please make your way through these doors and the commissioner is waiting for you up at the front.”

*

Entering the room, you’re welcomed by a lady standing behind a wooden podium— she’s already more inviting than the older one at the front desk.

Frankie’s hand is anchored to your lower back as you both make your way closer to her. Frankie hands her the papers she’s needs and you both wait for her to begin.

“Welcome. I have a few more couples after you so let’s get started. Do you have any witnesses with you today?”

“No ma’am we do not.”

“Okay, that’s fine, not a requirement in the state of Florida. And will you be exchanging rings today?”

“No ma’am, we do not have rings.”

“Well, this might just be the easiest one today.” She laughs a bit as she shuffled her papers around a bit.

“I’m going to ask you both to face each other while I read the declaration of intent.”

You can feel the emotions already flowing through you, as you look at Frankie. This man has gifted you with so much in such a short amount of time and you can’t help but feel so grateful for this life you’re about to begin.

“Please join hands.”

Frankie takes yours in his, his is touch is the most powerful thing you have ever felt.

“Francisco, do you take—“ There’s an pang in your chest as she says your name, but it’s not a heavy feeling, it’s light and airy as she continues reading from her paper. “To be your lawful wedded partner?”

“I do.”

His thumb sweeps back and forth across the top of your hand, his smile is beaming with elation.

“… do you take Francisco to be your lawful wedding partner?”

“I do.” There’s a slight crack when you say it, emotion fully overtaking your voice.

“… you have come here today on your own free will and declared your love for one and other.”

Tears begin to fall from your eyes as you look back at Frankie, your whole body feels like it’s floating on a blissful cloud. He wipes each tear and gently rubs your cheekbone, you lean into his touch.

“You have joined yourselves in matrimony. May you aim all your lives to meet this commitment and celebrate

in each other's company. And now that you have given and pledged your love and have stated so by joining

hands, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the State of Florida as Deputy Marriage Commissioner, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

And you do. It’s unlike any kiss you have ever experienced before. It’s all-encompassing and heart-stopping, pouring out all the love you have for one another— his lips feel like forever.

Wedded bliss is intoxicating. An indescribable feeling of starting this new chapter together and looking forward to a future where it’s the two of you steadfast in your fidelity and aspirations.

*

Driving straight from the courthouse, you’d both felt slightly over dressed at your favorite restaurant, it’s casual setting a stark contrast from your wedding attire. In the short time together, you’d both become regulars, dining in or takeout had become a weekly occurrence.

Frankie had made the reservation and must have mentioned it was a special occasion because the table is nestled in a corner that was secluded from the rest of the restaurant. Lit candles and small arrangement of flowers placed in the center.

You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect post wedding celebration. Indulging in your favorite dishes as you reflect on the day, it all still feeling surreal and fresh. The staff also gifting a slice of cake, a little congratulations on your new marriage.

“How long should we keep it from them? Santi’s going to be pissed when he finds out. I can already see that assholes face.”

You laugh because you know he’s right, but you know he’ll be happy for you both, they all will.

“How about we wait a month. Then we can invite everyone over for dinner, the weather’s been nice too, so maybe we pull out the bbq even and we tell them then. I mean, we made it 6 months engaged and none of them had a single clue. I like the thought of this being between us for a little bit.”

“That sounds like a great plan.” He leans over and looks at you with an almost devilish smirk. “Now, let’s get home so I can get you out of that fucking dress.”

“Mr. Morales, you have quiet the mouth on you.” You tease amusingly.

“Well Mrs. Morales, this mouth also has plans for you this evening.” His tone hushed as he spoke, a wink to seal his response.

You close the space between you, feeling his plush lips against yours. “Then take me home soldier.” Your tongue peeking out, the softest lick to his lips before pulling away and settling back into your chair.

“Can we get the check?!”

*

It was dark by the time Frankie pull the truck into the drive way. The stars like little fireflies lighting the sky and the moon silently vigilant as it settles in for the night.

“Did we leave a light on before we left?” Unbuckling yourself and noticing a faint light illuminating the front room, a slight panic creeping in your eyes.

“Hmm, I thought we turned them all off. Go head on in and check it out, I’m gonna lock up the truck and grab the leftovers.”

Thankfully the door is secured and you don’t see any sign of a break-in or anything out of place, relief washing over you.

Stepping through the threshold into the house you’re met with an unexpected sight. Dozens of white roses on every surface surround the open room, the floor draped in a sea of white petals. Bouquets covering the kitchen island where small candles are lit, the glow you saw from the window, more bouquets as you look into the living room.

You’re completely speechless and in awe of the beauty of the room and you’re so confused trying to figure out where they all came from. Clearly someone did break in? But decorated with flowers and locked up after they left…

Footsteps through the doorway bring your attention back to your surroundings, their presence stopping behind you.

“Frankie? What are all these flowers doing here?”

He doesn’t respond, but you can sense that he’s there. Pulling your eyes away from the flowers you turn to face Frankie, except he’s not level with you when you do so.

There before you is Frankie, your husband, kneeling on one knee looking up at you holding a small box in his hands.

“Frankie?” A wave of shock and elation crash over you in a matter of seconds. “What are you doing?”

“Hermosa… I know you said you didn’t need some big extravagant proposal and seeing as how we just got married just a few hours ago 6 months after meeting, we definitely don’t follow traditions.” His voice is so soft, and his eyes have never looked brighter.

“This is me promising you a future, a life where you are not alone. From the moment I met you, I knew I wanted to be apart of your life in some capacity and I wanted to make you smile everyday because it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Everyday I wake and think of you and when I sleep I think of you, you consume me with your laughter and your words of encouragement and your ability to live without abandonment.” You gasp as he slowly opens the small box revealing a ring. The design is simple and elegant, a beautiful stone setting with a unique design on a wider gold band.

“Te amo Hermosa. Will you be mine forever?”

You can’t stop the tears that are pouring down your face, you can’t even properly form any words as you nod your head reaching out for him, standing to his full height, placing the ring on your finger.

“I just need to double check that was a yes?”

“Yes! A million times yes!” You laugh through the still streaming tears, swatting at his chest as you look down at your hand, the ring sitting perfectly on your finger.

“How did you manage to get this all set up? It’s beautiful by the way.”

“I enlisted Hannah to help.”

“Hannah knows?!”

“No. No she doesn’t know what it was for exactly. I just said I wanted to surprise you after a dinner with flowers, I didn’t realize she was going to go all out. Remind me to check my credit card later.”

You kiss him, soaking in the moment with him. “I love you Frankie.” You whisper against his lips before you begin kissing him again.

“Wait, there’s one more thing.” He states as he pulls out his phone. “I also had Hannah show me how to use my phone with the speaker, something about blue teeth?”

It takes him a minute to get it connected, but he manages to get it hooked up. Music begins to play, it’s a softer song and you realize it’s one of your favorites. You’ve played it numerous times over the last few months, claiming that the song remind you of yours and Frankie’s love for each other.

“Can I have this dance?” Tossing his phone to the couch and holding his hand out to you.

“Always.”

The song played on as you both held each other, the soft sway of your bodies around the room. The flicker of the candles still adding a touch of light, laughter and kisses exchanged as he spins you about.

This was only the beginning.

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #Frankie morales #Pedro pascal #weekends with frankie #wildemaven writes

[ettelenethelien]

ok, but how much did the numenoreans know about the fate of men? because...

the thing is, when you share Tolkien's Faith, the way it's always presented as such a huge mystery is almost funny. because you can so, so easily guess -- well, not even guess, you just know what he meant; it has to be the same as ours, whereas in-world it's always "well, mandos knows, and maybe manwë". kudos for being aware of something most of the valar aren't, then.

but how much do the numenoreans know or guess? they say "we must die and go we know not whither" and I used to pity them a bit for that uncertainty -- which, of course, would not excuse anything, but might be disquieting, especially when you're placed next to the immortal elves. we seem to be pointed towards the edain of the first age having no beliefs they were certain about in regards to this, going only on hope -- one of the closest things we get is when hurin has his moment of defiance to morgoth: "well, you cannot keep on tormenting us after we die! then we're out of your reach", but interestingly, as far as what concerns us here, he replies to an accusation that he's just repeating what the elves taught him (which is not a valid counterargument, but never mind), saying that no, it just came to him in that very moment. in general, we get the idea that they know very little, though some of them vaguely hope for something good (and I do wonder whether news of Beren shook things up at all, even if he did not, after all, meet the full fate of men that first time, just waited in the hallway).

so far, so good, if a bit bleak, but then we get to The Mariner's Wife, and Meneldur's dramatic monologue:

'May Eru call me before such a time comes!' he cried aloud.

and

'I am in too great doubt to rule. To prepare or to let be? To prepare for war, which is yet only guessed: train craftsmen and tillers in the midst of peace for bloodspilling and battle: put iron in the hands of greedy captains who will love only conquest, and count the slain as their glory? Will they say to Eru: At least your enemies were amongst them? Or to fold hands, while friends die unjustly: let men live in blind peace, until the ravisher is at the gate? What then will they do: match naked hands against iron and die in vain, or flee leaving the cries of women behind them? Will they say to Eru: At least I spilled no blood?

and you could read it differently; to be honest the polish translation gives less room for doubt, which may colour my interpretation, but it does seem that he knows, or guesses with seeming certitude, and that is such a different attitude from everything else I've mentioned.

what have I to say to this? nothing except that beliefs may have grown or changed. I am very far from an expert on this, but, within ancient Israel which might be the closest analogue, and was even mentioned in connection to Númenor by Tolkien, beliefs regarding the afterlife seem to have indeed evolved with time; compare, say, the Psalms with (2nd) Maccabees (*the latter is in the Catholic Bible, but not in the Protestant ones, if you're puzzled) or Wisdom?

yes, it's not much of a conclusion, l admit, but there isn't really anything else I might say, unless it were to add that third age gondor seems to be somewhere in between, with a vague and hopeful sense of something, aragorn's "and beyond [the circles of the world] there is more than memory" and faramir's "till that time, or till some other time, beyond the reach of the seeing stones of númenor" (italics mine) being the relevant quotes. (the rather dramatic, if you think about it, context for the latter, being that faramir is probably well aware neither he nor frodo are that likely to see the next month. also worth noting that the italicised phrase is in text paired with the image of an alternatively possible - though "beyond hope" - meeting where they could "laugh at old grief, in the sun")

(the rohirrim seem to have their own beliefs, but they also seem to come with their own traditions, which, while not on the most part incompatible, may at times have been different. on the other hand, what we have is not much less vague either, just cloaked in different terms, so there isn't much evidence either way.)

#my post #Númenor #edain #Tolkien meta #tolkien #Silmarillion #lotr #peoples of arda #mini essay

[evilminji]

Why Dont More BNHA SI-OCs end up Animals?

No, seriously, Nedzu is both terrifying and an INCREDIBLE asset.

If you were a Villian. An ends justify the means sort of bloke, as it were, why WOULDN'T you try and make another Nedzu? Sure, he promises terrible, terrible, blood soaked Vengeance, the likes of which sane men fear to contemplate and madmen shudder to behold, but? It's not like THEY'LL get caught!

They are VERY smart.

They have a plan!

Are you catching the sarcasm? Cause they sure are catching these Probably A Stoat Hands! And a tire iron! No survivors! *Nedzu's back up coughs awkwardly* Fine. SOME survivors! But he's still upset.

He dislikes Labs.

And think about it! Really, what is more likely? Some rando has? Two(2) SEPERATE Quirks? One of which not only kicked pre-birth, but is continual and very likely the ONLY THING keeping THAT PARTICULAR SOUL in that body. While the other is? *spins the wheel* Meh. We'll figure it out later.

Those are VERY different Quirks!

They would require VERY different secondary adaptations. Some of which might CONFLICT. Fatally no less. It would also be a rather notable quirk mutation, from their parents.

Possibly HEREDITARY.

Gonna have your OC grapple with the reality the not ONLY have a Chronic, Life Threatening, Quirk Reliant Medical Condition. That if the ever get arrested, falsely or not, they better PRAY those cops both notice and GIVE A SHIT about their medical bracelet... or that's it.

One pair of Quirk Suppressing Handcuffs.

Any medical grade Suppressant.

They'll die. Plain and simple. Dressed up in fancy medical jargon, their body will just... given out. Like a puppets who's strings are cut.

Oh, and it's HEREDITARY.

Because Quirks run in bloodlines. And once a mutation happens? It's here to stay! So her/his/their KIDS all stand the chance of being yoinked from another world. And their grandkids. Great grandkids. For however long it takes to shift into something else.

Here's a brochure on adoption.

You know, assuming you live that long.

Is it a great idea to explore? Fuck yeah! Am I gonna do it? Fuck no! So free to a good home I guess, just lemme read it! But!! You know what SIDE STEPS all this?

Quirked Animals!

Perfect for all you dub-... actually, let's not lie to ourselfs, WILDLY UNETHICAL scientific needs! You can splice in genes for intelligence Quirks! Maybe you'll get it right! Ballpark it! So what if loads of them die horrifically? Something, something, in the name of progress! They tell themselves.

Nedzu :) Violently :) Disagrees :)

But he ALSO! Only soooorta gives a shit about... like a small handful of humans. A fellow Quirked Animal? Who needs Schooling and legal Gaurdianship? A guide to the world of humans?

Not to MENTION? My Ace ass love the concept? Of abstracting attraction!

Because!

You are a Cat.

You are a Quirked Cat. You Quirk allows you sentience and memories of being human. Do you still find humans attractive? Or was that your human body? Do you find CATS attractive? They are animals. Your mind rebels. But? Were two images, drawn upon a wall, presented too you? Which would be desirable to you now?

Well groomed fur? A charming grin?

No one and nothing?

You are a Cat. A teenager. Around you, your peers speak of dates and crushes and dreams of marriage in some far off future day. You struggle to reach the seat of your desk, too see the board properly. You have nothing you can add to their conversations.

Clothing feels oppressive and wrong against your fur.

It feels worse to be naked.

You are a Cat.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation

#bnha #bnha prompt #bnha thoughts #minji's ponderings

[mermaidsirennikita]

So You'd Like to Fuck a Villain: Romance Novel Recommendations

Have you gotten caught up in a villain ship? Are you, perhaps, what might be called a villainfucker?

The issue with stanning for villains and wanting them to have romantic love and happiness and possibly group sex, is that they often don't. At least, not onscreen. Some of the most popular romantic ships, obviously, have been villain ships--Reylo spawned a wave of romance novelists (though, I might add, many do not actually write villain-centric romance novels, which is fine), Darklina powered no small part of Shadow and Bone's publishing success... and let's be real, the success of the soon-to-be-ill-fated-from-what-I'm-hearing TV show. On a darker level, Interview with the Vampire took off in no small part because people love the tainted love that is Louis and Lestat, where maybe? They're both villains? (Definitely more Lestat, but you know.)

You know what the great thing about a romance novel is? The villain has to get a happy ending. They just must. It's a rule. If a villain is a lead, the HEA is guaranteed (rhymes), or it's not a romance novel.

So, for Cupid's birthday, I'm recommending some of my favorite villainfucking romance novels. I just think that we deserve it.

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

Wicked Villains by Katee Robert.

As you might guess, this series is in fact about villains getting their happy ending, full stop. And it does so by adapting Disney villain ships and placing them in a contemporary setting full of organized crime, sex clubs, and deals gone wrong. It is fun, it is campy, and it is very, very sexy. Check the trigger warnings (which Robert typically lists for each book on her website)--some of these do feature heavy BDSM and CNC.

The diversity of the pairings is so appreciated--while my favorite thus far is the first, Desperate Measures (Jafar/Jasmine with a mob wife "you killed my father" spin, for those curious) you get several triads (Hades/Hercules/Meg, Beast/Gaston/Belle, Ursula/Ariel/Eric, to name a few) and the ever-coveted sapphic Maleficent/Aurora moment. I don't think there's a straight person in this collection of characters. Contemporary romance can be a hard sell for me, especially in terms of villainy... But these are just a ride.

HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas.

Obviously, if you haven't read Devil in Winter yet, you need to read Devil in Winter. It's a classic--not just of historical romance, but romance in general. Though, pro-tip: I would recommend reading the preceding It Happened One Autumn first, as that's where the villainy takes place. Devil in Winter is about a recovering villain--a rake who did a very, very bad thing (kidnapping his best friend's lady love) simply because he did not want to get a job. I mean.....

Sebastian St. Vincent is a soft touch villain, and not just because he's super good at touching. You know he's going to roll over and beg for it with his seemingly-gentle, secretly-iron-willed heroine; but it's watching him get there that's so fun. His bark is worse than his bite, but he does deliver quite a bark (and quite a bite). If you like 'em snarky and slutty, read this book.

Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt.

If you like a blond villain who seems better at lounging about than doing manual labor, Valentine Napier takes what St. Vincent was doing to another level of insanity. St. Vincent is sane; Valentine is not, and he's a lot less fun about his kidnappings. Fortunately, his heroine (dispatched to spy on and steal from him) does not take any shit.

This is a book for those who like them loony, because I really don't think Valentine reforms in the least. He just falls in love, all while running around naked in bedazzled, open robes and brandishing a knife. At least he's good in bed and keeps giant, nude portraits of himself in his own house. Keep in mind that this book does delve into some pretty massive childhood trauma, including all kinds of abuse.

Villain I'd Like to F...

This anthology of novellas delves into five stories of historical romance villainy, by five great authors. I'm going to list each novella and its author, as these collections typically disband after a period of time, allowing the authors to sell the novellas individually (though you often can find the collections in online libraries like Libby). In the brackets!

[ Lady Viper and the Bastard by Eva Leigh.

Do you enjoy Dangerous Liaisons? Try this delightfully sexy Georgian-era novella about a widowed vamp and an illegitimate libertine, teaming up to break apart two young lovers (for a price). Except what happens when these two assholes start to catch feelings? Notable in that these characters are in their forties, know themselves, and do engage in some fun role-playing.

Seven Sinful Nights by Nicola Davidson.

Our young-but-ready widowed heroine is toiling in the service of her dickish in-laws... Until the owner of the local gambling hell (who isn't above murder and torture, and does enjoy dominating a bit) shows up demanding payment for her brother-in-law's debts. Those who love an innocent heroine lured by the darkness will love this one, a she very much goes willingly to her "doom" of being his mistress for a week, and loves every minute of it. It's sexy, it's sweet, she also loves a torture moment, there's some exhibitionism.

The Gangster's Prize by Joanna Shupe.

A Gilded Age gangster is thrown off balance by the young woman who comes to him demanding help in finding her missing father. But wait... who's in his dungeon as we speak? Could it be? Her dad? Joanna doesn't pull her punches here, and it's delightfully wacky. Watching our hapless villain hero be like "uhh, what screams from the dungeon" while our heroine looks for her father... who he has captive.. is hilarious.

The Bootlegger's Bounty by Adriana Herrera.

Did someone say sort-of pirates? Our heroine is a nightclub singer, and she books passage to New York with a dangerous rum runner. There's a lot of sex in this one, and--delightfully--a triad, as there happens to be a young gentleman who catches the eye of both our singer and our rum runner...

The Conquering of Tate the Pious by Sierra Simone.

Hedonistic nuns? A Norman invader (in more ways than one) who turns out to be a lady conqueror? As in, a conqueror who is a lady and conquers ladies? I think yes. Our proud abbess Tate is ready to stand up to the Wolf, but what happens when the Wolf is very sexy and cruel in the best possible way? ]

The Prince of Broadway by Joanna Shupe.

If there's one thing Joanna Shupe loves, it's a hero (or a villain turned hero) who hates your dad. This book opens with our casino-owning hero beating the shit out of someone, and when he meets the headstrong spoiled rich girl who wants to open a casino for ladies and needs mentorship... He takes her up on it. All while planning to take down her father (as revenge!!!).

While Clay isn't a super hardcore bad guy, he is pretty violent and pretty diabolical. What makes this book is, of course, his dynamic with Florence, and her defiance of norms that quickly has him completely besotted. This book has a very good grovel, and it should. Does anyone deserve Florence?

... and after reading this one, you can mosey over to Shupe's next book, The Devil of Downtown, in which a bad, bad gangster gets his ass emotionally kicked by Florence's goody goody angelic sister.

The Dragon and The Pearl by Jeannie Lin.

This is another one that benefits from reading its previous book, Butterfly Swords, first. In that novel we're introduced to the treacherous warlord our heroine is fleeing--Li Tao. Lin doesn't shy away from his intimidation factor: he even gets into a sword fight (that turns into an outright brawl, lmao) with the hero. In this novel, Li Tao gets full focus, kidnapping a former emperor's concubine to get information out of her.

What follows is a match of wits that gradually gives way to two manipulative, emotionally closed off people falling madly in love with each other while being unable to say it. Li Tao is a cold, seemingly-unfeeling villain-as-hero, and he really pushes how far he's willing to go to reach his end goals in this book. Also, there's a sex deal. If that matters to you.

Daring and The Duke by Sarah MacLean.

Again, one that does in fact benefit from reading the two preceding books, Wicked and The Wallflower and Brazen and The Beast (fortunately, they're both good!). Ewan, our titular duke, is the villain of both--and he is completely batshit insane in his pursuit of his childhood sweetheart, Grace. Who, for reasons relating to villainy, wants absolutely nothing to do with him.

This is a book-long grovel the way Sarah MacLean does it best--with abject shame and humiliation. Ewan is put through the ringer: and he should be, because he did a really bad thing! And was legitimately a nutjob of a villain! But that's what makes it so, so good.

PARANORMAL/FANTASY ROMANCE

The Four Horsemen by Laura Thalassa.

This series has the rather bold take of "what if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse Fucked". Starting with Pestilence, bleeding into War and Famine, and ending with Death, this series is a bit bonkers. But it doesn't let up on the extent of the villainous heroes' determination to lay waste to the world. There is a lot of gore. There is a lot of moral ambiguity.

But it's also legitimately funny. Pestilence discovers the joys of a bathtub. Death receives his first blowjob and is like "I don't know, maybe the apocalypse is bad". It's campy, and it's fun, and it leans the fuck in to the concept. I would recommend reading these in order, as the love stories stand alone but the overall arc leads to a big finish (and there are lots of finishes in between, if you know what I'm say--)

The Tenebris Trilogy by Kathryn Ann Kingsley.

If you're interested in the occult and some Lovecraftian vibes set in a pseudo-1920s world, this is it. Our heroine is on the search for her brother, and who is to assist but his stuffy-hot professor who happens to be a cult leader and has perhaps merged his body with that of a Cthulu monster?

What's interesting about this series (which cannot be read as standalones, and must be read in order) is that our hero is legitimately loony tunes, and our heroine is into it. She falls in love with him and his monsters, and that does... extend to the physical. (Tentacles, everyone! Shadow tentacles! Think Venom.) I will add that there's a lovely secondary romance with a trans heroine (with a hero that's not a villain) and it is excellent, but at one point an antagonist is transphobic towards her. An attempted off-page forced detransition occurs. The main heroine is totally supportive of the secondary heroine and stops it, but read with caution.

Kiss of a Demon King by Kresley Cole.

This rare villainess/hero romance sees a sorceress heroine take a deposed demon king captive to coerce him into impregnating her so that she can bear his heir (all for villainous purposes, of course). Yes. So this book is heavy on the dubcon--lots of edging, lots of people chained to beds--but to be frank? He is into it. We have a stern, morally upright hero being driven to the brink by the baddest of bad girls, and it's great.

This book is a bit controversial because of the content, and I do recommend checking out my IAD Cheat Sheet before reading for a full list of triggers/details about the world of Immortals After Dark. But it reads fairly well on its own, and I personally adore it. The sex is hot, the romance is angsty, he gets back at her in every possible way, and it's so fun to see a villainess take center stage and bring out the dark side of such a noble hero.

Dreams of a Dark Warrior by Kresley Cole.

Here, we focus on an immortal valkyrie heroine who's had centuries of near-misses with her would-be Berserker love--every time she kisses him, he remembers his past lives with her and promptly dies in increasingly gruesome ways. He's always be good and loving to her... which is why she's so shocked when he returns to her, this time in the form of an immortal-hating torturer who's taken her captive.

This one is dark--yes, he does torture her (not that badly, but there are other scenes of torture at the hands of different villains which are... bad). But if you can hang in there, I think you'll find a very compelling romance with a legitimately troubled, intense hero and a woman he can't get out of his head. There's also a very, very good bathtub scene that turns into "let me blindfold you so you can't see my hideous scars".

Lothaire by Kresley Cole.

The villain romance to end all villain romances (best read after Dreams, so you get the one-two punch of a pair of very different villainous heroes). What happens when you mix a 3,000-year-old megalomaniacal vampire with a 24-year-old whip-smart human woman he believes houses the soul of the goddess he's supposed to wed? A fucking ride, and possibly my favorite romance ever, that's what.

Lothaire goes HARD. It goes hard on the villainy (this is a story of a villain falling in love, not a villain finding redemption), it goes hard on the sex (with possibly one of the most infamous sex scenes in romance, and I love every word of it), and it goes hard on the angst. As much as Lothaire fucks with Ellie's head and is determined to deny his love for her, she's determined to one-up on him and will never, ever break. I think this book is always best summed up in a scene early on where he kisses her, bites her lip, and draws back, smugly expecting horror--only to find her grinning through the blood and pulling him in for another kiss. Tell me that isn't villain romance perfection.

Sworn to the Shadow God by Ruby Dixon.

Not so much a super hard villain romance as it is a "falling in love with Death himself" book, this wacky romance finds our gamer girl heroine falling through a portal to another land and... yes, sworn as the mortal companion of the God of Death as he attempts to complete a trial set before him by the father god. It is funny, it is sexy, it's adventurous, and it is for the Reylos.

You think I'm joking. No. He is very clearly modeled after Kylo Ren, and he sweeps around in dark cloaks and emo smashes about being the God of the Death, and it is glorious. He's less bad than he is detached and uncaring, but, you know... Death. By the end of the book, though? He cares very much about one particular person.

Look, man. Check your triggers always, especially with romance novels about villains. These won't work for everyone. But I imagine... if you like a villain... some of these are for you.

#romance novel blogging #book recs #books #anyway happy fuckin v day

[withswords]

as usual tumblr is acting very high and mighty about knowing things that other people might not know, and getting very meanspirited about twitter refugees who haven’t heard of goncharov. additionally, there’s a lot of misinformation and jokes floating around that are probably just confusing a lot of people further, which is kind of unfair. the reason you’ve never seen goncharov is because until pretty recently nobody had since the 1970s!

tumblr has always had a thriving community of lost media enthusiasts, and the search for goncharov was kickstarted on here in 2020 after the discovery of a pair of shoes with a label that seemed to promote martin scorsese’s goncharov, a mysterious mafia movie nobody had ever heard of, leading to the ironic ‘this idiot hasn’t seen goncharov’ meme. however, under the surface, a few intrepid lost media excavators wondered, why hadn’t they seen goncharov? was this movie a total hoax?

then in late 2020- an event that got somewhat lost in the jumble of tumblr’s destiel election haze- gonch-heads found an interview with columbia pictures studio head david begelmen (best known for an embezzlement scandal that would be revealed a few years later) that mentioned goncharov. recently the unearthed movie has received praise for its striking visuals, for being a movie truly ahead of its time for the intended 1973 release, so people are often surprised to learn that goncharov was one of the all time production clusterfucks at columbia.

the interviewer quotes begelmen saying, “We don’t say that word [Goncharov],” in a tone that comes across almost scolding. when asked for clarification, he adds: “You know in theater they have the Scottish play? We have that ****ing Naples movie.”

when you look into it, it’s easy to see why goncharov was internally considered a cursed production. there are more thorough posts out there about all the disasters on the set of goncharov, but i’ll go over the two big ones. the enigmatic presence of ilya was created by practical necessity. his role was originally much larger, before the actor died on set (from a heart attack supposedly unrelated to the filming), and much of his part had to be scrapped. studio shakeups as columbia nearly went bankrupt (not helped by goncharov’s ambitious budget) and moved shooting from gower street to burbank resulted in much of the physical film going missing, thought to be destroyed until nearly 15 years later. around this time, rather than attempt to go into reshoots for an expensive nightmare led by a rookie director, the filming was canned completely.

i think because scorsese is so high profile now, people forget that in 73, he was barely scorsese. he was an up-and-coming director with some borrowed clout, but goncharov was a costly mistake that nearly ended his career. there’s a reason he rarely speaks about it. this was only compounded by matteo j.

a lot of people out there will tell you that j was the real director of goncharov, and this is false, if not an understandable mistake. matteo j has been off the grid for decades now and there’s a lot of speculation about who he was, his involvement with the original goncharov project, and why he went underground. there are rumors that he ran afoul of the actual mafia, but in my opinion that’s just sensationalism- you might as well say that the goncharov curse took him out. all we REALLY know is that he was at some point an employee of columbia pictures who gained access to the lost reels of goncharov.

j may at best be responsible for compiling his recovered goncharov footage in the late 80s, into a film which he tried to release in italy in partnership with procacci, who was attempting at that time to break into production and due to the low profile and attempted studio coverup at columbia was not fully aware of the film’s history. there are conflicting accounts of how much influence j’s editing has on the film, with some people considering him basically the marcia lucas of goncharov, and others believing him to be an opportunist taking advantage of a mostly-finished piece of art for his own gain.

obviously the studio intervened before the film’s actual release, but much of the promotional material including the poster, the shoes, etc. came from this time. it seems that columbia came to some kind of agreement with j vis a vis distribution and profits, probably in the hopes of cashing in on scorsese’s by then ascended name, which was of course splashed across the top of every goncharov poster you can find. however, the release was called off a second time once scorsese himself got wind of it.

and that seemed to be the end of it. the completed goncharov went into the columbia vault, with only a handful of misremembered bootlegs and chopped-up local tv airings even attesting to the fact that it ever existed, until a leaked copy appeared with no warning on archive.org. this seems to have been a prelude from a disgruntled netflix employee to the distribution of the film through the service (although, of course, in inferior aspect ratio, ‘remastered’ and with several scenes edited). you can still find copies of the original film on archive if you want to experience it as... well, it’s hard to say what the ‘intended’ goncharov experience is with such a complicated history behind it, but as close to intended as we can get. i don’t know if scorsese has softened on j’s version of the movie after all this time, or if he’s just let his grudge over it go. all i know for sure is that goncharov really has earned the title of the greatest mafia movie never made

#goncharov #unreality #long post

[shina913]

Coquet, Part 4 | JJK

Coquet, Part 4

\ kō-​ˈket Definition: noun. a man who indulges in flirtation.

✫✫✫Coquet Masterlist✫✫✫

Pairing: Escort!JJK x Fem-reader

Rating: M (🔞)

Genre: Fake-dating!AU; Strangers to lovers; fluff; angst; smut

Warnings: cussing; explicit sexual conversations; awkward family dynamic; some anxiety; alcohol consumption; A LOT of sexual tension; vulnerable confessions; very touchy-feely JK; JK in a bathhouse (go figure)

Word count: 5.5K+ words

Summary: On your brother's wedding, you dread traveling to see your family–whom you have successfully avoided for over a year after moving across the country for work. In an effort to save face, you hire an escort to get them off your back and perhaps even make your ex–who happens to be the best man–a little jealous.

A/N: Lots more edging here 😅 sorry!!! But a quick note to say that one of the scenes here was loosely inspired by a scene from “Insecure.” I miss that show so much and saw a marathon of it yesterday. Let me just say that it was the part when Lawrence and Nathan argued about which city had the best BBQ 🤣 Also…tiny callback to Gradation-JK (if you know, you know 😏).

“I don’t understand why he needs to join us. He’s not even–”

“Haru,” Taehyung says calmly. “He’s my sister’s boyfriend. I’m trying to be a good host.”

Haru swipes at the sweat dripping down his neck as he clicks his teeth. The steam room was agitating him more than usual.

“You’re too nice for your own good, Taehyungie. We barely even know the guy. Have you seen him strutting around?” He asked annoyingly.

Taehyung laughs. “Bro–only you would notice something like that. Besides, what’s the big deal anyway? I thought you were seeing somebody?”

He scoffed. “Well, it didn’t really work out but that’s not the point. I’m just saying that I don’t trust the guy.”

“Just let it go,” Taehyung says while leaning against the wooden backrest. “If my sister trusts him, who am I to question that?” He then turns his head sideways to address his friend directly. “Give him the benefit of the doubt. I did the same…to you,” he said quietly before closing his eyes and turning his head away.

Haru shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling the room get hotter.

******

“Was it love at first sight? Or was it – oohhhhmygoodd right there…” Mindi moaned as the masseuse worked one of the knots behind her shoulder.

The massage felt good. It didn’t matter that your skin was raw from the body scrub. You wanted to desensitize it. Desensitize it from his touch…

You’re safe with me.

You felt calmer after whatever sort of hypnotism he did on you back in the room. But after that? Whatever anxiety that you felt earlier seems to have lodged onto him. 

He was pulling away–or at least, that’s what it felt like, after emerging from the bathroom in his sweats. You barely spoke on the shuttle ride to the bathhouse. You might add that whether he was dressed in oversized joggers or a three-piece suit, it didn’t matter. He still looked hot. It wasn’t fair, really.

The hand-holding when you walked through the facility felt mechanical–even the kiss ‘goodbye’ before you parted ways to go into your own exclusive areas seemed rehearsed. It was nothing compared to the brief makeout session at brunch, which felt ironically more natural even though you were showing off to Haru.

You didn’t know him that well and…maybe it was another layer to the whole ‘package.’ You had no idea. You didn’t know many escorts so had no point of comparison.

So far, everything he’s shown you felt real–even though you kept repeating in your head that it wasn’t. You were fully aware that this was all fake…all for show. You paid for this whole boyfriend experience. But some small part of you–one that you couldn’t brush aside–made you think that…maybe there was a chance that this could be real? He did tell you that he would always be honest with you.

“Honey, you need to relax–you’re so tense,” the masseuse remarks.

“S-sorry,” you mumbled, unaware that your muscles were contracting while you were in deep thought. You took a deep breath, trying to clear your head.

“You think he’s nervous about joining the boys tomorrow night?” Mindi wondered, pulling you back to reality. 

When Taehyung mentioned last night that he extended an invitation to Jungkook to his bachelor party, you were understandably concerned. He’d be alone in a room with your brother and his friends…especially Haru. And lord knows what would happen with strippers and alcohol involved.

“Jungkook is very self-assured,” you said nonchalantly. “Mmm,” you groaned as the masseuse kneaded into your tissues. “He can handle himself perfectly around the guys. I’m not worried.”

“He seems very confident,” Mindi says. “I like that. Makes him even sexier…ohhh yes, harder.”

You snorted. “Mindi…” The therapists started to giggle along.

“I mean–seriously, unnie–how does it feel to bang the hottest guy in the room?”

The giggling started to get louder. Thankfully, this spa had semi-private massage rooms and could only accommodate two appointments, simultaneously.

“It’s okay, unnie–Auntie Rose isn’t here. And I won’t tell!”

You couldn’t lie around Mindi. She was like your little sister. Just like her brother, these Park siblings could see right through you. It was a miracle that they haven’t called you out on this whole ruse with Jungkook yet. So you decide to play along and go with the closest ‘honest’ answer.

“A good girl never kisses and tells, Mindi,” you said with a soft laugh. “Now, if you don’t mind. I’m trying to relax here.”

As you closed your eyes, you wondered–how exactly would it feel to bang the hottest guy in the room?

******

“How did you get into the field?”

“You know what, I always saw myself as somebody who wanted to help people–that seems corny,” Jungkook chuckled.

“Not at all,” YN’s dad, Jae, says as he eyed him intently. “That sounds like an earnest goal…and here you are, achieving it.”

Jungkook nodded quietly. 

“But surely, it must be difficult to get some time off?” He wondered out loud.

“It is, if I’m going to be honest. But luckily, I’ve been given a bit of leeway at the hospital. I put in a lot of hard work, after all this time,” Jungkook explains to him.

“How do you find a balance? I’m sure your job takes time away from your personal life,” Jimin chimes in.

“It does. And for a while–I didn’t have a personal life to speak of,” Jungkook says with a lighthearted laugh. “At least, not until after I met YN.”

“I just felt this pull from her,” he says wistfully. “Before I knew it, I was shuffling my shift around at the hospital just so I could get out in time to be with her.”

YN’s dad smiles warmly then stops to narrow his eyes at him. “You’re not pulling my leg are you, son?”

Jimin tilted his chin down, eyeing Jungkook intently as well.

Jungkook chuckled but looked Jae straight in the eye. “Sir, with all due respect–I know that I just met you yesterday but I’m here, sitting in a warm pool with you…buck naked, I might add. I’ve got nothing to hide,” he says confidently, then leaning back against the tile, arms spread wide.

After a long pause, your dad lets out a guffaw while Jimin turns his face away, cracking up. “Good point,” he says in between laughs. “You’ll fit right into this family then!”

With that, he laughed along with them, feeling some sort of relief. Your family made him feel at ease. Maybe he didn’t need to hold back too much. He wanted all of his dates to be successful–he has yet to fail at that.

So he wanted this to be good and pull out all the stops…especially since this was going to be his last.

******

The men and women all returned to the resort in separate groups. You caught a later shuttle with Mindi and Jennie, texting Jungkook that you would just meet up back at the hotel.

As soon as you walk through the hotel lobby, Jennie excuses herself to check on Taehyung at the lounge. You waved her off and continued joking around with Mindi, laughing loudly.

“I don’t know–I just didn’t want to call him back. I thought I made it clear.”

“Mindi, if you didn’t want to see him again–why did you tell him he gave good head?”

She scoffed. “I just thought he needed some positive reinforcement–you know…kind of like a letter of recommendation. I was trying to be encouraging.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you just wanted a whole no-strings arrangement, then you should have told him that!”

Mindi made puppy-eyes at you. “Really, unnie? You won’t judge me?”

You smiled warmly at her. “Please…you and Jiminie have seen me at my worst. I’m in no position.”

Mindi smiles at you then suddenly envelops you into a hug. “I’m so happy you’re with Jungkook now,” she pulls away.

You laughed. “That’s great, Mindi…but I still won’t play ‘rate that dick’ with you!”

“Oh come on!” She whined. “It’s the best game ever! I even got Jennie to play along tomorrow–and you know how super uptight she can get.”

Before you could begrudgingly agree, you feel his arm snake around your waist from behind, pulling you towards him and turning you. You see his smiling face and big, round eyes, looking straight at you.

“Uh, hi,” you said, suddenly flustered. Earlier, he seemed distant. But now, it feels as if something’s shifted. You have the time to analyze it as his lips were already closing in on you.

As he pulled away, he smiled at you, leaving Mindi giggling like a schoolgirl before excusing herself. You told her you’d hook up with her later this evening to talk about what else to expect tomorrow.

“You look pretty…loose,” you remarked at him.

“As do you,” he says with a chuckle. “Did you have a nice, relaxing afternoon?”

You smiled at him. “I did. And you?” 

You both started to walk towards the elevators, keeping his hand on the small of your back. “Yeah. I hung out with your dad and Jimin for the most part.” 

Your eyebrows lifted nervously and your jaw slowly dropped. “Oh wow…and how did that go? W-what did you guys talk about?” 

“Not much. We were just shooting the breeze–they were trying to get to know me.”

That stopped you in your tracks in a slight panic. “What did you say?” It occurred to you that you didn’t really go in-depth about his backstory.

“Pretty much what we agreed on…with some embellishments of my own,” he says simply.

Your brows knitted further. “And? D-do you think they bought it? A-are they–”

“There you are, Jungkookie!” Your dad bellows as he walks out of the lounge. “Are you coming back to join us or what?”

He calls back over his shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure that YN got back okay.”

Just then, Jimin comes up from behind him. “We just cracked open the Johnnie Walker Blue, Jay-Kay,” he yells out.

Jungkook laughed. “Alright, alright. Just give me a few minutes. Save some for me!”

“You snooze, you lose,” Jimin says before turning on his heel to walk back, pulling your dad along with him to rejoin the guys. 

Jungkook turned to you and smiled. “Does that answer your question?” 

You laughed softly, feeling a bit more reassured.

“Would you mind if I hung out with them or would you rather I stayed with you and kept you company? Because I can, you know…if you want me to?” He looks at you with some sort of hope that you’d ask him to stay. But you thought it would be a good idea to capitalize on him getting in your dad, Jimin, and Taehyung’s good graces.

“I’ll be fine–you go and have fun. I think it would be a good strategy for them to get to know you a bit more, don’t you think?”

He nods and gives you a small smile. “Right. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

“More than okay! I might take a nap before Mindi and I grab dinner,” you said. The scrub, the massage, lounging around the bathhouse for hours–it would be nice to snooze for a bit and relish in all that relaxation.

“Okay. I’ll check in with you in about an hour, cool?”

“Sure,” you said with a smile. Before you continue towards the bank of elevators, he pulls you in closer once more and dips his head to kiss you again. He moved in fast. And truthfully, you saw that coming but didn’t turn away.

It was slow and leisurely. You let out a soft moan, which he took as his queue to slide his tongue in. 

All the chaotic thoughts, emotions, and energy that had been swirling inside you, suddenly became too much to contain. Your hand circled around his neck, while his hand cupped your jaw, pulling your mouth closer to his.

His tongue did slow, savoring licks that made you wonder what it would be like to feel him doing the same thing between your legs.

Shocked by your own thoughts, you pull away abruptly, gasping.

Your eyes flickered at him while the room spun. “What was that for?” You managed to choke out.

His gaze was clear and steady. “No reason. I just felt like it. I’ll see you later,” he smirked before turning to walk away from you.

You scan the lobby, wondering if he was just showing off to someone unbeknownst to you. But to your surprise, the coast was clear.

******

You were still on a high from Jungkook’s kiss while you walked back to your room. Seconds later, you run into your mom down the hallway.

“Darling! Did you just get back?” She asks cheerily.

“Yeah, I hung out with the girls a bit longer.” It was as if she had completely forgotten about the events this morning.

“Ah–looks like you did the scrub and oil massage. Your skin looks–I don’t know, more glowy this time!” She grins after a quick assessment of you.

“I did,” you said curtly. She always had something to say–about your skin, your hair, your job…your love life.

“Honey, I’m…I’m sorry about earlier. You know I was only trying to be lighthearted about it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ma, there’s nothing lighthearted about what I went through,” you said bitterly.

She pursed her lips. “You know I love you, right,” she says, softening her expression as she reaches out to squeeze your arm gently.

“But?”

“What do you mean ‘but?’” She knits her eyebrows in confusion.

“You tell me you love me but there’s always a ‘but.’”

She chuckles softly. “Darling girl, I know that our relationship hasn’t been great–but I hope you know that I’ve always wanted the best for you–despite what you think of me.”

“Sure, ma. Thanks,” you deadpanned.

She gives you a half-hug, which you also half-heartedly lean into. “Alright, well–I’m going to have tea with Dahlia. Would you like to join us?”

“Nah, I was going to take a nap,” you sighed as you tapped your keycard at the door sensor and entered your room.

“Alright. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” She trailed off as you shut your door. And just like that, she’s burst your bubble again.

******

“I’m actually pretty excited about the seafood buffet this weekend–it was the one thing I asked Jennie for the reception,” Taehyung says proudly.

The guys were gathered around the lounge, drinks and conversation flowing right after dinner. Some were seated by the bar while some were seated by the small tables pushed closer together. A few of them partake in cigars. The level of testosterone in the room was so thick, you could taste it.

“Well…can’t blame you, Taehyungie. We have the best seafood offerings out here,” Haru says as he blows some smoke up at the ceiling.

Jungkook puckered his lips then twisted them wryly. “Mm–I don’t know. I prefer the seafood back home.”

Haru narrowed his eyes at him then scoffed. “There are plenty of good seafood spots out here–ones with Michelin stars.”

Taehyung jumps into the conversation. “No, no…that’s cool–talk your shit, Jay-Kay! The Pacific coast has amazing offerings. I know that when I go visit YN, I always have to have the cioppino out there. And the oysters? Man…” he sighs.

“Come on…the oysters out here are far more superior,” Haru snorts as he takes a swig of his drink.

“Really? I’ve actually tried them before and–they’re not that great, in my opinion,” Jungkook says dismissively.

Haru gets worked up from Jungkook’s comment. “You know, it’s funny you say that because YN used to enjoy them a lot when she used to live here,” he says smugly. “Ate them by the bucketful.”

Jungkook’s lips curve into a smile, keeping his eyes at Haru. “That was then. But… ever since she’s had the ones back home, she says she prefers those now because they taste sweeter. Unlike the ones out here,” he shrugs. “A bit salty.”

Jimin laughs out loud, squeezing Jungkook’s shoulder and clinking his glass against his as Haru’s jaws ticks.

******

You had missed each other earlier in the evening while you, Mindi, Jennie and the rest of her friends had dinner at a restaurant close by.

Hours later, he creeps back into your room. You were awoken by him switching on the bathroom light and the sound of the vent humming.

You stayed up a few minutes more, staring at the ceiling as the shower finally switched off.

When he stepped out, he was dressed in a pair of sweats and not much else. He walked towards the couch and began to fluff his pillow.

You sat up slightly. “Hey,” you called out softly so as not to startle him.

He turned to face you. “Did I wake you?”

You shook your head. “No. I just woke up randomly. I had trouble falling asleep. Figured it might have been the nap I took earlier.”

Or it could have been you thinking about his tongue in your mouth earlier. Nah…it couldn’t have been that.

“Did you have a good time with the guys?”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “Your dad and Taehyung are hilarious.”

You smiled. “I hope they didn’t get you too drunk.”

“Nah. They tried…but I know my way around it. They just think that I had a lot to drink.”

You nodded. As he was about to slide under his covers, you stopped him.

“Jungkook–”

“Yeah?”

You tried to steady your heartbeat. “I think–maybe you should sleep on the bed.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you. Sharing a bed with a client wasn’t new to him. He just based it on comfort level. But if he was asked…

“Is that what you want?”

“I mean–I-I was just thinking, you know,” you stuttered, “It’s a big bed…and just in case somebody knocked and–it would seem suspicious if they saw sheets on the couch, don’t you think?”

Sure, YN. That’s what it is…

“Right, but are you comfortable with that?” Jungkook had to ask because he sensed apprehension from you.

“Yeah, I mean–I’m a side-sleeper anyway. A-and–I can put some pillows between us, you know?” You added quickly.

There was no way you could bear that much direct contact with him.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stifle a smile–thankful it was dark enough in the bedroom. “Okay,” he says simply. He picks up the sheets and pillows from the couch. He deposits the sheets in the overhead shelf in the closet before rounding the corner towards the bed.

You watch him lift the covers on the other side and slide the pillow next to you, making a mini fort. The mattress dips as he sinks in, pulling the covers at his waist.

He turns his head towards you. “If you change your mind–”

“I won’t,” you say too quickly, swallowing hard. “All part of the deal, right?”

“Riiight,” he drags out his reply, his gaze never leaving yours.

You inhaled sharply. “Okay, well…good night,” you say tightly before sliding back down onto your pillow then turning your body to face the opposite direction.

“Good night, YN.” He murmurs.

******

The following morning, you woke up to breakfast–which Jungkook ordered via room service. It was most of your favorites, which he seemed to clearly take note of during brunch yesterday.

“Wow, you didn’t have to do this.”

“You got the coffee yesterday, I figured I’d return the favor,” he says, pulling out a chair for you.

“Part of the package?” You asked.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he replies.

“Oh. Uhm…thank you,” you said as you took your seat. Geez, YN. Why are you such a bonehead?

“Besides…I figured we’d need all of the food and drink we can muster with what they have planned today.”

Yes–today was stag and hen day. Emphasis on ‘day’ as Mindi and Haru had both coordinated day-long events–mostly involving alcohol and other forms of debauchery for the bride and groom. They wanted to maximize that final farewell–or as Mindi says, two big middle fingers–to single life.

While you help yourself to some slices of bacon and eggs florentine, Jungkook’s phone rings. He excuses himself to take the call in the bathroom.

From a distance, you can vaguely hear him speaking in a clipped tone. But you didn’t want to eavesdrop so you continued on with your breakfast. 

It took about five minutes when he finally reemerged, sitting next to you and taking a huge gulp of his coffee, phone still clutched in one hand.

“Everything okay?” You asked.

“Mm-hm,” he says as he sets his cup down on the coaster, as he types furiously onto the screen.

“Another client?” You try to sound casual as you take a sip of your coffee.

He looks up from his phone, locks the screen then turns to you.

“No, actually. It’s, uh…personal.”

“Oh.” You shouldn’t sound disappointed. He had a personal life outside of this. He said it himself, he didn’t expect to be an escort his whole life. 

“I’m actually not taking clients anymore,” he says as he stows his phone away in his pocket, digging into his eggs.

“R-really?” You sounded too surprised there so you changed your tone to be a bit more nonchalant. “I mean, really?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. I told you, I’ve been out of the game. And…I intend on staying out of it—after this, that is.”

“So, about that…” This was your chance. You had asked him about this on your first night but he brushed it off by redirecting another question to you.

“You said before that your profile had been inactive. But why did you answer my DM?”

He pursed his lips. It looked like he wanted to fib his way through this but you wanted to corner him.

“Honesty, right?” You said, invoking his ‘rule.’

He smiled. “Touché, Ms. YLN.”

“Well?”

“The truth is anticlimactic and…pretty stupid, actually,” he began slowly.

“Try me.”

He inhaled through his teeth, stifling a laugh, then shrugged his shoulders. “I got a new phone and I set it up using a backup file. Somehow, that backup didn’t register the last changes that I made. So on my new phone, my app profile still came up as active. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw the email alerts–from you. I was set on deleting them but then I saw that you left a voice message.”

“What, did I sound too desperate or something?” You tried to laugh it off.

“I thought it was the opposite.”

Your smile slowly faded.

“You sounded…hopeful. It was refreshing for me, in a way–after not picking up any jobs for a while,” he shrugged, looking down at his plate.

“The majority of my clients hire me because they want to show off. But you?” He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes, as if trying to figure you out. “It sounded like you just needed,” he paused for a beat, then sighed, “‘Me’.”

You didn’t realize how loaded his last statement was. Yes, you needed him–for a purpose. Not to show off but to help keep yourself together and deflect some of the embarrassment and insecurities. A sort of shield, if you may.

//FLASHBACK

“Cris, it’s been like, two weeks and he hasn’t responded. I think I should take this as a sign.”

“Girl, no! Don’t do that! You need to borderline harass him!”

“Fuck, are you crazy? I don’t want to sound desperate! I’m just going to have to face the music here–I’m just gonna go alone, grit my teeth while my mother embarrasses me and people give me their sad looks while Haru stands there unscathed.”

“Babe, maybe he’s just busy…” she tries to reason.

“No, no. This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have done this. There’s a ‘call’ option here so I’m just going to let him know that I’ve changed my mind and to forget the whole thing. No harm done!”

******

“Hi,” you said shakily. “I know, I sent you a couple of messages and I realize that you probably needed a longer lead time than three months. I…” you paused. “I’m going to level with you. I only hoped that I could bring somebody emotionally removed…somebody who–won’t feel sorry for me despite my sad situation. I just need somebody whom I can lean on and just straight-up tell me to get my head out of my ass.” Your voice started to crack but you realized that nobody was listening on the other end so you cleared your throat. 

“Anyway! I’m sorry to bother you with all that, over a recording–my god,” you said, mortified. “Uh, yeah so…y-you don’t have to get back to me. I just–wanted you to know that I’m…I’m good. Thank you for…considering. Uhm…bye.”

//END FLASHBACK

******

You cringed, vaguely remembering your rambling voicemail to him. You sounded pathetic. Maybe he did take some pity on you after all.

“Like I said, I wanted somebody who wouldn’t feel sorry for me,” you laughed uncomfortably.

“I didn’t feel sorry for you–not at all. I called you back because I felt that I could help you.”

“And I’m sure you needed the money,” you scoffed under your breath.

He tilted his head subtly. “Sometimes it’s not always about the money.”

You stared at each other intently. You haven’t had much experience with people who have been hired for ‘special companionship.’ If this was a norm for them or not–having some sort of connection with clients.

You thought it was all part of the deal–some physical and emotional support? Kind of like a shrink? They sure charge for time like shrinks do.

You were guarded–mainly because he was a stranger to you.

A stranger whom you’d shared kisses and intimate touches with. A stranger whom you just shared a bed with!

He’s gotten a preview of your insecurities and taken a glimpse of the reasons for them.

“Why did he break it off?”

Your brows lifted at the question about how things ended with Haru.  At the heart of it, Jungkook was still a complete stranger to you. You shifted in your seat a little but decided to answer him anyway. It didn’t feel like he was asking to be invasive. He wasn’t Cris or Mindi–whom you spent nights and some days on the phone, sobbing while asking ‘why,’ repeatedly.

He wasn’t privy to the heartbreak and confusion that ate you up for the better part of a year.

“I don’t know, really,” you began. And that was God's honest truth. “We were together for six years even though we’ve known each other since we were kids. We were engaged for close to two years and then, out of the blue, he says that he’s made a mistake and didn’t really see us having a future together.” You threw your hands up in defeat. “And…that was that.”

“Did he give you a reason why?” He asked.

“He gave me ‘a’ reason…which I didn’t really buy. Then again, I didn’t want to force him to stay. He seemed to have his mind made up. There’s nothing sadder than a woman begging a man to stay…” They were words your mother lived by.

“You’re sure he didn’t just knock some girl up or something deeper than that?” He looks at you pointedly.

You laughed. “I mean…I don’t know. That would be a really cruel joke if he did.”

He nodded. “It would. Not impossible though,” he points out.

“I guess.” You relented. “Sometimes, I think that even after all these years, maybe I didn’t really know him.”

He sighed before he asked his next question. “And you want him back?”

You shrugged. “Haru…he was my first love. He made me feel safe. He was familiar. I felt like I could really be myself around him.”

His eyebrows quirked. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, why?” You scrunch your face at his skepticism. 

“Because…if you ask me, I feel like you are anything but yourself around him.”

Now it was your turn to raise your brows at him. “Oh, so you’re saying that you know who I really am?”

“It’s not hard to guess. I see the way you interact with your brother and your cousins. You’re loud, inappropriate—“ He raised his eyebrow at you.

You give him an offended look.

Seeing your face, he chuckled. “But…you are also funny, sweet, and caring. I can see that you love with your whole heart. And the way you laugh—“ he stopped short.

During the brief interactions he’s seen between you and your brother and cousins, your laughs resonated from the depths of your belly. You didn’t hold back. But whenever Haru walked by or was in close proximity, he saw you shrink like a violet. It was as if you were a different person.

With Haru out of the picture, you were as genuine as you could be. As someone whose business thrived off of fake shit, Jungkook appreciated that about you…so much so that you intrigued him even further.

“And what about my laugh?” You ask him pointedly.

He returned your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitch a little. “Just as loud...but authentic,” he said softly.

You scoffed. “Oh, so you’re a laugh expert now?”

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to sound noncommittal. “You can tell a lot about a person just by the way they laugh. If they’re just being polite, mean-spirited…or just real.”

You regarded him intently. You didn’t realize how…introspective he could be.

“Plus, it’s part of my job to be observant. I need to be able to react quickly and smoothly without any prompting or obvious instructions from my clients. It helps sell the fantasy,” he adds.

Oddly, his explanation made a lot of sense to you. So you decide to turn the question onto him. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Who is the real Jungkook? What is your true self? I mean…when you’re not fulfilling women’s fantasies.”

He laughed softly. “Nobody’s ever asked me that.” His head bowed and he got quiet for a bit. He chewed at his bottom lip and subtly fidgeted with his lip piercing.

You tilted your head to the side. “Well? Will you answer? Or is that going to cost me extra,” you tease him.

He lifted his head to look up at you. “I’ll answer that…for free,” he grinned.

You shifted where you sat and awaited his response.

He exhaled sharply. “Despite my chosen line of work, I’m a huge fan of honesty…in every aspect of my life.”

“Huh. Okay...” It felt a little anticlimactic but he was being vulnerable and you appreciated that.

He laughed. “I know it sounds boring, but it’s one thing I try to live by. Which was why I told you from the outset…that we need to be completely honest with each other.”

“Right. Before we lie to everyone else,” you said ruefully. 

He smiled. “The irony isn’t lost on me. But like I said, I’m entering into, for lack of a better term,” he gestures air quotes with his hands—“A ‘business partnership’ with you. There has to be some trust and integrity there. Otherwise, we can’t be successful at this.”

There he was, sounding professional again. The constant shifting in personas wasn’t lost on you. It’s been almost three days of this. One minute, he’d be sweet and he would sound so sincere–calming you down, getting you breakfast…or kissing you ‘just because he felt like it’. And then, at a drop of a hat, he would go into this whole spiel of his business practices.

You nodded–it was all you could do. Trust and integrity were hard to come by these days. And if someone—even one whose living is typically built on lies—uses it as some sort of guiding principle, that was good enough for you. At the end of the day, you felt that you trusted him.

“I agree. On all counts,” you smiled.

He smiled back, suddenly changing tact. “So—you ready to get this bachelorette party rolling or what?”

You laughed. “I don’t know. Are you cool tagging along with the guys during whatever craziness they have planned?”

“Are you undermining my skills?” He asks you pointedly.

That look he gave you lit a fire in the base of your belly, making your cheeks heat up. 

“Uh, no. Not at all,” you said simply, trying to calm your stomach down from doing somersaults. You purse your lips. “You know there’s going to be strippers there, right?” You said, trying to sound as if you didn’t care.

He cocked an eyebrow at you and lowered his voice. “Would you like to impose restrictions on me? Look but don’t touch?”

You coughed, trying to catch your breath. “N-no! Not at all! I mean…go have fun! It’s a party, after all!” You wave your hands around aimlessly, as if trying to shake off this tense energy.

He laughed. “It’s fine if you want to. And I assure you, I can and will conduct myself appropriately,” he smirked. “I’m loyal to one woman after all,” he says, taking your hand, holding it up to his lips to kiss it.

You wanted to believe that, really. And maybe–if you got enough liquid courage in you tonight, you could make a quick stop at the ATM. It would be a shame if all those condoms were to go to waste.

◤Previous | Part 5◥  | Main Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

If you loved it and/or curious to learn more, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn't like it so much, I would still like to hear about it 💜

Taglist: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @itdoesntmatterwhy @jiminisnotavirgin @taleasnewastime @jkkkkkay @bruisedscrewedandtattooed @artsxpe @shadowydreamerblizzard @yoontaethings @amylouisecullen @serendididy @mwitsmejk @hehurst23 @coffeemightkillme @mschievous247

#bts fan fiction #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fan fiction #jungkook fan fiction #coquet x jjk #coquet jjk

[floydsglasses]

The Last Of Us -𝗗𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗘𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

TW- 𝘔𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩/𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 I dont usally do things like this on here I usally write on wattpad but if this does well i might add more

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw: Bradley has never considered himself someone that should be allowed to survive, not lucky in love or in life. It had taken the end of the world to find out he is the luckiest son of bitch on the side of the new infected world. It was just his luck that he is immune to cordyceps virus. He made his way to a QZ, being bitten when raiding an abandoned home, he tries to hide his immunity the best he can from everyone. He live's out the rest of day's in a small commune outside of San Diego, full of formal naval pilots and citizens of the North Island, fully functional with electricity and running water, run by former captain's and admiral's . Working on patrol's and clearing out infected, alway's being paired with Natasha. He is always hiding his bite scar, hidden with a tattoo. As for his luck in love it was somehow the form of a pretty blonde man who can hit his target from a mile away. The two of them butting head's with the other alway's, a night alone on a patrol and a snow storm changed thing's for them. Bradley had only told two people of his immunity, Nat and Jake.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin: The outbreak started in Texas, he was not able to save his family or their farm from infected. Jake bounced around for the first few year's from different QZ's, working job's both humane and inhumane. Wasn't till he had lost his young partner due to his past "Jobs". Someone made him watch as they took their life. Jake somehow end's up in a small commune outside of San Diego, keeping a low profile, his mouth getting him in hot water here and there. Thing's in his life weren't all too bad despite the circumstance's and thing's he has done in the name of survival, he found someone who at least can stand him.

Natasha "Phoenix" Trace: She wouldn't think she would survive the end of the world, certainly not from flesh eating mushroom zombie's. Natasha stayed in the Santa Monica QZ, taking the job's when no one else wanted to take them. The QZ was ruled with an iron fist, it didn't take a genius to see that, never been someone to take shit from authority Natasha join's the fireflies in liberating the quarantine zone. All this results in is a blown front gate and her running like hell. She had heard talk of a commune outside San Diego free from clicker's on the north island, along the way she met a guy named Robert "Bob" Floyd, saving him from infected, the two banding togethor and living out there live' s in the safe haven.

Robert "Bob" Floyd: He was the last person he expected to survive the fall of society, having been seen as someone who wouldn't make it out alive because of his social standing as a WSO/Backseater. For about five year's of the outbreak, having joined different group's of people, all of which ended up disbanding or being killed. He had ended up in California, wondering around ducking and dodging raider's, living out in old apartment building's. One day he hunker's down in an old school, unlucky for him that it was filled with infected that tried to kill him, lucky for him that their was a woman there to save his ass. Natasha and Him staying together after she tell's him of a commune on north island of San Diego. The two of them spend the rest of their live's there taking patrol shift's and surviving.

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia: Never one to back down from a challenge, he was alway's taking on infected like it was all a game to him. He had lived in a QZ in Florida for awhile, but it grew boring for him, it was safe but he did not care for FEDRA. On his way out of the QZ he run's into Rueben, Mickey not having any plan's or idea of where to go, the two band togethor to find somewhere in the US. The two of them heading for California. The two of them growing close with the other and forming a friendship. They had reached the half way point into San Diego when they are swarmed by infected. Rueben is back into a wall, Mickey not wanting to lose a friend tackled the clicker stabbing it in the head. This act costed him his life, he was bitten on the arm, he begged of Rueben to not let him become like of the infected.

Rueben "Payback" Fitch: When the outbreak happened he didn't think he had a chance, he wasn't someone who could kill a human being if it wasnt morally right, shooting down a plane is very different to him then taking a human life with a gun in person. Rueben had lived in the QZ in Miami Florida for a couple year's, given the worst job's that paid the most to get food from FEDRA, unbeknownst to FEDRA he had listened to the radio, hearing of place's out west that would be better for him. He snuck out through one of the Service's tunnel's, running into Mickey Garcia. The two of them escape from Florida, with Mickey not have a clue where to go Rueben suggests California. The two of them bonding with each other with each place they hunker down in, killing infected and their previous live's. Soon making it to the half way point into San Diego,Rueben and Mickey check out a gas station for supplie's, the two are cornered by infected, Rueben is cornered by clicker, Mickey saved his life by killing the infected. He is bitten saving him, Mickey beg's of him to mercy kill him. He hesitate's and refuse's at first. Mick reasure's him that it was okay. He was the first and only human life he had ever taken. Ruben made it to the commune, settling in well and starting a family, never forgetting his friend's sacrifice.

Javy "Coyote" Machado: Finding love in the end of the world was not his idea. Him and Kat had met during a job at the New Orlean's QZ. She hated living in what was once the most vibrant place in the us, and he was gonna do anything to see her happy. He told her about a place he had heard about on the radio in California. How they could settle down there and live happily, Kat agreed and they fought like hell to get out of the infected city. They had stopped along the way to San Diego in an old naval factory, the two had many run in's with infected, they were no problem..human's on the other hand. The two were held at gun point by raider's, saying if they didnt hand their gun's over they would be killed. Javy knew they wouldn't let them go even if they did give the gun's up. The two of them are able to fight their way out, only missing one, that was a mistake on his part. Kat is shot by the raider's leader while he back is turned. Javy somehow manage's to kill the leader, only getting himself hurt in the process. The sound of the gunshot attract's the sound of infected to their location'. Kat told him to run, he refused at first, it wasn't in till infected burst through the factory that he decided to listen. He had ran as far as he could before he had collapsed near the ocean. Lucky for him that two people were on guard to save his life. Natasha and Bob take him back to the north island commune. Javy recovered from his wound, turn's out he had a knack for shooting and he had grown to be very good at his job of patrolling and guarding the commune.

#top gun fanfic #top gun au #top gun imagine #top gun writing #top gun maverick #dagger squad AU #the last of us au #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia #rueben payback fitch #javy coyote machado #top gun x reader #top gun fic #top gun angst #top gun headcanons #top gun maverick fic #top gun one shots #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun: maverick

[captainjamster]

hihi!! I just seen your post about writing things for those who feel under represented in the community; and I was wondering... could you do one where Simon takes care of trans masc!reader on a really bad day of endometriosis pain?

Hey there anon, you're the very first request! Thank you so much for asking! This was originally going to be just 800 words, don't ask how we ended up at almost 3k lol. Sorry it took a few days, I hope you enjoy the fic! It's also on AO3 :)

Pairing(s): Ghost x transmasc!Reader w/ endometriosis (SFW) Warnings: Blood, menstruation, two off-handed mentions of sex Wordcount: 2.8k Summary: Simon takes care of your morning, despite your attempts to soldier on through a painful menstrual cycle. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: I hope this is enough "taking care" for you! Reader is indeed transmasc, but point of transition and upper anatomy is for you to decide. I might revise this one and upload an improved version, change the level of debilitation, add in HRT and increase how much Ghost does for you. But for now, here you go!! I think of Ghost as someone who conveys his love and affection through acts of service, and he'd die happy if you let him quietly manage every need you have. <3

Endometriosis currently affects around 10% - around 190 million – of women and girls of reproductive age. This statistic does not include the rate of endometriosis in non-women individuals with female reproductive genitals, which inflates the number even further. Despite the existing prevalence, endometriosis is underdiagnosed and overlooked within those who suffer from it, and this becomes even worse within trans individuals. I hope this fic can provide some love and representation for those struggling, especially my trans ppl <3

Full fic is under the cut <3

A dull throb in your stomach, pressed against the mattress is the first thing you register as consciousness slowly trickles through the thick fog of sleep. The sheets stick to your thighs as you try to roll over. Simon’s bulky, warm figure isn’t there to stop you from rotating flat on your back, encroaching onto his cold, empty spot.

You crack an eye open, looking at his vacancy in disappointment. The room is filled with an early, pale glow that peeks from around your curtains, brushing against the frame with each soft breeze from the open window. It’s not unusual for Simon to be up so early, but you miss the opportunity for morning cuddles.

A particularly sharp contraction in your stomach breaks the peaceful moment, your hand coming up to knead at the sore, bloated flesh. The last few days had left you in a pool of pain, the familiar ache creeping into your stomach and worming its way down your legs and up your back. Accompanied by the unsettling nausea and fatigue that wears you out even during a nap, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that your least favourite friend would be making a visit this week.

Rolling back onto your stomach, you sit with the uncomfortable sensation throbbing through your midriff. It takes a moment for the damp, coldness beneath your pelvis to register, contrasted to the dry sheet your back was just resting on. Your eyes fly open, pushing yourself up and back onto your knees with a pained groan.

Even such a simple movement has a strong wave of pain flare through you, but your dismay at the mess staining your sheets is stronger. Your friend has arrived earlier and heavier than expected. The dark grey sheet is soaked in patches of black, tacky enough that you know it’s had more than plenty of time to steep into the fabric – thank god for the mattress protector Simon persuaded you into getting for other activities. Looking down, your skin is dappled with red, crusty and dried around the hairs scattering your stomach. The worst is pooled between your thighs, boxer-briefs drenched with a sharp iron scent that crinkles your nose.

Pushing through the wave of dizziness persuading you to the floor, you grab at the blankets frustratedly. You check them meticulously, scrutinizing them for even a speck of blood, but they’ve been far luckier in their escape of your mess. Throwing them haphazardly onto the floor, you set into action, working to hide the messy consequences of your cycle.

There’s no real need for the urgency that you move with, especially as every aching fibre in your body screams at you to slow down. Rationally, you know Simon wouldn’t react poorly to your calamity in the slightest, even if you asked him to change the sheets while you cleaned yourself up. He’s stayed with you during other cycles, never blinking an eye at anything menstruation throws at you. Yet he’s not here to help, and interrupting whatever he’s doing just to do something you feel capable of seems selfish. On another level, you don’t want Simon to see this right now. Frustration eats at you – for being stuck with this, for being surprised with an early cycle, and maybe just a little bit because you really wanted those goddamn cuddles. You’ve wrestled three of the four corners off when Simon catches you stripping the bed, a towel drapes around his neck, shirt damp with sweat that still drips from his hair.

“What’re y’doin’, handsome?” He rumbles, an eyebrow raised as he stands on the other side of the bed. His eyes flicker between the blankets clumped on the floor and the sheet you’re mid-tugging off the mattress.

Though his question is fair, the obviousness of your situation, and your irrational irritation makes it feel like he’s rubbing your misfortune in. Gritting your teeth, you wrench a little harder than needed at the fabric. “S’my fault, I’ll chuck it in the wash.” You grumble, pulling up the mattress to unhook the last corner, ignoring how your back groans with the motion. Simon makes a noise of protest, not unkind as he snatches the sheet you’re trying to bundle in your arms. “Don’t be daft, mate.”

His tone is flat and slightly exasperated as he pulls the sheet from you, looking at the myriad of stains on your front, glazing over the angry expression you’re giving him at his little quip. Before you can open your mouth to say something, he turns you by your shoulders, escorting you to the bathroom.

“What’re you doing?” You huff, taking your turn to ask an obvious question as you let him steer you to the ensuite. A grunt is your only response as he pushes you through the door, his warm hand leaving your shoulders to pull back the liner fully. You watch as Simon turns the taps, listening to the pipes creak as water begins to dribble from the head. He doesn’t make any move to pull off his sweaty athleisure, just fiddles with the tap, turning it much hotter than Simon would usually take his showers – oh.

Taking the hint, you pull off your boxers, wincing as the cold air hits your now-exposed, sticky skin. Simon’s hand is under the water, breaking the droplets’ fall as the water warms, but his attention is now focused on you. When you straighten up, tossing your briefs to the hamper, he meets your unhappy look with a question.

“Pancakes?”

You blink at him, indignance still plastered on your face in a grumpy scowl as your brain struggles through the pain fogging your thoughts, and Simon just raises an eyebrow.

“Eggs ‘n toast? Take-out?’

A moment of bemusement passes as you think for a second, until your mouth drops into a little o-shape, and guilt tints your cheeks red. “Oh.”

Simon huffs affectionately, echoing your “oh” as he pulls his hand back, waiting for you to answer.

“Pancakes?” You mumble, looking up at him through your lashes. The corner of his lips tug into what you’ve learnt is a forgiving smile, and he leans over your figure to press a soft, unexpected kiss to your forehead. His lips are soft – good, he’s had a drink after working out – and the appetising, musky smell of his BO fills your mouth as he leans in.

“Pancakes it is, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head as he moves out the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Before anything can drip from you and create an additional mess you can’t be bothered with, you climb into the showerbath, making sure the plug is hung up to avoid any water filling the tub. He’s perfected the temperature, and you feel like just lying down in the empty tub as your body goes boneless, feeling water drizzle down on you from the showerhead. It’s just enough to soothe the way your body aches, but not enough to make you feel any dizzier. By the time you’ve finished in the shower, your skin feels red and tender, but the heat has temporarily worked your muscles into a sleepy stupor. Though you swear the scent of metallic fetor lingers on your skin no matter how many scents you use, any visible remnant has been washed down the drain.

Pulling the liner back, a towel sits on the vanity, folded neatly with two painkillers resting atop the fabric’s surface and a half-full glass next to it. On the other side, a pair of your boxers and one of Simon’s shirts hangs from the edge. You didn’t even notice Simon slip in to leave them there – despite how long you’ve been with him, it’s still unnerving that such a big man can move without a sound.

Scooping the pills up, you take them with a mouthful of water, before unfurling the towel to dry yourself off. The ordeal is short, pausing to pull on your briefs and a sanitary product of choice before you finish drying your tender legs, hanging the towel to dry over the rail nailed to the wall.

A whiff of sweet, buttery batter permeates the bedroom as you step back into it, mentally bracing for a brutal war of ‘how many sides can I get on before one pops off’ with your goddamn super king sized bed. However, surprise stops you in your tracks, feet stuttering as you find the floor empty of blankets. They’ve returned to the bed, which has been made with a rehearsed, militarized perfection, corners tucked tightly in with barely a ripple across the taut fabric.

With one chore covered, you grab the hamper from the bathroom, walking out into the living room to the source of the smell. Simon is hidden in the kitchen, his back to the entrance as he stands over the stove, but the sound of your feet padding around the corner raises his head.

His hair is light and fluffy, the tips still damp as he puts down the spatula, walking over to take the hamper from you despite your objections. The musky sweat coating him earlier has been replaced with the artificial, clean scent of shampoo and soap - you have no clue how he’s managed to change the bed, wash himself in the spare bathroom, and make a start on breakfast before you finished your own shower.

Resigning, you move to the stove and take up the spatula, patting the pancake as bubbles rise to its surface. Barely a minute passes before Simon’s arms slip around you, taking the spatula back and letting it drop to the counter to interlock your fingers.

“Independent this morning, pet?” He murmurs, carefully placing his other hand over your stomach, feeling as it rises and dips with your laugh. The warmth that radiates from his palm is ridiculous, seeping into the sore muscles that are starting to ache again.

“C’mon, you’d call me feeding myself independent.” You tease, leaning back until your head meets his chest. It shakes as he huffs a quiet laugh, bouncing you slightly before answering.

“When I could be feedin’ you? Don’t reckon I’m wrong.” He grunts, wrapping your hand around the handle, his own still encompassing yours, smiling into your hair as he helps you flip the pancake with a flick of your wrist.

You give his retort an overly dramatic groan, but his attention is captured by an electronic beeping that sets off. The moment he pulls away, your body misses his heat, watching him open the microwave door to pull out a very familiar, tear-shaped heap of fabric. You step away from the stove, reaching out to take it from him as he extends it towards you. The cartoon-ish looking figure of a little ghost heatpack is hot to the touch, emitting the faintest smell of lavender and chamomile, and he gives you a small smile as you wrap your arms around it, holding it against your torso.

“You think of everything, huh?” You laugh, heart squeezing as he answers you with a lop-sided grin and turns back to the stove, pouring in the last of the batter.

“Not everythin’ – how ‘bout you make a cuppa and sit down, hm?” He rumbles, gesturing to near the fridge. Two cups are already coupled together on the counter, and you skip boiling the kettle again as lazy tendrils of steam already climb from its spout. Grabbing a couple of tea bags, you tuck the heating pack under your arm, filling up the mugs as you listen to the sizzling of the pan. Simon gives you a quiet “thanks, love” as you set down his mug next to the stove, but when you reach for a plate to start dishing out the cooked pancakes, you’re interrupted by a chiding “ah!” and large hands turning you around. “Go sit down love, I got this.”

The look you give Simon over your shoulder does nothing to sway his rejection of your help, big brown eyes staring back at you with an expectant look as he gently nudges you to the exit. Though it’s tempting to ignore him and stay, the effort of staying upright is slowly sapping any hint of energy you recovered in the shower.

Bringing your drink out and flopping yourself onto the couch, your legs scream in gratitude when your weight is finally shifted from them. The small ghost sits across your abdomen, radiating a relaxing warmth that soothes the muscles cramping violently underneath it.

Though it’s barely minutes that pass, Simon comes out to find you curled in the couch’s corner, wrapped up around the heating pad with a slight frown in your brow. The gentle clink of the ceramic against the coffee table stirs you from your light sleep, cracking your eyes open as Simon sinks into the couch next to you, his plate balanced on his thighs.

“Sorry love,” he murmurs apologetically, raising an arm to let you bury into him. You jump at the opportunity, shuffling yourself to press against his side, and a content relaxation falls upon you as his arm covers you protectively. Without moving you too much, Simon leans forwards to grab your plate, resting it on your lap and tucking a fork into your hand.

Looking at the pancakes, he’s given you an extra one in your stack, drizzled generously with your favourite toppings. Your chest squeezes at the sight, each carefully placed topping another homage to the tenderness that your lover struggles to verbalise.

“You’ve done so much for me this morning, Si.” You start remorsefully, eyes downcast to your stack of pancakes. With a grunt, Simon reaches for his fresh mug perched precariously on the couch’s arm, using a spare finger to hit the on button of the remote sitting next to it. “Not allowed to give my special boy some love when he’s roughed up?”

You give him a good-natured huff, digging into his side playfully. “Make it sound like I’m wounded, Si.” Simon snorts, pulling his eyes away from the TV to shoot you an amused look. “With the amount of blood, y’could’ve convince me.”

You laugh at the comment, letting the light warmth fill your chest until it’s dampened by the unspoken guilt still sitting miserably on your conscience. “Sorry for bein’ grumpy earlier,” you mumble.

Simon hums, pulling you tighter as he cuts into a pancake with his fork, raising it to your mouth. “Kinda figured you wouldn’t be top shape after seein’ the blood, s’alright pet. Y’ve told me that this shit hurts more than normal.”

Taking the mouthful, you give him a small, grateful smile, reaching for your own plate and cutlery to share a piece back. The pancakes are light and fluffy, not heavy enough to upset your stomach, but enough to be filling for how insatiable your appetite can get. “Thanks, Si. Still appreciate you’re patient with me, though.”

He hums thoughtfully as he chews, gently rubbing his thumb mindlessly against your thigh. “Patient? Nah. Johnny said y’deserve a ring for bein’ patient with my shit after deployment – he’d take the piss if I told him you’re thankin’ me for being patient.”

The way Simon drops the idea of marriage is so calm and casual, a significant contrast to how it makes your heart soars in your chest. Reigning in your excited response, you take another mouthful, giving him a grin that can’t quite hide how much you like the idea. “Hope you told him how useful this little guy has been,” you gesture to the ghost on your lap, “because it’s definitely my second favourite ghost since he bought it.”

The narrowed glare that Simon gives the plush heating pad has you giggling around a forkful of pancakes, looking at him with light-hearted exasperation. “Oh c’mon, I said second favourite!” You chuckle, watching him roll his eyes with a grumble.

“Yeah, yeah,” his tone is low and playfully grumpy, rumbling through you. “S’long as it’s me you’re cuddlin’ at night, ‘m not havin’ a toy steal my man.”

Mindful of your plates, you wrap an arm across his chest and ignore how your stomach complains at the movement, squeezing him lightly. “Never, Si. My favourite ghost.”

With a satisfied noise, he looks down at you, a mischievous half-grin on his face. “Good, that thing couldn’t fuck you half as well.”

The cheeky remark gets him a deeper dig in the side, enough to pry a grunt from him as he squirms, though he’s still careful with how much he jostles you. Silence quickly falls over you, Simon watching the news with a protective arm around you. He sips at his tea as you finish your plate, running a hand through your hair every now and then, placing a few kisses to your scalp.

When you’ve finished your meal, you put the plate on the coffee table, reaching for Simon’s to stack them together. Reaching forwards has you wincing, a pulsating pain in your core that makes your tailbone ache, and Simon swoops in to stop you in your tracks.

“Sit your ass down already,” he grouches, pushing you back into the couch as he scoops up your plate. “Told you, you’re bein’ dependent today.”

#jams asks #ghost x masc!reader #ghost x transmasc!reader #simon riley x masc!reader #simon 'ghost' riley x masc!reader #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #jams writings #rep!reader writings

[agerefandom]

10 Favourite Regression Dynamics

I’ve made lists of some characters I headcanon as regressors, and characters I headcanon as caregivers: and I love a good ‘character and reader’ dynamic, but here are some canon dynamics that I LOVE to add age regression to! 

Important note: these aren’t necessarily romantic ‘ships’ and they might not be healthy age regression dynamics but they’re dynamics I find it rewarding to write about! 

1. regressor!Will and caregiver!Hannibal (NBC Hannibal) 

Starting strong with a regression dynamic that is not healthy but it is such an interesting thing to add to their existing codependence! Will gives me such agere vibes and Hannibal’s existing trauma around his big brother history make this such an interesting dynamic to explore. It definitely tilts the power balance faaaar in the direction of someone who will take the opportunity to do terrible things with it, but that’s basically what you’re signing up for with any story about Hannibal Lecter. 

2. regressor!Jack and caregiver!Bitty (Check Please!) 

No one exudes stronger caregiver vibes than Bitty: I’m definitely a supporter of this as a double-flip pairing (with both regressing and caregiving) but I want the sad hockey man to get cuddles, goshdarnit, and you know that Bitty would just be the sweetest most thoughtful caregiver and I just gah they’re already such a good pairing with such canonically developed communication as a couple and I would love to see that skill applied to something as vulnerable as regression 

 3. regressor!Harry and caregiver!Sirius (Harry Potter) 

If anyone deserves a chance at a second childhood, it’s Harry Potter. And I think that when he connected with Sirius as a young teen, he really saw that possibility. I think it would be so sweet to see Sirius actually able to give Harry that full parenting: both at the age he is now, and all the ages that he missed. I just strongly feel like Harry is a regressor, and as much as I like writing him with peers supporting him, I feel like he deserves a real parent figure who can support him in that role in and out of regression, especially in his teen years. 

4. regressor!Jon and caregiver!avatars (Magnus Archives) 

Okay, this is more of a whump thing than a good dynamic, but I just want to see little!Jon dealing with avatars when they’re being nice to him, and it’s like 90% manipulation but it’s also a bunch of monsters being sweet and you can kind of read it as genuine if you squint. I’ve got a vision and it includes literally any of the not-quite-human characters of the Magnus Archives, ranging from the mostly-sweet (End!Gerry) to the completely-terrifying (Bouchard). 

5. regressor!Tony, caregiver!Pepper (Marvel) 

This is the first pairing that ever made me run to write regression fanfiction, and I do believe that I would not be an agere writer without them. Ironically, I’ve never finished and published any of my fics about them, but they have my whole heart. Taking Tony’s earlier unthinking dependence on Pepper and bringing it back in a healthy way, with limits and negotiation and emotional vulnerability, showing how much they’ve grown as a couple? Yes please!! 

6. regressor!Cullens, caregivers!Carlisle and Esme (Twilight)

I am such! a! sucker! for immortal beings finding a way to reclaim the concept of time and childhood. Carlisle and Esme canonically find a lot of value in being parents, and considering that they’re such a range of ages, I think that regression is a neat way to create that dynamic, and I just like big groups of regressors in a family and it scratches all of those interests in one!! 

7. regressor!Morty, flip!Rick (Rick and Morty) 

It’s the toxicity for me!!! I make no claims that this would be a good thing, but also I enjoy writing about the things that trigger Rick’s ‘oh shit I have feelings’ mode and you can’t tell me that regression would not key into that, both in his own experiences as a flip and then having to face it as part of Morty’s trauma. And Morty simultaneously trying to get away into independence but getting drawn back by Rick’s kindness in this single circumstance ties into all of the terrible themes of the show. 

8. regressor/caregiver flips Dean and Sam (Supernatural) 

Speaking of codependence, I cannot choose which of these boys is more symbolically resonant to have as a regressor, and both of them certainly have enough trauma to make it a viable coping mechanism. I think they have the art of balancing each other down to an art: especially in the early seasons, you can really see that process in the way they take turns being the Angry one. Writing about that balance in the context of regression is an interesting concept, and then the way that Dean relates to caregiving versus needing care, and Sam’s desperation to be the reliable one... it’s just a lot of tasty angst to play with alongside the sweet opportunity for a childhood without the war they were raised to fight. 

9. regressor!Erik, caregiver!Christine (Phantom of the Opera) 

Okay, this one is like ninety percent for the aesthetics, because you do need to do some handwaving over canon to make it fluffy. But Erik needs reparenting, and flipping the relationship from the original dynamic with Erik as a kind of father-figure is a nice way to reclaim the story from the original gothic maiden themes. 

10. regressor!Dave, caregiver!Roxy (Homestuck)

All hail my Ride Or Die regression dynamic!!! It’s basically canon and I stand by that! Dave called her mom and said that it feels nice to think of her as a mom because he had such a mixed experience with his own parental figure. And she’s got her own complicated feelings about parenthood and guardianship, but says that she likes it when Dave calls her mom, and it all just makes me very happy.  

This has been my TEDtalk on my favourite regression dynamics!! Thank you for coming!! 

#fandom agere #misc fandoms #this is separate from the 'dynamics i see as canonically agere related' list btw #which i haven't yet made #homestuck agere #tma agere #harry potter agere #spn agere #marvel agere #hannibal agere #hannibal #tma #harry potter #poto #rick and morty #homestuck #tw codependency #ask to tag

[lydiablack-m]

Rain |L Lawliet x Reader|

Pairing: L x Reader

Warnings: Angst, death, major spoilers

Word count: 1k

A/N:  English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. You may read this imagine in the original language here

Sharp rain lashed the windows, it seemed as if the sky had opened and the water from the heavenly springs, rested for thousands of years, broke out of the darkness at once and headed to earth in an endless stream to drown, wash away the sins of humanity, cleanse the souls of people or destroy them.

Everything came down to a dead point. The investigation stopped after the capture and death of Kira. All the accumulated material of evidence and clues collapsed because of the one line in the Death Note: "he will die in 13 days."

The networks that L tightly wove around Light became entangled, and the feeling of approaching danger was getting stronger and stronger over us every day.

L was more silent than usual, his antics and brilliant guesses on the case disappeared. This damned God of Death did not give any useful information, all L's attempts to get her to talk, to ask about the notebook ended in failure. L grew more and more gloomy, it was as if a death mark rose over him, becoming brighter every day, he himself seemed to felt it.

I opened the last message again, as if something new might appear in it, but the same brief words were shining on the screen.

"Y/n, come to the roof. We need to talk."

I put the phone in my pocket and headed to the stairs. The rain beat relentlessly through the panoramic windows, it felt like this building did not exist at all, every step was easy, as if I was walking through that gray air outside, as if it cost me nothing to push off the ground and take off now. My head was spinning from the monotonous sounds of falling drops and aching, inexplicable anxiety.

I pushed the iron door leading to the roof with shoulder, and the next second the wind whistled in the doorway. With an effort, I opened it and look around, covering eyes from the wind and small drops.

L stood near the metal tower, which was crowned with a satellite receiver, and looked at the sky motionless.

His clothes soaked through, water was streaming down his face, dripping from his hair, seemed like he had been standing here for a long time before my arrival. It was pointless to call him, for the noise of the rain and the howling of the wind, my words would simply be lost in the air, there was nothing left but to go out to meet the cold streams and the open gray sky.

“The bell is ringing louder than usual today,” he said, still staring intently into the sky, when I approached him.

“I know.”

We looked into the sky of heavy endless clouds, showered with daggers of cold drops, and it seemed as if there, far above us and in the whole expanse of the air dome, the measured beats of the memorial bell could be heard, making the heart freeze and further distancing us from the reality where we are standing on the roof of a 30-storey hotel in Tokyo, waiting for news that the unknown will bring us, closer than ever to destruction.

“Lately, it has been ringing incessantly. Do you understand what this means?” he said tonelessly.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the dark sky.

The rain was lashing at my face in furious gusts, my T-shirt stuck to the body, water dripped from the jeans into the sneakers, but it didn't bother me at all. It was as if the whole moment enchanted me, and I stopped feeling anything but unity with this rain, sky and air, nothing else mattered.

All the future past and present have been reduced to one point, into one vessel of the storm, heralding the end of the days of this world.

L turned and stared intently into my eyes.

“I don't want you to die.”

His voice seemed to come from far away, and it took me a moment to understand the meaning of his words, looking at him with unseeing eyes.

L seemed to understand my confusion and hastened to add:

“I think he's going to kill me and then you, and I don't know... For the first time in my life, I do not know how to prevent it,” he sighed heavily and looked up to the sky again.

“I made too many mistakes, let Light get too close... It's all my fault. I shouldn't have dragged you into this investigation. Now, because of my shortsightedness, we are both going to die. I'm sorry.”

I looked up. For some reason, a painful feeling crept into my heart again, suddenly memorable episodes from childhood began to flash before my eyes, those moments when the soul, as well as now, trembled with delight and at the same time was torn with longing in powerlessness to comprehend this moment of merging with the eternal largess of centuries, as if the ancient secret of life was hidden in these moments and one step, one breath each time was missing to let in this all-encompassing wisdom, to become one with infinity.

“It was an honor for me to work with you, but I consider the opportunity to call you my friend to be an even greater joy and the main achievement of my life,” I said.

As if in oblivion, my lips moved by themselves, but at the same time I was clearly aware that the said was right.

L looked at me somewhat surprised.

“Thank you. You are the only person who has become really close to me, whom I really trust. I'll be glad to die next to you.”

He suddenly seemed so lonely and mournful. His life has always been full of cruelty and injustice, he has always been an observer of it, but he has never lived himself. It's a pity that we won't have time to change anything.

I quietly went over and hugged him. He flinched in surprise, but hugged me back.

“Thank you. If it rains like this in heaven, I'll be happy to be there with you.”

...

Thump.

I fall on one knee, there is an unbearable pain in my heart.

Thump.

He lies in front of me and gasps for air.

Thump.

I am pinned to the ground, but rush closer to him.

Thump.

I grab his hand and look into those eyes for the last time.

Thump.

“I'm sorry...”

Thump...

#death note imagines #death note imagine #death note headcanons #death note one shot #death note x reader #death note x you #death note x y/n #death note x #l x you #l x reader #l x y/n #l death note #l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet x y/n #l lawliet x you #angst #death of the main characters #wammy kids #wammy boys #wammy's house #one shot #head canon #death note #ryuzaki #self ship community #x reader #x you #x y/n #f/o community