#unreasonable but she doesn’t care

[panxramic]

Tallulah and Promises

Something I’ve always liked keeping an eye on and is so bittersweet about Tallulah’s character is her relationship with promises. I’m not quite sure when it became so intense, maybe it’s been there since the beginning, but Tallulah for a long time has had a unique relationship with making and keeping a promise.

I want to say that first and foremost, how she handles promises can be incredibly childish. Both because they can be nonsensical and “immature” AND because well, she’s a child. What kind of promise do you expect from a child?

A promise is everything to her, it’s a contract. Its words set in stone and written in the stars. A promise CANNOT be broken. Doesn’t matter who it is, a promise is a promise and you keep it. And it’s not all bad. Things like this can be reasonable right? She’ll get upset of course when someone makes a promise or when she can’t keep hers. She uses promises as a way to hold out hope. She uses them to keep herself and those around her accountable, so she has the assurance that they’ll do what they promised and she’ll do what she promised. That no matter what happens in the world, no matter what life throws at her, she can count on those promises.

So when someone breaks it, when she can’t live up to her promises, it shatters her world view.

And then the problems start to stack up, especially when we get into the realm of false promises, it starts becoming a mess. A mess of false hope. Because remember, to her, promises can be translated to hope (another big part of her character).

Gonna breeze pass through this one but she did make a promise when she first joined the island. A promise to someone, who never kept up his end of it, and she held on to it for MONTHS. For months that child held out her promise and repeatedly brought it up again and again that no matter what she was gonna be alive for when he came back and when he needed her. With not a sign of him returning that promise to her. And this promise was also hope. Hope she wasn’t gonna be left alone again, abandoned.

And that’s when we get into false promises. Because although Tallulah does value them a lot, she also asks for people to promise her things that sometimes cannot be done. There have been countless of times she has tried asking q!Phil to promise her something, but q!Phil has rarely ever promised her anything (with a handful of exceptions). He’s careful, he’s always very careful about what he promises to her because he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. And whenever he doesn’t promise her something, I feel like a part of Tallulah’s hope gets cracked. Because without a promise, how positive is she that q!Phil will keep his word? How hopeful can she really be that everything will be okay?

She hangs onto promises like a lifeline. They’re the one tether that can keep her hope afloat. And she remembers them, remembers her promises like a burn on her skin.

She’s done the same thing to q!Bad. Has asked if he could promise things, like promise that he wasn’t dying, but q!Bad never could. And when people can’t promise something, she has little hope that everything will be okay.

And some promises she asks for can be so… nonsensical. Promises we know, and I KNOW she knows, cannot be made. But she asks for them anyway. Because she’s a child. A child who just wants everything to be okay and wants her Papa Phil to promise that nothing bad will ever happen to him, to promise that he will never leave them, because she’s a terrified kid of being abandoned again and not having that reassurance, that solid ground, that things will be okay.

But q!Phil can’t promise that. And it aches.

One time she broke that barrier, she couldn’t take it anymore. She asked q!Bad to promise her something and he refused to. And afterwards she just told him to promise it to her even if it’s a lie. She full on broke that glass wall and was transparent.

Pinky promise to me you would not die

At least lie to me

And he did.

Because promises make her feel better. She holds onto them until she can’t, even if it is filled with lies. Because sometimes a child asks for a promise and they don’t expect the truth, they just expect comfort. Because it’s the only thing they can handle.

It’s so sad to watch her hold onto promises that she KNOWS deep in her heart can’t be kept. But still she wishes and she hopes and she believes in these lies as if they’re the only thing holding her up above ground.

Sometimes the promises she asks for can be unreasonable. She puts up a wall to protect herself because reality is scary, it’s terrifying. Tallulah values the truth like no other. She hates lies and she hates when people like q!Phil and Chayanne hide things from her. But when it comes to her dad potentially abandoning her, when it comes to him dying and leaving her, she’d rather believe everything will be okay than face the harsh reality of what’s going on.

And this topic has a lot of nuances I won’t get specifically into. It’s a blend of promises and lies and hope and truth. The lies the promises hold aren’t the same as someone straight up lying to her face and hiding things from her. It’s different instances of a lie.

Anyways, again, a lot of different things I can get into and definitions to go through BUT I will to say that it’s not wrong of her to want to believe everything will be okay. I’m an optimist at heart. ‘Hope’ to me is important and I think it isn’t wrong to have it even when things are looking down. But, something specifically for Tallulah is that alongside that hope, she also is terrified of reality (rightfully so) and tries to erase it by making a promise. And essentially, that’s not how the world works.

It’s such a childish way of thinking. You cannot erase the bad things from happening with a promise. And that’s what Tallulah sometimes does. If she makes q!Phil promise that he won’t leave her, then surely he won’t. That’s how promises work right?

Tallulah holds herself to these promises too. She does everything in her power to keep her word. When she doesn’t, when she breaks a promise she makes, she beats herself up for it.

That first promise she made? She broke it during purgatory and it broke her. It was one of the many accumulated reasons why she hated Purgatory island and everything associated with it. And when she broke that promise a piece of her hope broke with it.

Whenever Tallulah makes a promise to q!Phil she engraves it in her mind. She does everything in her power to keep it. And when she’s accused of breaking a promise, she panics and becomes defensive. She looks back into her mind to see if she ever DID make that promise and if she didn’t she starts defending herself. The conversation begins to shift from the actual issue to “no I never made that promise I didn’t promise you anything I didn’t break anything.” Because it’s SUPER important to her. The idea of breaking a promise is like a rock to glass. So she remembers the promises she makes.

Promises for Tallulah are a childish way for her to rewrite reality. But they’re also a way for her to have hope. There’s a balance when it comes to having hope and being able to see reality for what it is. And it’s something Tallulah struggles with. And I don’t blame her for it.

A child who cannot cope with reality will make pinky promises of clear skies and sunny days. A child who cannot handle the possibility of being abandoned again will make someone promise her to never leave even if she knows things are out of his control. Because in the mind of a child, a promise cannot be broken.

A promise is sealed. It’s a binding rope that should never give. So if Tallulah can make q!Phil promise her things, then that means he will never leave her, that means he will never hurt her. If Tallulah can make q!Bad promise her he won’t die then she can live in the lie that he will be okay. If she can promise to always be by her brothers side then surely they will never be separated again.

Because promise can’t be broken.

Right?

(Deep down inside, she knows).

#I can talk about this topic for ages #also not too happy with what #I wrote about lies and the truth #but in order to delve into that #I need 2 other tumblr posts #just know that at the end of the day #tallulah #still values the truth and hates lies #things are complicated though #people and likewise kids #are complicated #qsmp tallulah #qsmp #marv rants #ALSO LIKE #REMEMBER SHES A CHILD #ITS ALL FROM A CHILDISH POV #sometimes she can tell she’s being #unreasonable but she doesn’t care #and I think other times she full on #tried to really believe the promise #will help

[j-esbian]

i keep finding Lore Discrepancies and i’m like. boy i hope they explain this one, but judging from the number of mistakes the game has already made, idk if they’re ever going to address it!

#the gith artifact teleports but uhh dw about it. it just likes you :) the quest log records things that never happened:) #not to keep being cinemasins but literally all i can focus on are the holes #how is volo still alive. why is jahiera a harper again #he was in the original games ~120 years ago and he’s human right #i mean. so was elminster who i think is also human but. wizard privilege. i can accept that he’s immortal #volo. researching one of his little stories. stumbles onto the secret of immortality #his page on the bg3 wiki doesn’t even address it lmao #tbh that doesn’t bother me as much. you can handwave that one. but #i JUST met jahiera and she just gave a flippant ‘oh the stories they told aren’t all true’ #which is probably the closest i’m gonna get to an answer lol. but time will tell #it’s just very weird if their canon is Heroic Bhaalspawn Route bc imo. following that track for her personal quest means she leaves #if you’re a dick she’ll leave your party and rejoin the harpers but otherwise #they’re meant to be unreasonable bc the harpers that catch up with you don’t care about what you’ve done. just that you’re bhaalspawn #so if you’re playing a good guy. she will side with you?? #and leave the harpers??? #got me thinking that maybe i never finished that quest and there’s a secret ending where everyone is cool actually :) #tbh that kind of. sucks lol. just putting characters in for the cameo rather than. where it makes sense #i’ve heard they explain how minsc is still alive and i can’t WAIT to see that one #mine #baldur's gate

[sadlazzle]

genuinely don’t know why i bothered coming home today. no one wants me here

#i am so very clearly in the way of their sunday but she won’t say anything #i don’t think her bf minds. i genuinely don’t think he cares that much. but i just know she does #i know she feels like she should be on her own with him today and im ruining it #i don’t feel welcome here #should’ve jst stayed at my dads ngl #i jst. i feel bad today n i jst wanted my own bed in my own home yk. #fuck that apparently. i’m gonna sit here for like an hour and then im leaving. i don’t feel like i should be here #is it even my own home ? she keeps feeling the need to make it perfectly clear that it’s HERS and HERS alone #doesn’t mean shit when she says with the sweet voice that it’s ‘my home too’ cause like. y don’t i feel like it is then. #y do i feel like u want me gone so badly #and y do u always to do that thing w ur voice tht makes it sound like im being nasty and unreasonable ?? #i don’t fuckin say enough to even BE those things #idk im jst rlly tired. im so tired n my jaw is hurting again. i hav a headache. #i cant even make myself anything 2 eat bc the kitchen is occupied n i don’t wanna seem rude #i just don’t know any more. im so out of it n confused idk what anything is or what it means anymore #plum.txt

[theworld-accordingtocasey]

I’m finding out the hard way that you can only be patient for so long before you have to remove yourself from the situation in order to find any bit, however small, of peace.

#stop “only checking” #accept that you got played and start trying to move on #I’m not being unreasonable #it’s high time I give up the idea that it’s a matter of business #she isn’t busy she just doesn’t care #deep sigh #remove self especially when you know your absence will not cause even a dent in their thoughts #it makes it hurt more to know I won’t even be noticed or missed when i was there since the beginning before the popularity #& the “cool new friends” era that they’re in nowadays #knowing your unfollow or previous lack of contact with them will go unnoticed is all the more reason to get outta there

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.

But then Steve continues, his voice turning distant as he heads to the back of the store—“I don’t care what the goddamn handbook says, the radiator’s goin’ on full blast,”—and Eddie realises he hasn’t actually been noticed at all.

Not by Steve, at least. 

Robin Buckley is standing by the computer. She’s checking her watch; Eddie can see the thought cross her mind, that he should’ve been out of class over an hour ago, like she was.

All of a sudden, he feels uncomfortably aware of what he must look like: drenched from the rain, dripping water onto the carpet. 

“Hey, Munson. O’Donnell got you working overtime, huh?”

Eddie fakes a laugh. He doesn’t know Robin that much—but still just well enough to know she doesn’t mean anything by it.

So he nods and rolls his eyes, concocts a story about an unjust detention; he even embellishes it with a pinch of truth as he brings the video tapes out from the shelter of his jacket. Says that his last-ditch attempt at improving his grade before the holidays was offering to return the videos O’Donnell rented for her classes.

He doesn’t mention the fact that he stayed behind voluntarily. That he spent all that time staring down at a perpetually unfinished essay, gripping his pen with an all too familiar desperation. That kind of honesty somehow feels more embarrassing than lying; it always has.

Robin takes the videos from him. “Okay, tell me if that works,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm; she’s joking, Eddie reminds himself, but not in a mean way. “Because I’d be returning, like, so many library books if…”

She trails off with a frown, eyes on the computer screen. Glances to the stack of video tapes before punching in something.

Eddie doesn’t mind the wait; it’s only now that he’s really appreciating just how cold he is. He shakes some water off his jacket sleeve, fingers numb, and realises too late that he’s creating a puddle on the floor. 

“Uh, sorry for, um. Dripping,” he says awkwardly, but Robin doesn’t seem to hear him; she just keeps frantically tapping on the keyboard.

Outside, the wind picks up even more, throwing rain against the windows. 

There’s the creak of a door swinging open somewhere in the back, followed by a voice calling, “What’s up?”

Eddie startles—he almost forgot that it wasn’t just him and Robin in here. He watches Steve sidle up to the register.

“It’s this stupid—“ Robin gestures to the computer with frustration. “It keeps going all, you know, aaaah.” She draws out the sound, wiggling her fingers.

Surprisingly, Steve catches Eddie’s eye with a wry look. “Technical term,” he says, deadpan.

If Eddie didn’t know that he was the only other person in the room, he’d think that surely he’d been mistaken for someone else.

Not that he thinks Steve would ignore him outright; it’s just that they’ve not got much history—no fleeting camaraderie forged from sitting next to one another in class. Sure, they crossed paths as much as anyone did in Hawkins, Steve a recurring figure in Eddie’s peripheral; he knew of his existence, obviously, it’s Steve Harrington, but nothing more than…

A collage of all the times Steve’s picture has appeared in the school newspaper flickers through Eddie’s mind. Okay, but that was because of The Tigers, and the swimming team, and—anyone would’ve noticed that—

His justification is brought to a halt at a particularly fierce howl of wind; Robin flinches so badly that she knocks the video tapes onto the floor. 

“Just the wind,” Steve says quietly.

As he speaks, he gently nudges Robin out of the way with his hip. Picks up the fallen tapes.

And to anyone else, it might seem kind—and nothing more. 

But there’s something almost imperceptible in the way Steve does it, Eddie can’t get away from that fact: a meaning behind the words that he can’t grasp.

Then he hears Wayne’s voice in his head—son, you know fine well when something’s none of your damn business—and tells his curiosity to quit it.

“Sorry, it’s still not working,” Robin says, giving the computer one last thump. “I can, um, write you a receipt? To prove you returned them? So O’Donnell doesn’t get all…”

Eddie nods. “Sure.”

Robin gets a pen out of her shirt pocket and writes a receipt, triple-checking the movie titles as she does so.

Eddie thanks her as she hands over the paper. Catches himself hesitating. 

There it is: the familiar prickle of discomfort, not knowing what else to say. Jesus Christ, isn’t that a failure on its own? Another year at school, and you’d think he’d be somewhat closer to other students, just from the sheer amount of time they’ve spent together in the same four walls. And yet, he’s starting to feel more distant than ever.

Granted, there’s Hellfire, but on bad days even that chafes, not that he’d ever admit it. Like he’s playing a part far bigger than who he actually is.

Eddie expects to just walk out without another word being said. In fact, he’s bracing himself for the cold again, almost at the door, when Steve inexplicably speaks up.

“Are you actually leaving?”

Eddie turns around. Steve’s leaning by the desk with his arms folded, looking at him expectantly.

Eddie’s half-convinced there’s a joke he’s not getting.

“Uh, yeah?” he says. He tries to ensure that ‘what the fuck else am I supposed to do?’ goes unheard, but from the way Steve’s eyebrows rise, he doesn’t think he succeeds. 

Steve gives a pointed, dubious look outside. “Dude, you wanna drown out there?”

Eddie rocks back on his heels. There’d be a time where he would really snap back at that (the first time he flunked out, maybe), but now he’s more caught off-guard. 

So he just glances outside and says, “Ideally, no.”

Steve gives a slight huff of laughter at that, shaking his head.

“Look, I’m just saying, man, I’m not gonna be driving till it clears up. Thought I was gonna need a canoe just to get into the parking lot.” He turns to Robin as if looking for agreement, stacking the tapes Eddie returned as he adds, “I said that when I drove you in, right?”

“I dunno, I’ve had crazier journeys,” Robin says.

Steve rolls his eyes like she’s made a corny joke—but he’s grinning like he just can’t help himself.

Eddie watches with a flicker of amusement rather than irritation, which catches him unawares. If he was honest, he’d felt drained not even a few seconds ago. But seeing Steve and Robin’s back-and-forth sparks an unexpected urge to respond in kind.

“Since when were you the spokesperson for road safety, Harrington?”

Robin snorts.

Steve shrugs. “At least wait until it’s not so brutal out there.”

And what brings Eddie up short is that, despite the dry tone, Steve sounds sincere. It leaves him struggling for an acceptable reply.

Before he can work one out, Steve steps to the side and pushes a swivel chair with his foot, right into Eddie’s path.

Eddie sits down in silent bewilderment.

He braces instinctively for an unbearable awkwardness, but it’s not so bad: Steve and Robin just continue working. It gives him time to try and dry his jacket off, at least, and when that ends up a lost cause, he turns to noticing the background noise in the store.

There’s a TV overhead playing It’s a Wonderful Life; George Bailey and Mary Hatch are about to Charleston right into the swimming pool.

Steve wanders into his eye line, scanning the aisles with a clipboard. Eddie doesn’t actually know how long he’s been there. He’d kinda got caught up in watching the movie. Steve seems to notice that; it’s gone too quick for Eddie to be sure, but his lips might’ve quirked, as if in approval.

“Hey, d’you want me to take your jacket? I’ve got mine and Robin’s on the radiator in the back.”

Eddie does his best not to stare. It’s a habit he’s still not shaken off: waiting for the other shoe to drop when anyone apart from Wayne is so… so…

“Didn’t realise this place was a hotel, Harrington.”

Despite his misgivings, he shrugs off the still damp jacket; Steve’s already stuck his hand out for it.

“Not everyone gets this treatment, Munson. You just haven’t annoyed me yet.”

“Then what am I doing wrong?” Eddie returns flatly. 

This time Steve’s smile is obvious.

“Don’t move my scarf off the radiator!” Robin calls as she wheels a trolley of tapes.

“What do you take me for?” Steve says.

He disappears into the back again, returning empty-handed when the phone rings. He mutters at it before he picks it up, “Yeah, of course you still work,” and it’s not endearing, Eddie tells himself. It’s not.

And no, he isn’t listening in to the phone call. That’d be… that’d be stupid. It’s just that the movie isn’t all that loud, so he can’t help but…

“Hello, Family Video? Oh, hi, Mrs Wilcox, how are… Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.” Steve listens to whatever’s being said on the other end. His eyes find the TV, and then he’s silently mouthing along to George and Mary singing, ‘Buffalo Gals.’ “Oh, are you kidding? No, no, stay inside. It’s not a problem, I can just—yeah, of course. I’ll push it back to after the holidays. Yeah. Yeah, you too. Thanks for calling. Enjoy the movie!”

He hangs up, absentmindedly humming. Eddie quickly looks away.

He notices then that he’s sitting right on the edge of his seat like an idiot. He makes an attempt to sit back—be normal, just be fucking normal—but there’s a rigidity he can’t quite shift, that’s been stuck there probably since middle school, when the cafeteria was full of whispers, did you see the new kid? There, the one with the buzz cut.

“Steve, you off the phone?”

“Yeah. Hey, Rob, if I forget, could you make a note to extend Donna Wilcox’s rental? I’ll do it when we’re back, if the computer’s—”

“Sure, sure. Um, so—”

“Oh, God, what?”

Robin grins, a mixture of sheepish and teasing. Eddie stays put. Has she forgotten he’s here? Should he move? Leave? Yeah, he should leave, they’re not gonna notice… He’ll grab his jacket, slip away; the weather’s not that bad—

“I’ve got something for you to—”

Steve waves his hands in disagreement. “Nope, we said we weren’t doing presents!”

“It’s not really a—my grandma wouldn’t listen, Steve, it’s, like, more of a punishment, honestly, just—just wait there.”

There’s a clatter as Robin rushes off, scattering some more tapes off the trolley. The employee door slams shut behind her.

Steve tsks to himself, but picks up the tapes again. As he bends down, he glances over his shoulder with a brief ‘what can you do?’ sort of expression—which forces Eddie to consider the fact that he hasn’t been forgotten.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He settles for an attempt at nonchalance: sticks a foot out to spin the chair ever so slightly, just side to side, and says, “So, uh, is this job just throwing tapes on the floor?”

“Yeah, we take turns,” Steve says without missing a beat.

He scoops up a tape, twirls it deftly before slotting it into place on the shelf. Eddie should probably find it annoying.

He doesn’t.

In the silence, he tries to lose himself in the movie again, at least a little bit, but he can’t manage it—feels too aware of himself, the creak of the seat as he moves even the tiniest amount, the restless fidgeting that he doesn’t even want to be doing, but knowing that never helps him stop—

“Ta-da!”

Eddie turns in time to see a blur of red; Robin’s just thrown something at Steve, who catches it easily—of course he does, Eddie thinks, but he can’t pretend that the thought comes from a place of resentment, not even inside his own head.

It’s a sweater. Steve unfolds it with a cackling laugh; there’s not a trace of the artificial veneer of high school in the sound.

Unlike you, whispers a nasty inner voice.

Steve’s still laughing. “Robin, this is the best—”

“Shut up, no, it’s so bad.” Robin hoists herself up to sit on the desk. “Grandma did the actual work, all the bits that are messed up are from me—”

“You knitted this?”

Steve beams. Eddie notices that there’s an endearingly crooked tilt to one of his incisors.

And then Steve’s glancing around like he’s checking no-one else has come into the store. He ducks out of view of the windows, but is still very much in Eddie’s view as he throws off his work vest, yanks his shirt up over his head, and…

Eddie suddenly feels like he’s been flung back into the claustrophobic space of the school locker rooms, the dread of changing for phys ed. The voice in his head gets louder: don’t look, don’t look; they’ll know. 

But Steve doesn’t seem to care. He just leaves his shirt in a heap on the floor, wincing overexaggeratedly at the cold, and practically dives into the sweater with a boyish glee.

He laughs again; the sleeves are far too long. “I love it.”

“You do?” Robin says, and while she’s playing up her dubiousness, Eddie can hear how she’s pleased underneath it all.

“Uh, yeah!”

The back of Steve’s hair is ruffled from how eagerly he put the sweater on—but instead of fixing it, he focuses on artfully rolling up his sleeves.

Eddie should look away. Should, at the very least, attempt to appear like he’s zoned out, in a world of his own.

And yet…

Despite everything, he watches Steve Harrington with all the silent, rapt attention he usually reserves for movies.

Moth to a fucking flame, Eddie thinks, resigned.

“Suits me, huh?” Steve says to Robin; he does a stupid little move, one hand on his hip, like he’s on the front cover of a magazine.

“And you’re modest, too.”

“You just don’t know style when you see it.”

Steve’s at the desk now, nudging one of Robin’s feet playfully, before turning round to lean against the corner again. “Hey, Munson, what do you think?”

Eddie finds himself fighting the instinct to reply with something undeservedly cutting. He’d just be trying to cover, anyway, using barbs to conceal what the question makes him feel: something akin to the franticness when confronted in class with a test he hasn’t studied for.

And he looks. Really looks—his heart slowing, the initial panic from the flash of bare skin fading away.

Steve’s right; the sweater does suit him, in all its homemade charm. The shade of red is flattering, brings out his eyes: maroon, if Eddie had to put a name to it, although he suspects that the colour’s actually got nothing to do with it, more the way Steve holds himself—a quiet, certain confidence that’s always been out of Eddie’s reach.

He inwardly gives himself a shake as Steve and Robin keep waiting on his response.

This isn’t school, idiot; they’re not trying to catch you out.

“I’m hardly an expert on high fashion, Harrington,” Eddie says—thinks he just manages to pull off the lazy, unbothered drawl.

“Well, you have a look,” Steve says faux delicately, like he’s being incredibly generous.

Eddie cracks a genuine smile; it sort of weakens the whole aloof thing he’d settled on, but he surprisingly doesn’t care all that much.

“Damned with faint praise.”

Steve scoffs as if to say touché. His gaze catches on something outside, and Eddie wonders if it’s an actual customer, if it’s time for whatever all of this is to stop.

But all Steve does is poke Robin’s foot and add, pointedly singsong, “Rain’s stopped.”

“So?” Robin asks.

“I think it’s in between storms,” Steve says sagely. “Like, we’ve got a little window before more rain hits.”

“Great, Steve, I’ll love waving that opportunity bye.”

Steve tuts. “Rob, I’m saying we should ditch. Come on, it’s been dead all day. We can be home early and warm, it’s, like, single-handedly the best plan I’ve ever had.”

Better than when you won the championship game? Eddie thinks—wisely keeps that strictly to himself, because he’ll admit following Hawkins High’s basketball results on pain of death.

Robin looks torn. “I don’t know, Steve, what if—”

“Who’s gonna tell?” Steve says, gesturing around at the empty store. He nods at Eddie, says sarcastically, “Oh yeah, Eddie Munson, known snitch.”

“You flatter me,” Eddie says. He surprises himself at how easily it slips out, like for once, there was no need to overthink it.

“See? Rob-in,” Steve wheedles, “come on, I’ll cash out. You and your grandma could knit for hours.”

“Shut up,” Robin says fondly. “Fine! Quick, quick, I’ll flip the sign.”

The whole thing resembles a military operation, with how speedily Steve and Robin manage to close the store. Eddie stands up and moves the swivel chair out of the way, but feels almost exposed without it.

Steve’s just finished at the register when he catches Eddie’s eye. He snaps his fingers, “Oh, shit, yeah,” and yells over his shoulder to Robin in the back room, “Hey, pick up Munson’s jacket, too!” Then he’s stuffing a couple of tapes into a backpack. “Want one?”

Eddie blinks, confused. “What?”

Steve wiggles one of the movies in demonstration before zipping up his bag. “I always take some home. As long as you have it back by, uh,” he waves a hand vaguely, “some time in the New Year, whatever.” He clicks his tongue. “Damn it, forgot to turn this off…”

It’s a Wonderful Life falls silent.

Through the whir of it rewinding, Eddie speaks almost without meaning to. “Can I have that one?”

Steve looks up at him in faint surprise. “Sure. Hang on, I’ll just find…”

He ejects the tape and passes it to Eddie. It’s still warm from being played.

And then the case is being handed over, too—there’s scraps of paper folded in the corners, rolls of receipt in Steve and Robin’s handwriting: games of tic-tac-toe and movie recommendations.

As Eddie puts the tape inside, a thought occurs to him. “Wait, uh. Were you gonna take this one home, too?”

Steve’s folding up his discarded shirt and vest. He smiles, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think there was something shy in it.

“Oh, nope. I—” He laughs under his breath. “I have it already.”

The back door bursts open to reveal Robin all wrapped up in a scarf. She throws Eddie his jacket, jangles some keys and imitates Steve’s half-singing when she announces, “I’ll lock up.”

The wind’s thankfully died down so the contrast from inside to the parking lot isn’t terrible—though that’s probably helped by the fact that Eddie’s jacket is warmed right through from the radiator.

As he gets to the van, he expects that Robin and Steve will already be out of the parking lot. But when he slides into the driver’s seat, he sees Robin’s the only one actually inside Steve’s car; Steve’s half-in, half out, one hand on the roof. 

“Safe journey, Munson!”

And maybe it’s just how Steve’s voice is anyway, but it sounds like it’s more than just a platitude. Like it means something.

Eddie honks his horn in reply. He lets Steve drive out first—his car’s parked closer to the road—and absentmindedly drums his fingers on the VHS case in the passenger seat.

This was a fluke, he tells himself. Like a movie being played in last period, the curtains drawn—how it always feels kind of like a dream.

Still, he drives home warm. Thinks in a gentler voice, one that sounds like Wayne—a reminder that not everything is a trap waiting to spring shut on him.

#featuring the anxiety of growing up gay in a small town #quiet magic in the last day of school #realising ‘oh i think i finally get who you are.’ #eddie munson fic #pre steddie #steddie fic #steve and robin #eddie and robin #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie

[princessbrunette]

Do you think you could ever do mean!jj punishing housewife!reader because he didn’t like that she called over their neighbour to fix something in their house while JJ was at work or smth

☆🍦➛💭*.♡

toxic!jj who spent a lil while in jail, married you when he got out and is now working to support you both — because that’s what he wanted from the start, to take care of you. what he doesn’t appreciate, is coming home to see another man walking out your front door, even having the audacity to give him a friendly little nod.

“hi jayj!” you greet when he appears in the kitchen, jaw agape and brow raised.

“uh, am i tripping or did a man just walk out of this house?” he’s tense and you eye him, slowing your movements as you wipe down the counter top.

“he lives three doors down…jared? the stove wasn’t working and i know he works with that kinda thing. asked him to take a look.” you explain and he leans on his hip, still silent like he’s waiting for more explanation. his tongue darts out to fiddle with the corner of his lip. “is that… a problem?” you furrow your eyebrows. he scoffs, whipping his hat off his head and starts to pace.

“i mean honestly yeah a little. why’re you lettin’ random dudes just walk up in here huh? you couldn’t have waited like — what, an hour for me to get home? you know how that looks, right? like…i’m not crazy?” he steps towards you and your face falls, hating when he got jealous like this.

“jay don’t be unreasonable. just wanted to be able to get it fixed as soon as possible so i could start cooking dinner. don’t you trust me?” he rounds the counter until he’s stood infront of you.

“i don’t trust guys, okay — i know what they want. why’d you think this stranger was so eager to help you? i’on know it’s just like… you know you walk around lookin’ like that and yet you’re surprised dudes wanna be all up in it.” he lazily gestures towards you and you roll your eyes.

“he was polite and respectful.” you defend and he closes in on you.

“oh i’m sure he was, babe.” you feel your heart skip a beat at the way he’s looking at you. the toxicness wasn’t healthy and you knew it, but you couldn’t help the arousal that built each and every time he got jealous. because when he got jealous he got touchy and rough.

“are you gonna punish me?” you pout up at him through thick lashes and he grins maliciously.

“know me so well, don’t ’ya.” he starts to pull up the hem of your skirt that he already deemed too short to be wearing around another man. “would usually spank that ass but i think you’d enjoy it too much. think i’mma have to spank something else— make it too sore to think about bouncin’ it on another dudes dick.” his jaw clenches at his own words as he peels your panties down making you whimper. you knew better than to argue, so you simply wince as he bends you over the counter and kicks your legs wide apart. “all wet for nothin’. unless all this is for someone else?” he slides his rough fingers through your folds and you jolt.

“s’for you, papa. always for you.” you get teary eyed, hating when he doesn’t believe you.

“mmmmhm. well, it better be.” he warns before giving the puffy folds a smack making you wince.

“ow.” you squeak and he shakes his head.

“good.” he mumbles before going in for another pussy spank.

☆🍦➛💭*.♡

#anon #jj maybank prompt #mean!jj #toxic!jj

[seattlesellie]

Can’t stop thinking about how els is def the type of gf to gift you her boxers and make u keep them bc she likes the way ur ass looks in them😭😭 and she’d keep giving pairs to u and you’d have to be like baby ur gonna run out of boxers to wear..

✮ god if it’s like, your first time sleeping over at her place & you accidentally didn’t pack anything clean to bring with you, so after you leave the shower with a little towel on you’re like “ellie…? i don’t have any clean underwear…” she’s all smirking still laying on the bed, looking you up and down “what happened to yesterdays pair? did they get… ruined— or something?”

✮ before you even have time to react to her teasing manner, she pulls out a fresh pair from her drawer. they’re light grey calvin klein one’s (ellie doesn’t care about labels, they just happened to be on sale and they make her thighs look so good) she hands them to you, and just stands with her hands crossed on her chest, facing you directly. you suddenly get unreasonably embarrassed— does she expect you to put them on in front of her? so you have a little staring competition for a few seconds, before you glare at her and ask; “can you… turn around?”

✮ she rolls her eyes and snickers, “but i’ve already seen y—“ before she continues her sentence, you turn her to face the wall and she huffs and stifles a giggle. you jump inside of them, and the thought of knowing that ellie’s worn them and… no! don’t be a weirdo.

✮ “ta da!” you quip as she turns around, and you slightly bunch up the towel to let her take a peak at how they beautifully they adorn your body ♡ shes all droopy eyed and lovedrunk and “ohhh god damn— turn around” she growls, and pulls the towel off of your form, to pin you up against the wall and just stare.

✮ she crouches down, starts planting soft kisses on your asscheeks over the soft material— “you’re mine” she bites the flesh on one cheek, and jiggles the other one with her hand, just to watch the fat recoil and bounce, making you jolt. “my boxers… my fucking girl, y’got that?”

✮ she thought seeing you in a thong, or my god— seeing you bare in front of her is gonna make her go into cardiac arrest… but seeing you, in her boxers, wearing her shit makes ellie believe that you’re most likely going to be the death of her.

✮ so don’t get surprised when she hides your underwear after sleeping over, makes you look for them for ten minutes before she tells you; “damn… guess you’re gonna have to wear mine again” with a super obviously fake pout.

also imagine how good it’ll feel to have her strap against you while you’re wearing her boxers n she grinds u back and forth till they get completely ruined bye

#𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 anon 🎀 #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut

[katwatcheskny]

How would other uppermoons react to a child that became a upper rank demon? Like, Say, they were little less than Ume's age when they were turned, but more emotionally and mentally mature as a demon than Daki-

upper moons react to child upper moon

type: preference

pronouns: you/your/yourself

characters: kokushibo, douma, akaza, gyutaro, daki

a/n: i tried to make this as realistic to their canon personalities as possible. the one that was easiest and the most fun to write was douma this time, i also one hundred percent believe that would be his canon reaction and no one can change my mind. enjoy~

KOKUSHIBO

Would he even bother to notice that you are a literal child and not a very small adult? Probably, eventually. He just assumed you were older.

Kokushibo only cares about the other upper moons being efficient and useful to Muzan. Because of your maturity and clearly being powerful enough to become an upper moon, Kokushibo tolerates you.

He does use you to shame the others.

Like whenever Akaza tries to kill Douma because he’s annoying him. Kokushibo will chastise Akaza by reminding him that you’re half his age but have twice his maturity. Which is like a backhanded compliment.

You’re like actually one hundred or something, but sure.

Otherwise, he treats you the same as the rest of the upper moons. Which is with an apathetic neutrality for the majority of the time.

DOUMA

This motherfucker is condescending to a child upper moon.

Once again, you may look like a child but you were turned into a demon like over a hundred years ago. You’re not literally a child anymore, you have more knowledge, wisdom, and lived experience than almost any other living being on the planet but the other upper moons.

But to Douma, you are a baby. 

A little, itty bitty little baby. You’re just so cute with your wittle hands and your wittle feet. You’re so cute he could just eat you up, yes he could, yes he could! Who's a cute little baby? You are, yes you are!

Is he doing this to just fuck with you? Very possibly. 

Douma reminds everyone that you are a child whenever they speak on something he deems inappropriate, like swearing or sex. He will even come up behind you and cover your “innocent” ears.

Buys you children’s toys. 

AKAZA

Would have zero qualms fighting a child (x).

Akaza doesn’t really enjoy being in the company of the other upper moons. So, he doesn’t really care about you when you first meet.

He is surprised that you are a child. While you’re technically not the only child in the upper moons (considering Daki was barely thirteen when she was turned into a demon), but you’re the only one who looks like it.

However, that doesn’t mean you get a pass. Akaza is able to make the distinction that you aren’t really a child, so he will fight you.

Especially when Kokushibo uses you to shame him.

Akaza would want to fight you especially after that. Fighting is the only way he can express his emotions, especially as a demon.

Would be impressed with how strong you are. Okay, maybe you don’t suck. If you could give him a good fight, you would become Akaza’s favorite member of the upper moons.

GYUTARO & DAKI

I combined the two for this specific request because their reactions to a child upper moon would probably go hand-in-hand more than separate.

Gyutaro sometimes (most of the time, to be honest) wishes that Daki would have matured mentally and emotionally over time the same way that you did. Would never say it aloud, but he thinks it.

Daki kinda knows Gyutaro wishes she was like you, and so she hates you because she thinks you’re trying to steal her big brother from her.

So, Daki reminds you that you’re short and ugly.

Daki’s childish feud with you only makes her seem more childish by comparison to your mature indifference to her and her insults.

If Gyutaro gives you any attention, it makes Daki so mad she cries.

So, you don’t interact that often.

Gyutaro kinda still sees you like a child because of the way you look. Which is why he thinks Daki is being so unreasonable, you’re a kid and a fellow upper moon. He thinks you’re okay for a kid.

#kokushibo x reader #kokushibo imagine #kokushibo headcanons #kokushibo x y/n #kokushibo x you #douma x reader #douma imagine #douma headcanons #douma x y/n #douma x you #akaza x reader #akaza imagines #akaza headcanon #akaza x y/n #akaza x you #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro imagines #gyutaro headcanons #gyutaro x you #gyutaro x y/n #daki x reader #daki imagines #daki headcanons #daki x you #daki x y/n

[nmjoo-n]

FADE INTO YOU ☕️ jeon jungkook.

pair. barista! jungkook x f. reader | genre. friends with benefits, romance, jealousy, angst | warnings. possessiveness, profanity, pet names, unprotected sex, slight toxic behavior, degradation kink, zenophilia, oral sex, edging, spit kink, exhibitionism, smoking | word count. 4.7k

synopsis. “oh angel, for how fucking adorable you are, you sure don’t use that pretty little brain of yours much,” or jungkook has no limits when it comes to you. you’re his, he’s gonna get it through your head, eventually.

You dared bring another fucking guy in his work place.

Was it deliberate? God knows you love your little fucking mind games, especially if Jungkook’s on the receiving end. Oh, he was beyond furious. He had half a mind o spit in the fuckers coffee and smugly watch as he drinks that shit, completely unaware as he desperately tries to shove his tongue down your throat after that, one date in.

But you’d know. You were always better at reading him, deciphering the different expressions on his face. He ought to bruise your fucking ass for this, spank you till you’re dripping wet for him, and then shove his cock in your mouth, facefuck you until your stupid hole is sore, and your cunt is clenching for no one but him.

What a pathetic loser. What the fuck did you see in this clown?

“Dude, you’re shaking. You okay?” Jimin nudges him with his elbow, raising a questioning eyebrow, black hair falling in his curious eyes.

Jungkook shakes his head, and removes his apron angrily, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and phone with him. He knows he’s being unreasonable; you’re single, and beautiful, God so fucking beautiful it physically hurts him, and he’s just the lucky guy that gets to fuck you whenever you’re up for it, nothing more, nothing less. A supporting character. Fuck, he knows. But his feelings are for him, they’re private, and right now they’re out of fucking control.

The urge to punch your date in the throat is driving him up a wall. He needs to get the fuck away from here—away from you and your innocent, ignorant ways. Deep breaths, deep fucking breaths Jeon, she hasn’t fucked him yet, and don’t you dare picture that, don’t be a fucking dick, walk away, walk away now.

“I’m going on break,” he announces, but he’s already on the other side of the counter, going for the door, hands busy with the lighter you gifted him on his birthday.

You’ve said your hello’s, you exchanged the necessary, polite words you do every time you see each other in public so there’s nothing else to say. He doesn’t look at you as he passes by, can’t bear to. There’s nothing else you could possibly want with him, not unless it’s after hours, behind closed bedroom doors. Or bathroom ones—or rooftops, staircases, couches, balconies, the beach that one time, his car, the steering wheel digging into your lower back, just last week—no.

Not fucking going there.

Sitting on the ledge right outside the shop, he puts the cig in his mouth, bringing that silver lighter close to it, lighting the edge of it. Taking an inhale of the stick between his fingers, he feels the harmful calm it produces overtake him for the first time that day. He needed nicotine like he needed your pussy pressed against his face, especially since you walked in with that lame looking motherfucker after you told him you’d call.

You never did.

Jungkook doesn’t want to be this way; he never used to curse this much, smoke this much, not before he met you. You’ve tested him in every possible way a man can be tested, have haunted his every waking thought, have wrapped him around your pretty fucking finger and are twirling him around in a never ending, whiplash inducing dance out of which there’s no escape. He’d do anything for you, be anything for you, god he already has, but you couldn’t care less. There was no love in you for him—not the kind he has for you.

Trust him, he wishes he could cut all ties with you, forget you. Stop loving you so goddamn much. But there’s no button for that, no way he can get out of his own body, discard his heart.

Goddamn him, his fucking dick is hard just with the proximity of you. Knowing you were near, having smelled your perfume earlier, the sweetness of your scent mixed with vanilla and something floral, something he’s only smelled on you, and that cursed mini skirt, fuck him, with those legs of yours… legs he’s had wrapped around his torso, over his shoulders, legs he’s kissed a thousand times over, has run his hands over, has worshipped.

No, you couldn’t do this to him. This is the last time you fuck him over, the last time he lets you—he’s going to put you in your fucking place, he decides. He’s going to have to show you who’s been there for you, who fucks you dumb, senseless—who’s cock you’ve been screaming for over and over again, who’s cum you’re craving down your throat almost every night.

Who you belong to. Because fuck anyone that dares so much as think they can have you. You’re his. He just has to get it through that thick head of yours, once and for all. Before he goes fucking insane.

Finishing his smoke, he ties his hair back and away from his face, getting off your Instagram page at once. Look at him, obsessing over your whereabouts, the tags on your pictures, who you’re with when he’s not with you. In you. Fucking ridiculous.

He goes to your last text conversation, a curt message from you two days ago at three in the morning. His eyes skim over it, reading it in your drunk voice, that delicious slur of your tongue, the way you must’ve slowly blinked at his texting you so late in the night. He wants you to think of him always, all goddamn day. As much as he does.

He wants you as obsessed as him.

[03:21am] just came home.

[03:22am] it’s late (y/n). go to sleep.

He decides to text you, then. Make sure you know he’s not going to let this go, that you’re taking it too far coming there, dressed like that, and with another man when his seed is still inside of you.

[19:07pm] is this my replacement? disappointed in you sweetheart.

If Jungkook’s good at anything—he knows how to get a good rise out of you. All that’s left is to sit patiently and wait. You’ll come to him, eventually. You always do.

A half an hour later, you’re standing in front of him, manicured nails digging into your crossed arms in barely contained anger.

He wipes his hands with a rug, giving Jimin the drinks he’d just made, completely ignoring your thunderous glaring. He feels those eyes pierce through his soul, though. How can he not—he’s never been very good at pretending, and God knows you demand all of his attention.

“Replacement? Really, Jungkook?”

Jimin looks between the two of you, sensing the tension. He’s always suspected there’s something going on, but that just confirmed it. Failing to hide his smirk, he balances the tray in one palm and fucks off to the last remaining table for the day.

“Am I wrong?” Jungkook stares at your mouth, the dark stain of your lips, the curve of your jaw, those ample cheeks of yours—you’ve such a cute fuckable face, it’s one of his worst weaknesses.

He can never stay mad at you for long.

“You are.”

“My apologies, angel.”

The sarcasm doesn’t escape you.

You sigh, leaning against the counter, extending both hands towards him. He blinks at them, his own morphing into fists at his sides. He wouldn’t cave in, not this time. You needed to be taught a lesson. You needed to stop refusing him, treating him like second choice.

“Can we talk about this later?” You say in that velvet voice of yours, the one that never fails to hypnotize him into submission. “He’s waiting for me outside.”

Jungkook let’s out a dry laugh, nodding his head bitterly at your words. There’s no magic behind them today, no spell. “We wouldn’t want him to wait,” he deadpans.

“Jungkook.”

“(Y/N).”

You huff, and remove yourself from the bar completely. His body instinctively moves closer, but his mind is set. A terrible fucking jealousy is eating him alive, setting him aflame.

“You’re acting childish.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not the one two-timing people,” he retorts as calmly as possible, wanting to hurt you a little. Nothing like how you’ve hurt him. “Does he know how filthy you like getting fucked? How there’s another man that knows his way around your body like the palm of his fucking hand?”

You step back, face betraying guilt. “Stop it.”

He shrugs, and winks at you, proud of himself. “It’s the truth, angel. Don’t bring him into this if you don’t want him getting hurt.”

“You’re such an asshole, Jeon Jungkook,” you snapped, eyes glittering with tears. Jungkook looked away at once, his jaw clenching in annoyance.

Are you really taking that fuckers side? How long have you known him? Maybe a fucking week, if he had to guess. Jungkook has had you for years.

“Don’t ruin this for me,” you demanded, stomping your foot like a little kid.

Jimin had returned to his post next to his friend, and was witnessing your amusing temper tantrum. He also noticed the younger man’s struggle, the effort it took to stay put in that place of his.

“Ruin?” He mused over the word out loud, then laughed wholeheartedly, with his entire chest. It was an empty sound, a patronizing thing. “If you want to go with him, be my fucking guest baby girl. But if you do,” he warns, forearm resting on the wood in front of him. “you better forget about me. I’m not fucking sharing you.”

You stood hurt, a sour expression curving those perfect lips downwards, weighing your options. This was the moment Jungkook would finally see if you truly thought anything of him, if he mattered enough for you. Or at least if he was more important than a random guy you picked off a club. And God he hoped, for your sake, you picked him. Otherwise he would not be responsible for the Hell he’d give you afterwards.

Who he’d become if you dropped him. He’s scared of himself.

“What’s it going to be?” He presses, pinning you in place with those dark orbs. “Don’t make me become someone I don’t want to be, honey. You and I both know you’ll regret it.”

“Fuck you.”

Jungkook smiles at you, all charm and danger. “It’d be my pleasure.”

When you sulkily sit on the bar stool, and start typing on your phone, your decision sets in him. You chose him. His chest swells, his cock straining against his pants. He’d take you right then and there if he could; lift you on top of the counter, and fuck into you until all you know is his name, until all other men pale in comparison to him. What he does instead—he pulls your face in for a bruising kiss, his big hand cupping your jaw tightly, his tongue forcing your lips open.

“Get a room, Jesus,” he hears Jimin mutter, but he could give less of a fuck. He’s waited way too long for this. Let them watch, I know how to put on a fucking show.

You melt under his touch, letting him consume you. He growls low, and bites down on your bottom lip. You moan, and everything blurs—you’re alone. He craves nothing but you, needs to have you before insanity renders him incapable of fucking you properly.

“I’m getting off early,” he hesitantly pulls back and slaps Jimin’s chest, apron coming off in a blink of an eye.

“Sure, yeah, cause you can do that,” his friend sarcastically replies, but lets him go anyway.

“Don’t be too mad at him,” you add, smiling sweetly. Jimin smiles back, can’t help it. Jungkook glares, messenger bag over his shoulder, and jumps over the wooden top in one swift move.

“Stop fucking staring, Park,” he wraps an arm around your waist protectively, and takes you away. “I’m off!”

You barely made it to the car, before Jungkook turned you around, locking you between the passenger door and his muscled chest. His knee pushed between your legs, your hands on his sides squeezing the skin there. His head dipped to your ear, voice soothing you open, receptive. When his fingers disappeared beneath your skirt, a gasp tore through your throat, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You wanted him too, your pussy told him so. Your panties were all creamed up, thighs begging to be rubbed together to provide any sort of friction. He gave it to you, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your clit. You were throbbing—fuck how much he loved this.

“Tell me baby girl, were you going to keep him around for me to watch while you get fucked? You know you only have to ask,” he whispered, teasing you with those long fucking fingers of his.

In plain sight, for everyone to see. Christ.

“Like Hell you would,” you retort, breathless. “You’re a selfish man, Jungkook.”

He smirks at that, clicks his tongue against his teeth, and chuckles darkly. “You’re right on that,” he pulls you on him and rubs his erection against your clothed cunt. “Can’t let no one touch what is mine.”

“I’m not yours.” A weak remark, as your hips moved with his. He ignored it entirely.

He saw your naked neck, the way you swallowed, and attacked the sensitive skin there, grazing it with his teeth, sucking harshly on it. You hissed at the sensation, yet wanted more. What a contradiction of a woman, Jungkook thought, pulling me in but pushing me away. Unfortunately, for what he was planning on doing to you, he couldn’t be seen.

“Oh, but you are,” he whispers against your cheek, cuffing both of your wrists in one hand behind your back, slowly opening the car door for you to get in. “Oh angel, for how fucking adorable you are, you sure don’t use that pretty little brain of yours much.”

He lowered his head to be on eye level with you. He couldn’t possibly make it any clearer, not unless he bought a ring and put some babies in you.

“I own you.”

Your eyes told him so. The musk on his fingers guaranteed it. He smacked the door shut, licking your juices clean off. You tasted like fucking paradise.

He’d fucking destroy you.

Jungkook loved your neck, how easily it could turn purple, how perfect his hand fit around it, almost like it was made for him. He wouldn’t doubt it for a fucking second—the rest of you molded all over him, every nook and cranny.

Lifting you up the kitchen table, he felt like taking you raw, just like that; pushing your skirt up and burying himself in your folds. His thumb hooked between your lips, pressed down to open your mouth, your gaze following his movements closely. Pudding in his hands, to do whatever he pleased. Every time.

“Look at my little slut,” he admired, pushing his thumb in his second favorite hole of yours. “Suck, baby, show me what that mouth does best.” You did, your tongue swiping all around, over and under, wetting and sucking dry, repeating again and again, until Jungkook was satisfied.

He never was. If he could, he’d fucking snort you up, have you run through his bloodstream for the rest of time. His perfect fucking girl, the one that refuses to give into him, the one that drives him mad.

“Are you thinking about him?” He asks you, the same jealousy nibbling at him. It never left—it never leaves. “How his fingers taste, how they’d curl inside that cunt of yours? It’s fucking morphine, did you know, sweetheart? Why do you think you got me on my knees for you?”

He removes his digit, and decides playtime is over. He’s been lenient enough. You notice exactly when the change takes place, when his eyes darken, and your breathing quickens, fear replacing exhilaration. This was the cruel man that could make you come just with his filthy words. As much as you fucking loved it, he was ruthless—absolutely brutal.

“No,” you mumble, shaking your head. “No, Kook, no, I never—”

Not your coffee boy, but the one that uses a belt to teach you lessons. The one that always knows just how far you’re willing to go.

“Shut the fuck up. You knew what you were doing.”

Jungkook spits in your open mouth, squeezing your throat submissive. You struggle to breathe, but you take it, tightening your thighs around his hips in shameful arousal. He watches you swallow, tongue coming out to show him, just as he likes. He rewards you with a suffocating kiss, before he does it again.

“I bet you wondered how his dick would feel against those velvet fucking walls of yours,” he continued his verbal torture, his other hand pushing your panties to the side, feeling your slick, lapping it with his index, before shoving three fingers inside you at once. You hissed, nails digging holes on his shoulders.

“Yeah?” He fucks you with his entire hand, palm rubbing against your clit. You can’t think of nothing else but getting filled to the brim. “Your mouth works doesn’t it, honey?”

“No one’s fucked me but you in two years,” you confess in a haze, looking at him through your eyelids. Silver shone on his lip and eyebrow under the hidden lighting of his apartment. A shadow draped in gold.

You saw the movement of his jaw, the way his mouth became a thin line. He obviously enjoyed hearing that. But was it enough? Fuck no.

“But they’ve touched you,” he bitterly concludes. “They’ve tasted my pussy, my lips… haven’t they?” He sounded so miserable, so resentful. Your heart ached for him.

You loved this man, but he would never believe you, and you can’t blame him. You loved him in a different way, the only way you knew how. And he did the same. You met and crashed like waves. Your silence was answer enough.

The next moment struck like lightning. All you felt was pain, as he pushed you down on your elbows and ripped your panties off you in one movement. You weren’t even able to scream, the action barely registering in your brain.

“Unbutton my shirt,” he instructed you, no part of him touching you whatsoever. A shudder rippled through you, and down to your unclothed pussy. You scrambled to do as told, afraid of the consequences, hands shaking.

Jungkook groaned impatiently. “Stupid fucking whore, can’t even do something as simple as this,” he snarled at your face, every ounce of affection gone. “D’you need help, sweetheart? Perhaps a manual? None of this is helping your case, you know.”

“I’m—I’m sorry, please,” you whimper, hurrying to undo the stubborn buttons.

He cocked an eyebrow, gaze vicious. Hateful. Something kicked inside of you, a horrifying feeling—you were losing him. He was going to leave you after this. All he’s ever wanted, all you very much were aware of that he craved most—to have you all to himself, to call you his. You never gave it to him, always held back, and for what you’ve no idea. But this, having your body, pleasuring the both of you, it was the one thing if not the only part he had, the one thing he could do, he was allowed.

“Please,” he repeated, the word seemingly unfamiliar to him. “Please, what? Are you sorry at all, baby girl? Do you want me to go easy on you?”

You shake your head again, pushing the shirt off him, bulky muscle now exposed, the chiseled chest you so loved running your tongue over, and the V disappearing beneath his boxers, inviting, nearly a threat.

“Fuck me,” you pleaded, reaching a hand out to touch him, his most private part. “Please. I know I’ve hurt you, I’m sorry, please set me straight, fuck it out of me, I want only you, I promise, only you.”

“Lies,” he shouts, and lunges at you, pinning you down by your waist, skirt pulled roughly from your body. You’re met with the ceiling, but won’t dare move, won’t make a sound unless he tells you to. It’s a thin fucking line you’re walking on, one you haven’t experienced a whole lot.

You hear a shuffling of sorts, before a thud and then you feel it—his hot breath on your cold folds. Those veiny hands on your hips again, before he devours you. The vibration of his growling sends you into a frenzy, and you clench around nothing. Your clit between his sinful lips he sucks painfully at first, wanting to hurt you, but gently afterwards, after your cries settle and you’ve accepted your fate.

You’re at his mercy, and you better behave.

“Used fucking pussy,” he spits on it, fingers working together with his mouth to get you ready for his bulging cock. “What am I supposed to do with a second hand slut like you, huh? Begging to be filled with dick, dripping over my kitchen table…” he tsk’s, tongue flat against your wetness. “You don’t fucking need me, right, I’m just another naive guy wrapped around your goddamn finger, you could have me replaced at any time.”

“That’s not true!” you cry out immediately, hand getting lost in his thick brown locks. “Fuck!” A slap cuts the air—on your pussy. And he does it again, smacks the sensitive area until it’s red and throbbing and licking all over his chin.

“Quiet,” he snaps. “I can make it hurt like never before, honey, don’t fucking test me.”

You’re certain you’re losing your mind by that point, the ache between your legs overwhelming everything else, the thought of needing his cock like you need oxygen the only reasonable solution to making the pain go away. You’re coming before you know it, and Jungkook is a starving man, he licks it all up, licks you dry, marveling at the way your body responds to him, always has.

If only your heart would do the same. If only there was something he could do to make it beat only for him, as his does for you.

“No one will make you come like I do, sweetheart, God my fucking witness. No one knows their way around this pussy like I do, no one will fucking take the time.”

You go to sit up, pull him into you, needing comfort, needing your friend back, the one that made you feel good because you asked, not the half mad one, the obsession, the misshapen thing—for once you need his warm love, the one he’s been talking about, the one hiding behind the heartbreak. You don’t care how awful that is, how selfish you sound.

His palm presses down on your stomach as he towers over you, taking all light with him, flushed cock standing proudly between you, inches away from where you need it most. If he would just move closer, if perhaps you could wiggle further down the table…

“Do not fucking move, angel,” he warns, kissing your sobs silent. With a flick of his wrist, your breasts are in full view, his fingers pinching the erect nipples, calloused palms slapping the plump skin, abusing it.

Every touch vibrates directly in your cunt. You’ve become a blubbering mess, needing nothing but that long stick between his legs. A whore, as he said, a whore with no other purpose than taking dick, his dick, only his, because he’s the only one you want, the only one you need, the only one touching you like this, pushing your limits, driving you over the edge—

“Look at you, my beautiful mess,” he kisses your lips again and again, yet refuses to touch your core. Endless torture, when will it end, when will it end! “Do you understand now? This is what it feels having you under me every night, yet not having you at all,” he shushes your gut wrenching cries, removes your hands from your face, forces you to look at him. “My baby, my love…” he coo’s tenderly, caressing all the way down your body, before his arms hook under your thighs.

He positions you just at the edge of the round table, and quickly leans to lap at your cunt one last time. Christ, fucking Heaven in a woman; it’s alright sweetheart, it’s over, shhh, no more crying, I got you where I want you, I’ll take care of you now, no more crying, fuck if you could see yourself right now, so goddamn hot, a fucking vision just for me, just for your man, you perfect angel, you perfect fucking thing, all for me, all this for me—

You couldn’t describe the tidal wave of relief that washed over you as soon as he buried himself inside you. Both hands on your waist, he slammed you down onto his rock hard cock, his pace fast, relentless, absolutely everything you could’ve ever asked for.

“Harder, fuck, fucking kill me! Don’t stop, please, please, please, please…” incoherent thoughts jumbled together in a string of words, yet Jungkook understood perfectly.

Of course he did.

“Fucking slut…only way you deserve to be fucked…I’m gonna flip this cunt inside out, sweetheart, so no one will be able to screw you. You’re taking my cock so well, baby girl, fuck I want to tear you apart, I want to write my name in this pussy, mark it,” he growled in your ear, manhandling you like a goddamn lifeless doll, pistoling into you with incredible force, so much so you’d think he’d bruise you from the inside, but you couldn’t stop begging him to do so, all of it feeling oh so fucking good.

You want me to mark you, don’t you, you want me drilling into you all fucking day, I know you do, you insatiable goddamn pain in the ass, let me hear you, scream for me, baby, let me know who’s fucking you—say my name, he tightens his grip on your throat, his eyes insane with lust.

“Say my fucking name.”

“Jungkook,” you moan into his hair, nails scratching down his back.

“That’s right, baby. Again.”

“Jungkook!”

I fucking love you, sweetheart, I don’t give a fuck if you never love me back, just give me this pussy, let me drown in it, let me get lost and hide forever in your folds, yeah baby? Come for me now, cream on my dick sweet thing, c’mon, one two three—you scream at the top of your lungs, holding onto him for fear life as your body convulses violently, his own release spurting in thick white strips on your stomach as he barely manages to pull out, and everything goes black. He keeps you on him until you calm down, his pace slow and steady, fucking you both back down to reality.

Your breathing is incredibly labored, hair sticking on your forehead. You look so fucking beautiful to him, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. His pretty girl. He kisses your forehead overtaken by the strange feeling in his chest.

“God—I love you, you know?” You mumble against his chin, suddenly very shy.

Jungkook stills, his entire world pausing its spinning. “What did you just say?”

You try to cover your face, but to no avail. He’s much stronger than you, much more determined to look into those eyes that could never lie to him. You could make him the happiest man on earth or send him down to the darkest pits of Hell with just three words.

“I love you,” you repeat hesitantly, looking up at him. His expression crumbles. “I know it doesn’t mean anything, that I’m late and you probably want nothing more to do with me after this, but—”

His palm slams your mouth shut. Your eyes widen in surprise.

Jungkook then, still inside you, looks at you with the fondest look on his face, his body weight pressing down on you in the most delicious way.

“You’ve no idea what the fuck you’re saying right now, sweetheart, so I’ll forgive you,” he blinks, bewildered, in disbelief. “I never said I’m leaving you. It’s never crossed my mind.”

You furrow your eyebrows, but your words are muffled. He seems to comprehend perfectly well, anyway.

“You could kill me if you wanted, and I’d willingly die by your hand, (Y/N). Have you any idea what it means to love you?”

When he kisses you again, you think you can begin to understand.

#jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #bts smut #jungkook fanfics #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfics #jungkook fics #bts fics #jungkook imagine #.mine

[feyascorner]

7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind. 

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’ 

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat. 

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.” 

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings. 

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. “I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter. 

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid. 

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry. 

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles. 

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@bitterrenegade@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom@iamlowkeycrying@deezus-roy@spiritraves@mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc@whisperingwillowxox@bdudette@misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @deezus-roy @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @bitterbeanren @aelieknox Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added! I needed to redo the entire taglist because it wasn't functioning, so please let me know if I missed you :)

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff #shadowheart #astarion x you #astarion x oc

[missmeinyourbones]

hi!!! can i request megumi + "it's okay, we're the best of friends." congrats on the big milestone!! 🤍🤍

IT'S OKAY, WE'RE THE BEST OF FRIENDS (m. fushiguro)

L's MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

The only sound in your room is the cat clock ticking away on your wall, and you can't even hear it over the obnoxious thumping of your heart inside your throat.

Megumi sits like a statue on the corner of your neatly made bed, as awkward and out of place as he always does.

As if he isn't constantly coming over to your place. Like he doesn’t fall asleep on your couch at least once a week and knows that your shower’s water pressure sucks. That your shampoo is on the left and your conditioner on the right. 

He hasn't said anything, and you know he won't unless you do first, so you brace yourself to be the bigger person—even if you are mentally praying for a satellite to crash into your tiny two-bedroom apartment so you can avoid this stupidly awkward conversation. 

When it's apparent that there's no outside mishap (miracle) coming to interfere, you swallow your pride and open your mouth.

Fuck.  

"Look," you begin weakly, before clearing your throat and trying again, "I'm really sorry about… that."

That being your roommate referring to a blushing Megumi as your boyfriend when he showed up at your place for this week’s movie night.

And in your roommate's defense, it’s not even an unreasonable mistake on her end. You two don't really know much about one another's personal lives outside of work and the occasional passing kitchen conversation. And sure, Megumi visits a lot, and when he's not at your place, you're at his or out somewhere together. You suppose it’s not terribly out of left field for her to assume the two of you are an item.

But you’re not, and it feels like a pretty fucking big deal right now, as the two of you sit in the silence of your bedroom afraid to so much as swallow too loudly in fear of the other fleeing like a deer in headlights.

Megumi shrugs like he doesn’t care, but you both know he does by the way he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt sleeve. 

The action is halfhearted and his silence is so terribly loud that you have the sudden urge to overexplain yourself, so you do. 

"I think she just assumed since we're so close, and you’re always coming over, y’know? Not that that’s a valid reason to assume anything, or that there even is a valid reason at all, but I guess since you're a guy and—"

"It's fine," Megumi answers a bit too quickly. "I mean, we're best friends. People are bound to make that assumption sometimes, right?"

Though clearly flustered, his response is almost automatic, as if he's rehearsed his lines in his mirror for this very moment. It breaks your heart and somehow makes you feel special at the same time. Because sure, he’s letting you down gently, but he’s letting you down, gently. 

Shakily, you exhale and play it cool with a (totally not disappointed) nod, "Right." 

Wrong, your heart aches. It’s not often in your daily lives that people assume the two of you are together.

Or maybe they do, and you don't notice it anymore. Maybe you've become accustomed to the way the waitress at the diner you two go to on the weekend no longer asks if you want separate checks, but instead automatically hands the bill to Megumi and shoots you a wink. You're now immune to the way older couples coo when you two walk the streets, Megumi pushing you to the inner side away from the street. The way guys don’t really flirt with you at bars anymore, the way women no longer ask to pet Megumi’s dogs when you're by his side.

Maybe.

After a moment or two of you being lost in thought, Megumi clears his throat.

He speaks softly and casually, "Gojo does it, too."

His words confuse you, "What?"

Megumi second-guesses his nonchalant tone when he needs to repeat himself. He trips over his own tongue when clarifying, "He thinks—that we're like… together." 

Your throat suddenly feels like you've swallowed sand.

Gojo? The same Gojo who knows Megumi inside out? Who’s known you since you were sixteen years old, who pretended to ignore you sneaking in through Megumi's window and let you steal his cheap alcohol on Friday nights? Gojo thinks the two of you are together? 

"Oh," is all you can muster like a fool, before following it up with a meek, "he does?"

"He’s an idiot,” Megumi scoffs but nods. “Always calls you my girl, which I tell him is stupid and sexist when he literally knows your name, but he never listens." 

The words have your heart by the throat and again, all you can muster is a pathetic, "Really?"

"Yeah," he's not sure what possesses him to go on, but Megumi finds himself continuing. "Even just now when I left, he was on the phone with someone like ‘Megumi's leaving to go to his girl's place,’ or whatever."

The words set you on fire, and you think about how stupid that is. How simple words strung together can have such a huge effect on you. Words that if someone else said would mean nothing, might even make your nose scrunch in secondhand embarrassment. But here they come from Megumis lips, about you, and even if they’re from Gojo they still feel like something raw and buzzing with something sweet. 

"Just—don't feel weird about it, okay?” he feels the need to softly clear the air. “She's not the only one who does it." 

His words dance throughout your body like a drug as they play on repeat in your mind. Not the only one who does it.

Random people on the street. Your roommate. Fucking Gojo. People from all areas of your life, all agreeing that you and Megumi are something more than friends. You don’t know why the thought makes your chest tighten, and you don’t know why you kind of love it.  

"Okay," you breathlessly sigh, though you've barely spoken for the last few minutes.

Megumi echoes your breathlessness when he whispers back, "Okay."

“…”

"So... did you pick a movie?"

#L's MIDNIGHTS EVENT! #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi angst #megumi fushiguro angst #megumi fic #megumi fushiguro fic

[ashdreams2023]

Hello! Can u do one where Snape and student reader has a platonic bantering relationship? Like Snape favors them a lot and students and teachers clearly notices but Snape and Student likes to go back and forth with petty insults. Kinda like making the other students and professors confused if Snape actually favors them or not. But when someone insults the other they would passionately defend them. Something along the lines of "only I can insult Snape/Student" It can be like Snape is complaining abt Student to McGonagall then suddenly McGonagall agrees and adds her complaints making Severus defend student suddenly. Or when Student is complaining to her friends abt how awful Snape is but when her friends insult him she also defends him. HAHAHAHA i don't know if it makes sense so I understand if u can't make it lol.

Git

Platonic severus snape x reader

Severus didn’t like when students disrespected him, just because he’s young didn’t mean he wasn’t worthy out it.

That’s one of many reasons he’s so strict, students just learn to stay out of his way like that but then again there we’re always the ones who just didn’t get the hint.

And one of them was you.

Honestly you were bound to be trouble the second you opened your mouth in his classroom, left him gritting his teeth and furiously angry at the house you were from.

You were blunt, annoying and hotheaded.

"But Professor just one last chance! You need too you know this was not my best performance!"

"Sounds like a you problem."

It would be like that then after some more nagging he would give in because you we’re starting to give him a headache and he couldn’t give you detention for asking for help.

At one point he just gave up with your tactics all together and what made it worse was that you kept your promises, you did your work, participated in class, and regardless of the back talk and half assed comments at each other you were not, dare he say…insufferable but just more tolerable than most.

Although minerva likes to say you’re his favorite but he denies it every time, he doesn’t have favorites and he merely tolerates you.

"Severus due give this to young miss [——] when you go to the great hall"

"Do I look like an owl Minerva?" He said irritated.

The older professor gave him a look before he groaned and took the textbook and went on his way to the great hall where students were starting to gather in for lunch.

The great hall was buzzing with chatter, students were too busy to notice him enter and he liked it that way, he looked around then landed his eyes on you sitting on the gryffindor table to his pleasure, chatting with potter and granger.

He approached you slowly but stopped when he heard potter mentioning him.

"I swear I can’t do it anymore! If I get another troll on my next assignment I’m gonna try convincing Dumbledore that it’s not necessary in the curriculum"

"Don’t be dramatic, potions just need some focusing and if you tried not picking fight with snape things would be easier, I know he’s an ass but come on" you replied.

Hermione cleared her throat "it’s Professor Dumbledore Harry and professor snape to you!" She pointed at you but you just shrugged "moral of the story she’s right Harry you just need to focus, try to pay attention in class instead of neglecting your grades just to spite professor snape"

Harry crossed his arms "easy for her to say, she’s his favorite, it’s honestly starting to piss me off! He’s a git who only cares about his own house and I hope he does get that dark arts position at least then he would leave hogwarts one way or another!"

Harry regretted his words the second they left his mouth, the look you gave him was a mix of shock and angry.

"What is wrong with you?! I know he’s a git, he’s unfair and sometimes plain unreasonable when he feels like it but wishing death on him just because you dislike him!"

"[——] calm down Harry didn’t mean it like that!"

"That’s not-"

"That’s exactly what you meant Harry! He’s mean but he’s not a monster" you said all of that while not realizing snape was standing right there, watching and observing the whole thing.

It made his chest a tad tight, he hated the feeling but the look of absolute shame on Harry’s face made him satisfied.

Maybe he does have favorites.

"Snape? What are you doing with my textbook!" You said finally noticing him standing there with you transfigurations textbook. He scoffed and handed you the textbook.

"You brats would lose your head if it they weren’t attached to your body"

You frowned and took your textbook from him.

"I remember important stuff…like washing my hair" you smirked

Snape glared at you, screw what he just thought, you were still annoying.

#imagine #severus x y/n #severus snape #pro severus #severus x reader #platonic severus snape x reader #severus snape x reader #snapedom #snape fandom #severussnape #severus snape headcanon #severus snape x you #severus #severus snape fanfiction #snape

[sadlazzle]

came 2 a realisation last night during one hell of a depressive episode abt the source of the severity of my illnesses and what’s been making me worse. i feel a lot clearer now, one hell of a weight has been lifted and i think i can actually start towards moving forward now .. for the first time in probably my whole life, i feel like i know where i am at least somewhat

#spoiler alert: it’s my mother #i was jst stood in my dad’s kitchen sobbing and babbling that i didn’t know what was wrong or why i felt so dreadful n it jst hit him #it’s her. she’s the only constant in all of it. she made us BOTH worse #like im not saying she caused ky depression & anxiety. it was always there. but she amplified it and made it so much fucking worse #she made me ill. she did that to me. she messes with my head and she doesn’t care if it hurts me as long as she gets what she wants #now i jst hav to play a delicate game. i cant let her know that ive caught on to her ways #it might be a long game. but that’s okay. i can handle it now. she won’t win this time #ive already started collecting screenshots of her unreasonable behaviour so i hav evidence if it’s ever needed #i think. i think i can finally start getting better now #i finally feel like im on step closer to getting better #to taking her claws out of me #plum.txt

[txttletale]

Overly long disclaimer incoming: This is not anon hate. This is not an argument. This is not accusation. This is not agreement with anyone directly involved. Any feelings of hostility that may be gleaned from this ask are most likely because I struggle with maintaining a professional tone. Because this is not intended to be read as hostile.

This is solely intended as a statement of facts regarding who said what, mixed with light speculation on their intent. It is being sent because I feel that misinterpretation has occurred, and I firmly believe that one should always be as informed as possible on situations they are directly involved in. I hope this ask can make a positive difference.

Okay. Disclaimer over. Sorry it was so long.

I do not think roadhogsbigbelly accused you of being a pedophile yourself, and I don’t believe it was because of your stardew valley take.

I have seen several of his posts on this matter, and it seems he doesn’t like stardew valley (found it boring), his beef with your take was frankly minor and inconsequential, and it was intended to be separate from the larger critique he had of you. He made a few posts saying rather explicitly that they were separate issues, and I believe his initial post was a vagueblog that, on accident, conflated the two issues.

As for the main issue: if i recall correctly, you had reblogged a kink-positive post that turned out to have been made by an open zoophile (and also pedophile?). The zoophile in question is a clear danger to others, as they have a community of pedophiles and zoophiles that welcomes so-called “pro-contact” people.

This was where his accusations originated from, and this was what he focused on. He is concerned about how dangerous people like that are able to infiltrate into kink-positive spaces (is “infiltrate” the right word? I don’t know). His harshest critique of you seems to have been that you did not interrogate the intent of the person when you reblogged, and even that seems to have been mostly expressed in order to turn this into a learning moment for others. I don’t have precise wording (curse you tumblr mobile, for not letting me factcheck myself), but i believe he shared the sentiment that we all could stand to be a little more discerning?

- and I know he knows you have already responded to that criticism. For those unaware: txtlletale’s response was that she cannot be expected to vet the OP of every post on her dash, and that this criticism is thus unreasonable. His response to that response? … I forget, sorry. But I don’t think what you said was unreasonable. Again, my intent is to clear misunderstandings.

The point here is that, I don’t believe “accidentally reblogged a pedophile” and “is a pedophile” are the same statements, and roadhogsbigbelly had made the former statement. In short… I don’t think he was pedojacketing you. Whether he had unfairly judged you, and done so out of a transmisogynistic bias is, of course, a different question entirely. And if anyone else used his words to directly accuse you of pedophilia? Well, fuck em. Assholes.

I hope this makes sense. This ask is anonymous because I do not wish to become the focus of this issue. I am solely presenting information as I understand it. Feel free to fact check for yourself.

I think your anger is valid. These situations are infuriating, as is the culture of distrust that they bring. People on social media are, in general, far too swift to condemnation. You see it all the time, with pedojacketing, with qanon, with countless petty internet arguments. I try my best to reverse this tendency, at least with my own behavior. I don’t think you are a careless person, nor someone with a pattern of spurious accusations against people. I know you’re an intelligent and discerning blogger, which is why I trust you enough to send this ask. I hope I can have a positive impact.

have a good day, and take care of yourself.

(Considering sending an ask about this to him as well, so if you see a weird anon on his blog talking about misinformation hi its me)

i just don't agree with you--like, i don't say this aggressively either but this is just not an honest description of what he said. he called me, verbatim: "a tumblr user who markets incest and loliporn as an inherent part of queer sexuality". nothing in the screenshot mentioned "loliporn" -- nothing i have ever posted about in my fucking live mentions "loliporn" -- and for that matter, obviously, in none of my posts have i ever said that any kink, 'problematic' or not, is 'an inherent part of queer sexuality', and most fucking evilly of all, i don't 'market' these kinks.

like, think for two seconds about the implication of saying i, a trans woman, am "marketing loliporn". i think that goes beyond criticizing that i didn't vet my reblogs (which would obviously be insane in and of itself but i agree would not be pedojacketing). it's literal grooming/social contagion rhetoric. and again i can't emphasize enough he "just assumed" that "loliporn" was involved, despite it having no connection to anything i have ever posted! that + in his absolutely laughable double-down he says "99% of the people who make these sorts of posts are actual fucking pedophiles" as well as "pedophiles are agreeing with you! that’s not great!" which.

like wow that's crazy hey if 99% of people who make "those posts" (about "not being mean to sex freaks", or as i would phrase it, "criticizing the double standard leveraged to initiate mass sexual harassment campaigns against queer people but especially trans people for what they do privately and consensually with other adults" are "actual fucking pedophiles", what is that implying about me? can sherlock holmes get on this case with me?

idk i don't appreciate being told that "he never said 4" when he sure as hell was repeating "2+2" over and over again. & if his critique was 'intended to be separate' then why would he bring it up at all in his original post, multiple times, to clearly imply he doesn't think i should have 'takes' or 'opinions' on anything? regardless of what he did and didn't say about me i think it is pretty fucking clear that this:

is not 'seperate or unrelated'. i think it is really really difficult and requires totally unearned levels of good faith to read this as anything other than explicitly confirming that the point of this post is to use transmisogynistic rhetoric as a cudgel to shut up me up.

you can believe what you like but i know what i read and what was said about me and i will not be lied to.

#ask

[boredsoup]

I think “Canceling the bar-mitzvah” does an amazing job at showing Mendel’s character growth. We actually see him acting like a mature father figure for Jason and admitting that he cannot always fix things. This really pays off because: No matter how silly and sweet people portray Mendel. In Act one he is just as flawed as Marvin and Whizzer. In the first act he doesn’t actually care about Jason or Trina’s well being only caring to use his position to get into a relationship with Trina, even hoping Jason acts out more even though that would worsen Trina’s mental state. He also even states that he thinks that Trina’s issues and strife are all a priori (unreasonable) even thinking that she is easily fixable. “Just five sessions on my couch she’ll be like new” so once in Act two when Whizzer gets sick he must realize that he cannot help or control the situation. He is forced to register that he has to take himself down from his own pedestal and understand that the advice of feeling all right for the rest of your life, will not work. So as he matures and gets out of falsettoland him understanding that the best he can do is be there for others and help where he can. That he is not always the solution but can just help aid to assist and comfort the others around him really pays off. This all leads him to the growth we see in “Canceling the bar-mitzvah” and further on in “Falsettoland reprise” when he embraces the others in the new tight-nit family.

#my posts :3 #falsettos #the marvin trilogy #soup rants :p

[formulapai]

If you're still doing the blurb game could you possibly do 31 and any driver you want. If not thanks for the stories you have written!!

still doing it even tho I’m SO slow, sorry :((

decided to do this with Lando ! ♥️ thank you for your kind words hhhhhhh !!!!!!

You’ve seen hundreds of posts about it, the metal bracelet your boyfriend always wears in the middle of heated discussions. You don’t quite know what to think of it, you don’t even know if it’s truly one of his ex’s gift, but both your fans and his have made their points very clear. As a rising actress, each and every topics of your life get talked about, the main topic apparently being your boyfriend’s own life, or well, his love life. You know Luisinha, not personally because you’ve never had the opportunity to, but know of her and her relationship with your lover, and you don’t care. It’s in the past, you’re there now, right ?

The more you think about it, the more you see it, the more you doubt yourself. Is it that uncommon to keep gifts your ex brought you and wear them like Lando does ? They’re still friends, why should he throw the bracelet away ? At the same time, why is he wearing it and not the chain you’ve gifted him for your anniversary, is your gift less important than hers ? You click on another video explaining the bracelet’s meaning and scroll through the comments, heart plummeting as even his own fans are upset. It’s not that big of a deal, is it ?

But when photos of the two of them in a restaurant appear on instagram, when they’re following each other once again, when all you can see are rumors of them being together and you being a poor cuckolded woman, you truly question it. You don’t want him to stop seeing her, she hasn’t done anything wrong, her only sin being her kindness and ability to get everyone, even Lando, to like her. You breach the subject one night, asking him about his bracelet, watching as he gets unreasonably defensive as you question why he isn’t wearing any of the things you’ve gifted.

You stare at him as he rants about how important this bracelet is for him as it was given by a person he holds dear in his heart, wether he knows you’re aware of who it is or not, you’re not sure. It doesn’t get heated, not on your part at least. The realization slowly sinking in, a cold loneliness enveloping your bones as your mind accepts the sad truth. It’s probably why he’s so earnest, pacing around the room as his mouth runs without much thought, an untamed fire burning in his chest. He knows the truth too, he’s known for quite some time.

“- I’m never going to be your first choice, am I ? It’s her, it’s been her all this time.

- I’ve tried, I swear I’ve tried.”

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 angst #lando norris angst #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris