#But I think he's very stubborn so that's not helpful and he remained in control of Angor Rot for not very long at all lmao

[bombuni]

yeah that kitty hybrid san fic drove me insane. so, i’m here to ask for a little request…

sub!hybrid!wooyoung and sub!hybrid!reader being left at home together and needy so they’re trying to please each other clumsily but then owner!ateez come back to find them like that. you can decide what kinda hybrids they are, and what goes down when they come back :3

little accidents

summary: Hongjoong and Seonghwa make a mistake in trusting their two kitties to be left alone. genre/pairing: owner!matz x kitty!fem!reader x kitty!wooyoung, smut wc: 1.8k warnings: SMUT MDNI, degradation, meandom!seonghwa, hongjoong less so, mommy kink, leash kink, humiliation kink, creampies, breeding kink, reader is in heat, background seonghwa x hongjoong bom note: anon i love u for this request and i’m so sorry i made u wait for so long. also hope u don’t mind that i made this matz instead of ot8! pls enjoy<3

It’s hard to push Wooyoung off of you, his stubborn lips persistently pulling quiet moans out of you. He’s trying to tug your shorts off, but Seonghwa’s voice is in the back of your head at every harsh tug Wooyoung gives. You know that once you start you won’t be able to stop. You’d rather remain in the good graces of your mommy today, his furrowed brows and tiny frown apparent on his elegant face before he left.

Seonghwa knows you’re in heat. Hongjoong, ever the sweetheart he is, is uneducated in the fact that you two should be separated at this time. However, they both have responsibilities and jobs to attend to. He thinks you’re well-behaved enough to resist your primal urges, at least until he can get home to take care of you. Seonghwa never realized moving in with his boyfriend would be so stressful.

A soft whine builds in the back of your throat as Wooyoung licks the skin along your neck, the coldness of his drool greeting you when he moves to kiss along your jawline. He sees every tic your body gives, remembering every little thing so he has you weakening faster. His tail wraps around your calf as you let yourself be pushed back onto the bed-your mommy’s bed-the furry, black thing sending waves of tingles throughout your body.

Wooyoung won’t let you catch your breath, “Come on. I know you’re in heat. You just-you gotta let me help,” Wooyoung has never been around another hybrid in heat before. He’s surprised to find it written on you so clearly, desperation etched into your features. He can’t help it when his hands move on their own as he watches you hold your insides as if you’re in some sort of pain, holding back all of his urge to claim you.

You try to crawl away, the control he has over you with just his body and voice too overwhelming. The patterned blanket under you reminds you of your mommy, and you flip your body over to try to crawl upwards. You don’t get very far as Wooyoung drops all of his body weight on top of your back, his hard ready cock pressing against your pussy. The feeling of it makes you whine, Wooyoung taking advantage of the position and dragging himself over you repeatedly.

He holds your neck like he’s preparing to bite you, but he takes a whiff and closes his eyes, “You smell so ready for dick, kitty.”

His voice is shaky, like he’s barely holding back. His grip on you is bruising, the hand on your hip holding you in place under him. His veiny hand holds your jaw up, forcing you to look him in the eyes every time his leaking cockhead makes your shorts wetter with every deliberate drag. You’re entranced by his twitching ears and swishing tail.

“But mommy said-“

He shushes you with an open-mouthed, wet kiss, “They don’t have to know. I’m just helping you,”

You’re losing to the desire in you, the primal need to just be bred, “Woo, I need it so bad.”

Whatever desperation was in Wooyoung unleashes with your admission. He practically envelops you with himself as his hands come down to your tits, quickly finding their way under your tank top and over your sensitive nipples. He plays with them, flicking you over and over until you keen and part from his lips. There’s really no escape from Wooyoung because even if you stop kissing him to catch your breath, he latches onto whatever part of your warm skin he can find.

One of his hands slides between you and the bed, into your panties. He groans at how drenched you are, pussy begging to just be filled and bred. He plays with your folds, teasing and spreading your slick over yourself. Wooyoung gathers it all on his fingers, bringing his hand up to his lips and sucking every digit clean. He closes his eyes in bliss at the taste, truly enjoying how your pussy is leaking, creaming, and begging for him.

He leans back into your ear, now hurriedly trying to pull your shorts off, “I’m gonna fill you up, kitty. Can I?”

“Y-yes, please, just fill me up, Woo-“

He shudders at your words, finally getting your shorts off. There’s no time to waste as he messily pulls his cock out of his sweatpants, not bothering to slip out of them fully. He just needs to feel you wrapped around his cock. He plunges into you, quickly and deeply. Wooyoung fully melts into you, possibly forever consumed by the feeling of your tight hole now. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust before he hungrily starts thrusting his hips, growling into your ears everytime he feels you clench.

The way he fucks you is desperate and raw, one goal set in his mind. To fill you with so much cum you’re spilling and only babbling about all of the kittens he’s going to give you. Just the vision of his cum trickling out of your sweet hole has him stopping, shuddering in place to try to make this last at least a little longer.

You feel him pausing but you’re way too overheated and desperate to be filled to give him a break now, “P-please, Woo, can you cum inside me? I can take all of it, please-“

That’s all it takes for him to plunge deep inside of you, his canines piercing your shoulder as his body shakes and jolts with every sputter of cum entering you.

A tiny part of you is soothed now, but there’s still a burning sensation that lingers everywhere in your body. The uncomfortable feeling starts in your gut and unravels all over you. You turn to pant and whine to Wooyoung for more, but you find he’s gone from atop you. Hongjoong and Seonghwa stand next to the bedside, Hongjoong holding Wooyoung back by the scruff as he hisses and scratches at him. By the looks on their faces, you’re certainly in trouble.

-

Hongjoong fucks you relentlessly. He groans into your ear, dick smearing Wooyoung’s cum and your slick all over. His breath is hot against your cheek as he leans over your back and invades your space. He smirks at Wooyoung when you let out a sweet, needy whine as he grinds his hips into yours as deep as he can.

Wooyoung’s shaking with need. He can’t do anything but watch as his cum is fucked out of your pussy by Hongjoong. He’d claim you again if it weren’t Seonghwa-who holds him back by his collar. His fist wraps around the leather tightly, tugging him back every time Wooyoung tries to make a move towards you.

Seonghwa’s usual sweet demeanor is gone and replaced by a demanding one, “The both of you are so fucking naughty,”

You turn to Seonghwa, teary-eyed as Hongjoong keeps drilling you into the bed, “S-sorry, mommy,”

Your voice shakes against Hongjoong’s thrusts. He picks your head up by the back of your head and Wooyoung watches as your back arches against Hongjoong’s cock. He fucks you savagely, reaching deep inside you with his member until you can feel it in your throat. The position has you yowling and clenching down onto Hongjoong, who hisses as his hips stutter in their thrusts.

You look so broken and pitiful and Seonghwa fucking loves it. There’s slick and cum running down your legs, tears streaming down your eyes, and your tiny hands hold the bedsheets tight under your palms. His breathing turns ragged, his fist tightening impossibly more against Wooyoung’s collar.

Hongjoong brings a hand down to your clit, pulling you in until your back hits his chest, “I see why Youngie can’t stay away from this pussy,”

You let out a shaky breath as you turn into putty under his hands. He rubs circles onto you, playing with your wetness as he keeps grinding you onto his cock. His other hand fondles your tit, tweaking the sensitive bud. It’s all too much, too good, too fast.

Seonghwa lets out a sharp, mocking laugh as he watches you break, “This is what happens to bad girls who don’t listen to their mommy, sweetheart,”

There’s another rush of wetness that comes from your hole and Hongjoong chuckles, “Think she liked that,”

Hongjoong lifts you by your hips now, moving you so that you face Wooyoung as he sets you atop him. You blush with all the attention, but Hongjoong’s cock doesn’t let you think. He holds you by your sides, tight and hard enough to leave welts, as he bounces you on his cock. You feel it everywhere, your entire body warm and on the brink of explosion as he perfectly fills your gummy walls.

Hongjoong feels you on that brink, “Cum on my dick, baby, then I’ll give you all the kittens you want,”

The thought of his cum swirling inside you, marking you and filling you finally sends that tingle of electricity all through you. You shake on top of Hongjoong, who follows suit and pulls you to his pelvis. He groans and stutters as your pussy tightens and sucks the cum out of him.

Wooyoung is whining and rock hard, to the point that it hurts. You’re so sweaty and cute on top of Hongjoong, freshly fucked out but Wooyoung still wants to fuck you fill of his kittens. Seonghwa isn’t any better off, but he tsk’s and pulls on Wooyoung’s collar when he feels him start to get antsy.

Hongjoong sends a sick, cocky smirk towards Wooyoung. He smells trouble, but he doesn’t expect Hongjoong to spread your pussy lips for him. The pearlescent liquid shines between your folds as Hongjoong pulls out of you and Wooyoung all but collapses. Your hole is utterly and completely stuffed, claimed by Hongjoong and he feels his entire body on fire.

Seonghwa moves him until he’s right in front of your leaking pussy, forcing him to his knees. He sends a mean, intimidating look to Wooyoung. It’s demeaning and embarrassing the way he follows his commands so easily, but he just can’t help it.

He raises an eyebrow at Wooyoung, “Well? Clean up the mess you made, you pervert.”

He doesn’t think twice. You’re still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm you just had, but Wooyoung’s wet tongue against you wakes you up again. Your hips grind against his lips as he licks a stripe along your folds, cleaning off the essence of Hongjoong. Seonghwa’s cold hands against his neck spur him on.

Wooyoung sucks on your clit, lips wrapping around the sensitive bud and causing an intense warmth to gather in your gut. You can’t stop moving against his face as he slurps you up, the vibrations of his moans against you just amplifying the sensation. He lets you go with a pop before moving down to your entrance, hands forcing your legs open as he works you open. He doesn’t mind the taste of Hongjoong’s dick or your slick, just as long as he gets to taste you.

Seonghwa’s cocky smirk shines down on you, commanding your attention, “My perfect kitty.”

[chaoticbardlady99]

LADS Men Big 3

Recent thoughts about the LADS men and their zodiac signs.

Caleb is a Gemini and my fiance is a Gemini, but they could not be more different so I began thinking, “I wonder what their moon and rising would be?” So-

Disclaimer- this is just my opinion based on my knowledge and is NOT LAW! Also not proofread well.

All five boys are mentioned 🥸🌸💕💗

UPDATE WITH THEORY ON 6TH LI IN REBLOG

Sylus

☀️ Aries, ⬆️ Scorpio, 🌙Libra

Sylus has that very classic, thrill seeking, dominant leadership energy that Aries has, but I feel like he presents as a Scorpio. Scorpio men are rather mysterious, dark, magnetic. You are pulled to them as if by instinct.

However, his moon is Libra. Sylus desires justice (his anecdote and his general morals show as much) and he genuinely does have a lot of love. His heart (or desires) guide his decisions and Libra’s are ruled by Venus.

Sylus is sensitive and romantic in spite of how he presents himself, but as he grows more comfortable, that soft, gentle side that desires balance really begins to show. He is patient- the definition of “love is patient, love is kind”. He may seem rigid and overly stubborn, but he is ultimately willing to go with the flow provided he isn’t crossing his own boundaries- even then, he’s able to communicate his boundaries in a way that is effective and authoritative without having to scream to make his point.

He doesn’t see any reason to beat around the bush when there is so much life to see and love together- fights typically last less than ten minutes and it’s because he doesn’t rise to the occasion. He knows when your nervous system calms down that you will be able to have a good conversation without either’s feelings being hurt.

It’s uncomfortable to love Sylus at first because it’s healthy- but he’s patient and straightforward and you’re worth the wait.

Although he is sweet and is great with words, Sylus can also use these words to hurt and sometimes he a joke may come across as too harsh. Communication and boundaries is key- if you tell him your feelings are hurt, he takes that very seriously and becomes more mindful with his teasing in the future.

Zayne

☀️Virgo, ⬆️Capricorn, 🌙Scorpio

Virgo men are very controlled and can be very controlling- however- Zayne presents with (in my opinion) more emotional control than a Virgo, hence the rising Capricorn.

To the world, he is hard working, careful, an overachiever and essentially a God. Zayne is rigid and needs routine to maintain emotional control. He knows his limits and he knows what will make him lose control (alcohol), but when he lets go, that inner scorpion- the emotional depth and desire for intimacy and intuition comes out. Zayne, when he allows himself to lose control, is someone you could drown in and still never truly find the depth of him. When he loves, he loves hard.

Zayne also loves people completely to the point where it consumes him. He became a doctor for you for God’s sake. When it comes to someone he loves- he believes nothing is impossible and he will do anything he can, work as hard as he can, to keep you healthy and safe- even to his own detriment some time. He definitely needs you to remind him that he is not superhuman and the whole world is not his to carries. It’s hard for him to stop and remember to prioritize your relationship over work, but if you bring it up, he will make sure to be more mindful (and may need to be reminded again- it’s a busy life).

Caleb

☀️Gemini, ⬆️ Aquarius, 🌙Virgo

This Golden retriever man is just a German Shepard in disguise. He is very much a Gemini in the fact that he has duality in his personality and he is capable of switching back and forth between them. When he loves someone, they are really the closest person he needs in his life hence MC (or you) being both his best friend and partner. Caleb is ride or die- no matter how hard or messy life gets, he is going to remain right by your side and help you float when you begin to sink.

Caleb presents himself as an Aquarius- he wears a mask for those around him (except you), but to others he is unemotional, forward thinking, a catalyst for change, and has a strong sense of justice- which I think is what makes his inner Virgo come out harder with the events of the game.

Virgo moons NEED control and can become incredibly possessive- however- they are also sensitive, analytic, and their love language is often acts of service. Caleb bends over backwards to make sure you are taken care of and have everything you need. At this point, to him, your safety and relationship is the only thing he has control over and the more that is tested, the tighter that grip becomes. He is fiercely protective of you and even though he has good intentions, he is sometimes blind to the damage it causes. However, if you tell him you feel suffocated, he is willing to back off and compromise- Life360 is a must. The idea of losing you shatters him and if he actually did lose you? Well, that would be fatal.

Rafayel

☀️Pisces, ⬆️ Leo, 🌙 Sagittarius

Sweet, sweet, sassy Rafayel- the sweetest Pisces boy 💙 he is emotional and follows his heart. He feels most loved when he has your one on one attention. He is the classic Pisces archetype of creativity, hopeless romantic, and loyal. Rafayel, much like Pisces, just wants one soulmate and that’s why he will always search for you- no matter what life time. Occasionally he can fall into the trap that is escapism (sleeping mostly), but you are always there with him to keep him steady through the storm.

Rafayel wants to be the center of his love’s attention, but wants to be passively famous- he likes knowing his artwork is a big deal, but he doesn’t care for the confinement it often brings. You allow him to perform and show off and be authentic- a luxury he doesn’t get with anyone else. He is, however, a jealous person and he is not afraid to let you know when he’s upset (Whales growing legs sound familiar?) However, he is quick to apologize and doesn’t necessarily enjoy conflict.

He is someone who has a wild, passionate soul and he enjoys exploring to create. Rafayel doesn’t like to be held down and stagnant, but he also wants the comfort of home which is why your relationship is so wonderful. He finally has someone to travel with who also keeps him grounded. However, he can sometimes become a little too dependent on you, just a littttleee forgetful, and what do you mean you left the water bottles back at the hotel!?

Xavier

☀️Libra, ⬆️ Cancer, 🌙Taurus

Xavier seeks balance and has a strong sense of social justice. He loves to love and when he truly loves someone, he is never going to let that person go. He doesn’t enjoy verbal altercations and prefers to solve things calmly and rationally instead (if possible) and if he is not the one feeling emotionally dysregulated. The ugly side of love is jealousy and oh boy- this is a jealous man. However, that’s not always a bad thing 😏 Xavier is receptive if his jealousy begins to upset you and he may need lots of reassurance, but with communication, time, and patience, he eventually begins to trust that he is enough for you as he is.

He is a homebody- the sleepiest space bunny. It’s important for him to have a home base and he would prefer to spend a holiday at home than go out and explore (when him and MC fell asleep during touring love? Adorable). Xavier is a great listener and reflector- he’s pretty good about not offering solutions when you just need comfort, but he struggles to talk about his own feelings which can become frustrating. He needs encouragement and reminders that his feelings and needs matter too.

Xavier is stubborn and once he sets his mind on something, he is meticulous and slow in crafting his plans so that they can be executed perfectly. Sometimes it’s frustrating because he can become very secretive with his plans- he doesn’t want any of the pieces to be out of place. You’re the only one he trusts.

He is super duper touchy, loyal, and will work himself until he passes out (literally).

*I do not own the pictures or the characters talked about in this post*

All likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[rawmeknockout]

Hello gorgeous beautiful creature I am enraptured by your swagger and I humbly request that you may pretty please with a cherry on top write something where an autobot reader seduces their way out of being experimented on by shockwave (headcanon: shockwave is touch starved and learns that illogically, he appreciates being touched, and autobot reader shows him how logical it really is to listen to ur body)

THAMK U MWAH (　＾ω＾)🤗❤️💗💓🥰 💋 😘

“My, my,” You struggle to keep your voice level as Shockwave, lead Decepticon scientist and murderer of millions of Autobots, approaches you. “Your gun is so much bigger up close, Shockwave.” You purr his designation, leveling him with your best smolder. His optic remains impassive, as he takes you firmly by the arm, nodding the genericons away.

They eagerly skitter out of the lab, leaving you to a fate worse than death. Not that you had any hope of them helping you, but even a slim chance that Shockwave would choose a grunt as a test subject over you is better than no chance. When you agreed to be a decoy for Optimus’ latest plan, you didn’t really think one of the consequences would be ‘Shockwave’s newest test subject’. Even being dragged in front of Megatron, laughed at, and then summarily executed would be better than this.

You know of some of the reports spec ops had on Shockwave, the things he’s rumored to have done to Autobot prisoners. Of course, as the Autobot forces dwindled, those rumors started to become few and far between. But the graphic details, things cadets would whisper about in warning, have never left your processor.

He all but drags you over to his main work station, the stains of past experiments still stubborn reminders across the metal slab. You’ve got to work quickly if you want to get out of this.

“Don’t be cold,” You coo, pressing your servos to the wide metal of his upper arm in a desperate bid for his attention, followed by a blatant show of sizing him up with half-lidded optics, “Aren’t you lonely in here, mech? We all have to listen to our frames. What they really want,” You press your moving derma to the side of his helm, even as he tries to pull away, letting your glossa flick across the warm metal where any other mech’s jaw would be, “Who they really want.”

Despite his servo on your elbow joint, and a very operational gun literally attached to him, Shockwave makes no further attempt to stop you from pressing close to his frame; your chassis fitting against his side like a puzzle piece. His optic casts downward indifferently, but you can see the way it trails up your leg to your pelvic plating.

“It’s so cold in the brig,” You press a servo flat to the polished glass covering his chest, “But your frame is so warm.”

Shockwave suddenly makes a sound like a radio tower crashing to the ground, the air filled with the sound of static and metal crunching as his frame seizes up. You almost jump away from him, if not for his servo also seizing and holding you in place by the arm. Oh, Primus, you’ve killed him. You’ve killed him and Megatron will have you immediately executed. You try to meet his optic, but even that is unfocused and glitching.

It’s a few tense moments before you assume everything is okay, before he seems to regain control of his frame. The lab is quiet, only the sound of his fans working overtime and the drip of chemicals being filtered. Shockwave doesn’t meet your optics, looking at the furthest wall, nor does he move to release your arm. Something heavy and weary overcomes his countenance, what little he has; a beleaguered resignation.

“I just overloaded.”

[dyns33]

Family language

We love a man who can use his tongue in a lot of different ways, even if he's pretty annoying.

It had become a habit.

Of course, sometimes they did it on purpose, to share information without being understood, but most of the time the Shelbys spoke Romani among themselves without even realizing it.

There were often a few words, and sometimes entire conversations. The first few times, Alfie hadn't said anything.

Sitting amidst the screams and noise that always accompanied his in-laws, he silently recited a prayer that they would quickly leave his house, before he lost his patience and killed one of them.

This would probably not please his wife, who was laughing happily with her brothers. Or her fratii, as she said.

He was starting to understand certain things. Alfie Solomons was gifted with languages. But he couldn't guess all the unfamiliar vocabulary, and so sometimes he got lost in very annoying gibberish.

“Cred it soțul tău se îmbufnește.” Finn whispered.

“Nu. E obosit, lasă-l în pace.”

“El simte că oamenii vorbesc despre el.” Tommy said smiling, his eyes landing on Alfie. “Domnul Solomons este deștept.”

No doubt, they were talking about him, under his own roof, purposely making fun of him in an unknown language so that he couldn't understand.

When he asked Y/N, she said he was imagining things. And even if he was right, he probably pleased his brothers by reacting like this. He just had to ignore them and act like an adult for once.

He could have listened to his wife's good advice.

Aside from the threats he had made if anyone misbehaved with her, the community had come to adore Y/N because it was obvious that she knew better than anyone how to control the King of Candem.

There were still fits of rage, because the man remained mad, but she always managed to calm him down. Undoubtedly, taming wild horses as a child helped to acquire this kind of gift.

In a way, Alfie listened.

The normal reaction he would have had would have been to attack the Shelbys directly, getting revenge in some way for their insult. But he let the night pass, thinking about the adult way to deal with this problem.

“DДоброе утро, любовь моя.” he said to Y/N, continuing to read his newspaper with his tea, as she entered the living room, still groggy from sleep.

This seemed to wake her immediately. She stared at him, with a look that showed which family she came from.

"What ?"

"I said 'DДоброе утро, любовь моя'."

"I heard. What does that mean ?"

“Nothing bad, don’t worry, клад.”

Y/N grimaced, visibly irritated, but she didn't insist, announcing that she was going to take a bath. Alfie didn't continue his game right away, because he wished he could join her.

The afternoon arrived, and his wife visited him at the Bakery to check that he had eaten, that he had not died under a pile of files or stabbed by a competitor, and to massage his back very carefully.

“Tes mains sont magiques, mon coeur”

This time, it was Ollie who made a funny face, looking at his boss, then at Y/N, as if silently asking if she understood what he had just said.

“Italian ?” she asked, continuing to massage him, looking detached.

"No. Questo è italiano, mia principessa."

"Prinţesă ? I'm not a princess, and you're becoming a pain."

As painful as her and her brothers speaking Romani in his presence, but he didn't say it. Alfie wanted her to understand it on her own, and no doubt she had understood from the moment he spoke Russian.

But even if she was Mrs. Solomons, Y/N would always remain a Shelby, proud and stubborn, refusing to admit her wrongs, and she would not apologize for having secrets with her family.

That wasn't even the problem. He respected secrets even if he didn't have any for her, and he liked it when she clearly gave him affectionate names that he didn't understand.

Obviously she liked names too. Amore mio, אהובי, mon amour. Their nights were much more passionate when he didn't speak English, the bedroom being the only place where she forgave him for this change.

But in front of others, when she didn't have the slightest way to decipher what he was saying, she didn't like it at all.

"היא הולכת לכעוס, בוס… זה לא מאוד נחמד." Ollie said, very embarrassed at being forced to participate in what seemed like a lovers' quarrel, and not knowing if he respected or was more afraid of Alfie or Y/N.

"אני מקסים עם אשתי. זה המשחק הקטן שלנו."

“I know you’re talking about me.”

“Not at all, милый.”

“Your employees look frantic, staring at me, I know you’re talking about me.”

The game lasted several weeks, before stopping completely, except for the little nicknames. This seemed to surprise Y/N, who wasn't used to seeing her husband give up so easily. She had grown up with the Shelbys, she knew these kinds of men.

Alfie didn't know whether he should be flattered or annoyed that she read him so well, because if he spent less time teasing her, it was to concentrate on another project in secret.

If he was good with languages ​​and didn't like not understanding, the solution was simple. He could learn Romani.

And it would be much more fun if his in-laws and his wife didn't know.

“Pare mai puțin enervat decגt de obicei.” John observed.

“Și mai puțin deranjant.” Arthur growled.

“El plדnuiește ceva.” sighed Y/N, observing Alfie, sitting quietly in his chair, looking at them and smiling. “Nu știu de ce מl iubesc atגt de mult pe idiotul דsta.”

“Cu toții ne מntrebדm asta, surioarד.” Tommy sighed, patting his sister on the back.

Although he had never played poker, Alfie was normally good at hiding his emotions when necessary. But hearing Y/N say she loved him to her brothers, he couldn't help but smile even more, which was noted.

And oh, how he loved his smart wife.

While the rest of the Shelbys were bickering about their future jobs, she came up to him, looking less angry than he expected.

“Ințelegi foarte bine ce spun.”

"Yes, treacle. A little surprise, which I thought I would keep secret for a little while longer. I'm not completely fluid yet."

"It's not fair. I don't understand anything when you speak in other languages."

"Je pourrais t'apprendre, chérie."

Most of the lessons were done in the bedroom, despite Y/N's protests that he was absolutely not focused enough to teach her anything useful.

When she threatened to make him sleep on the couch, Alfie found some time in his busy schedule to give her real lessons, or at least to give her real words.

"… You lied to me, again."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.” he said while continuing to count his coins.

"I wanted to greet Ollie, like you taught me. I said to him 'אתה מטומטם עם זין קטן'."

“He must have been happy.”

"I've never seen him so upset in my entire life. You know my brothers never really made fun of you now, and I'd love to make fun of others with you, but don't make me say horrible things without let me know."

"Okay. You should also stop greeting Italians by calling them 'Stronzo' then."

"… I knew they weren't answering me politely."

"No. I had their balls cut off for that, אף אחד לא מדבר ככה ללב היקר שלי."

"Your 'dear heart' will sleep with Cyril tonight, while you are on the sofa."

"Think about my back, cruel woman ! I'm sorry, okay ? Mоя жизнь, mia vita, החיים שלי !"

“Canapeaua !”

"Does that mean 'I forgive you darling, come kiss me' ?"

He called Tommy to ask him, without explaining why, and even though he had an idea of ​​the answer. At least, the fucking Shleby had a good laugh.

Fine, I won't like you all in the dark like that :

“Cred it soțul tău se îmbufnește.” - "I believe your husband is sulking." (romani)

“Nu. E obosit, lasă-l în pace.” - "No. He's tired, leave him alone." (romani)

“El simte că oamenii vorbesc despre el. Domnul Solomons este deștept.” - "He feels that people are talking about him. Mr. Solomons is smart.” (romani)

“DДоброе утро, любовь моя.” - “Good morning, my love.” (russian) “клад.” - treasure (russian)

“Tes mains sont magiques, mon coeur” - "your hands are magical, my heart." (french)

"No. Questo è italiano, mia principessa." - "No, this is Italian, my princess" (italian)

Prinţesă - princess (romani)

Amore mio - my love (italian)

אהובי - my love (hebrew)

mon amour - my love (french)

"היא הולכת לכעוס, בוס… זה לא מאוד נחמד." - "She's going to be angry, boss… that's not very nice." (hebrew)

"אני מקסים עם אשתי. זה המשחק הקטן שלנו." - "I'm charming with my wife. It's our little game." (hebrew)

“милый.” - "Dear." (russian)

“Pare mai puțin enervat decגt de obicei.” -"He seems less annoying than usual." (romani)

“Și mai puțin deranjant.” - "And less mad." (romani)

“El plדnuiește ceva.” "He's planning something." (romani)

“Nu știu de ce מl iubesc atגt de mult pe idiotul דsta.” - "I don't know why I love this idiot so much." - (romani)

“Cu toții ne מntrebדm asta, surioarד.” - "We're all wondering that, little sister." (romani)

“Ințelegi foarte bine ce spun.” - "You understand very well what I'm saying." (romani)

"Je pourrais t'apprendre, chérie." - "I could teach you, darling" (french)

'אתה מטומטם עם זין קטן'. - 'You're a moron with a small dick'. (hebrew)

'Stronzo' - assholes (italian)

אף אחד לא מדבר ככה ללב היקר שלי - Nobody talk like that to my dear heart (hebrew)

Mоя жизнь - my life (russian)

mia vita - my life (italian)

החיים שלי !" - my life (hebrew)

“Canapeaua !” - "The couch !" (romani)

[pixel7777]

Dedications - A Bloodweave Fanfic

The full version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

This fanfic is a sequel and will be better enjoyed after reading Editorial Prerogative.

🪶📜The Netherbrain has been defeated, and the party has gone their separate ways. Astarion and Gale have moved into Gale's tower in Waterdeep while Gale focuses on publishing the chronicle that brought them together. Astarion has an entirely different focus and... thoughts about their post-adventure life he has yet to confess.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Work Content Tags: Post Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, POV Astarion, ~5K words

This fic about the extensive contributions of editors and beta-readers had amazing beta readers! This one was much rougher than Editorial Prerogative as a draft and was improved extensively by their thoughtful suggestions. There was no time for a second round of edits after doing my best to merge everyone's ideas, and sometimes I am stubborn in keeping my errors. Kindly consider all those errors that remain to be entirely my own. You can blame the cum jokes on me as well ;)

Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help! This one is dedicated to you!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Dedications

"Seven minutes left," Astarion purred against Gale's ear, rolling his hips. "Still think you can hold the Fly spell that long?"

The moonlight through the tower's high windows cast blue shadows across their skin as Astarion pressed Gale against nothing but air, twenty feet off the floor just below the vaulted ceiling of their master bedroom. His lover's warmth radiated through him as their bodies moved in tandem, suspended by Gale's magic. Dimmed lanterns lit the bed lay far below, its sheets already rumpled from earlier activities.

Gale's breath hitched. "You underestimate—ah—my concentration."

"Do I?" Astarion shifted his grip on Gale's thighs, changing the angle. "One slip and we both fall."

"I'm well aware." Gale's fingers dug into Astarion's shoulders, a moan escaping him. "Though I suspect that's part of the appeal for you."

"You know me so well." Astarion nipped at Gale's neck, careful not to break skin. The thrill of danger, of testing limits—it made everything sharper, brighter. "Six minutes now."

Gale's magic held them aloft, but Astarion controlled their movements, using his grip on Gale's hips to drive his cock deeper. The tower's chill air raised goosebumps on Gale's skin. Astarion traced them with his tongue, savoring each shiver and gasp he drew from his wizard.

"Five minutes." Astarion grinned against Gale's collarbone. "Shall we make it interesting? If you drop us, you have to indulge that idea I had about Greater Invisibility and the Blackstaff library stacks."

"Not—ah—not a chance." Gale's voice wavered as Astarion found just the right spot. "And at some point you will need to explain your preoccupation with spells with limited durations."

"We'll see about that." Astarion quickened his pace, determined to drive Gale over the edge and test his vaunted concentration. "Four minutes, love. Still feeling confident?"

Astarion slid one hand from Gale's hip, tracing his lover's trembling abdomen before wrapping deft fingers around Gale's cock. They had been lovers for months now, and he knew every sensitive spot, every trick to make Gale unravel. A few strokes—firm and sure—and Gale's breath stuttered, his body tensing.

"Three minutes," Astarion whispered, with wicked delight. "But who's counting?"

Gale's response was a strangled moan, his nails biting into Astarion's flesh. Astarion could feel the precise moment Gale's concentration shattered—the magic holding them aloft flickered, and gravity reasserted itself. Gale's climax hit, his cock pulsing in Astarion's grip, and they plummeted.

Astarion twisted them mid-air and pulled out. They crashed onto the bed, laughter bursting from both as the mattress creaked in protest and they fell apart.

"Well, that was invigorating," Astarion chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from Gale's flushed face.

Gale grinned, still breathless. "You cheated."

"I did no such thing." Astarion feigned innocence. "I recall no agreements with regard to the means by which I may or may not distract you."

Gale pushed himself up, straddling Astarion's hips, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "My turn to take the lead, I think?" Astarion nodded a yes and ran his hands up Gale's thighs. Gale's eyes gleamed with mischief as he reached behind him, positioning Astarion's cock, his hole still wonderfully slick and stretched. He sank down slowly, a gasp escaping him as he took Astarion in fully again.

Astarion's hands found Gale's hips, guiding his rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the bed creaking in time with their movements. And then—a soft, wet plop. Astarion glanced up just as another drop of Gale's cum fell from the ceiling, where it had splattered in generous abundance, landing on Gale's shoulder.

"Oh, for the love of—" Astarion started, laughter bubbling up.

Gale looked down, bewildered, then up at the ceiling. Another drop fell, this time on his cheek. He wiped it away, a laugh escaping him as well. "Well, this is... distracting."

"Focus, darling," Astarion teased, though his own concentration was waning. "You have a task to complete."

Gale shook his head, grinning, and refocused his efforts. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Astarion's chest, and rolled his hips with renewed determination. Astarion stroked Gale's thighs encouragingly, his breath coming faster.

Another drop fell, this time on Astarion's forehead. He swiped it away, growling playfully. "Gale..."

Gale bit his lip, trying to hold back laughter. "Not my fault you wanted to defy gravity. Gravity, apparently, wants payback."

Astarion bucked his hips, driving deeper into Gale. "Less talking, more riding."

Gale complied, his movements becoming more urgent. Astarion could feel his own climax building, the tension in his body coiling tighter. The lantern light glinted off the oil on Gale's spent cock and the sweat on the planes of his chest. Beautiful. His lover was so damned beautiful. He reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. Gale's body pressed against his, their movements syncing perfectly.

And then, finally, Astarion's release hit, his body arching as he spilled into Gale. He broke the kiss, a groan escaping him as he emptied and gave himself to the moment. Gale rode him through it, his own breath ragged, until they both stilled, panting and sated.

Astarion looked up at Gale, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Well, that was—"

Another drop of cum fell from the ceiling, landing squarely on Astarion's nose. He sighed, laughing as Gale collapsed onto his chest, their laughter filling the room.

Gale pushed himself up, kneeling over Astarion as he surveyed the ceiling. "Well, that's quite the mess."

Astarion smirked, stretching languidly beneath him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Gale rolled his eyes but grinned as he stood, careful to keep his balance on the mattress. He reached up, stretching to his full height, and began to chant softly. A faint glow enveloped his hand as he waved it toward the stain, his Prestidigitation spell making quick work of the mess.

Astarion watched, appreciating the view. Gale's body was lean and toned, his muscles shifting under smooth skin as Astarion's own spend ran down Gale's thighs. "You know, I could get used to this sight," he mused.

Gale glanced down, a smirk playing on his lips. "Me cleaning the ceiling?"

"You, naked and on display," Astarion corrected. "The chores getting done is just a bonus."

Gale shook his head, returning to his task. Once the ceiling was spotless, he turned his attention to them, cleaning them both efficiently. Astarion sat up, gently pulling Gale back down to the bed. He reached for a small vial of the soothing oil they favored for aftercare on the nightstand, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers.

"Let me," he murmured, guiding Gale onto his stomach. He started at Gale's shoulders, massaging gently before moving lower. His fingers found the spot where Gale's back met his ass, and he rubbed slow circles into the skin, feeling Gale relax under his touch.

Astarion took his time, his fingers eventually slipping between Gale's cheeks, applying the oil with tender care. Gale sighed softly, his body melting into the mattress. Astarion loved this—the quiet moments after, when Gale let him take control in a different way.

Even as he tended to Gale, a restless energy hummed beneath his skin. The night had been perfect—dangerous and thrilling and everything he had wanted—but already his mind flitted to what came next. There was always another sexual adventure to plan, another boundary to push.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Gale's spine. "How was that?"

Gale hummed contentedly, turning his head to look at Astarion. "Perfect. Thank you."

Astarion smiled. He lay down next to Gale, propping his head up on one hand.

"You're thinking," Gale murmured, eyes closed.

"Always," Astarion admitted.

Gale cracked one eye open, studying him. "About what, I wonder?"

Astarion shrugged, his fingers still moving. "Just... possibilities. For next time."

Gale hummed, a small smile on his lips. "Dangerous word, 'possibilities'."

Astarion's grin sharpened. "Exactly."

Gale chuckled, shifting to face Astarion fully. "You've been insatiable lately."

"And you love it," Astarion retorted.

Gale's smile softened, his hand reaching up to cup Astarion's face. "I do."

Astarion leaned into the touch, but his mind was still racing, already planning. This night had been a success, but there was always more to explore, more pleasure to experience. And he intended to make the most of every moment.

Gale shifted, reaching for something on the nightstand. Astarion spotted a manuscript bound in stiff canvas. Another proof copy from the printer, of course. Astarion sighed. The book. Again.

"Must we? I can think of far more entertaining ways to spend our time." Astarion traced a finger down Gale's spine, trying to distract him.

"The printer needs the final draft by tomorrow. I just need you to look at one more thing."

"Volo's barely started shopping his version around." Astarion rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling to avoid meeting Gale's eyes, hoping that for once Gale would just set the book aside and come fully back to him without having to be chivvied into it. "What's the rush?"

"The rush is getting the true account published first. Before he can romanticize everything into nonsense. And I want you to edit the dedication."

"The dedication." Astarion's voice went flat. Of course Gale would want his help polishing the final touches of his grand scholarly achievement. "Surely you can handle that without my input."

"I'd really like your thoughts on it."

"What's to think about? 'To my beloved companions, who provided such invaluable assistance.' There. Done." Astarion waved a dismissive hand. "Now put that away and come back here."

"That's not—"

Something about Gale's earnest expression made Astarion's skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn't want to examine why being asked to edit the dedication bothered him so much. Better to provoke, to push, to make Gale as unsettled as he felt.

"Or perhaps 'To my dear editor, without whose sharp wit this tome would be unbearably dull.'" Astarion sat up, indulging the impulse to be perfectly dreadful. "Though I suppose that might undermine your scholarly authority."

Gale's expression shifted from amusement to concern. "Astarion—"

"No, no, I've got it." He snatched the proof copy from Gale's hands. "'To my reformed vampiric lover, who made this chronicle possible by not eating me that first night.' How's that?"

Gale gaped. "You really think that I would mischaracterize your contributions? Or that that's how I see you?"

"Isn't it?" The words came out sharper than intended. "It's your book, after all. Your legacy."

Astarion's fingers tightened on the manuscript, the binding creaking under his grip. He knew he was being unfair—Gale had never treated him as less than an equal partner. And he had loved working on that manuscript together during the long months of their adventure. It had been the thing to finally bring them together.

But lately, everything felt... off. Wrong. Like an itch he couldn't scratch.

He had thought it would be simple after they'd saved the world. No more running, no more fighting, no more desperate scramble for survival. Just pleasure and comfort and Gale. And for the first few weeks, that had been enough. More than enough.

But now...

The empty hours stretched endlessly. While Gale pored over proof copies and attended meetings, first with various publishers and then the printer, Astarion found himself prowling their tower like a caged animal. He had tried everything—shopping, decorating, arranging elaborate dinners he couldn't eat just to watch Gale enjoy them.

Sex helped. For a little while, at least. When he had Gale's full attention, when they were testing limits and discovering new ways to please each other, everything felt right again. But then Gale would reach for that damned book, and the emptiness would creep back in.

It wasn't fair to resent Gale's dream finally coming to fruition. His beloved wizard was thriving, getting the recognition he deserved. But a nasty voice in Astarion's head whispered that Gale should be focusing on him instead. After two centuries of serving others, wasn't it his turn to be the center of someone's world?

He glanced at Gale, who watched him with patient concern. That was almost worse than anger would have been.

Astarion hurled the manuscript onto the bed. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Like I'm some delicate thing about to shatter. I've had quite enough of your concerned wizard act for one evening."

"This isn't an act. You have witnessed my best attempts at acting—why wouldn't you think my concern was real?" Gale's brow furrowed. "I genuinely don't understand why you're upset."

"Of course you don't." Astarion stood, pacing naked across the floor. The moonlight caught his pale skin, turning his already pale skin a nearly ghostly white. "You're far too busy with your precious book to notice anything else these days."

"That's not fair—"

"Fair?" Astarion whirled on him. "You want to talk about fair? While you're off being courted by every publisher in Waterdeep, what exactly am I meant to do with myself? Sit here and look pretty? Wait for you to need an editorial opinion?"

Gale's mouth opened, then closed. The sudden understanding in his expression only stoked Astarion's anger.

"Here's a confession for you—perhaps something you could work into an epilogue. Do you know what I did yesterday? I reorganized our closet. Again. Then I spent three hours watching the unseen servants clean because I was so desperately bored I considered doing it myself." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't even go outside during the day anymore, now that this blasted tadpole is gone. I'm just... here. Useless. Decorative."

"You're not—"

"And do you know what I did last week?" Astarion continued his pacing, each step precise despite his growing agitation. "I reorganized our library. Twice. First alphabetically, which was mind-numbingly dull, and then by level of pretentiousness—you'll be delighted to know your treatise on the standardization of arcane nomenclature ranked near the top. And you have been so singularly focused on the book you never even noticed to complain!"

His laugh came out sharp and bitter. "Then I spent an entire evening categorizing your spell components by color. Not utility, mind you. Just aesthetics. Because apparently that's what I've been reduced to—interior decoration and waiting for you to need my opinion on your prose. "

The words tumbled out now, each confession carrying a twisted satisfaction at revealing his pathetic pastimes in all their absurdity. "I've named all the rats in the cellar. Did you know that? There's Herbert—he's missing half an ear—and Old Lady Whiskers, though she might be dead now. I haven't checked today."

"Astarion, I didn't know…"

"How would you? You've been so very busy at the printers." Astarion gestured wildly at the wardrobe. "I've arranged your robes by the seasons. Then by texture. Then by how likely they are to get you propositioned at academic functions. I even tried to learn that ridiculous card game Wyll taught us, but it's significantly less entertaining when you're playing against yourself and can see all the hands."

Astarion's lips curled into a sneer. "I thought saving the world would finally free you from your compulsive need to make your name, but alas, here we are again—we're both naked, but you're distracted by paper.

"And now you want me to help polish your grand achievement. To put the finishing touches on the story of how we saved the world. Except we're not saving the world anymore, are we? You've found your new purpose. While I..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Well, I suppose I can always fall back on being very good at fucking you senseless. At least until you tire of that too."

The hurt that flashed across Gale's face should have felt satisfying. Instead, it just made Astarion's gut churn. He had gone too far and been monstrously unfair. It didn't help that he knew it and couldn't stop spewing attacks he didn't even mean.

Gale reached for the discarded manuscript. Astarion turned away, not wanting to see more of that wounded expression, but Gale moved to his side and held the book out. The silence stretched between them.

"Really?" Astarion snapped. "After all that? Now?"

Gale didn't respond, just kept holding out the book. Fine. If that's how he wanted to play it. Astarion snatched the manuscript, ready to tear into whatever flowery dedication Gale had composed.

"Read the cover first," Gale said quietly.

Astarion frowned. "The cover? What—"

The words caught his eye, and his throat went tight. He blinked, certain he was misreading. But no—there it was, clear as day: "The Fall of the Absolute: An Eyewitness Chronicle, by Gale Dekarios and Astarion Ancunín."

He read it again. And again. His name. On the cover. As co-author.

He looked up at Gale, unable to form words.

A brilliant smile spread across Gale's face. "Did you really think I saw this as just my book? Your perspective shaped every chapter. Your commentary challenged my interpretations, made me question my assumptions." He stepped closer, taking Astarion's free hand. "Your voice is woven through every page. What kind of historian would I be if I neglected to give my co-author the credit he deserves?"

Astarion's fingers clenched, his chest tight with something that wasn't quite pain.

Astarion stared at his name on the cover, tracing the letters with his thumb. His name. Not in a footnote or acknowledgment, but right there beside Gale's. Equal. Co-author.

He glanced at Gale, then back at the book, checking for an illusion to fade, for the joke to materialize. No, the words remained unchanged.

He flipped through the front pages, scanning for the inevitable correction—some footnote or disclaimer that would put him back in his proper place. Surely there would be a note: "With editorial assistance from..." or "Based on the contributions of..." But the title page bore both their names. The introduction credited them equally. Even the publisher's mark listed them as co-authors.

Gale's voice washed over him, explaining how he had meant it as a surprise, how he had never meant to make Astarion feel excluded. "I've thought of it as our book for ages, since before we were even an us. I should have told you sooner—"

But Astarion barely heard him. Two centuries of being nothing more than Cazador's property, a toy to be used and discarded. Even after their victory, even after becoming a "hero," he had been defined by others—the reformed monster, the redeemed villain.

But this... this was different. This wasn't just surviving or being forgiven.

Astarion's hands trembled slightly as he opened to the first chapter. His own words jumped out at him from the page—not just in commentary, but woven seamlessly into the narrative. His marginalia hadn't just inspired edits—they had shaped the story itself. Where Gale's original draft had focused on the metaphysical implications of their tadpoles, the final version explored the visceral horror of violation, the psychological toll of being changed against one's will. His perspective on what it meant to be transformed, to lose control of one's own body, had deepened the scholarly analysis into something raw and real.

Even his most acerbic comments had been valued. That entire section comparing various theories about the tadpoles' nature had been completely restructured after he had written "For fuck's sake, Gale, get to the point before your readers expire from old age."

Astarion traced a finger over a particularly elegant turn of phrase—one he distinctly remembered suggesting as an alternative to Gale's more flowery original version. His words. His thoughts. His perspective. Not filtered or edited to be more palatable, but presented as essential to understanding their shared story.

This was creation. His words, his perspective, preserved in ink and on paper. Not as a cautionary tale or a victim's testimony, but as an author. A chronicler of his own story. Gale was right, of course—by the time they had exchanged back-and-forth notes on any given page, it was likely half Astarion's words and thoughts. He just hadn't thought of it that way.

His throat felt tight. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Gale, I—" The apology stuck in his throat. He had been so quick to lash out, to blow things all out of proportion.

"Don't." Gale's hand covered his where it gripped the book. "I need your help with something more important. The dedication—"

"What is it with you and this damn dedication?" Astarion's voice cracked slightly.

Gale smiled as Astarion hesitated, the pages half-turned.

"Go on." Gale's voice was warm, encouraging. "It's the best part."

Astarion's throat tightened. He had already received more than he had dared hope for. What if this undid it all? What if, after seeing his name on the cover, the dedication reduced him back to a mere contributor?

"My love." Gale's hand covered his on the page. "Trust me."

He turned the page.

Two passages faced each other on the creamy paper—mutual dedications, Astarion realized with a start. Astarion looked up at Gale, blinking fast to keep traitorous tears from falling. Gale's own eyes were suspiciously watery, but his smile was radiant, their argument and Astarion's ranting obviously forgiven. Gale moved to wrap his arms around Astarion from behind. Astarion nestled back into Gale's embrace before shifting his attention to the pages. He read Gale's first—formal yet intimate, managing to capture their collaboration in a way that left his chest tight.

"To my dearest Astarion, whose sharp tongue, sharper mind, and inexhaustible patience turned these words from mere history into something worthy of remembrance. And to our companions, who lived this story alongside us. This book is but ink on parchment; you are the legends."

But the second... He recognized his own words—remembered scrawling them in the margins months ago during one of their late-night editing sessions. He had been marking up Gale's latest chapter with increasingly ridiculous commentary, each note an excuse to keep their conversation going, to stay in that perfect bubble of possibility...

"You kept this?" His finger traced the words. That night had been months ago, before they'd even kissed. Before he had realized that their endless exchanges of notes and rebuttals had become something more than editorial collaboration.

"I kept all of them," Gale said softly. "Every margin note. Every correction. Every time you called my prose 'insufferably flowery' or suggested I was 'compensating for something' with my extensive footnotes. They are as much a part of our story as the text itself."

He had been tired, punch-drunk on lack of rest and the joy of their collaboration, and had written what amounted to a love letter disguised as snark. Gale had picked lines from it and composed a dedication on his behalf.

"To Gale Dekarios, who never met a sentence he couldn't overcomplicate. On the darkest days, your relentless optimism that our story would be worth telling made the endless footnotes (almost) worth it. And to our comrades-in-madness, who not only survived but triumphed despite their best efforts to the contrary. (P.S. You are all still insufferable.)"

"I borrowed that from your notes," Gale whispered, drawing Astarion closer as he spoke the words against his ear. "But of course, you should write whatever you'd prefer. You obviously don't have to dedicate anything to me. Presumptuous, I know, although I meant it to be romantic. This was just a placeholder until—"

Astarion stared at his own words on the page, all his usual sharp retorts deserting him. The dedication—their dedication to each other of the book that had brought them together—was there in permanent ink, ready to be bound into countless copies. His thoughts, his perspective, his story—preserved forever.

He stepped out of Gale's arms and sank onto the edge of the bed, still clutching the proof copy. The weight of it felt different now. Real. Lasting. Not just Gale's grand scholarly achievement, but their shared legacy.

Gale stood before him, radiating that particular blend of smugness and affection that should have been infuriating. But Astarion had long since learned to love these little moments of his wizard's self-satisfaction—especially when they came from making him happy. "Do you like it? Or shall I prepare myself for another ten pages of revisions?"

"I think..." Astarion's voice came out barely above a whisper. "I think it's perfect."

Gale's eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise. He turned to the side table where—of course—he had already set out a bottle of wine and two glasses, clearly having planned this moment. The bastard.

Astarion found his footing again, a smile tugging at his lips. "Though I still reserve the right to deface every copy in circulation with additional notes."

"I would expect nothing less." Gale handed him a glass of deep red wine, raising his own. "To our book?"

"To our book," Astarion agreed. "And to the idiots who made it worth writing."

Their glasses clinked softly in the moonlight.

Astarion savored the wine, letting its rich flavor chase away the lingering tension. "To our book," he repeated softly, still caught on those words.

"I should have told you sooner," Gale said, settling beside him. "About the co-authorship. About all of it. I got caught up in the excitement of publication and forgot that you might not see what I see when I look at these pages."

"And what do you see?" Astarion asked, trying for lightness but not quite achieving it.

Gale's expression softened as he set his wine glass aside. "I see us, darling. Not just our adventures, but the way your wit cuts through pretense to find truth. The way you take my meandering thoughts and sharpen them into something precise and powerful." He took Astarion's free hand. "I saw a future where we might do this again. Together. Writing about whatever catches our interest."

Astarion's chest tightened at the earnestness in Gale's voice.

"And once again, that was presumptuous of me," Gale continued. "Just because you excel at this doesn't mean it needs to be your future. I should have discussed my hopes with you instead of assuming. Asked what you wanted rather than letting you feel trapped here with nothing but closet organization and the corruption of my virtue to occupy your time."

"I suppose I haven't been particularly... forthcoming either. About how adrift I've been feeling." Astarion gave a short laugh. "Though attempting to seduce you into distraction every time you mentioned the book lately probably should have been a hint."

"Gods, I've been stupidly oblivious, haven't I?" Gale ran a thumb over Astarion's knuckles. "Here I was, planning our literary future while you were naming rats in the cellar."

Astarion traced the rim of his wine glass. "Well, to be fair, I hadn't exactly been making any competing plans, really. Beyond finding new ways to scandalize Tara." He gave a hollow laugh. "Two centuries of torture and degradation, and all I could think about was pleasure. As if that would be enough."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know what I want. Isn't that ridiculous? I finally have everything I dreamed of—wealth, safety, you." He gestured at their opulent surroundings. "I should be content with endless pleasure and no purpose. But I'm not content."

Gale's fingers ghosted along his jaw. "There's nothing ridiculous about wanting more than hedonism, love. Though I must say, your dedication to corrupting my virtue in the wake of our trials has been a thoroughly appreciated respite."

"Has it now?" Astarion managed a genuine smirk. "And here I thought you were too distracted by your—no, our—precious book to notice."

"Oh, I noticed." Gale's voice dropped lower. "In fact, I've been taking extensive mental notes for future reference."

"Always the scholar." Astarion leaned into his touch. "Though I suppose that's served us both rather well, hasn't it?"

"Indeed. And perhaps..." Gale's thumb brushed his lower lip. "You might consider that pleasure and purpose aren't mutually exclusive. You have a gift for this—for taking complex ideas and making them sing. Why not pursue that alongside your campaign of corruption? Something to consider. And to talk about—together, I hope. We have plenty of time to work through our options, now that the editing is done, at least for the moment—" Gale began.

"For the moment?" Astarion's head snapped up. "What do you mean, 'for the moment'?"

"Well, perhaps—just perhaps, of course—there will be our next book to consider." Gale said it so casually, as if he hadn't just upended Astarion's entire worldview for the second time that evening. "But I think we've earned a break, don't you?"

"Next book," Astarion echoed faintly. The implications spun through his mind—more late nights arguing over prose, more shared discoveries, more chances to shape how their story was told. Not just this one volume, but others. A series, perhaps?

"Though at present," Gale continued, his tone shifting to something distinctly more promising, "I find myself rather more interested in your earlier claim of more interesting ways we might spend our evening."

Our next book. The idea seems so absurd that for a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with it. A future, stretching beyond just this one volume.

Astarion set his wine glass aside, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You know, darling, maybe we should begin thinking about potential topics for our next collaboration. Perhaps something focusing on the political implications of—" He broke off as Gale's lips found his neck and a frisson of pleasure made him shiver. "—the various factions within Baldur's Gate during the crisis."

"Fascinating," Gale murmured against his skin. "Do continue."

"Well, considering the complex web of alliances—" Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's hands slid down his sides. "I believe my name should appear first on this one, given my unique insights into the city's power structure."

Gale hummed noncommittally, pushing him back onto the bed. "We can discuss the particulars later."

"But the publishing contract—oh." His protest dissolved into a gasp as Gale's beard brushed over his nipples in that way Gale knew he liked. "That's not fair."

"What isn't fair?" Gale's innocent tone didn't match his actions at all. "I'm merely expressing my enthusiasm for potential future literary endeavors."

Astarion struggled to maintain his train of thought as Gale shifted lower. "The... structure would benefit from..." He lost his place entirely as Gale did something lovely with his tongue and borrowed blood left his brain to chase the sensation. "What was I saying?"

"Something about structure, I believe." Gale's muffled voice held entirely too much amusement.

"Right. Structure. And proper credit for—oh gods." Astarion's fingers tangled in Gale's hair and tugged gently. "You're making it very difficult to discuss business arrangements."

"Am I?" Gale lifted his head, eyes dancing with mischief. "How terribly inconsiderate of me. Please, continue outlining your publishing strategy."

Astarion's protests died away as the room was filled with the soft sounds of their breaths, the rustle of sheets, and the distant hum of Waterdeep's nightlife. There was no urgency this time, no ticking clock of a spell about to expire. Just the two of them, realigned in purpose and desire, and it was wonderful.

Astarion breathed into the pleasure as Gale's tongue worked this other magic of his. He could feel Gale's smile against his skin, the warmth of his breath as he moved. Astarion moaned, shamelessly, as Gale took him deeply, swallowing him down and then sucking hard as he pulled back. Gale looked up, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Enjoy that, do you?"

Astarion laughed. "You're far too smug for your own good."

Gale grinned. "And you're far too delicious for yours."

Astarion reached down, tracing the line of his jaw. "You know, I think we might have a real talent for this."

Gale's eyebrow quirked. "For what, exactly?"

"Sex, darling. I think we should write a book about it."

Gale laughed, a full-throated sound that warmed Astarion to his core. "A sex book? Really?"

"Mmhm," Astarion hummed, already imagining the possibilities. "Think about it. We've certainly done enough research, more than enough to fill certain gaps in The Quarta Sune and make our own, unique contributions to the field."

Gale's hand took the place of his mouth, clearly intrigued by the discussion but unwilling to abandon Astarion's pleasure entirely. "And who would be the target audience for this illustrious tome?"

"Everyone," Astarion declared, happily rolling his hips into Gale's touch. "Think of all the poor souls out there, fumbling around in the dark, metaphorically speaking. We could be doing a public service."

Gale's laughter shook the bed and disrupted the rhythm of that exquisite stroking. "A public service? Really?"

"Absolutely," Astarion insisted. "And of course, I should be first author on this one too."

Gale's hand moved faster. "And why is that?"

"B-because," Astarion stuttered, his hips bucking up into Gale's grasp. "I have more experience."

Gale's smile was positively wicked. "Is that a challenge, my love? Because I would like to point out the difference between qualitative and quantitative research."

Astarion grinned, pulling Gale up for a kiss. "It's a fact, darling. But I'm sure with your natural prowess, you'll have no trouble keeping up."

Gale's lips curved against his. "I do love a good competition."

"Mmm," Astarion agreed, his body already racing toward the finish line under Gale's firm touch. "And I do love a good—oh!"

Gale's fingers did something particularly clever, and Astarion decided that perhaps they should do a bit more research before committing anything to paper. Between the two of them, he was sure they'd get it right.

[tianastales]

✨ Mama’s Forever Baby ✨

April was exhausted by Kevin’s relentless criticism. No matter how spotless the house was—every surface gleaming, laundry neatly folded, dishes put away—and no matter how carefully she prepared a flawless dinner, Kevin always found something to nitpick. It was never enough. To April, it felt as though he was intent on making her miserable.

She understood that his work-related stress weighed heavily on him, leaving him perpetually frustrated and discontent. He seemed trapped in his own unhappiness. Wanting to help, April had suggested everything she could think of—finding a relaxing hobby, taking a much-needed vacation, even seeking therapy—but Kevin refused to acknowledge any problem. Instead, he insisted there was nothing wrong.

Over the years, April had come to recognize the unspoken pressure many men feel to maintain a “tough guy” facade—a rigid, dominant mask that discourages vulnerability, emotional expression, or any sign of weakness. She resented the way Kevin subscribed to this mindset. While she understood that part of it stemmed from his natural personality, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was unhealthy for him. He must feel so alone.

Time and again, she had pleaded with him to set aside that way of thinking, to allow himself the freedom to open up. But no matter how much she urged him, Kevin remained steadfast in his ways.

One morning, a heated argument erupted between Kevin and April. Frustrated, Kevin snatched his keys, slammed the front door, and stormed off to work without so much as a goodbye. April sat in the aftermath, emotionally drained and defeated. No matter how much she tried, he refused to see things from her perspective. The thought weighed heavily on her—his stubbornness was hurting their marriage, and she wished he could understand the freedom that came with vulnerability.

“How do I get through to him?” she wondered. Her eyes landed on her laptop, and, grasping for solutions, she began scouring the internet. She needed something—anything—that might help. But article after article left her uninspired, her frustration mounting. She would step away for brief moments, only to return, unwilling to give up on her search.

Then, after hours of combing through information, a spark ignited in her mind. Her eyes widened with excitement. “That’s it!” she thought, her pulse quickening with newfound hope.

****************************************************

Kevin pulled into the driveway, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. Regret gnawed at him—he had spent most of the day replaying the morning's argument with April, wishing he had handled things differently. He hated the way he had let his frustration take control, hated the person he was becoming.

As he stepped inside, the soft clatter of plates in the kitchen caught his attention. Curiosity flickered through his exhaustion. He set his keys on the table and slowly made his way toward the kitchen, unsure of what to expect.

“April! Honey?”

April spun around, catching Kevin’s startled expression as he lingered in the doorway. His lips parted slightly, but before he could utter a single word, April cut him off.

“Hi! How was your day? I made some dinner. Your favorite. Come sit!” She quickly remarked while pulling out a chair and signaling him to come sit at the table.

“Umm it was fine.” Kevin was very confused. But never less, slowly made his way to the table and collapsed defeated from a long day into the chair.

“Long day?”

“You have no idea.”

“Poor thing.” April remarked while grabbing Kevin a drink from the fridge, walking over, and setting it down on the table. “Here you go my love.” She remarked while rubbing Kevin’s shoulders.

“Honey. I think we really need to talk about this mor…”

“I get it. You’re stressed. I’m sorry too.” She quickly remarked while walking to her seat at the table across from Kevin.

Kevin hesitated, unsure of how to navigate the silence. Usually, moments like these led to long-winded discussions about their communication struggles, but this time, April said nothing.

He took a slow sip of his drink, stealing glances at her as she quietly ate, her expression unreadable. The usual tension wasn’t there—but neither was any clear resolution. The uncertainty gnawed at him. Was this calm before another storm, or was something different happening here? He wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that, for the first time, the absence of words felt heavier than any argument.

“Are you going to eat? I would hate for your food to get cold sweetheart.” April remarked while taking another bite of her chicken.

There were a few moments of complete silence. Kevin looked at April then back down at his plate. He picked up his utensils and started to dig in. After a few bites, Kevin glanced back up at April.

“This is great honey. Thank you!”

“Of course.”

Kevin, making the room tilt slightly in his vision. He set his utensils down with an unsteady hand, pressing his fingers against his temples in an attempt to steady himself. His pulse quickened, and he swallowed hard, trying to shake the fog settling in his mind.

Something wasn’t right. The conversation, the quiet dinner—it had felt different from their usual arguments. But now, his body was reacting in a way he hadn’t expected. He blinked rapidly, as if willing the sensation to pass, but the spinning only intensified.

“Are you okay sweetheart? Do you need to lay down?”

Kevin could hardly speak.

“I-I I just umm… I got a weird headache all of a sudden. I feel very dizzy.” Kevin gripped the edge of the table, his legs unsteady beneath him. He tried to push himself upright, intent on reaching the living room couch, but the floor seemed to shift beneath him. His vision blurred, and the dizziness intensified, making every step feel like wading through thick fog. A deep unease settled in his chest. His pulse drummed in his ears as he fought to keep himself balanced, but it was becoming harder by the second. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus—but the spinning wouldn’t stop. Across the room, April remained motionless, her gaze locked on him. He couldn’t tell if it was concern, anticipation, or something else entirely.

“Let me help you.” She quickly said as she shot up out of her chair.

April hurried to Kevin’s side, steadying him as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. She guided him carefully to the couch, ensuring he didn’t collapse under his own weight. As he sank into the cushions, she helped him lie down, her hands lingering for a moment, uncertain yet deliberate.

“Just take deep breaths,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve got you.”

Kevin’s body felt like it was shutting down, every ounce of strength drained from him. His limbs were heavy, his head clouded with exhaustion. The room blurred at the edges, fading into nothing as his eyelids drooped. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, sleep pulled him under.

The last thing he registered was the faint sound of April’s breath—steady, unwavering—hovering just above him before everything went black.

****************************************************

Kevin’s mind felt hazy, as if waking from the deepest sleep he had ever known. His body was utterly at ease—warm, weightless, sinking into the mattress beneath him. He stirred gently, testing the boundaries of wakefulness, but his eyelids remained stubbornly heavy.

Slowly, he forced his hands up, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear the lingering fog. Bit by bit, his vision sharpened, and the familiar outlines of his bedroom came into focus.

But something was off.

He couldn’t remember how he got there. The events after work—dinner, conversation, the spinning room—all seemed fragmented, slipping just out of reach. His pulse quickened as he searched his mind, trying to stitch the pieces back together. Nothing. Only the unsettling gap in his memory remained.

Kevin blinked, his mind still sluggish as he took in the sight of April watching him, her expression soft and unreadable. The warmth of her touch as she brushed the strands of hair from his eyes sent a quiet reassurance through him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence felt different—not heavy with tension, but almost… deliberate. As if something had shifted overnight, something he couldn’t yet put into words. She simply studied him—waiting, watching.

Kevin exhaled, realizing that whatever had happened the night before, it wasn’t just another argument lost in the cycle. This was something else entirely. And for the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he was finally ready to listen.

“Good morning sleepy head.” She teased.

Kevin felt like he couldn’t move or speak. He tried to shift around and felt something extremely thick preventing him from closing his legs. April witnessed the concerned look come across on his face. Kevin knew something was off. He lifted the covers and saw a huge and bulging diaper in between his legs. April used her hands to slowly maneuver to the front of Kevin’s diaper. She slowly gave him a few front pats and rubs.

“Well, someone is completely soaked.” She teased once more.

Kevin quickly glanced back up at April. Kevin tried to speak but couldn’t. He used his hands and felt that something was strapped around his head. He He then could feel that this strap was being used to hold something in his mouth. He used his hands to trace the outline of the item. A pacifier? Kevin started frantically panicking. He tried to remove the strap around his head and couldn’t get it.

“Kevin….It’s okay. Stop it. Just look at me.” She reassured.

Kevin continually kept trying to remove the strap. Without hesitation, April quickly straddled herself over Kevin’s torso , forcefully pulled his hands, and pinned each of his hands by his head.

“It’s okay sweet boy. You don’t need to get all fussy.” She cooed. “This is how it’s going to go. Until you’ve learned your lesson, this is how it’s going to be now. You’re going to be Mommy’s Forever Baby.”

[shreddingdoodls]

PLEASE hear me out on this idea. we all know shredder redemption arc aus are a must, and we all need it. BUT I represent you an alternative:

Forced Redemption.

Because think about it, in actual canon, it'd be so unlikely he would have any form of redemption arc due to how the writers decided to have written him, very poorly. What if as an alternative, a redemption arc is placed but not WILLINGLY? What other choice does he have? Either a second chance, or death. And despite how unlikely he'd be able to recover, maybe he sees it as an opportunity to have another chance to get back at the turtles, and Splinter.

He wouldn't easily back down, despite his hatred of the idea of redemption, he sees that as a means to survival and having another go at finally killing that wretched rat he so despises so much. Despite this though, what if he was just utterly miserable while being forcely redeemed? Redemption is one thing, but it has to be willingly to the person who has done wrong to people. If it isn't willing, then it isn't redemption. As you cannot FORCE someone to redeem themselves, and expect results to come out good.

The reason why he's being forcefully redeemed? Is because of Splinter himself. The turtles have managed to defeat him, but what if they know how much Splinter misses his brother, Saki, no matter how much he tells them that what has been done is done, how Shredder has made up his mind long time ago. But despite this they know of his hope and longing to have his little brother back. How much he misses having him by his side rather than in his shadow. He never got to tell Saki how much he truly cared for him and that aches his very heart.

What if just like Shredder, Splinter is as stubborn as you'd think he can be. Despite knowing not to let his heart control and cloud his better judgment, when it comes to his brother he cannot help but have that all thrown out of the window. He knows of the risk, letting Shredder be at their side for his path of redemption, but he holds that hope so tightly, as if letting any gap between his hands would have it slip away from him.

And the PARALLELS. imagine the parallels. Shredder has to face that history has happened once more, how he had been spared as a child by Yuuta out of "the kindness of his heart" despite taking everything away from him since birth, and now? The hamatos yet again spare his life, forcing him to be something he's NOT. Sparing him as their act of "kindness", giving him a second chance he does not want but has no choice but to take. Because it's either that or death. And deep down he is afraid of dying. He is afraid of death, because that would mean everything he's done would be all for nothing. And he won't let that be what the Foot Clan would remain as.

[fishsticksloser]

Can I request a reader x Future Donnie where Reader is being very stubborn and refusing to let him leave cuddles to work? Like clinging onto him, hanging off of him, etc etc just silly n fluffy?

-Shadow

Self-Care

F!Donnie x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, Donnie is upset, fluff, exasperated Donatello, Kraang future, Donnie needs rest, swearing

A/N: Another late post? Crazy.... I'm very sorry it's so late...

"Donnie?" You ask softly, your hands gently resting on his softshell. You press a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, his body tensing at your touch. His concentration breaks for a moment, turning his head to glance at you, a mix of surprise and irritation in his eys.

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of something here?" He snaps, his voice laced with annoyance. He tries to shrug your hands from his shell, not wanting any distractions. "I've got important work to do, so please, just let me focus." His words come out curt and dismissive, as if he's already moved from the brief interruption.

"You're tense..." You sigh, your hands moving to his shoulders. Donnie's body stiffens even more, his irritation growing.

"I said I don't need your help," he grumbles, his voice strained. "I'm perfectly capable of handling my own stress." His words come out sharp, laced with frustration. Despite his resistance, a small part of him secretly enjoys your touch, but he refuses to let it show.

"Obviously." Considering you haven't eaten all day... Or actually slept in 3." You point out, a tiny hint of sarcasm in your voice.

Donnie's eyes widen in surprise as you pull him away from his desk, effectively blocking his access to his work. He looks at you with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, his irritation momentarily overshadowed by your actions.

"What are you doing?" He asks, a slight flicker of concern in his eyes. "I told you, I have important work to do. I don't have time for this." Deep down he knows you're right about his lack of self-care, but he's too stubborn to admit it.

"Bed. Now." You point over to your bedroom down, remaining firm as you know the excuses that will come from the stubborn turtle. Donnie's eye narrow at your words, his frustration growing once again.

"Excuse me?" He retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Last time I checked, you don't get to boss me around." He crosses his arms, his stubborness rising to the surface. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myslef, thank you very much. I don't need you telling me what to do." Despite his defiant words, there's a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a hint of weariness that he's been trying to hide. He stands, his large form looming over you, but you don't back down. "I won't be treated like a child, and I won't be controlled. So let me get back to work."

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, you hold your ground, letting him know you didn't plan on moving. "Bed now, please."

"I'm not going to bed just because you say so," He answers, his voice firm and resolute. "I have work to do. I can't just abandon all of that because you think I need rest." He crosses his arms over his chest again, his stance unwavering. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. I'm not some fragile creature that needs to be coddled." His words come out with a mix of determination and exasperation, his frustration palpable.

"You're such a stubborn ass..." You hugg, crossing your own arms. You knew he could very easily pick you up and move you, but both of you knew the other wouldn't give up. "You can't do your best if you're tired, if you're not eating. So go to bed."

Donnie's eyes narrow at your remark, his frustration reaching its boiling point. He takes a step closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over you. "Stubborn ass, huh?" He mutters, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Coming from someone who's just as stuborn as me." He shakes his head, a mix of irritation and admiration playing across his features. "I don't need you to tell me what's best for me," his voice defiant. "I know my limits, and I know how to push myself. I've been doing it my whole life." His voice tinged with stubborn pride, unwilling to admit he needs a break.

"I'm not going to let exhaustion or hunger stop me from doing what needs to get done." He takes another step closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "So, if you think you can boss me around and make me do what you want, you're sorely mistaken." He locks eyes with you, a challenge burning in his gaze. "If you want me to rest, you're going to have to make me."

"You know I can't..." You whisper, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Donnie. Please, you're destroying yourself by keeping this up. You haven't slept, you haven't eaten." Your hands hesitantly rise to cup his face, he doesn't pull away, allowing your hands to find their normal place on his cheeks. You see his nose wrinkle, anger filling his eyes. "I know you probably think I'm mean and you probably hate me right now. I honestly don't care what you call me, what you say to me. What matters is your well-being, not me."

Donnie's anger wavers for a moment as he looking into your pleading eyes. He can see the genuine concern etched across your face, and it gives hiim pause. Your words strike a nerve, resonating with a part of him that he often tries to bury beneath his stubbornness and pride. He takes a deep breath, his features softening slightly, but his guard remains up.

"Don't pretend like you know what's best for me," he mutters, his voice filled with vulnerability and defiance. His gaze flickers away from your, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "I can't afford to rest, to be weak. The Kraang won't wait for us to catch our breaths." He hesitates, his eyes darting back to you, his voice quieter. "I appreciate your concern. I know you're just trying to look out for me. Maybe... Maybe I've been too hard-headed."

"Fine." He finally conceds, his voice softer. "I'll rest. I'll eat." His lips quick into a small, weary smile. "But only because you asked, not because you're right. Got it?" he raises his an eyebrow, a hint of his usual sass returning.

As Donnie retreats to the bedroom, his mind is filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. The weight of his own stubbornness and pride weigh heavily on his shoulders, and he can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for pushing you away. But the scientist in him, the part that is driven by the need to protect his family and defeat the Kraang tells him that he must priotize his work.

In the bedroom, he sits on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He knows he needs to rest, he knows that he can't continue pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion. But the fear of failure, the fear of letting his family down, gnaws at him. He want to prove himself, to be the one that saves the day, and he's afraid that if he takes a step back, he'll lose that chance.

His mind races, thoughts and emotions colliding in the chaotic mess. He knows he loves you, he knows you care about him deeply, but the tangled mess of his own insecurities prevents him from fully expressing it. He wants to reach out to you, offer some form of comfort, but he can't bring himself to do it.

Donnie's head turns as he hears the sound of the bedroom door opening. He freezes for a moment, his eyes locking on yours as you step into the room. There's a flicker of surprise in his gaze. He wasn't expecting you to follow him, to bridge the distance that had frown between you.

For a few heartbeats, the room is filled with heavy silence, hsi gaze searching yours as if trying to decipher your intentions. His lips part, as if he wants to speak, but he hesitates, uncertain of what to say.

Finally he breaks the silence, his voice tingerd with longing. "I... I didn't expect you to come in here," he admits, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to meet yours. "I... I guess I thought you needed space from me. But if you're here, maybe we can talk. Maybe I can try to explain, try to make you understand." His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability seeping through the cracks of his usually composed exterior. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say.

"I'm sorry," He admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for pushing you away, for not being able to fully express... Everything.I care about you, more than I can put into words. But sometimes... Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own fears that I forget to show it." His eyes never leave yours as he continues, his voice sincer and desperate. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to be the reason you're hurting. I'm trying, I really am, to find a balance."

He reaches out tentaively, his hands overing in the space between you. "I don't know if you still want me, if you still belive in us. But if you do... If you're willing to give me another chance, I promise I'll work on showing you how much you mean to me." His hands tremble slightly, the vulnerability palpable. "Please," he whispers, his voice filled with hope and fear. "Please tell me we can find a way back to each other."

You step closer, allowing him to grab you hips, pulling you to stand between his legs. You craddle his face gently, shaking your head. "Space? From you?" With a surge of boldness, he leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, pouring all of his love and longing into that single moment. It's a promise, a pledge to fight for your relationship, to never let you doubt his feelings again.

As the kiss lingers, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice vulnerable and full of adoration. "And I'll spend the rest of my life showing you just how much."

"I love you too." You mumble, your lips finding his again, his heart soaring from your words. As your lips find his again, he surrenders himself to the slow tender kiss, a gentle sigh escaping his lips.

⋆｡ ﾟ｡☁︎👾｡ ﾟ｡⋆

Donnie's eyes flutter open, his mind slowly emerging from the depths of sleep. You whine softly as you feel the bed shift, Donnie sitting up to go back to the lab. You quickly stop the terapin, pulling him back down into bed with you. "Do you have to leave?"

"I have things I need to work on." He admits, his voice laced with regret. "There's always something that needs my attention, somethign I need to fix or improve."

"Well, I'm not allowing it." You huff, moving to lay on top of him. He knew very well that he could easily move you if he so desired, but he didn't.

Donnie lets out a soft chuckle as he wraps his arms around you. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" He teases, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But I suppose, I'll stay here a little longer, just for you."

[bellestarot]

Jake's Reading

December 30, 2024

Right Now

He seems to be learning how to balance his work so he can keep his personal life uninterrupted. This way, he can focus on his interests, romantic or not, without work getting in the way. He’s pursuing this in a very private way, not wanting anyone to know about the efforts he’s making to achieve certain situations or get closer to certain people. He’s being very secretive about his moves.

At the same time, he’s managing to have a good family life despite working a lot, which has been very beneficial for him.

However, he’s a very stubborn person with strong self-worth. He doesn’t accept just anything, and some opportunities have come his way that he’s rejected because he feels they aren’t good enough for him.

Love Life

He’s in a relationship and very happy—it’s like a dream come true. This person is his ideal type. He’s learning a lot in this relationship and feels he’s matured significantly. He’s learning to let go of certain things because his mindset is changing.

He sees this person as balanced and reciprocal, making the relationship feel strong. He feels more empowered with this person, who also has a strong personality, which he greatly admires.

Apparently, they were introduced through friends, and at first, he thought they’d remain just friends, but it grew into something more.

Recently, they’ve had conversations about the choices they both need to make in their life journeys.

This person seems to be around his age, maybe slightly younger, and very intelligent, with an interesting intellectual side. They might even be soulmates.

Career

He feels his boss is very authoritarian and controlling, someone who’s hard to reason with.

This has hurt him deeply for some reason, even though he’s earning well and has been very energetic in his performances and interviews.

He’s noticed there are people in his work environment, like a woman with some influence in the group, whose decisions he believes aren’t good for them.

He feels exhausted trying to challenge or fix these issues and sees it as a losing battle, as neither he nor the group seems to have much power.

Family

He loves his family deeply but hasn’t been feeling great recently. There’s a lot of conflict and arguments within his family, which is making him feel very anxious.

It’s as if he wants attention from them, but everyone is so caught up in their problems that he doesn’t even feel like talking to them right now.

However, there’s a family member, possibly a cousin or younger sibling, whom he loves spending time with and genuinely enjoys being around.

Friendships

He has a friend he cares about a lot but is very worried about this person. They’re involved in dangerous behaviors, possibly illegal or harmful to their health, and this has caused him a lot of anxiety.

He’s very protective of his energy, so he’s cautious about who he considers friends.

While he’s open to new friendships, he’s not actively seeking them, preferring to let them happen naturally.

Most of his friends seem to be from work, whether within his group or the entertainment industry.

Future

He’s going to go through a period of very low self-esteem, maybe even close to depression. However, he’ll manage to overcome it and regain his confidence, which was shaken for some reason.

During this time, he’ll learn a lot and mature significantly. His thoughts will change, especially regarding what he believes is right or what society deems ideal.

He’ll learn to appreciate what he has instead of lamenting over what he wishes he had.

I think he’ll seek psychological help, and a woman—likely a therapist—will assist him in working through his emotions.

He’ll also work well with his group, maintaining harmony, and I see only positive outcomes there.

Advice

"It is not possible to convince a believer of anything, for their beliefs are not based on evidence; they are based on a deep need to believe."

– Carl Sagan

[theposhsworld]

Dark side to hypergamy part 1: female ruthlessness.

if you think men are competitive..you haven't experienced female aggression and competitiveness especially when it comes to a man.

Rich men will forever remain the choicest men in any society or generation. that is why you have to rise above societal construct if you wish to succeed..

play this game well..

you see how I always say that if you are a mistress or side chic and you were caught by the wife.. just APOLOGIZE. all these gra gra ladies are doing now will not help.

let me describe what you are up against.

1) mothers who can poison you so you don't marry their son .. they don't want you in their family and if the boy is stubborn.

they can wound him to keep him in line.lol

.are u surprised 😂😂 rich matriarchs think differently from the average woman.

in old family powerful homes especially the

very misogy;nistic traditional ones

.the WOMAN is the head...lol are you shocked 😂😂😂.

yes! she's the real authority.

.she could be a grandma or mother or even aunty.

This is why matriarchy is NOT the answer to patriarchy..

the worst mistake you can do is to elevate a mis:ogynistic woman over other women..

you see why I say women built this system and are still the ones keeping it running.. that's why I be like STOP participating! stop engaging. positive indifference!

the truth is men cannot or do not control women..they give the illusion that they do..

but women have more powerful influence over other women!

2) wives that are ready to make you disappear or convince their husbands to turn you to a sax slave or baby making machine ..you think rheu don't know you are dating their husbands, they just act oblivious until it's time for a scandal.. or worst still, these women can make him have a heart attack or be paralysed 😂 if he's too careless and uncontrollable .

these women know their husbands have harems or mistresses etc..they know 😂😂. they don't view infidelity like how the average woman views it..

3) Female friends who are ready to go beyond to get what you have. I've heard of a friend that exchange her womb just to get her friends husband 😂😂. like this is real.

she succeeded and this is 15 years...they are Happy...lol life is not Nollywood

money is really the root of all evul.

A lot of scheming, strategizing, planing etc goes on behind the scenes.

that's why I smile wen someone thinks rich men are dumb and you can just trick them into giving away their money.

or you think your love and light performance feminity is ideal.

no sis.

when I described my self as ruthless...im not joking.

women like me had to be.. I was swimming in shark infested waters without protective gear.

I no get rich daddy or uncle or even strong mom that could have protected me.

so I became a bigger shark 😂😂😂.

that's the only way

Credit: pearls corner

[theworldcrossing]

Dear ocean…

Chapitre 1.0

Yandere Tom Nook x reader x Yandere Redd, and little Groucho x reader…

Warnings: night stalking, violence, manipulation, possessive and controlling behavior, abuse of power.

Masterlist

Next Chapter —->

_____________

Welcome to this fanfic inspired by the Animal Crossing and Yandere universe, where I imagined an alternative sequel to an existing story. From Yandere-ac.

My goal is to revive this community with complex characters and intriguing situations. If some elements seem new or strange to you, don't panic: everything will be explained in detail at the end. Good reading, and hang on, this is just the beginning!

“Redd! Let me go, damn it!”

I was dragged inside his boat, where there was a metal door. Despite his injuries, Redd managed to pull out a key and unlock it.

As we entered, there was a large cage at the bottom of the stairs, and Redd threw me roughly onto a mattress, which softened my fall. Although I briefly lost consciousness from the fall, his yelling and cursing kept me awake, helping me stay aware despite the pain.

“I wanted to do this the easy way, Y/n! Believe me, I tried! But if you keep acting like this… always so stubborn… I’ll have to be more forceful!”

I tried to run towards the cage door to escape, but Redd was quicker than me, locking it behind him with a double turn, and now we were both alone inside the cage—I was trapped!

He tried to approach me, but adrenaline made me crawl back to the wall, desperately trying to get as far away from him as possible.

“Oh, Y/n…” he whispered as he slowly approached, while I remained frozen. He knelt beside me, pulling me into his arms and staring into my eyes. “You can’t escape, and no one is coming to save you. Get comfortable, the trip back is long.”

Saying that, he gently laid me back onto the bed, though I could no longer move. He kissed my forehead despite my weak attempts to resist. I could only make small movements and let out a faint whimper.

Then, he left the cage, carefully locking both doors, leaving me alone, imprisoned.

Had he planned this all along? How long had he been plotting to kidnap me?!

I slowly got up, scanning the place I was in. It looked like a bedroom. In the middle was the mattress that had cushioned my fall, preventing serious injury. There was also a small lamp to fight off the dampness, a canteen of water, and a wooden panel hanging on the wall.

I paused to think about how to escape. Redd didn’t realize it, but he had given me one advantage: I still had all my wits about me. Being on Redd’s boat, one thing was certain…

Redd is a survivor, always ready to run or defend himself in an emergency. There must be a secret passage somewhere to get me out of this cage…

Meanwhile:

Redd was steering the boat, whistling with joy. He had finally gotten you. After all that time circling your island, hiding in the dark corners, sneaking into your very own house… all just to take you away from that foolish man.

And in the end, he hardly had to do anything.

You had been handed to him on a silver platter, completely at his mercy.

It had been a year since the accident, and now, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. That bitter taste of loss… he had never really known it.

He had plundered, lied, manipulated, stolen, not just from Tom Nook, but from other men and women who had fallen under his charm. Even the most powerful ones, those who knew what he was doing, did nothing to stop him. They knew that, one way or another, Redd was untouchable.

With a well-hidden place, far from prying eyes, and loyal contacts charmed by his wit and intelligence, he knew he could keep you safe, away from the world.

To him, you were like a work of art, a delicate painting bathed in light. Your mere presence could erase each of his sins, committed day after day, night after night.

You had become much more than a simple obsession to him: you were his inspiration.

He had even dedicated a painting to you, a secret tribute to your beauty and everything you meant to him.

The idea that Tom would want to lock you away, hide you from the world, and especially from him? It was unforgivable.

To Redd, it was a betrayal of his only true happiness.

But before Redd could think of anything else, a powerful wave suddenly hit the ship, throwing him to his knees, along with everyone on board.

Furniture toppled to one side, and fragile glass objects shattered into pieces. Y/N, hitting their head, was cut by shards of glass on their knees as they lay half-conscious.

(Ugh! My head… What is happening?!)

They began to painfully get up, their thoughts still hazy, when they heard Redd’s furious shouts.

“HEY! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU—wait, TOM?!”

What? Tom! No, not him… How did he find me?

“Redd! Where’s Y/N?” Tom’s raspy voice demanded, leaving no room for discussion. It was much more of a command than a question at this point.

“How… How did you find me?” Redd was completely baffled, his tone betraying his confusion.

We were in the middle of the ocean, without Wi-Fi, no network, no means of communication. I didn’t even have my phone on me. Our scents, Redd’s and mine, were impossible to detect from such a distance, especially with the seawater masking even the strongest smells.

How could he be so sure I was on Redd’s boat? It seemed impossible to me. I know this might sound crazy, but… What if he had installed tracking chips? On me? Or on Redd’s boat? That was the only logical explanation I could come up with.

It would totally be something Tom would do. He’s always been meticulous and ready to develop technologies he found useful.

I had known Tom Nook for a long time. I had seen him evolve from a simple merchant with an apron to a man in a sweater worth a million bells. And that sweater? He never wore anything else now.

As his income increased year after year, Tom invested more and more in advanced technologies: surveillance apps, trackable devices, and sophisticated cybersecurity systems.

His cybersecurity engineers must have developed devices so advanced that they could be implanted almost anywhere, even on people, without them noticing. It was very likely that a tracking chip had been implanted in my body, which explained how Tom had managed to find us in the middle of the sea.

“Where is Y/N? I know they’re here, so stop messing around and tell me where they are!” Tom’s voice was rising, his anger growing.

(Damn! The situation’s getting worse, I need to find a way out fast… Oh?)

Y/N began scanning their surroundings, desperately searching for an escape as quickly as possible.

The small room was lined with thick wooden walls, but something seemed strange about the panel in front of them. The texture of the wood there looked slightly different from the others, as if time hadn’t worn it down as much, or that panel had been added later.

Looking closer, Y/N realized it was… a hidden partition! And it was wooden!

Curious, they pressed a specific spot on the wall, feeling a slight vibration, as if something was unlocking behind it. They used the glass from a lamp, now serving as a blade, to force the panel. It gave way slightly, revealing a secret passage.

Behind the partition, a narrow corridor stretched out before Y/N, wide enough for them to descend safely. The smell of salty sea air was stronger, which meant they were getting closer to the outside. The passage probably led to a service compartment or, even better, an exit to the sea. They were going to make it out!

But just as their excitement grew, they heard a loud noise from above, signaling that things were only getting worse.

BAM BAM

Tom Nook had boarded Redd’s ship and destroyed one of the walls with a single punch. So furious, he repeated his question.

“Where are they, Redd?! What did you do to them?! I know they’re here! You took them and hid them!”

The ship’s deck swayed slightly due to the rough seas, but at that moment, the real storm was between Tom Nook and Redd. The two adversaries stood facing each other, their gazes filled with hatred.

But something else was happening to Tom. His hands were trembling slightly, and his eyes, usually soft yet cold, were burning with a dangerous light.

“Don’t make me repeat myself again, Redd… You think you can take everything from me, huh? Y/N doesn’t belong to you! They’re mine, they’re under my protection, UNDER MY CONTROL!”

Redd’s voice became taunting yet threatening. This was a side of him Y/N had never seen before.

“Under your control? Tom. They ran away because they couldn’t stand you anymore. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“You want to lock them up in your little mental prison, watched 24/7? Faced with that, who would want to stay? You’re suffocating them, Tom. They fled from you, and you didn’t even see it coming.”

Tom Nook stopped, disoriented by these words, his gaze darkening. He shuddered, his eyes beginning to dilate, like a cornered animal. A low growl escaped his throat. His fists clenched so tightly that his claws dug into his soft fur, leaving small red marks. A vein throbbed under his snout, and his breathing became more and more erratic.

“You manipulated them. They would never have run. Never! They’re loyal… They? Run away? They can’t… I wouldn’t allow it. They need me, they know it, and you… You’re just an obstacle, Redd… A MISERABLE OBSTACLE!”

Tom’s gaze became even more intense; his eyes were now wild, almost unreadable. His pupils were so dilated that they darkened his stare. A spasm shook his right hand, as if he wanted to destroy everything around him. He took a sudden step toward Redd, each movement resonating like an imminent threat.

Redd, serious this time, took a slight step back, facing this surreal situation. He had never seen him like this, not even in their past confrontations.

“Tom… You’re losing it. Look at yourself, you’re on the verge of going mad.”

Tom roared, making Y/N jump in the process, his voice almost breaking the silence of the sea and sending shivers down Redd’s spine.

“CRAZY?! CRAZY, THAT’S WHAT YOU THINK?!

IF I WANT, I CAN DESTROY THIS SHIP! EVERYONE WILL FEAR ME, Y/N WILL BEG ME TO COME BACK! THEY’LL OBEY ME… OR I’LL DESTROY EVERYTHING AROUND THEM TOO!”

He made a sudden move, violently striking a wooden railing to his right. The blow was so strong that the wood shattered, sending splinters everywhere. His breath became heavier, more irregular, as if he was struggling to control the beast roaring within him. His muscles tensed, and his face was contorted with uncontainable rage.

Hearing all this, Y/N started quickly descending the steps, trying to make as little noise as possible despite their many injuries.

Their heart was pounding as they saw another door ahead of them, and fortunately, it wasn’t locked.

As they stepped outside, they looked around and noticed a securely fastened motorized lifeboat. With a good outboard motor and a spotlight mounted on it, it could help them navigate once they were out at sea.

As they tried to untie the ropes, they realized it was going to take much longer than expected. Trying to cut the ropes, they started crying in the face of the shouting coming from above.

(Damn… damn! I’m just surrounded by completely insane men! I don’t want to see them again… I never want to see them again.)

Redd, in a sharp, mocking tone but with an underlying caution, also started extending his long, sharp claws.

“There it is, you’re finally showing your true face, Tom. An uncontrollable monster, ready to destroy everything to keep control. Did you really think Y/N would stay with you after that?”

Tom’s breathing became rough, his chest rising rapidly, as if he was desperately searching for air. His eyes almost rolled back in their sockets, searching for Y/N, searching for his only comfort.

“They… They… They’re mine. I have to… I have to get them back… I’ll… DESTROY EVERYTHING if I don’t find them…”

Redd was ready to fight back at any attack that might come his way.

“You’ll never see them again, Tom.”

That was the final straw. Tom Nook let out an animalistic scream, a howl of pure rage. He lunged at Redd with uncontrollable violence, his blows becoming frantic, almost feral. Redd, agile and defensive, was barely avoiding the attacks. Tom had more strategy, more calculation in his movements. He was striking blindly, like a rabid beast, hitting everything in his path, including the ship’s structures, and Redd understood that all too well.

At the next knot, Y/N noticed they were leaving blood everywhere and were less precise than with the first knot. With a jolt, they heard Tom and Redd’s voices growing louder and more intense.

In their thoughts, they prayed for this knot, which felt like a knot of fate, to untie.

(I need to leave now. I’m out of time… please, I beg you, untie!)

Snap!

I pull one last time on the rope, and finally, the lifeboat freed itself with a soft splash against the hull of the boat.

(Finally! Soon free.)

Quickly climbing inside, I saw Tom roaring, striking everything around him.

“WHERE ARE THEY?! WHERE IS Y/N?! I’M GOING TO DESTROY THIS BOAT, AND YOU WITH IT, IF I DON’T FIND THEM!”

Splinters of wood flew everywhere. Tom, delivering violent blows, and Redd, dodging the attacks as best they could, kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings, ready to slip away at any opportunity.

With a bloodied forehead, panting, my knees, scraped by the shards of glass scattered on the deck, were throbbing with pain with every step I took. Despite the agony, I forced myself to free the last knot and start the engine. At the back of the boat, I turned one last time to observe the scene.

The blows they exchanged were so powerful that the partitions began to crack under the force of Tom’s despair. I thought I might be able to calm them down… I’m the biggest fool.

Without hesitation, I began to start the engine of the lifeboat, feeling the propulsion begin to move forward.

Tom, his eyes bloodshot, suddenly noticed me, and Redd understood Tom’s sudden halt.

Driven to desperation, Tom Nook ran, shouting to try to stop me.

“NO! Y/N, COME BACK! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! NOT AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE TO HAVE YOU!”

But I didn’t look back, my hands trembling, my mind clouded by fatigue and injuries. I could still hear Tom’s heart-wrenching screams piercing the air around me.

Redd, for their part, was losing their smile. The obsession they hid behind their calm facade began to break through. And seeing the boat drift away, nothing compared to that view. Even the pain of their injuries became invisible in the face of this reality.

“They can’t escape me… they CAN’T! They were supposed to be mine, Tom, but YOU ruined everything!”

Their eyes became fixed, and their voice rose, almost broken by the frustration of seeing their “prey” slip away.

Tom fell to his knees, still holding the steering wheel stained with Y/N’s blood.

“Y/N… Y/N, please… Come back. Come back to me… I can’t… I can’t lose you…”

The screams of the two men echoed over the water, but the lifeboat continued to drift farther away, gliding over the waves. Y/N, for their part, was lost in thoughts, their mind buzzing. They thought about everything that had just happened, the madness they had left behind, the pain of their injuries, but most importantly, about the freedom that now seemed within reach.

They continued on their path without looking back, despite the trials that awaited them.

I began sailing, watching the sky slowly change. I felt both stressed and relieved.

The calm atmosphere after the storm soothed me. No more shouting, no more furious men.

I found myself alone, and surprisingly, it didn’t scare me. But there was a problem.

I didn’t know where to go or where to take shelter. I had lost friends, caught up in this whole affair, and the few trustworthy friends I had left without even saying goodbye.

And Groucho… oh, Groucho… how much I missed him…

But being alone in the middle of the ocean was still preferable to the violent fight between Tom and Redd. Thinking of Redd, I remembered he had hidden a survival kit somewhere on board.

Inside, I found a first aid kit, some still-edible biscuits, three bottles of water, and… photos of me.

Looking at them more closely, I realized he had taken them back when I was still mayor. One of them was taken downtown, when he still had his shop in a shady alley. Another showed me on the beach earlier this year, while I was working on the island.

I put the photos back and kept searching. That’s when I found a sort of clamp and… a tablet?

Curious, I turned on the tablet. There was no password or owner’s name. Just a positioning app and a Bluetooth option.

Looking closer, I found a note that explained everything I needed to know.

_______________

Tracing Tablet User Guide

Welcome to the user manual of your multifunctional tablet. This tool has been designed to ensure your safety and protect your freedom against potential threats.

Main Functions:

1. Positioning:

This feature allows you to locate your position as well as any traceable objects nearby. Once activated, a signal is sent by any device connected to your network, showing you their location in real time.

2. Deactivation of Traceable Objects:

With this function, you can temporarily disable tracking devices present on your body. Even if a chip or another traceable object has been implanted in you, you can render it inactive for a limited time.

Warning: The deactivation is only temporary and can be detected by more advanced systems. Be cautious and use this option only in places where you feel safe.

3. Lémo App:

The Lémo app allows you to manage all the functionalities of your tablet. You can check active Bluetooth connections and verify devices linked to your profile.

Make sure your security settings are always enabled to prevent any intrusion or hacking attempts.

Warnings:

• Tablet Owner: Although the tablet is currently in your possession, it has been designed for high-risk situations. Those who provided it to you may have ambiguous intentions. Stay constantly on guard.

• Secure Usage: Never share your location or activities with anyone you do not trust completely. This device could be monitored by malicious entities.

• Support: In case of difficulty, contact a member of the Raid4Forever group for assistance. They are familiar with the dangers associated with this kind of technology.

• Reminder: Freedom comes with great responsibilities. Use this tablet wisely and never lower your vigilance. Your survival depends on it.

____________________

Reading this memo, I quickly got up, grabbing the electronic clamp that could save me valuable time.

As my fingers brushed over my body, I gripped the clamp tightly, ready to use it to deactivate the insidiously placed implant in my neck. A chip… How long had it been implanted without me realizing it!?

But today, I had managed to deactivate that damned chip. Still, a question burned on my lips: how had Tom Nook been able to implant a chip without me noticing?

I floated in the open sea, but I paused the engine, my hands still gripping the controls. I needed to think about the situation I was in. How had Tom Nook, that imposing tanuki, managed to implant something so small in me?

The wind gently picked up around me. I suddenly felt a craving for soda, the sodas Tom Nook used to give me… but there was something, a vague detail that eluded my memory. Then, Chris’s words resurfaced in my mind, clearer and more real than before.

“Tom Nook can get whatever he wants, Y/N. Traceable objects, surveillance systems… He even cut the ties between your town and mine… who’s to say he wouldn’t use them to find you?”

On my boat, those words echoed within me like an alarm bell I had ignored for too long, or perhaps even forgotten. But now, everything was becoming clear. Piece by piece, the puzzle was coming together.

He had everything. The means, the technology, contacts… He was even capable of improving tracking devices.

I was finally starting to understand some things. He always found me, whether I was at someone’s place, in a store, or even in a simple restaurant. He always managed to locate me, and if not, he systematically sent me messages whenever I got close to someone.

And the further I distanced myself from him, the more I sensed the extent of his obsession. It wasn’t just about possession; it was about total control. His spam messages and incessant calls spoke volumes. This was not just an obsession; it was suffocating domination.

I still remember that night. Everything became so clear in my mind, as if the puzzle pieces were finally coming together.

The drinks! That’s how he did it!

Everything was planned; I realize that now.

It had started innocently, almost subtly, with those drinks he gave me. Once a week, depending on the season. Hot in winter, cold in summer… I accepted them without thinking, unaware of what was hiding behind them.

Every morning, as I woke up in my bed, I noticed some pretty obvious signs.

My blankets were strangely wrinkled, and there was a pan placed on my bed, as if someone had cooked in my kitchen. With my memory problems, I paid no attention, telling myself it was probably me, half-asleep, who had made myself dinner after coming home late at night.

Then, there was that key. The one to my front door, which I always found on the floor, just inside. I thought it was just a clumsiness on my part… but why every Friday?

And the smell. A woody fragrance, a mix of dried leaves and burnt citrus. I remember having smelled it on my sheets once or twice, without ever paying attention. That smell… it was Tom’s. He wore that unique cologne. Why was that scent in my room?

At first, I hadn’t paid attention to it. I thought everything was normal. That it was just a simple act of kindness, those cans he offered me, sealed, as if no one had touched them. But now, I know he must have paid someone to add additives. Sleeping pills. Strong enough to pin me to bed for hours, unable to wake up, even if I wanted to.

It took Groucho inviting me for a drink at his place for me to finally not need Tom Nook’s drink. I had thought to keep it in the fridge for the next day. I came home, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I showered, slipped under my sheets filled with teddy bears and plush toys. I felt… heavy, but aware, much more aware than usual. That night, I still didn’t know what was about to happen.

That’s when everything changed… and oddly, I had forgotten.

I heard that sound, the distinct noise of a key in the lock. There was no crash, no forced entry. Just the sound of a key dropping — my key, probably — which explained why I found it on the floor every Friday. A simple click, as if someone with a spare set of my keys was entering. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. My body was frozen, but my mind was alert. And that’s when I understood. There was only one person on this island who could have those keys.

Tom Nook.

I felt every fiber of my body tense. The sheets were heavy, almost oppressive, while I pretended to sleep. I had carefully hidden the can in the furthest corner of my fridge, well out of Tom’s sight. That night, I hadn’t drunk anything. Fortunately. But he didn’t know that.

The door to my room creaked softly. I felt him enter, each step muffled by the carpet but still resonating in the heavy air of the room. He moved with the assurance of someone who believed he had total control, someone who thought his prey was asleep, unconscious.

“Good evening, my dear…” he whispered softly, his voice laced with a sickly tenderness.

I didn’t move, continuing to play my role. He got even closer; I could feel his presence behind me, immense, almost suffocating. His hand rested on my shoulder, and he slowly slid his lips across my cheek, placing a light kiss there.

“How was your day, hmm?” he said with that feigned sweetness, as if it were a simple conversation between a husband and wife.

My heart raced, but I forced myself to remain still. He thought I was under the influence of his drug. Every Friday night, the same routine. But this time, he didn’t know I had escaped his trap.

He continued talking, recounting his day, as if it were a normal moment between us. “Today, business went well. Timmy and Tommy improved our sales again, and everything is going according to plan… Soon, everything will be perfect, Y/N. We will finally be together. Nothing can separate us.”

His voice betrayed a hint of madness. He had convinced himself that we were a couple, that I belonged to him. A shiver ran down my spine as he headed to the kitchen, still convinced I was sound asleep. I heard the familiar clinking of utensils, as if he were cooking for the two of us. But the truth was, I knew nothing of this ritual he repeated every Friday night.

I took advantage of his absence to send quick messages to Chris. My heart raced faster with each passing second. If Tom returned before I finished…

After what felt like an eternity — or at least, what seemed like one — he came back into the room. This time, I felt a different heaviness in the air. I heard him set something down on the bedside table. A metallic noise. He had brought a pajamas, as if he planned to spend the night here, with me.

I squeezed my eyelids even tighter as I felt the mattress sink under his weight. He lay down next to me, wrapping his arms around me with a sickly possessiveness. He placed his hand on my thigh, stroking it with calculated slowness, as if savoring every second.

“I love you, Y/N. You are everything to me. I do all this for you, you know… ” He pressed his body against mine, his chin resting on my head, whispering sweet words, but so disturbed. “I protect you, I cherish you. No one else can understand you like I do.”

He kissed me softly, on the head, the shoulders, and even my “sleeping” lips. All of this disgusted me, but I couldn’t react. Not yet.

Then, suddenly, he sat up. I felt him fidgeting. It was Friday; he had something to do. My blood ran cold when I heard a small metallic sound.

Slowly, he pushed my hair aside, exposing the base of my neck. The pain was immediate when he inserted the clamp to adjust the chip. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from whimpering in pain. I must not let him guess that I was awake.

Minutes passed like hours. During that time, Tom Nook whispered sweet nothings to me, reassuring me of his infinite love while he manipulated the little device that condemned me to be tracked.

“There we go, it’s done…” he finally murmured after an eternity. “You are mine, dear. You belong to me, forever. I’m so proud of you. You made it through the day. I hope it was less hard than when you were mayor of Crossing. But soon, all of this will be just a distant memory. You’ll never have to worry about anything again. I’ll take care of everything. You, me, Tommy, and Timmy. We’ll live in a wonderful place together. Just the four of us. A perfect family.”

When Tom finally lay down beside me after eating, I began to panic.

So… this was the cause of my memory troubles and sleep issues, huh?

As I tried to get up, I attempted to move at least one limb to help me escape and call for help. But my legs refused to respond, as if they were paralyzed.

I’m stuck.

And suddenly… complete darkness.

As I moved along my path, my memories advanced like my journey; moreover, the chip was emitting fewer and fewer signals. I realized that this device was not just a simple tracking object. No, it was much more than that. It was also a tool capable of making me forget entire sections of my life. Or perhaps it was due to the medication that Tom Nook slipped into my drinks?

Because strangely, since the deactivation of that cursed chip, more and more memories were resurfacing, like forgotten dreams suddenly found after a long sleep. They imposed themselves on me with a troubling clarity, and each piece of the puzzle began to fall into place.

I now remembered the nights that followed my disturbing discovery. Every Friday, religiously, I would throw away the drink I was supposed to consume. Instead, I pretended to be asleep, hoping that by feigning unconsciousness, I could hear Tom Nook, catch his words, discover his true intentions.

I don’t know if it was a part of me that was still irresistibly drawn to him, despite everything he had put me through, but I wanted to extract as much information as possible. To know how far his grip extended, and above all, why.

But all he did, every week, was talk to me. To hold a conversation as if everything was normal. As if there was nothing more natural than breaking into my home in the middle of the night and whispering his controlling delusions to me.

He talked about his days, his plans for our “future together.” He told me how he had everything planned for us, to a point that it became almost frightening in its precision. He described scenes of our future life on a distant island where no one could reach us. He spoke of our “children,” Tommy and Timmy, as if they were his own, as if we were already a perfect family. He poured out his disturbed thoughts, believing I couldn’t hear him.

With every word he uttered, I understood a little more the extent of his madness. He was convinced that all of this was real, that we were meant to be together, that everything he had done was for “our good.”

But I, now awake, knew that it was nothing but an illusion. An illusion he had constructed and in which he was trying to trap me.

The sea stretched out before me, black and unfathomable under the soft glow of the stars, which, despite everything, managed to maintain a slight brightness on the horizon. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The constant noise of Redd’s boat engine echoed in my ears, a monotonous sound that kept me alert, even in the middle of nowhere. I had been sailing for hours, drifting away from the islands under Tom Nook’s control.

My hands trembled with fatigue, gripping the steering wheel that I held carefully, fearing every sudden movement. If I let go of the wheel for even a moment, I risked losing control and being spotted.

But… I desperately needed rest. Glancing at the tablet screen, the device clearly displayed Nook’s surveillance zones. There were not two or three, as I had hoped. No, to my great disappointment, all the islands were monitored. What remained were hostile territories, devoid of any security.

However, there was no surveillance at sea, and I had just entered a relatively safe perimeter. No signals, no drones.

I began to drift slowly toward a small rocky island, cautiously approaching the shore. There were no cameras, no poles to tie the boat, and it was an unexpected opportunity.

I suppose Tom deemed this island “too small” to exploit. He probably abandoned any idea of monitoring it.

I cut the engine, and the sudden silence enveloped the air around me. Only the sound of waves against the hull of the boat disturbed this tranquility. I let out a sigh of relief before dropping the anchor. The boat sank gently into the sand, and I made sure to secure it tightly to prevent it from drifting.

I began to walk on this deserted island, curious to learn more.

“Tom Nook considered this place too small to be exploited… He abandoned it, and I understand why. There’s no port to tie up a boat, no helipad… Nothing useful.”

I ran a hand over my hips, observing the exotic fruits hanging from the trees, ripe and ready to be picked. A faint smile formed on my face.

“And yet… This could be a good place to live, right? A place where no one would ever come looking for me… where I could finally be alone. Without Tom Nook, without Redd, without any of those crazies who want to control me, possess me.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining building a small cabin with my own hands, planting fruits, living simply.

“I could even build a house… I learned how to do it by watching Tom. And I could survive here, plant fruits, go out to sea at night to avoid being spotted, quietly bring back resources…”

A light laugh escaped me, tinged with a hint of madness.

“If only it were that simple.”

The gentle lapping of the waves oddly cradled me. Gradually, I lay down on the sand, exhausted after so many hours at sea. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

“Maybe I could really stay here… never seeing anyone again…”

Thinking this, I didn’t even realize how quickly I was sinking into sleep.

I had settled on this small island, convinced it was too insignificant to attract Tom Nook’s attention. It was a peaceful place, under surveillance, an apparently perfect refuge. Yet that night, a strange dream came to disturb me.

The water shimmered under a moonlight I couldn’t see, but I felt its presence. I was alone, standing on a fine sandy beach, my feet sinking slightly into the damp ground. Before me, the sea stretched infinitely, calm and silent, like a perfect mirror reflecting the invisible. Then, in the distance, a familiar silhouette emerged from the horizon: Groucho.

He was there, immense, imposing, literally walking on water. Every step he took seemed in harmony with the liquid surface, as if he defied the natural laws of the world. His gaze rested on me, intense yet soothing. He said nothing, but his silence spoke more than words. He extended his hand, a simple gesture but full of meaning. I hesitated, wondering how he could walk on water… How was that possible?

Yet something inside me urged me to move forward. Slowly, almost unconsciously, I began to walk toward him, feeling my feet leave the safety of the sand to rest on the water, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t understand what was happening, but the warmth of his hand in mine brought me an odd comfort. The more we walked together, the more memories returned to me, moments shared with Groucho, instances of silent complicity. His words, though informal, resonated within me, reminding me of the times he had managed to make me smile, even in the worst moments.

We walked for a long time, in silence, until he finally stopped. With a gentle gesture, he pointed to something in the distance. A city. Huge. Vibrant. Groucho still said nothing, but I knew. He wanted to show me that this was where I needed to go. Not this small island. Staying here would be too risky. They could find me, even in this seemingly lost place. There was no security in insignificance.

And just as I was about to ask more questions, I woke up, abruptly, my heart racing. It was still dark, but I knew I couldn’t stay here. Groucho, through this dream, had shown me the way.

At the same moment I restarted the engine, the sounds of motors and helicopters harmonized. Straining to listen more closely, I realized these helicopters were heading in my direction.

I leaned slightly, my fingers gripping the boat’s controls, my breath coming in short gasps. Around me, the dark sea seemed to protect me, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I first heard a dull noise, like a distant buzzing that was getting closer. The sound of helicopter blades broke the silence, and then voices emanated from loudspeakers attached to the flying machines.

“All boats, maintain your positions! Helicopters approaching.”

I shivered. They were close. Too close. The rumble of the boat engines became more distinct as well. My heart raced as I tried to stay hidden, but their presence grew increasingly oppressive.

“Unit 3, advance toward the northern zone. Unit 5, check the east beach. We need to locate her quickly. Don’t let her leave the area!”

The authorities’ instructions echoed in the air, sharp and precise, both alarming and relentless. They were talking about me; I was sure of it. Each word sent a chill down my spine.

“We’re searching for an individual, code name: Y/n. Potentially armed. Priority: location and capture.”

I gritted my teeth. How did they know? How could they have guessed I was here?

“Helicopter Alpha-2, perform a thermal sweep. Boat Delta-4, you are too far from the target, tighten the perimeter immediately!”

My breathing became more erratic. Their voices were now so close that I could almost hear the helicopters’ engines above me.

“We’ll get her. She can’t go far.”

I tried to ignore the rising panic within me. I had to stay focused; I didn’t have much time left.

I launched the boat at full speed, feeling the adrenaline surge through my body.

I couldn’t stay hidden here forever; it was better to reach the city quickly.

The engine roared beneath my feet, and I could almost taste freedom within reach. But that feeling was short-lived. The sound of the helicopters grew louder, drowning out the roar of the waves.

The water slapped against the hull, and I sensed something was wrong. I hadn’t been discreet enough. Suddenly, a light flickered in the distance. The helicopters. They had spotted me.

“Helicopter Alpha-2, we have movement on the water! Confirm waves detected at 3 o’clock!”

My heart tightened. No, not now… I pushed the engine to the limit, but the helicopters were closing in.

“Boat Delta-3, we have visual on a vessel! Heading 280, movement confirmed. Possible target: Y/n.”

I was sweating under the pressure. Their strong, authoritative voices haunted me, amplified by the loudspeakers above my head.

“Y/n… You cannot escape. We know you’re there.”

My heart skipped a beat. Tom Nook. His voice flooded the airwaves. I felt sweat trickle down my neck as I accelerated further, nearly losing control of the boat. He continued, relentless.

“Anyone who captures Y/n will receive a substantial reward. She is wanted. One million bells to whoever brings her to me UNHARMED first.”

“We see them!” someone yelled from a helicopter. “To the southeast! They’re trying to reach the mainland!”

The voices multiplied, some calm, others panicked.

“Unit 5, cut them off to the north!”

“Delta-7, circle around from the west. We need to trap them before they reach the city!”

The boat creaked beneath my feet, each wave making it tremble a little more. Redd had unconsciously trapped me, of course. This boat was never meant to last more than a day; I know that now. He gave me just enough hope to believe I could escape, then left me with this wreck that threatened to disintegrate beneath me at any moment, easy to build, easy to damage… Damn it!

But I couldn’t stop. Not yet.

I yanked the controls, zigzagging to avoid the searchlight beams sweeping the water. They knew I was there somewhere, but I had to keep them from locking onto their target. The engines roared behind me, their massive shadows drawing closer. I was out of breath, my arms ached, but I pressed on. If I stopped, it was over.

The sky above me was black, without a moon to guide me, but I kept my eyes on the small gap I could see in the distance. A chance, perhaps, a tiny opening between two boats. If I could make it through there…

But before I could even think about it, a huge boat positioned itself right in front of me. The waves it caused lifted me, tossing my boat into the air. I lost complete control, my body pitched forward, and icy water slapped my face. I couldn’t see anything for a moment. When I finally opened my eyes, the boats had surrounded me.

I looked up, panting, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. They were there. In front, behind, everywhere. The engines roared around me, their imposing hulls forming a wall. No way to get through. My gaze slid from one boat to another. They were lined up, an endless row, blocking all my escape routes. Except for a small space, right there, in front of me. But I knew it was a trap. An illusion of freedom. They had me.

A voice crackled over a loudspeaker.

“You are under arrest. Drop what you have and exit the vessel. No charges will be pressed against you if you cooperate.”

A heavy silence settled in, but it was quickly broken by Tom Nook. His voice was broken, desperate.

“Y/n, come back… Please… It’s over. Don’t hurt yourself. Come back with us.”

I closed my eyes. I could raise my hands now. Accept my fate. It’s all over. They had me. But a small voice in my head refused to give up. I reopened my eyes, and there I saw it. That small space.

My mind raced. There might be a chance. I could still get away. Just one last effort. My body trembled, my muscles screamed in fatigue, but I straightened up. I knelt, and my fingers tightened around the controls. One second. That’s all I needed.

“NO! Y/n, don’t do it!” Tom Nook screamed, his voice heartbreaking. I no longer listened to him.

I jerked the controls sharply, and my boat surged forward, narrowly avoiding the boat looming in front of me. I zigzagged between the vessels, my hands shaking, water splashing all around me, and Tom kept yelling behind me.

“Stop! Y/n, no!”

I screamed with all my might, the taste of victory within reach. I was almost out. Almost free. But my cry died in my throat as I saw him.

The Rock.

Too late. I don’t have time to dodge. The boat crashes against the rock, and the impact throws me into the air. My body falls hard, and my head strikes something solid. A dull pain floods my skull, then everything goes blurry.

I lie on the sand, covered in damp grains, half-conscious. The sound of the engines fades away gradually. They can’t see me. Not here. Not with this sand covering me like a shroud. I breathe heavily, my thoughts are muddled. Is it over?

Tom Nook is still shouting in the distance. He won’t find me. Not this time.

A familiar scent slowly pulls me out of my unconsciousness. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, gently waking me. I open my eyes with difficulty; the soft light around me still stings a little. I am no longer on the beach, nor in the icy water. That’s the first thing I realize. No, this place is… different.

I try to move, but a dull pain courses through my body. My muscles feel heavy, my limbs numb. Slowly, I become aware of the bandages covering my skin. My arms, my legs, my torso… even around my head, I have bandages everywhere. A thick dressing wraps around my right leg, and as I look closer, I notice a cast. The sharp pain that shoots up when I attempt to move that leg takes my breath away.

I freeze, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light. The room is calm, warm. I hear the dull sound of a television playing in the distance, a bluish glow filtering through the slightly ajar door. Familiar objects surround me: dark wooden dressers, a coffee table with a nearly empty bowl of popcorn, scattered energy drink cans. To my right, a bedside lamp casts a soft, golden light.

I’m not in a hospital. I’m… in a house.

My heart starts to race. How did I get here? Who brought me? My still foggy mind tries to recall the previous events. The water, the boats, Tom Nook, the rock… Everything comes back to me in flashes, but the pain is overwhelming. I raise a trembling hand to my neck, my fingers grazing the skin where, once, a small bump reminded me of the presence of that cursed chip. It’s gone.

Someone took it out.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rising anxiety within me. The chip is no longer there, and I’m still alive. Which means that, somewhere, someone saved me. But who?

I attempt to sit up, but as soon as I move, a sharp pain explodes in my leg. A scream escapes me, uncontrollable. My hands grip the sheets, and I grit my teeth, but it’s useless. The pain is too intense.

Before I can even react, I hear hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. The door bursts open, and a large figure rushes into the room. I immediately recognize the thick fur, the massive shoulders, and that worried look… Groucho.

“Groucho…?”

He rushes to my side, his eyes scanning my face for signs of pain or fear.

“Y/n?!”

His voice is low, filled with panic. “What are you doing? Don’t move, you’re still injured!”

I try to speak, but my throat is too dry. All I manage to do is nod. Groucho crouches beside me, his expression serious yet gentle.

“Yeah, it’s me. You almost didn’t make it, kid. You always knew how to get into impossible situations.”

He gently places a hand on my shoulder; his touch is surprisingly tender despite his imposing stature. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. They won’t find you here. I’ll make sure no one hurts you.”

He stands up, and I watch him disappear downstairs, his heavy footsteps resonating through the house. My mind starts to clear, but one question remains:

How did Groucho find me?

(Hey, it’s me again. To give you a clearer idea, some characters in my fanfic will have well-developed personalities, like Red. This story is heavily inspired by the Yandere-AC fanfic I mentioned earlier. The main character, one of my OCs, Vin, named her town Crossing in honor of a character with the same name who saved her many times. It’s a fun little nod, you’ll see!

Chris, another OC, is the mayor of a town that is independent and not controlled by Tom Nook. He despises Tom Nook, who is seen as dangerous, especially when it comes to Vin.

Vin’s background is tied to the earlier games, where she appeared as a mayor ready to go far, but later, her role was reduced to just an island representative under Tom Nook’s control.

Tom Nook, on the other hand, evolved from running a simple wooden shack to becoming a millionaire businessman, controlling IT services, creating his own phone brand, and expanding his real estate empire.

I’m working on a continuation of Dear Ocean, with a chapter 1.5 where I’ll explore the point of view of the other characters when Vin isn’t around. It’ll show how Tom Nook manages to reach her and what’s happening on his side, as well as his interactions with the other characters.

That’s about it, I think I’ve covered everything.)

[agaypanic]

Back at it again with the gay Francis request 🫶

Can I get a Francis Wilkerson x male reader where he falls for a skater boy with anger issues? Maybe pre-military school??? Or they can just meet during military school whatever makes more sense. But like reader is just the classic early 2000s baggy pants, drinks mtn dew, video game addicted, but he's also very stubborn with a mean streak.

Reader just like "im going to punch you in the face if you keep talking to me-"

Francis: "-ok but THEN can we make out?"

Francis Wilkerson With an Angry Skater Boy Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: idk anything about skateboarding whoops, don’t let your friends pierce you unless they’re a professional

***

You probably met before Francis was sent to military school

The two of you were either in the same friend group or ran in similar crowds

When Francis sees you for the first time, he’s probably thinking “wow, he’s hot”

He thinks he means it in an “i wanna be him” kind of way

Which is a bit true

But it’s more in an “i wanna be with him” way

Francis saw you first, sitting at a table with some of his friends and some other kids he didn’t know. You were playing with a wheel on your skateboard, spinning it absentmindedly while Richie talked about something no one else really cared about.

He sat down in the only available seat at the table, which was right across from you. He gave a half-hearted greeting to everyone, too busy glancing at you every few seconds to pay attention to anyone else.

Eventually, you felt his gaze. You looked up, seeing that he was already looking at you. Francis’ eyes widened in a panic, but he couldn’t help but look away. However, the slightly angry expression growing on your face made him wish he’d stop staring at you.

“What are you looking at?” you asked in a hiss, hands now gripping your skateboard and back straightening up. Francis tried to stammer out a response, but it was nothing coherent.

“Y/n, chill.” Richie laughed, looking at you with his usual half-lidded eyes. “Francis is cool, man, don’t worry.”

Francis nodded quickly, hoping that that along with Richie’s statement would cool you off a bit.

And it seemingly did. After giving the blonde a onceover, which felt more like a glare to him, you relaxed back into your slouched position.

Despite your somewhat coarse personality, Francis still wanted to hang out with you

He doesn’t know how he did it, but you start to warm up to him

By warming up, it mainly meant you not glaring at him every time he got near you

Soon enough, the two of you were hanging out regularly

“On your right.” You muttered, focused on the violent game that you had on the TV. Francis had come over to your place after school, mainly to get away from his mom, so you thought you’d pass the time by playing the new shooting game you got.

Francis was barely playing. Instead, he kept glancing over at you every few seconds. There was something about the way you got heated so easily that got him excited. 

“Dude, you just died.” You laughed at him, and Francis’ eyes snapped to the screen to see that he was, in fact, killed. He sighed and tossed his controller on the bed, acting like he was annoyed when it really just gave him more of an excuse to check out your room. And you.

Keeping the controller steady on your leg, you played with one hand while the other grabbed your half-empty soda can. Francis watched as you chugged the remaining Mountain Dew, crushed the can, and threw it toward the trash can in the corner. 

“Stop staring, or I’ll punch you,” you said, catching Francis’ stare out of the corner of your eye before focusing back on the game.

“Yeah, right.” In quick response, you hit Francis in the shoulder. “Ow!”

The two of you like to get up to trouble

Graffiti some walls, smoke some weed, usual teenage troublemaker stuff

One night, while Francis was at your house, he told you about a little lecture his mom had given him

And how it made him want to do the complete opposite of what she told him

“You sure about this?” you asked, not really sounding concerned as you cleaned off the sewing needle you had taken from a random junk drawer. “Lois is totally gonna send you to military school.”

“Fuck it,” Francis said with a shrug, playing with the jewelry that he brought with him. 

“Okay then.” You shrugged, going over to your bed. You pushed Francis to lie down and sat beside him, staring down at him. “Don’t get pissed if I fuck it up though.”

“Kiss for good luck?” Francis laughed lightly. Even though it sounded like a joke, he was slightly serious. You thought about it for a moment. You supposed there were worse people to kiss.

“Sure.” You said with a shrug. Leaning over Francis, you pecked him on the lips quickly. “No homo.” 

“Wha…” Your actions put Francis in a daze, so he didn’t register you putting the needle to his nose as you pulled your face away from his. In a flash, the needle was through his left nostril. “Ow!”

“Don’t be a pussy, Francis.”

The two of you fell silent as you put some of the jewelry through the hole you had just made. Francis played with his hands, looking up at you as you hovered over him.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll hit you,” you murmured, your threat losing some of the usual seriousness you carried. Francis laughed.

“If I let you pierce something else, can I get another kiss?”

“...Fine.”

[scenicphoenix]

I've seen people make art and aus for the concept so I thought I would ramble a bit about it myself as well....Gloom Link

Instead of Raru's arm saving him, he falls into the depths and gets further covered and surrounded by Gloom. However Link is stubborn, very stubborn, he adapts. Like many of the monsters in the depths he instead gets stronger, however he refuses to listen to Ganon's attempts to control him. It makes him angry, he sees Ganon and the Yigas attempts to pretend to be Zelda to trick him and it only pisses him off. Due to having the spirit of the hero within him, he isn't just able to adapt to the Gloom, he's learning how to wrestle control of it out of Ganons hands.

Blood Moons make him stronger now, and he's able to use gloom based weaponry without consequence. However he needs to cover up heavily if he plans on going up to the surface, the sun now hurts. And using the Master sword is painful. His eyes glow sometimes. Getting the Master sword from the dragon of light (zelda) nearly killed him. The dragons tears weakened him whenever he found them, but he needed to know what happened to her. He makes deals with the Bargainer statues in the depths and the Horned God statue in the hidden castle passage ways. He fears approaching Hylia statues right now, especially after what happened with the dragon of light.

It took him some time to get the broken master sword to the temple of time. He gained the Pruha pad later than intended. He is unable to enter Zonai shrines at all, and if he could activate them entering them would likely harm him. I doubt the shrines programming could tell the difference between him and Ganon at this point.

Link spends most of his time in the depths, not wanting to hurt those on the Surface with him being a walking source of gloom. He can basically see in the dark at this point.

I like the trope of someone creating the being who seeks out to destroy them, and in Ganons case the longer he exists and spreads more gloom the stronger Link gets

Link can fucking teleport through gloom puddles like a splatoon character. He can, in late game, take control of gloom covered enemies or gloom created enemies like the hands. Why not ride a Lynle?

He becomes a sort of camp fire horror story for those on the Surface who weren't made aware of his situation. The Yiga however always seem to know about his status at all times, oh he's covered in gloom now you would think that would make him easier to find in a crowd.

He tends to wear the depths set when on the Surface. While it was originally designed to resist gloom it works well for resisting the sun as well. And that's because it covers him up completely. Keeps others from being affected by his gloom immediately as well. He tries and avoids entering settlements, because of the gloom. When finally getting into contact with Pruha he was mortified at the concept of entering larger busy towns and villages. But if he can help people he will. Like many chosen heroes before him, he's willing to destroy himself if it means the safety of those around him.

He only tells/shows his close friends what happened to him. Like Pruha, Robbie, Impa, and the sages. And of course after everything is said and done with, Zelda. If he remains gloom covered after defeating Ganon he will probably retire to the depths. He has a feeling that will be what happens.

He becomes a bit bitter from his situation. He becomes extremely stubborn and spiteful. Extremely angry towards a certain person. Feelings isolation and questioning reality. He's not angry or bitter at Hylia, only Ganon and what fate decided. He's not angry at how people on the Surface see him, maybe sad perhaps.

I think it would be interesting if Link managed to befriend some of the Yiga. I also think it would be funny if he accidentally got a small following because of this. Not what he wanted at all when he helped by giving people bright bloom seeds and stopping them getting attacked by gloom covered monsters by just making them freeze in place. He kinda see why that happened now actually, the freezing gloom covered monsters in place probably did that. They've seen him ride a gloom covered Lynle he's not convincing them to stop following him around like lost puppies is he?

He can still fuse things, it's just a different process and he has to be near gloom. He can descend, ascend, and go just about anywhere as long as there is gloom nearby. The lifting things and creating objects is something he invented himself with the use of gloom, using gloom hands to lift things and using gloom like glue to create things, gloom needs to be nearby for this to work effectively.

Even if he's covered in gloom, and his mind is cloudy and his emotions and mood changing because of it, he would still be Link. And he is inherently a self sacrificing guy, who would destroy himself to save hyrule and Zelda. He would be able to tell a fake Zelda from the real one, and he would be more easily upset at them trying to trick him and those he cares about. He probably zones out easier, takes him a bit to come back down to reality. He can easily go into auto pilot while traveling and just wander. His usual strategy of bottling up his emotions isn't quite working as well as it used to. He battles stronger monsters like Lynles just to calm himself down at this point.

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

Ok I want to actually write some stories about Moth Wizard (no promises, this brain has ADHD) so uh I'm gonna ask because I'm curious what people are interested in and how many are interested. Also this was an excuse to write short introductions for everyone.

Moth Wizard: The protagonist only in a technical sense. He's a kind but clueless and sometimes awkward Jewish Wizard specializing in controlling moths. The story is not about him but the people he meets as we follow him through his post-apocalyptic world in the 6200's.

Esh: They don't make cool, mysterious characters like they used to. These days there's always a cynical twist that says "Just kidding! They're not actually cool haha could you imagine? How naïve to think such a thing would exist!" Esh exists in defiance of this. A powerful wizard who makes it look effortless roams the land cloaked in mystery. Even their gender is unknown even to allies.

Natan: A rather ordinary, or at the very least un-magical, Jewish man who's lived a long good life and it shows. A loving husband, father, and grandfather and altogether a kind and generous man.

Necromancer: Long after Natan's death, his remains were torn from the earth to serve an undead army, but something strange happened... This is the origin of Brakha.

Brakha: This magically animated skeleton mysteriously developed free will and is now burdened by the knowledge that her bones belong in someone else's grave. She's determined to undo the necromancer's work... but could she learn to live if she fails?

Bus Driver: A Jewish wizard specializing in portals and transportation has together with her wife restored an ancient bus, which she uses to help large groups of people travel great distances in no time. Her services are invaluable to her community.

Bus Driver's Wife: A Jewish woman married to the Bus Driver, she helps her wife maintain the bus and is a very skilled artist, decorating the exterior of the bus with beautiful renditions of the two women.

Pathetic Woman: Because where's the feminism if women can't be a bit terrible? A bitter old lady, stubborn to a fault and somewhat self destructive. She'll bite if you get too close. (This post, in which I create her, explains her better)

Wolf Golem: Shameless self-insert in my true form. With glowing eyes, flesh of clay, and teeth of metal, this wolf-shaped golem seems to always appear when it's needed the most, determined to defend its chosen people at any cost, but always hoping its growl will remain a warning.

[bluegekk0]

if the radiance ever did make a physical form, what would she look like?

I don't have any art for it, but maybe starting with how Grimm's physical form developed would help give a better idea of what it would look like. I might draw it some day, as a little what-if.

Since in the past he had free access in and out of Godhome, his physical form was actually just him moving between the two planes and taking a physical shape when he was in the mortal world. So back then, his body was the same as his godly form. He quickly realized that it wasn't ideal for what he used it for, so he decided to modify it. I think that's when he first created a secondary form that he could control while dormant in the Nightmare Realm, essentially what happens now, with the exception that the physical form could enter the Nightmare Realm when not used. He made it smaller, more manageable, but still very similar to what he looked originally (he didn't make significant adjustments until after his banishment, which was in part him separating himself from the gods).

So if The Radiance made a physical form, she would likely end up following in the same direction. A body that is very similar, if not identical to her original form. I like to imagine every god has their own "cocoon" of sort in which their godly form remains as they walk the mortal world (since pretty much all of them change it to some extent), so The Radiance wouldn't be any different. She'd still be very bird like, maybe a bit smaller, but still just as imposing. I can't see her indulging in many mortal pleasures the way Grimm or other gods do, she's the no-fun god so she would keep the changes simple. Which certainly has the bonus of mortals immediately showing their respect to her the moment they see her, so just the thing she aimed for. Well, the thing she would aim for, if she wasn't so stubborn about welcoming the new ways of the gods. Though I suppose Grimm did contribute to ruining the idea for her, with all of his stories from the mortal world, many of which she found very undignified...

[siorca]

tf: one

Originally this was supposed to be just some starsky fluff but then my brain was like “what if starscream was like megatonus’ weird cat” and I’ve been picking at this for two weeks

—

Prima watched the exchange just outside of the light of the holomap. There weren’t many that were willing to go toe-to-toe with Megatronus, least of all the comparably tiny Cybertronians that Primus had created after the Thirteen. Starscream had proven himself to purposely go against the grain, always willing to argue, with a perpetual scowl on his face.

Many of the Primes did not like Starscream, unamused by his foul temper. Although it was unbecoming of a Prime, Prima had a strong belief that some of his comrades believed that as a Prime was the extension of the will of Primus, Cybertronians should temper themselves with humility.

Prima held no such archaic notions. Privately, he enjoyed how strong willed Starscream was. His tenacity represented the best of his species. It was thrilling to see him go head on with some of the more stubborn members of the Primacy. Starscream held no fear. It was endearing.

Vicious and determined, he had a strong need to protect his homeland, combined with a ruthless talent for violence. It made him a sight to behold on the battlefield. As High Guard Commander, he held invaluable intel on the morale among his fellow Cybertronians and unique insight into the movements of the Quintesson fleet. He had long ago proven himself to Prima to be a truly invaluable ally.

It helped, too, that Megatronus was very fond of him. As he took up most of the duties of directing the High Guard, he often took the brunt of Starscream’s ire. Even despite, or perhaps because of this, they had a mutual, sacred bond, that extended even beyond the battlefield. Megatronus had found a kindred spirit. It warmed Prima’s spark; so stubborn Megatronus was in who he chose to spend his free time with and how reserved he could be.

Prima watched Megatronus kneel next to Starscream near the holomap. Although the strongest and the largest of the Primes, he preferred not to intimidate nor loom. Megatronus’ razor sharp optics behind his mask watched the commander as he talked, as if trying to commit every small detail to memory. It was very charming, watching fearsome, strong, stoic Megatronus, bend to the whims of this tiny, ferocious warrior

The war room was mostly empty. The bulk of the planning for their next battle had already been finished - a minor skirmish a few cycles out that will hopefully help with one of their major supply routes. Most of the Primes and Guard advisors had already retired. While Starscream was often persnickety about war plans, his wings belied his hidden anxieties about the welfare of his unit. Despite how much he tried to hide it under abrasiveness, he cared deeply for his people. Megatronus understood this more than anyone.

Behind Prima stood Solus, a silent guardian, her mighty hammer tucked safely between her pedes. A fool would think she was bored, but the tight grip she kept on her handle ensured that she was a ready warrior. Solus was Megatronus’ closest companion, next to Prima. Master weaponsmith that she was, Solus enjoyed fostering her new forges onto Megatronus, and he, in return, loved to use them.

At the center of the chamber, Alpha Trion laid sentry over the control panel, subtly tweaking with the controls to give the illusion that he was needed. He often played peacekeeper, remaining a soothing neutral party when disagreements arose. There was a cool detachment in his stance, but the subtle twinkle in his optics belied how equally entertained he was by the encounter.

Megatronus and Starscream’s hushed whispers echoed harshly in the large chambers, creating a pleasant buzz of background noise. So lulled as he was by the hissing drone that Prima did not notice the quiet signal of an entrance ping.

“I apologize, Commander, but perhaps we should save some of your grievances for another time,” said Alpha Trion, gently, bemused. “Our resupply team has returned.”

Coming through the entrance was Skyfire, a mech who often volunteered for the extended supply runs. He was enormous for his station, but only came up to Prima’s shoulder on a good day. Prima knew him as a quiet and unassuming bot, far different from his compatriots in the High Guard. His bright white plating was scuffed and dirty, showcasing his long and dangerous mission.

“Good tidings, your Excellencies.” He bowed politely once fully absconded into the room. Prima offered his own nod in return, followed by the other Primes. Skyfire’s optics flickered down; small, warm smile on his face. “Hello Starscream.”

Starscream paused in his tirade, frozen, the sudden silence abrupt and off putting. His optics brightened, helm tilted as he appraised the newcomer. Then, in an impressive display of speed and agility, he flew across the room, burrowing into the heavy plating of Skyfire’s chest. If Prima were not a forged warrior, he would have flinched at the sudden flurry of movement.

Skyfire’s cheeks turned bright blue, haloed by his white plating. His hands migrated to the quivering edges of Starscream’s wings, instant and rhythmic, like they were always meant to be there, soothing the anxious lines. A full body melt against his plating was his reward.

Prima felt a lick of disapproval at the blatant public display of affection. Unfortunately, Starscream had a love for the spectacle and Skyfire was not a particularly confrontational mech.

Prima could not begrudge them too much. Skyfire was one of the few mechs who knew how to maneuver Starscream personality quirks. Buried deep, Prima was immensely grateful for Skyfire’s intrusion.

“Perhaps it would be best to reconvene for the cycle,” said Prima, letting all the authority of the leader of the Primes seep into his voice. Skyfire’s hands leapt away from Starscream as if burned, clutching them at his side. He met Prima’s optics with a not quite guilty expression. Starscream made no indication that he had heard him. “Skyfire, I shall receive your report by tomorrow’s mid-cycle, yes?”

Skyfire’s helm bowed, looking much too sheepish and contrite. His arms wound around Starscream’s shoulders to steer him out, though it was wholly unnecessary with the way Starscream so successfully dug his claws into him.

In the aftermath, Prima heard Solus’ quiet, muffled snickers. She came up to stand at Prima’s shoulder, her hammer swinging haphazardly at her side. “It is a blessing that he is such a fine warrior.” She patted his arm, consolingly.

Prima allowed himself a small smirk. “I suppose so, my lady.”

She smiled. “I shall see you tomorrow mid-cycle, then.” Turning to leave, she beckoned over her shoulder, “Megatronus, I shall see you for sparring early-cycle. Safe travels, Alpha Trion.”

“Safe travels,” echoed Alpha Trion. He continued to fiddle with his map, his eyes carefully tracing the pot-marked scars of enemy territory carved into the pre-rendered surface of Cybertron. He too, made his departure shortly after.

Prima’s optics flickered to Megatronus. He had returned to his full height, what little that could be see of his face forlorn, abandoned and lonely in the middle of the room without his companion, no doubt mourning their specific form of bonding.

Prima made his way over to Megatronus, patting his chest armor affectionately. “Have faith, Megatronus. There will be other arguments.”

Megatronus hummed, reaching up to grasp Prima’s servo, properly engulfing his hand in his massive purple claws. “I would hope so.”

Prima laughed lightly. “Well, my spark, I know you will be looking forward to that.”