#But perhaps is actually more in need of love?

[magerightsmagefights]

This reminds me of the sentiment I had when I first played the game, when I got to know both Davrin and Lucanis that I thought, "Hmm. These seem like two petri dishes of Fandom Romance, labelled "Blackwall Concept" and "Blackwall Appearance" respectively.

Let me explain.

I am not saying that either Davrin or Lucanis are based on Blackwall, nor that they are Blackwall cut in half. But in terms of story, and particularly the way the first few scenes treat Davrin/Rook vs. Blackwall/Inquisitor, there are a few striking similarities.

Their first scene introduces us to an (assumed) Grey Warden, who is gruff, action-oriented, and will take control of a dangerous situation without hesitation. Through external storytelling (Assan/Blackwall's recruits) we are also told that this man has a gentler, nurturing side to him, and a goal to protect those weaker than him. This man is not awestruck by the protagonist; indeed, he's comfortable issuing orders to them if the situation calls for it. He isn't recruited by any initial attraction to the protagonist; he agrees to join the team because he has a deep-rooted urge to help, to save, and to protect.

As we get more acquainted with this Grey Warden, we learn more about him: he's comfortable and competent in a command structure, no matter whether he is subordinate, superior, or comrade. He likes animals, is generally laid-back, and carves wood in his spare time. He protects the innocent, and admires those who do the same. He's self-sacrificing to a fault, perhaps to a worrying degree, but that's par for the course with Grey Wardens.

Here, of course, the two paths diverge. Davrin is a woodsman in the Dalish sense, with a love for nature and a soft, mischievious side he thought he'd left behind in childhood. Blackwall is, well, Blackwall, and who he appears to be is different than who he is. But that's what I'm talking about. Appearances. Because the first few scenes are how most people get their first impression of Blackwall, they don't know the truth about him.

All to say, everything Blackwall appears to be at the start, Davrin actually is. Everything you thought you were getting from Blackwall, Davrin actually delivers. Gruff, masculine with a soft side, Grey Warden warrior who self-sacrifices. Love for animals, love for those weaker than himself, and willing to cut his own throat to feed the flower of hope.

And then we have Lucanis. He is nothing at all like Blackwall, except that they are middle-aged men with long(ish) black hair and excellent black beards. There's not much else to say.

It's so clean-cut, it feels like a science experiment. If not for DAV's hellish development cycle, I'd wonder if it was deliberate. Here sit our two petri dishes, and between them sits a question: Is it the character concept, or the appearance?

Given the preceding posts, and the general nature of the DA fandom, I think the answer is self-evident. But this is about more than popularity. Blackwall wasn't the most popular Inquisition romance. This is about who the fandom is markedly aggressive to. On its own, the sentiment "Davrin is irrelevant" is, frankly, bizarre. Others have already mention how crucial he is to the main plot, so no need to retread old ground. This isn't even about relevance, because plenty of DA companions are irrelevant to their main games. That's why you can kill, send away, or simply refuse to recruit so many of them in the first place. Davrin is certainly more 'relevant' than Blackwall, and yet there is far more discourse around him. Davrin is far more crucial to the main plot, and yet there is still that constant string of questions about whether he's "really necessary? Do we really have to pay attention to him? So what? He's the least interesting companion, not because he's Black, it's just because he's badly written."

Is he, though?

Is he?

i'm sorry but the "da fandom is a little racist BUT veilguard holds most of the blame for making davrin so irrelevent in the game" excuse is the weakest shit i've ever heard. no actually i genuinely think this is almost exclusively a fandom issue. like i won't argue that the "davrin vs harding choice is reliant on assan" shit john epler pushed was unbelievably racist and i won't argue that there's merit to the fact that it was tone deaf at Best to have the black man's character arc so reliant on his animal companion but i'm sorry you cannot fucking convince me that the "knight in shining armor with a gentle heart and a cute animal companion that takes you out on picnic dates and carves you little wooden trinkets" character is not almost Perfectly Engineered to be the most popular romance option in any game ever and yes i fully believe the only reason he isn't is entirely hinged on the fact that he's black and no amount of whataboutism towards the devs can convince me otherwise

[moodymisty]

I would love to give the primarchs a massage, just the idea of these massive men who are constantly at war turning into puddles under the hands of their lover. And maybe offering to return the favor 😏

Author's note: I feel like sanguinius' wings would ache after long battles <3 Relationships: Sanguinius/Gn!Reader Warnings: None really

"Sigh..."

At first, Sanguinius would reject attention such as this; Insist he didn't need it, and that the gesture was wasted. He didn't want to seem weak or didn't want to be the center of your affection, you couldn't quite tell. Or perhaps it was both. Now so much deeper into your relationship he's much more allowing of such attention, stomach curling as he hunches in relaxation.

Now he allows it, because he knows you enjoy it just as much as he does.

His wings twitch happily as you press against the sore muscles at their base, flying and holding them tense for so long has cause them to become tight and strained. Your gentle hands do wonders in loosening them, along with the warm water of the bath. He's the closest he's yet gotten to euphoria- just peace and happiness. Even if for only a little while.

"They're always so sore..."

You mumble to yourself, feeling the sections where his armor dug into the skin. Sanguinius has plates that wrap around the base of his wings to keep them safe; One cut of a tendon could render him flightless for a period of time.

"I use them quite a bit, love."

He feels you smack his shoulder, the water adding a wet plap to his skin. Your hands slide along his wet skin, droplets sliding downward. His feathers repel most of the water, but he still holds them somewhat out of the water to keep from having to preen them all over again.

"You know what I mean."

Sanguinius chuckles at you, feeling your lips press against the dip between his shoulderblades.

"I do, but it is quite fun to tease you. Perhaps I would stop if you didn't always have such a reaction."

He still can't see your face, but he can hear your disgruntled sigh and chuckles again. He's smiling as well; A real one, one that actually reaches his eyes and makes their lovely color brighter and warmer.

Pushing against his shoulders harder trying to soothe his deeper muscles you feel his body relax more, leaning forward a bit more harshly as he looses tension. His wings twitch a bit more, before he stretches them and feels how much less sore and aching he is already.

"I'm well enough, come back where I can see you."

You shake your head despite him being unable to see it, though he can probably hear the shifting of your body in the water.

"I'll be done in a bit," You say, feeling the brush of his feathers against your arm as you push towards the base of his wing. He lets it droop a bit, the tips of some feathers dipping into the warm water.

"I should do your hair after this..." You mumble to yourself, an action which has Sanguinius turning around to snatch you off the step you're on, pulling you to sit on his lip.

"I wasn't done!"

You quickly complain, grumbling discontent as Sanguinius leans down and nuzzles his face into your neck. He hums happily, and you can feel him relax as he breathes in your scent and feels the thrum of your heart in your artery.

"Shush, you. I can wash my hair later. Let me just enjoy you for awhile."

[mommyslittlebird]

Pendulum

Wanda x Reader, WandaNat x Reader

After a session with Wanda the prior evening, you wake up alone in your bed and find you’re a bit more reliant on her than you’d like to be.

CW: Sub drop, (kinda) panic attack, mood swings, guilt, Mommy Kink, mentions of spanking, established WandaNat (no cheating), pills (Tylenol and Xanax), Wanda generally being a protective and worried mama

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I may know hardly anything about dom drop, but I’m ✨well versed✨ in sub drop. I honestly think this one is adorable and I hope you all enjoy.

A/N: I wasn’t doing this consciously, but reading this back I realize I kinda did a reverse YAIL, so, if you haven’t already, go check out that series by @wandasaura

You woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air before your head even left the pillow. It was hard to find anything to ground you in your dark bedroom, but with the help of your stuffed bear, Francis, and some breathing exercises you’d been working on in therapy, you were able to calm down at least enough to breathe. Still, you found yourself dizzy, nauseous, in pain, and, perhaps most excruciatingly, alone.

Wanda. Where was Wanda? Where was your mommy? You needed mommy.

“Mommy?” You cried quietly into the empty room. But she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. She was at home, tucked peacefully into bed with Natasha, her wife. And you were here, in your cold, empty apartment, all alone.

You turned to look at the clock on your bedside table. 1:30 am. It was far too late to call her. She had to get up for work in a couple hours. You had to get up for class in a couple hours.

But god, you needed her. You needed just to hear her voice. Everything felt so empty without her here. Your brain felt like it was underwater. You couldn’t think. It felt like your mind was strapped to a pendulum, swinging back and forth between extremes. It’s like half of your mind was begging for Wanda while the other half scolded you for your over-reliance. You wanted her, but you didn’t want to want her. It was hyper-dependence clashing with hyper-independence in an internal battle that left you dazed and confused.

Just call her, you thought. She told you to call her if this ever happened.

You’d been her submissive for months, and, though you’d never actually experienced sub drop with her, the two of you had discussed it extensively. “You can call me at any time,” she’d said. “Even if it's been days. I’m here for you in any way you need me.”

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, pulling up her contact and hovering over the call button. But before you could press it, the pendulum swung back. You hurled the phone into your beanbag on the other side of the room.

What are you thinking? You can’t call her. She’s not your fucking girlfriend. You’re so reliant on her and she doesn’t even care about you. Leave her alone. This is your mess. Handle it.

You sighed, dragging your aching body off of your mattress. Everything hurt. The wounds she’d so loving inflicted the night before ached even more than they had when they were fresh. You wanted, needed, to feel her soft hands massaging soothing balm into your skin like they had only hours prior. But no.

Wanda. Wasn’t. Here.

It was just you and you alone. You needed to take care of this. You needed to pull yourself together and handle this on your own. You felt like you might be sick. The swinging of this pendulum was nauseating. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, pulling two Tylenol and a Xanax from the medicine cabinet. You sat on the toilet, tucking your head between your knees.

You didn’t understand what was happening. Or rather, you didn’t understand why it was happening. Wanda had done everything perfectly, just like she always did. She’d insisted you stay with her until you were out of subspace and your mind was clear again. She’d given you all the cuddles and love and reassurance you could possibly want. She’d even rubbed that soothing lotion on your sore ass despite the fit you’d pitched about it. This shouldn’t be happening. She’d done everything she was supposed to do. You were the problem.

You moved from the bathroom to your living room, pacing anxious circles until you worried the neighbors would complain. Then you decided on a walk.

A little walk to clear your head. That should help. No need to bother Wanda. You could take care of this by yourself.

—————

A little over two blocks proved you could not, in fact, take care of this by yourself. You found yourself collapsed on a bench outside your favorite coffee shop, her contact pulled up on your phone, sobbing as your thumb hovered over the call button.

You clicked it, anxiously awaiting an answer through the dial tone. Every second without an answer was a battle not to hit the red button, and smash your phone on the ground so you wouldn’t be tempted to try this again.

“Hello?” You heard, not Wanda, but Natasha’s sleep addled voice.

You silently cursed, debating hanging up the phone and forgetting the whole endeavor. You had very limited experience in dealing with Natasha. Where Wanda was warm and inviting, Natasha was cold and intimidating. Wanda had told you once that Natasha had a soft spot for you, but you remained unconvinced any of Natasha’s spots were “soft”.

Wanda had explained to you that Natasha’s had submissives of her own, but she tended to prefer brats, submissives who needed a harsher hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t like you,” Wanda had explained, “she’s just not used to sweet little girls like you.”

Still, the woman terrified you. And she definitely was NOT the one you wanted to be speaking to right now. But you took a deep breath, and answered her. “H-hello, Miss Natasha. C-can I speak to Wanda?” You stammered. You couldn’t keep the tears and desperation out of your voice when you added a “…please.”

“Y-yeah, sure honey. Just a second let me get her up,” she responded tiredly.

Your heart shattered at the thought of Natasha rousing a peaceful Wanda from her sleep just because you couldn’t get yourself together. But all such thoughts faded when you heard her voice through the phone. “Angel? Is that you? Is everything okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“Mommy…” you said tearfully. “I’m okay. I promise I’m okay, I just… I don’t know what’s happening. I mean I’m dropping, I know, but… I don’t know. I just needed so badly to hear you and talk to you. I’m sorry for waking you up. I’m so sorry. I know you said….” You were rambling breathlessly, but Wanda soon cut you off.

“Breathe for me, little love,” she instructed softly. “Three deep breaths. In and out. Can you do that for me, angel?”

You nodded despite knowing she couldn’t see you over the phone. You took three audible breaths, calming yourself down.

“Good girl,” she praised. “Now, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I… I… Sub drop, I think,” you explained. “But like, really bad.”

“Aww,” she cooed. “I’m so sorry, my little love. Can you explain to me what you're feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need company?”

“I just… I don’t know why this is happening to me,” you cried. “Everything hurts so bad. My head feels like it’s spinning. And… And my body is so sore. It’s never happened like this with you before. You did everything so perfectly. I just don’t understand why I’m being like this.”

“Sub drop can happen no matter what, honey. And I’m so sorry it’s happening to you, sweetheart. Do you need to come back over?” She asked.

You pondered her question, the pendulum inside of you swinging violently. You felt like you were being torn in half between admitting you needed her help, and feeling defeated and weak that you couldn’t handle it on your own. But eventually you remembered it didn’t really matter. You made your choice when you took the Xanax. You weren’t going anywhere now. “I-I took some medicine. I can’t drive. I’m sorry,” you admitted.

“What medicine?” She asked, panicked. “Did you take too much? Are you okay?”

“It was just a Xanax. Just one. Just like I take for school sometimes,” you reassured.

You heard her breathe a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry I panicked. You know I just worry sometimes. I tell you what, Nat and I are going to get you an Uber, and then you can spend the rest of the night here, okay?”

“Wanda, you don’t have to-“ You didn’t use her real name very often given the exclusively sexual nature of your relationship, but you needed her to know she wasn’t responsible for being your dominant right now. She was Wanda, and you were you: two grown adults. She didn’t have any obligation to take care of you right now, in the middle of the night on a Wednesday.

“But I want to, darling,” she interrupted. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah, but I’m not at the house right now.”

You heard her breath catch. “Where are you, honey? You promise me you’re safe?”

“I-I’m just at the coffee shop,” you explained. “I wanted to take a walk, b-but I didn’t make it very far.”

Wanda sighed. She’d have to have a little talk with you about walking all by yourself in the middle of the night. But not right now. Right now she just needed you in her arms as quickly as she could have you. “Alright, love. You’ve got a car on its way. Just stay on the phone with me until it gets there, okay?”

“O-okay.”

—————

The car was there within five minutes of Wanda’s order. Most of that time was just filled with tears and mumbled apologies on your end, and reassurance and encouragement on hers.

She waited anxiously by the front door for you to arrive, peeking out of the blinds with every set of headlights that passed by. She clutched her robe tight against her chest. If you were there, you would’ve teased her about her anxious habit. You always said she was “practically clutching her pearls.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, she was standing in the front door frame before you could even get out of the car.

“Mommy!” You ran up to her, nearly tripping on the front porch steps on your way in. You were even more hysterical now that you were seeing her in person. Something about the sight of her made you fall apart. You felt safe now. You were going to fall, and she was going to catch you, and everything was going to be okay.

“Careful, love,” she chided, taking you into her arms. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m gonna take care of you and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

It sounded more like she was reassuring herself than anything, but her words still washed over you like a wave of relief. “I missed you, mommy.”

“I know you did, angel,” she said, kissing you on the temple. “Mommy missed you, too.”

She wrapped her arms just under your ass, still sore and super sensitive from your activities earlier that night. She picked you up, wrapping your legs around your waist. You squeaked in a mixture of surprise and pain.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re sore. I’ll be gentle,” she cooed. “Let’s get you to bed. Tasha will be waiting for us.”

You just cried, burying your face into Wanda’s neck as she carried you up the stairs. You couldn’t talk anymore. You were so completely exhausted, mentally and physically. But it was okay. You had your mommy and everything was going to be okay. The bedroom door was already open, and, as Wanda had expected, Natasha was sat up against the headboard.

“Is that a little angel I see there?” You heard Natasha ask. Wanda sat you on her lap at the end of the bed, bending down to take off your shoes.

You peaked your eyes out from Wanda’s neck before perching your chin on her shoulder. “Hi Miss Natasha,” you sniffled. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s alright, little angel,” she assured, sliding closer to you and Wanda on the bed. She looked so much kinder than usual, soft sleepy eyes smiling at you through your tears. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded, still teary eyed and snotty on Wanda’s lap while she unlaced your shoes.

Natasha cupped your cheek, wiping away stray tears. “It must’ve been so scary to start dropping without your mommy there, huh?” Her touch was unexpectedly gentle, as were her words. Maybe Wanda was right, maybe she really did have a soft spot for you.

You nodded, trying to speak but only managing to whimper a “mhm.” You blushed a little with embarrassment. Wanda must’ve told her all about your situation. You wondered momentarily if she thought your behavior was overblown or ridiculous, but if she did, her gentle face showed no indication.

“But now you’ve got your mommy and everything’s gonna be okay, right?”

You nodded again. “I-I hope you don’t mind if I steal your wife for a little bit for-for some extra snuggles.”

“Not at all little angel.” Natasha smiled softly. She could see your anxious embarrassment, and decided, despite her inexperience with soft subs, she’d make an attempt to soothe you. She knew she wasn't expected to, but she found herself desperate to make you feel better, even if it was only a little bit. “Your mommy could hardly stop bragging about you tonight, you know?”

“Re-really?” You asked. Natasha could see the tiniest little twinkle in your teary eyes.

“Really,” she confirmed. “She told me she was so proud of her sweet girl for calling her, because that must’ve been so scary for her, to call in the middle of the night. She knows you don’t like to wake people up, and asking for help when you need it is so so hard. And I said ‘wow, it sounds like you have the bravest little angel in the whole world. I think she deserves some extra special snuggles from mommy tonight, for being so brave.’”

“Y-you really think so?” you asked bashfully, hiding back in Wanda’s neck.

“I really do,” she confirmed. “And you know your mommy keeps her phone on silent in the nighttime. But she cares about you so much she has a special setting so it rings just for you.”

You smiled. Your heart fluttered, not only at the idea Wanda had her phone on for you, but also at the thought that Natasha must’ve known it was you before she answered. “I-I thought you might be mad at me,” you confessed. “Cause you and-and mommy were probably all snuggled up in bed and I came in and messed it all up!”

Natasha stroked your cheek as she shook her head. “No angel. Never. You could never mess up one of our snuggles by asking to be a part of it. We’re both so proud of you, for calling and getting help.”

“P-promise?” You asked.

Natasha held out her pinky, which you wrapped with your own. “Promise.” She confirmed.

Wanda finally got your shoes off and placed them on the floor next to the bed. “Okay little love,” she announced, easing your pajama pants down around your knees. “I’m gonna get some of the nice lotion again, okay?” She’d already put a little on earlier, but she figured it would probably do quite a bit to soothe your current pains, both physically and emotionally.

You wrapped yourself around her, refusing to let her move. You didn’t need silly lotion, you needed her. You whined at the prospect of having to let go.

Natasha giggled and sat down next to Wanda. “Do you want me to do your lotion while you hang onto mommy?”

You nodded, sending her into the next room. Wanda kissed your temple. “I told you she likes you.”

“I’m so spoiled,” you mumbled blissfully into her neck.

“You deserve it, angel,” she said.

Natasha returned to the room with the bottle of lotion. She approached you and rubbed your back gently. “Alright little angel, is it okay if I touch your bottom, or do you want mommy to do that part?”

You pondered for a moment. On one hand, having Wanda do it would mean getting to lay over her lap again. But, you found yourself inexplicably excited by the thought of Natasha putting your lotion on. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could have the best of both worlds.

“You can do it, Miss Natasha,” you said while flipping yourself over to lay over Wanda’s lap.

“Oh,” Wanda squeaked in pleasant surprise. From this position she could’ve just as easily applied the lotion. She was pleased to know that you wanted Natasha to do it, though. She pulled up your shirt and rubbed your back.

“Okay, it’s gonna be a little cold,” Natasha advised, giggling a little bit when you jumped at the cool liquid anyway. Her hands were so gentle as she soothed your raw skin. You wondered if she was this gentle with her subs as well. “All done. Do you want a kiss?”

You nodded, feeling so completely at ease with the two women taking care of you. Natasha placed a gentle kiss to each of your red ass cheeks.

“Does Tasha’s kisses make it feel all better?” Wanda asked.

You nodded into Wanda’s thigh.

“I’m glad I could help,” Natasha giggled, placing the lotion on Wanda’s nightstand so it’d be ready for you again in the morning. She crawled back into bed, making herself comfortable on her side.

Wanda placed you face down on her own side of the bed, trying not to disturb you too much as she slid her legs out from under your body. She crawled over you, placing herself in the middle between you and Natasha, pulling you tight into her side.

You laid your head on her chest, catching a glimpse of Natasha’s pretty smile in the low lighting. She really didn’t look like she minded you being here at all. In fact, she looked happy.

In your fuzzy haze, you waved at her from across the bed.

Wanda and Natasha both giggled, hearts swelling at the innocence of the gesture. You just wanted Natasha to feel included, and what better way to acknowledge her presence than with a kind wave hello.

Natasha waved back. “Hi, little angel,” she said, reaching over Wanda to pinch your cheek.

You looked up at Wanda, your big eyes gently pleading. “Mommy, do you think I could sleep on your other side so I can be closer to Miss Natasha?”

Wanda smiled giddily. She never expected such a request from you, but she was more than happy to oblige. She was overjoyed to see your relationship with Natasha growing. “Of course, sweet girl,” she said, effortlessly flipping you over to her other side.

“You know, you don’t have to call her Miss Natasha,” Wanda said. You’d always called her that since you’d first met her without any prompting to do so. She certainly didn’t mind, but Wanda had always secretly hoped you’d get past the formality. There was nothing she wanted more than for her two favorite people to love each other as much as she loved them. “I bet she’d like it if you called her daddy. Only if you wanted to.”

You faced Natasha, who looked surprised at the proposal, but nodded.

“I thought only your subs were allowed to call you that?” You said, equally shocked by Wanda’s words.

“Hmm…” she pretended to ponder the question. “For my little angel I think I can make an exception.”

You smiled. “In that case,” you pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight daddy.” You turned back to Wanda, placing a kiss on her jaw as you snuggled back into her chest. “Goodnight mommy. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, little angel,” Natasha said, wrapping herself up behind you.

“Get some rest, little love,” Wanda said, kissing your head.

And finally, the pendulum stopped swinging.

[gh0stly-mp3]

hi!!! your works are so damn interesting and well written, you are great in this regard!! can i ask, if you don't mind, sae, rin, reo, ness and kaiser with a calm gentleman s/o (headcanons but a scenario is good too)??? because they DESERVE the sweetest person in their life. just an s/o who takes care of them, does all sorts of gallant things like opening doors, pulling out chairs, like "flowers on dates are THE must" and so on??? i hope everything is fine with you, stay like that!!! 🩷

Hiii! Thanks! Especially for saying that my works are well-written, I'm trying to improve my English writing skills and this cheers me up a lot! ♡ - I love this idea btw, gentleman reader is one of my fav tropes :))

Love like you -> bllk hcs

bllk boys x s/o gn!reader

synopsis: how some bllk boys react to you being a gentleman to them and treating them well

tags: blue lock headcanons, fluff, comfort, gentle reader, calm reader, slice of life, kinda established relationship

warnings: manga spoilers, mature language

characters: sae, rin, reo, ness and kaiser + bonus: kurona

a/n: i love doing requests hehe (they're open btw)

masterlist.

Sae Itoshi ~ ♡

Sae would try not to show how much he loves when you take care of him and treat him like he's your prince (beacause he really is). But damn! He adores it! His favorite thing is when you bring him breakfast in bed.

He's used to being treated very cordially, always having people open doors and do everything for him, which he doesn't care much about. But, when you do it (because you love him and not because he's famous), he has conflicting feelings.

At the same time that he loves to feel personally cared for by you, he tries not to show it and keeps up the pose of "you're doing this because I'm a celebrity, not because you love me," but - deep down - his heart is warmed.

Rin Itoshi ~ ♡

Rin thinks you're so perfect, but It would take a long time for him to respond to your affection, but eventually he begins to appreciate your gentle actions and, when he has the courage, approaches you to be by your side.

He gets a little shy when you open doors or pull out chairs for him, but try not to show you. He's too afraid to get close to you and feel safe around you, just so that in the end you abandon him.

The greatest act of chivalry with Rin is to show him your love without wanting anything in return and giving him space in moments of vulnerability. The only vulnerable situation he lets you get close to him is when he's sick, where he lets you hold him.

Reo Mikage ~ ♡

People tend to treat Reo very well when they discover how many things can he buy before even looking the price. So when you showed him gentleness and care, he quickly asked - "how the hell did you know?" - but to his surprised, you didn't know about anything.

He tried to buy you things, thanking your time and consideration for his well being. But then you continued, and worse... You rejected his attemps to pay for your things.

That was a huge surprise, and after this, Reo started to get more and more nervous when you bought flowers for him. You were not serving him, you were not there for a reward, you were not interested in status. Rather, you were loving him for what and who he was.

Michael Kaiser ~ ♡

It's difficult for a prodigy to love anyone, as everybody is, technically, bellow him. Kaiser treats you well, better than he treats everyone else. But you don't let his false ego brush off your determination. Perhaps, one would need more than gentleness to get into his heart, but you know that's too much work for what he really needs. Actually, you were already inside. You just needed to make him understand how much you loved him.

So, you bring him flowers and gifts; you watch, careful, when both of you cross the street; you even brush his hair when he doesn't feel like it. But, unlike all the others, you aren't interested in the champion. You don't bow and let the title he grasps so hardly dominate you.

And he observes in horror the blue color of the roses on the table. And he turns his blushed cheeks away when a car passes by and you put your hands on his chest. And he inches with the warm of your hands on his hair. And he lets you love him, but refuses to step out of his cave.

You know he will, eventually.

Alexis Ness ~ ♡

Ness was confused, surprised and even a bit annoyed with the first time you pulled a chair for him. He was careful not to fall on a prank but when he sit, you simply smiled. He was used to serve you, never him, it was always about you. And suddenly, someone got a glass of water for him. For him. He didn't ask. He didn't even hint on anything. You simply said how hot it was. He must have been thirsty.

Now he gets irritated everytime you make something for him. You were paying attention to his needs, to his attempts on hiding everything so he can make you happy. But sometimes, you catch a glimpse of him staring at you, smiling. (he lovess it, but don't tell him that)

+ bonus

Kurona ~ ♡

He always blush when you open doors or pull out chairs for him, and whenever you do it, he places a shy kiss on your cheek or forehead.

[lvicevlk]

#mdzs#mdzs meta#nie mingjue#jin guangyao#meng yao#nieyao#of course the inherent tragedy is that nmj is totally THE guy to ask if you want your death to mean something#nmj's reaction the the fact that most ppl's deaths are meaningless is to go: yes and I should change this.#If everyone thought like me this wouldn't happen anymore I simply need to get EVEN MORE HARDCORE about justice to MAKE them care#and this quality- which makes him the one person perhaps capable of making jgy's death mean something- also makes him a threat to his life#so jgy kills him because he needs to live. And then his beliefs about the meaninglessness of his own death are doomed to be true#what else was he supposed to do? just die and TRUST that someone would make it mean something?#like his mother trusted that his father would come back for them?#of course he can't do that.#just like how nmj's upbringing means that by the stairs he can't see how jgy- son of a sect leader and extremely capable-#is any different from the men who wrung their hands and told him that wen ruohan is just *too powerful* they can't do anything about him.#(*guy who killed wrh and wil go on to kill jgs voice* i just can't do anything about my dad being evil)#if jgy had agreed to risk his life and asked nmj to make it mean something if he died nmj would have said yes.#which is why he can't understand jgy wouldn't just ASK that.#jgy meanwhile has not been informed that was a fucking option and if he was wouldnt be able to trust that it'd actually happen.#for reasons outlined above#ahhh tragedy and inability of characters to understand each other i love you (via OP)

So I've said multipe times now (here and here) that thinking nmj is just so blinded by privilege he doesn't undertand that acting out of line gets people killed is, in my opinion, a misunderstanding of his character that ignores the part where he's, you know, actively dying the whole time and thinks that's a good thing. But that doesn't mean I don't think privilege plays no role at all in how he views the world.

Specifically, his view that death (at least premature or violent death) means something.

Death isn't always a tragedy to NMJ, but it is always meaningful. If you kill an evil dangerous person for your righteous cause, that death had meaning. There was evil in the world and now there is less of it. Similarly, if you die in the pursuit of your righteous cause, that death has meaning, because the sheer dedication you gave to it that you were willing to die for it will further that cause, and your bretheren will be invigorated by your sacrifice to fight even harder.

If a death isn't meaningful, that's an injustice and it is up to the living to give it meaning. That's what cuts so deep about his father's murder. There were no consequences, no changes, no meaning. Wen Ruohan was just going to get away with it! He fights and wins an entire war to make it mean something, to make it so that the unjust murder of Nie Mingjue's father is part of Wen Ruohan's downfall.

But this is a view he can only hold because he's the kind of person who's death will be meaningful. Most ordinary people's deaths are meaningless. Not ontologically, not inherently, but they are made meaningless because no one cares. For death to be meaningful you either have to be so powerful that anything you risk your life for will be impacted in some way. (Like, say, if you sacrifice a long life for immense martial power in a faustian bargain with a blade) Or if people with that kind of power care enough about you to do so for you. For most people, this isn't true. A starving street kid has no power to change the unfair world that put them there, even if they risk their life trying, and no one will do it for them once they die.

Nie Mingjue knows this in abstract, and of course rightfully believes it's wrong. But all that does is make it yet another righteous cause people should be willing to die for. Everyone's deaths should mean something, we'll make it so or die trying!

This is what the conflict between nieyao is about at its core. Because Jin Guangyao, fundamentally, cannot conceive of his own death as meaningful. Nie Mingjue grew up around powerful men who could change the world but refuse to do so because god forbid they risk a single hair on their perfect heads. Meng Yao, on the other hand, grew up in an environment where no one of importance would blink twice if you died. He was surrounded by meaningless death. Indeed his entire early life is defined by that lack of care.

Meng Shi dies and no one cares. Meng Yao gets thrown off a flight off stairs and no one cares. He has to be the one to do the caring, and once he's gone no one else will do it for him.

So he has to live.

Jin Guangyao eventually gets far enough that he actually does aquire the power to change some things... as long as he's alive. If he changes too much, holds on too tightly to his ideals, he'll die and it'll all be for nothing. He can't sacrifice himself for his goals because doing so would immediately render those goals unobtainable. No one will care about what he tried to do. He won't be a heroic sacrifice, he'll just be trash that finally cleaned itself up.

And well... Nie Mingjue dies, and someone makes it mean something. Makes it mean so much that the entire story of mdzs would not exist without it. Jin Guangyao dies and it doesn't mean anything. Most people are glad to be rid of him, and the few that are not don't do anything to change that.

[witless-winion1]

My thoughts on the paralyzed!Polites AU

(Which I really should do more research on; inspired by this)

Odysseus cries when Polites first wakes up

Eurylochus almost cries. Instead just let’s out a very shaky, relieved sigh and tells his friend “I’m glad you’re back”

his vision is messed with in that classic “Eye for an eye” vibe

His left arm is broken and yet he still insists on greeting the world with open arms

“Don’t you mean open arm?”

“You hush, Perimedes.”

So much survivor’s guilt but he’s very thankful to be alive and honors his fallen friends with Ody and everyone else

He basically can’t walk without help

Odysseus carves him a cane himself

It has a bunch of super cool details, including a winion

Polites adores it

(perhaps they go back to the Lotus Eater island and kidnap a winion for Polites? Like a comfort animal. Give Polites, my Disney Princess Pancake, a familiar plz)

But Polites needs a lot of help with things that require both arms or both legs or gods forbid all four

one dumbass numbnuts comments “would’ve been kinder to let him die” under his breath after Polites wakes up

Captain nearly throws him overboard

obviously

“My best friend would be delighted to live life in whatever form it came to him! You shut your fucking mouth and if I ever hear you ask such wretched nonsense again I’m going to put you on latrine duty for a month, am I understood?”

Eurylochus has to hold him back during this

Eurylochus also immediately assumes position of bodyguard of Polites.

He and Odysseus soon begin fighting over this job

they decide to share custody

(eventually)

OPEN ARMS REPRISES BUT HES ACTUALLY ALIVE!!!!

plot? Oh yeah plot

lmao what plot

after the Cyclopes passes out Ody is too busy making sure his friend is okay (which he is not). He gets somebody to check the other smashees and then stays by Poli’s side (no, he don’t give a shit that he’s captain, you guys go stab his eye, he’s asleep it’s not that fucking hard)

Odysseus carries Polites when the Cyclopes wakes up

he’s too busy thinking about getting him back to the ship and calling the best doctors from the 12 ships so he tells everyone to grab the sheep and HUSTLE

Athena grabs him and starts with her “HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE LESSONS I TAUGHT YOU? HE’S STILL A THRE-”

“ATHENA IM BUSY RN WE CAN TALK LATER”

“BUT HE’S STILL ALIVE-”

“WE’RE LEAVING BRO! HE’S NOT GONNA FUCKING SWIM AFTER US!”

they’re not on best terms for a while after that but they still reconcile after

then they get home! Whoop de do, congrant, 99.7777777778% of the canon plot avoided

when they get home and our sunshine is actually properly long-term treated, Odysseus and Telemachus’s first big father-son bonding project is to make Polites’ house more accessible for him

and Telemachus fucking loves Polites. Best Uncle Award. They vibe so hard that Odysseus cries

he almost cries when Penelope starts weaving clothes that are easier for his friend to wear. He’s a tiinnyyy bit jealous but he’s still so happy. And Penelope noticed and weaves her dear husband some clothes too, all his old ones are stinky asf

Eurylochus and all Poli’s friends from the ship still visit regularly. It’s just a big happy family

and nobody dies, not even Nobody

(except for those other guys from the Cyclopes cave but this ain’t about them)

[jackedjacket]

I just finished catching up with Spy x Family and I have to say how incredibly impressed I am with how amazing of a psychotherapist Loid is despite not technically being one himself. Endo's portrayal of how he reacts to Melinda's delusion that her husband is an alien is the way therapists should be treating/reacting to their clients who have delusions. He does not laugh at her. He does not dismiss her. Instead, he validates that it would be unrealistic to think we live in this universe alone. He asks her what has brought her to this conclusion. He suggests that perhaps her husband is a friendly alien, or that something similar could have happened to cause their rift (such as him getting superpowers). And more than that, he offers tangible solutions. He gives her a journal to write about the times when she thinks he may be reading her mind, why she thinks this, and how these times make her feel. More than that, he suggests that she actually addresses the concern of her husband being distant (which is what triggered this delusion) with him in order to get to a solution (yes, Loid's long term goal is to get Desmond in the office and develop a deeper contact with him, but that's besides the point).

And more than anything, I love this section here;

He knows the stigma of being mentally ill might make her not want to come back, and he knows that being mentally ill doesn't matter. What matters is that something is causing her an incredible amount of distress and pain, to the point that she came to see him, and that's what needs to be addressed.

When Loid first started pretending to be a therapist, I didn't really think we'd see much of it, and certainly not him actually treating patients. But the kindness, compassion, and understanding that he actually puts towards his patients is incredible and is something that we need more in real world therapy. This is the type of treatment that would help people. This is the understanding people need.

[gaycragula]

A Lovely Hunting Trip

Pairing: Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor Kenway x Male Reader Warnings: Suggestive, internalized homophobia a little bit Word Count: 1536 Masterlist

You’d met Connor a while ago. He’d helped you fend off a pack of wolves that had attacked you and your small camp, offered you a place at his ���homestead’ as he’d called it. And, of course, you accepted. You were in need of a home regardless and having something stronger than a flimsy tent to keep the wolves out sounded wonderful. Of course, it didn’t come completely for free. 

You were a hunter and, along with Myriam, you helped keep the Homestead fed. It was worth it though.

Connor had let you stay in the manor while your home was built. A kind and determined soul, if not a little.. Strange. You’d initially thought he was cold- his answers were always short and he didn’t seem to go out of his way to talk to you. 

But you’d come to realize that it was just how he was. He seemed willing to listen to you as you talked to him, offering small nods and soft hums of acknowledgement to let you know he was listening. 

As such, you found yourself.. drawn to the native. You caught yourself watching him more and more and, on the occasion that Connor pointed it out (because he definitely knew you were staring every time you did it), your face would heat up and you’d profusely apologize for the staring.

Yet, you couldn’t keep him out of your head. Even after your home had been completed and you were no longer ‘living’ with him. He was on your mind almost constantly and you didn’t even know why. It’s not like he’d ever shown actual interest in you. He seemed preoccupied with his duties as an assassin.

On the occasion that Connor did his rounds, checking on everyone, you found yourself wishing he’d stay a bit longer, talk to you a little more.

It hits you hard. You were in love. You were in love with Connor. You were doomed.

Your interactions with Connor get more awkward on your side after your realization. And you can tell Connor notices. He always does. He stands closer to you when he stops by to converse, lingers a bit longer than he normally does..

Is he.. teasing you? You honestly couldn’t tell. It seemed so out of character for Connor to ‘tease’ someone. Yet the way he was doing seemed so.. In character. The thought of it sends butterflies through your stomach.

But at the same time, how do you even approach someone about that? A man in love with another man? That’s just.. looked down upon. But then again, Connor never did care what people thought of him. 

It all comes to a head when Myriam gets ill and you have to ask Connor to accompany you on a hunting trip. It was safer to take two people out. Especially now. Winter was coming, bears were preparing for hibernation, they were going to be a little more.. Ballsy. You and Myriam had run into one once already. 

Thankfully, Connor was willing to join you without many questions. So now it was just the two of you walking through the woods.

It’s quiet between the two of you save for the quiet whistling of the fall wind that will soon bring winter. It’s still chilly as is. You’re wearing some of your warmer clothes, Connor wearing his trademark assassin’s robes which were already warm. 

The leaves are beautiful shades of red and orange. Most are still attached to trees though some have fallen, crunching softly under yours and Connor’s feet. 

You find yourself ‘sneaking’ glances at Connor as you walk, admiring his profile. You don’t think he notices- perhaps a foolish thought on your part. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts by Connor. “You tend to stare a lot,” he says. His voice holds no malice and, in fact, you might even say he sounded amused. 

You feel your face heat up as you look away from him. This was the first time he’s called you out on it. And you know you can’t deny it. 

“Apologies,” is all you can manage. The soft sound of Connor’s chuckle just warms your face more and you make the foolish decision to glance over at him again. 

And you make eye contact with him. 

You nearly trip over a root. Connor stabilizes you with an arm around your stomach and you’re keenly aware just how warm his body feels even through your jacket. You wonder how good he’d feel against your bare skin..

You shake the thought quickly and thank Connor for keeping you from falling face first. Damnit, were you distracted. You barely register that he’s not let you go yet.

Connor’s breath fans over the back of your neck and you nearly shiver, managing to force yourself to keep still. He’s still got his arm around your midsection, his body pressed against your back. 

“You’re distracted,” Connor says. His voice is deathly close to your ear and you just hope he didn’t catch the way your breath hitched. Is he doing it on purpose?

“I don’t mean to be,” you protest. The feeling of him being so close, his musk practically surrounding you has your head feeling fuzzy and your body heating up. He has to be doing it on purpose. 

His lips brush against the shell of your ear and you can feel his smile. It makes your heart beat faster and the man has the audacity to place his hand over your heart. “You’re nervous,” he points out. 

“A little.”

“It’s cute.”

You’ve been called many things in life, but cute has not been one of them since you’d been a boy. And it sends a shiver down your spine. “Thank you..?” You say with a little awkward laugh. 

Connor hums again and you think he’s finally going to let you go. He doesn’t. The hand that’s not wrapped around you covers your eyes. Your body tenses on instinct with the hindrance of your sight. 

“Do you trust me?” Connor asks quietly.

“I do.” You’re almost surprised by how quickly you say it. Almost.

Lips brush against your cheek and you let out a shaky exhale. Your knees grow weak and you’re positive if Connor hadn’t been holding you, you would’ve collapsed. 

“You’re shaking,” Connor murmurs against your cheek. “Relax.”

Relax!? Like this!? With his body pressed against yours, his lips teasing your skin, hand covering your eyes.. That was a lot to ask. 

Still, you try. A shaky exhale and a deep breath in. “Good,” you hear Connor praise quietly. Your heart jumps in your chest with it. That felt nice. 

You let the breath out and, with it, try to force yourself to relax in Connor’s arms. God, you’re in Connor’s arms! You’re finally in his arms. 

A shiver runs down your spine as Connor’s lips press against the skin behind your ear. You take another deep breath and that’s when Connor starts leading you somewhere. Where? Hell if you knew. But you trust Connor, so you don’t question it.

After what feels like hours of walking, Connor finally stops you. He sits you down on something soft. Sand. You can feel it. 

Then, he sits down behind you, pulling you against his chest before finally pulling his hand away. 

He’s brought you to a beach. A gorgeous one at that.

There’s cliffs on either side of you, both lined with trees and their stunning leaves and the water laps gently at the sand a few feet in front of you. The sun is setting, the light reflecting off the water in a stunning show of reds and yellows. 

You glance back at Connor and find him already looking at you, the smallest smile on his handsome face. “Do you like it?” He asks you softly. 

You smile back at him. “I do. It’s lovely,” you respond, matching Connor’s tone as you return your eyes to the scenery. He tilts his head to the side a little before pulling you closer to him. Connor wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder when you relax back against him. 

“I find myself drawn to you,” Connor murmurs softly in your ear. His words bring a fresh wave of heat to your face. He felt the same way.

After a short bit of stuttering, you finally find your voice again. “And I to you.”

A warm chuckle fills the air between you and it brings that familiar feeling of butterflies to your tummy. How you loved the sound of his laugh. “Mayhaps we could spend more time together then?” Connor suggests. He gives you a gentle squeeze that makes you feel oh so safe.

“I would enjoy that.” You’d more than enjoy that. You feel so light, so happy, your body buzzing with a euphoria you’ve not before felt. It’s amazing. 

“Perfect.” You feel a gentle press of lips to your cheek and let out a soft laugh of your own. Who would’ve guessed that Connor was a soft lover. You turn your head to return the kiss with one of your own, letting them brush across Connor’s cheek before pressing against the skin. He’s warm. He’s perfect.

[juvinadelgreko]

adding to this as a Late To The Party queer person who also just reread TRC:

i second everything in this post. it took me nearly 2 decades to realize i wasn’t into men. looking back on my life, i attribute this largely to the fact that i was way too busy being a Gifted Kid ™️ who also played elite sports and barely had time to eat, let alone consider my own identity.

those things were always true about me: i just didn’t see them for what they were until i actually had time for myself, got out into the world and had experiences that showed me those things.

i was into women the entire time. but until i actually met another queer woman, it never occurred to me that there was any explanation for what i felt beyond “this girl is my friend. that’s why i like her so much.”

i was never into men. but until i actually tried to kiss one and hated it it never occurred to me that there might’ve been an explanation for my lack of interest in them besides “i’m very busy playing elite junior sports and carrying a full ap course load.”

so it doesn’t at all surprise me that in the midst of working 3 jobs, dealing with abusive father, striking a bargain with a magical sentient forest, hunting for a dead welsh king, AND going to school, adam parrish didn’t exactly have a minute to consider that maybe he liked ronan’s attention for other reasons.

adam tells us straight up that he enjoys ronan’s crush because it makes him feel worthy of admiration—and he’d never felt admired that way before. that’s a far more plausible explanation than “i am also queer.” and while it probably does account for some of his feelings, adam Does Not Have The Time to look at it any closer. he’s literally being possessed while he tries to finish his senior year of high school!

then ronan kisses him, and he likes it???? what?? i think many queer people have this moment, where we can pinpoint the exact moment that we realized we’d been in denial the whole time, or just hadn’t been able to see the whole truth. because before an actual kiss, there were reasonably plausible heterosexual explanations for everything we’d felt prior. it’s not until something happens for which there is no heterosexual explanation that we start to go hm. perhaps i missing something.

this happened to alex in rwrb. he could easily explain away his obsession with henry by telling himself and everyone else that he hated henry because he was snobby and british and had been annoying to him one time. why would alex look any closer at this scenario? his mother, the POTUS, is fighting for re-election against a very conservative candidate. she doesn’t need her son to be queer. then henry kisses him, he likes it, and there is no heterosexual explanation for that.

and of course, as we said, with adam. he was able to explain away enjoying ronan’s crush, had no desire to examine his feelings any further because of Life ™️, and then suddenly he’s making out with ronan and he likes it and oh wait there’s no heterosexual explanation for this!

so yeah. it makes a lot of sense. queer people under a great deal of outside pressure usually take a minute to realize they’re queer. something has to happen to trip the wires. it’s kind of sad but very true. re-reading trc, i’m actually really impressed with how maggie wrote adam and ronan’s arc. it’s very much authentic to what a lot of us experience.

there’s a very clear contrast between queer people who grew up in pressure cookers and queer people who grew up affirmed and supported like ronan did. whether he ever came out to his parents or not, ronan was always told he was loved and powerful. so facing his own queerness would’ve been a much easier pill for him to swallow than adam. i imagine he saw declan start flirting with girls, thought “girls? really? ew. no.” and that was that. ronan was gay, there was nothing that could be done to change that, so fuck you if you didn’t like it. but when niall dies and he loses his support system and he has to figure out his powers on his own, dating promptly goes to the bottom of his priority list. that is, until adam. until he has the gangsey as a support system.

TL;DR, it’s very hard to live an authentic an authentic life if all your energy is going towards survival. no shit adam parrish is unknowable. he doesn’t have time to learn.

I’ve been musing on adam’s sexuality and I know some folks feel like he’s been bi the whole time but having just done a deep pynch-focused dive through the books, I actually think adam hadn’t realized that he was into ronan Like That until they kissed. like he obviously knew ronan was into him (and actually, knew ronan was gay since like, the beginning of trb probably), but he had sort of convinced himself that the reason he enjoyed it was vanity/attention. and right before and after the kiss we get the line “adam didn’t understand anything” which feels to me like he hadn’t even comprehended this was a thing he wanted until he was doing it.

and that’s actually a very common queer experience, especially for folks who are interested in multiple genders, especially when they’re young.

so adam, despite wanting to know everything and being the perceptive one, has these increasingly big moments of “I feel like I’m missing some data here” but the data he needed was the actual experience of kissing ronan/making the conscious decision to kiss ronan again and THEN he has his eureka moment. And he can look back at the moments where he found his Latin teacher hot, or when he put a picture of an attractive man in his glove box and realize he was bi the whole time.

[solavellan--hell]

Something about Veilguard Solavellan that has been occupying my brain recently is the Inquisitor telling Rook that Solas may have purposefully left breadcrumbs for her to follow and stop him.

In case you have not seen it (it requires picking the emotional dialogue option), here is the full dialogue:

(Obviously spoilers for that interaction)

Inquisitor: He let me fall in love with him and then told me we couldn’t. Then, he told me not to follow while leaving me just enough clues to find him.

Rook: Hold on. You think he wanted you to stop him?

Inquisitor: His name is Solas. It means “Pride”. Perhaps he couldn’t change his mind himself, and hoped that someone else could help him. Or maybe I’m the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so that I never have to face my folly.

I actually really like this as a concept. But I feel like it was not actually implemented and it is a missed opportunity.

Yes, the main evidence for this would be Solas appearing as a wolf in Lavellan’s dreams. But that is not really a clue. I think it would have been so much more impactful to see mentions of Solas leaving actual clues for Lavellan to follow during the years she was after him, referencing their relationship or knowledge of each other, so that only she would pick them up. Telling her, once again, that his feelings would never change. Asking her, “if you really think there is another way, if you think I am worth your redemption, please come find me.”

Solas might seem so single-minded in trying to tear down the veil in Veilguard, that his internal conflict can be extremely easy to miss until the ending. That is because he fully operates within the persona of the Dread Wolf. He knows he cannot afford to show weakness this time around. But we know that his duty fueled by regret and responsibility conflicts his own wants by the end of Inquisition.

We know this from the non-romanced high approval redemption ending in Trespasser. In response to “You do not need to destroy this world. I will prove it to you” he says, “I would treasure the chance to be wrong again, my friend”. And he genuinely means it.

So, do I think it is possible he wanted Lavellan to find him and at least try to change his mind? Perhaps. Maybe his letter to her was a replacement of what he planned to say to her before the first ritual attempt. Maybe he wrote it just before the ritual, because he realized she would not be coming for him.

It’s a fun idea to explore, but they could have expanded on it better if they wanted it to be solid. Maybe they left it purposefully vague for players to decide whether they wanted it to be a thing or not, but still. A few more debatable points of potential evidence would have been nice, so that if you wanted it to be a thing you would have something to base it on.

[seafoamreadings]

venus on neptune, the north node, and ft the moon

i normally save discussion of lunar conjunctions for my patreon lunar tiers but since this big pileup includes it, and because it soaks up the themes nicely, it's included here too! the moon will move on before the rest of these objects but will also bring a very personal tone to the day (or few days depending on who you are.) venus and neptune are both in a very strong place where they are very expressive of their natural archetypes. the node brings a fateful element and the moon carries this all down to our emotions and our actual bodies. it's a romantic time, perhaps giving 'hopeless romantic' vibes but i don't want to undersell this. it's more than romantic anyway. this is really all about universal love and oneness and how our destinies depend on seeing others as facets of ourselves and ourselves as facets of all else that is - universal oneness and dissolution into ultimately nothingness. and it can get even a bit psychedelic - but focus on compassion for others, which is most needed in this time, as an act of self care in a way. to be safe and avoid getting too lost in the extreme depth of it all, avoid mind-altering substances for a few days here, if possible. the conjunction is quite mind-altering enough on its own, which can be a bit dangerous, lovely as the aspect really is.

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟙𝟜

𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡

↳ Revenge tastes so sweet.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [4,8k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

"So, that's what this is," he says, "Payback."

Whatever this is, you're not dressed for it. Maybe you have preconceived notions of what a scenario such as this one might entail, maybe your idea of what a situation such as this one might actually look like in reality is entirely off base; or maybe it's the nagging feeling inside of your stomach that really, you shouldn't be here, at all.

Little effort had been made upon your exit from the dorm. You did not hide the fact that you were leaving, neither did you care for the fact that Miyoung and Kaia would know. It's a dangerous game to throw all caution to the wind; to disappear into the night, crawl into the back of an unmarked vehicle sent by someone else and drive off to a place that you don't even particularly know. The building you're inside now is a large one that offers numerous different places for passersby to enjoy, and at the very least, you figure that this particular spot is the one least traveled by people looking for a good time.

The van had pulled inside of the building—private parking. Private entry for people who cannot take a risk of being spotted. The chain of events leading up to the affair make one thing you had always known all the more clear: Juyeon is no novice in matters such as this one.

MVNE's popularity is a sort of intangible thing to you, something that you don't quite understand the weight of, and so you wonder how far out you are from the ability to engage in escapades such as these. Have you already passed that point? Are you already too recognizable to be taking risks such as these? You don't know the answer to those questions, but more than anything else right now; you don't care.

You owe the girls and the guys on the other side of this at least the minimum amount of effort and respect to remain lowkey in your treacherous endeavors, but beyond that? You wouldn't mind if this whole thing burned to the ground right before your eyes.

Confirmation from the company be damned, Sunwoo has not messaged you since the story broke. As far as you're concerned, that's all the confirmation you need.

The hotel room isn't fancy but it's above standard quality. It doesn't need to be, all things considered, because you probably won't be here long. It's clean and unscented—unnervingly so—making you feel as though you are trapped in the liminal space between somewhere previously untraveled and nowhere, at all.

You finish your drink and wince as you swallow it down. Looking at the bed from the table where you are sitting, it seems so inviting. Perhaps it would be nice to spend the evening here and then shuffle off to where you are supposed to be early in the morning. Enough people know that you are not where you are meant to be right now, what difference would it make returning later in the evening?

The inevitable knock on the room door comes, you can hear the keycard being pressed into the slot and the loud click that follows as the lock unclasps. Everything feels as though it is in slow motion when the door cracks open and your companion for the evening slides inside.

With chilled air outside, Juyeon's long, black coat is apt. He wears a mask covering half of his face and a hat atop his head though you cannot fathom that stares do not accompany him regardless of these things.

Though the door has long since shut behind him, Juyeon lingers in the entryway as if a barrier stands between himself and this place. You watch him tug the mask away and pull the hat off, his hair a mess of black strands with styling products still clinging to them. His coat remains on though, and rather than motioning to begin its removal, he stands in place and leans his shoulder against the wall with arms crossed over his chest.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks.

The question is remarkably strange to you, and with that fact evident on your face you reply, "What do you mean?"

"We both know exactly why I'm here."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

Juyeon hums as he mulls over the question for a moment, but before he has a chance to respond you double down and continue the thought. "Are you worried about how it might look if it were to get out?"

"Public perception is not a concern, because this is solely between you and I," Juyeon reasons. "My being here at all is skirting the line of 'morally reprehensible' a little too closely for my liking." He pauses for a moment to think, but then goes on to say, "But I think you're a smart woman with a good head on your shoulders, and I also think your feelings are hurt and you're lashing out because of it. Suppose I'm here in an effort to make sense of that."

"What's there to make sense of?" Your eyes pull away from him, staring down at the empty glass still clasped in your hand. "You've seen it. Everyone has seen it. If there's anything that doesn't make sense it's…" You stop, shake your head and change the trajectory of the topic slightly. Looking at Juyeon again, you ask, "Did you know? Did anyone else know?"

"No, none of us knew."

"Then I guess I can at least take solace in the fact that we all found out the same way."

"So, that's what this is," he says, "Payback."

"And what if it is? You didn't have to come, you seem to have known precisely what I intended for our meeting when I called you, but you're apprehensive now that you've arrived."

Juyeon huffs out a laugh from under his breath. "Anyone not apprehensive in this situation is no one you should be here with, I can tell you that much. They certainly wouldn't be someone with your best interest in mind. Look…" 

You watch as he begins to slowly shrug off his coat, broad shoulders beneath a smooth, immaculately fitted black button down shirt. He has just come from a photoshoot and the aftermath of it still clings to him in minute, easily overlooked ways. Dark shadows that elongate his sharp eyes, and a barely remaining tint to his lips that might suggest them having been freshly bitten by another.

"I'm fine with being your revenge-fuck, but you need to be sure about it. Because you're the one that's going to have to deliver the news to him, and that day will come."

Those words send a chill across your skin. "And why would I need to tell him anything about it?"

He takes a few steps forward to cross the room and makes his way towards you. Upon his arrival, Juyeon does not extend a hand to touch you, does not move to urge this event along. Instead, he stands ahead of you and looks down as if affording you the time to recognize that all of this is very real, and should you decide to go forward with it, impossible to ever undo.

There is gravity in all of this, and Juyeon is sure to make you aware of that fact.

"This could all be temporary," he says, "But this? Right here, right now? This is very much permanent."

The weight of that sinks your heart inside of your chest. You swallow hard, shrug slightly and then say, "There's pictures. The company didn't even deny it. So, why shouldn't we?"

"He's going to find out about it. He's going to know. I just need you to make peace with that and not make a decision based on what you think you can get away with. You can't play both sides. This isn't a situation where we're dealing with the public." Juyeon's eyes are intense as he stares down at you, a look that makes you nearly tremble in your seat. "Sunwoo is my bandmate, he's my friend. He's also crazy about you, and I can't make sense of the way all of this fits together either, but those are things I do know for a fact."

With your eyes locked onto Juyeon's, you inhale slowly and deeply and then say: "I know them, too."

Leaning down, Juyeon's hands each find an arm of the chair you are seated in, effectively boxing you inside of it. His face inches closer to yours—something you have experienced once before—only this time, you are fully willing to let the cards fall where they may once his lips finally find yours.

The scent emanating off of him is light, yet intoxicating. Juyeon kisses you gently, tentatively; not at all like his appearance on stage might suggest him to be. There is still apprehension lingering in his motions, awaiting the moment where you might eventually come to your senses and decide not to go through with this. However, the more of him you taste, the further from your mind the possibility of this falls.

You reach up, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him further down against your mouth. 

Finally, you begin to feel some of the tension in his form melt away.

Once chaste kisses quickly transform into needing, wanting open mouth desire to taste and consume. You pull him towards you even more despite the way his body is bowed and his inability to be felt against you as a result of that, and having grown tired of this, Juyeon's frustration seems to hit a breaking point as he shifts away, brings you up to stand and swiftly works to rid your body of the sweatshirt hanging against it.

With your head spinning, you want nothing more to taste more of him, feel more of him beneath your fingertips; but before you have a chance to make a move to do so, Juyeon is pressing your back into the mattress and slipping himself between your thighs.

Your mouths connect again and this time, the urgency is white hot atop his tongue.

A soft hand smooths over the flesh of your side, though he does not immediately search for the front of your chest. Juyeon's evident desire for you is dizzying; gasping for air between unrelenting kisses and the firm press of his hips at the aching point between your legs. His lips eventually leave your own, smoothing down your jaw and making their slow journey with teeth accompanying to the sensitive skin of your neck. No other thoughts exist in your mind now beyond the hedonistic desire of where this all may lead; your flesh hot and damp with a light sheen of sweat, heart racing, and the aching throb of need pooling at your core.

Where his mouth meets your neck, hot breath wafts over it soon after. You could stay like this—do nothing more than this—all night and be perfectly content. 

But you do want more.

Juyeon pulls off of you and kneels between your legs to begin pulling the buttons of his shirt apart. You watch as he does; each one falling away and more skin becoming no longer hidden underneath. He shrugs the fabric away from his shoulders, easily pulls his lithe but toned arms from the sleeves and discards it somewhere on the floor beside the bed as if it is representative of something else, entirely. This thought comes to mind but you discard it just as swiftly in favor of the fact that his hands have now begun to find their work at his belt.

With the leather binding stripped just as quickly, he leans down towards you again and slips his hands behind your back. You aid in his endeavor, leaning up and once again finding his lips with your own.

Now that you can feel him, you waste no time in doing so. Juyeon rids your torso of the only remaining garment keeping the flesh of your bodies apart and the two of you fall against the bed all over again with hands desperately feeling for every dip of muscle and supple, plush offering that they can find. One hand slips down between the two of your bodies, Juyeon's last ditch effort at unfastening the button to his slacks before they are to be removed entirely in the future, and though you anticipate the warmth of his touch after the fact to once again find its way to your chest, rather than doing so, you feel his fingertips breech the top of your leggings; sliding down slowly past the elastic band and curving down to dip where you most need them.

His touch coaxes out a gasp from you, which he easily tastes off of your tongue.

Back arching and chest pressed against his, you melt into the feeling of thick, long fingers dragging slow, firm circles against you. 

"Good?"Juyeon asks, whispering the question against your nipped lips.

But the answer of yes is barely comprehensible, and most of it dies in your throat.

"Good," he says again. Shifting himself from between your legs ever so slightly, his face drops from yours and instead he begins to kiss down the front of your chest to make for different use of his sinister tongue. Juyeon looks up at you as his lips clasp around the waiting bug, tongue swirling over it in ways that make your toes curl only to then break away and say, "You're so wet. I want to fuck you, but I need to taste you."

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you all but melt into the mattress beneath you as he goes back to working you from top to bottom.

Slipping down further against you, Juyeon slips his hand out from your pants and makes easy work of pulling the displeasing fabric from your legs. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you, regaining his position between your thighs but much further down than before. A single finger slips up the seam of your folds, you sigh into the teasing feeling of it, and then Juyeon wastes no more time; hot, wet tongue following the very same path his finger only just did.

The once free hand finds work in different ways, a finger slipping inside and gently prying you open for him. For the first time and unexpected even to you, a moan escapes from your lips; unable to be fought away any longer.

And Juyeon knows what he's doing���has certainly done this many times before. Every movement he makes into or against you is expertly crafted and delivered with intent to unravel you before him. Your back arches, body writhing beneath him as he undoes you thread by thread. Sliding a hand down, your fingers tangle into the hair that sits atop his head as if waiting to be touched, and worst of all, Juyeon groans into the feeling of your nails gently digging into his scalp.

His fingers sink deeper inside of you, his tongue firmer at the place that has you whining and gasping for more. Your muscles tighten in your thighs and abdomen, warm with the feeling of a mounting release.

You gasp out, desperate to speak but the words get lost in the dryness of your throat. The grip in his hair tightens, inadvertently so. You don't intend to cause discomfort, but when Juyeon groans even louder as you do, the realization of the fact is far too much for your weary body to overcome. Your hips grind against his mouth as your body is wracked by release; jaw clenched tight and head pressed back into the pillow below. 

By the time your awareness finds you once more, Juyeon is already making his way back up the length of your body and lining the path with light presses of his lips along the way. He does not immediately go to kiss you—as if unsure of your willingness to do so—and thus you take it upon yourself to arch up and find his mouth once more.

"Need a minute?" he asks in a broken whisper, but you shake your head and make it clear that you intend to do no such thing.

Juyeon smiles devilishly against you, and after stealing another kiss, he pulls himself away from you and begins the final removal of the last remaining pieces of clothing that still cling to him.

Once removed, he digs into one of the pockets… and then this all becomes so very real.

You think about his words from earlier all over again: 'This is very much permanent.'

And incredibly attuned as he is, Juyeon's gentle hand finds the inside of your thigh. It is not a touch meant to entice, but rather, to soothe.

"We don't have to do this," he says. "This is something, but it's not everything. We both know that, it doesn't have to go further."

"I know, but I want it to."

Without pressing the issue further, Juyeon busies himself with readying for this. You are thankful for his emotional aptitude and his willingness to trust you and believe that the words you say to him really and truly mean what you're feeling. He does not push, he does not pry; he asks you the question and then takes your answer for precisely what it is.

Craning over you again, Juyeon kisses you and then whispers against your lips, "Tell me what you need from me, I want to feel you come around me."

His hand slips between your bodies, reaching down and carefully pressing himself inside. Once the initial push is made, the very same hand reaches up to cradle your head and the other grips your thigh to hold you open for taking him.

With a sly smirk pulling at his lips, Juyeon appears perfectly happy to drink down the gasp that escapes you as he inches deep inside.

Giving you time to settle into the feeling, he remains still inside of you for a few moments, instead focusing on tasting the way your wetness still lingers on your lips.

You're drunk on wanting him, hips subtly grinding against where you meet in an effort to find the friction you so desperately seek. Juyeon is happy to accommodate the desire, and takes it as his opportunity to slowly, shallowly make his drives.

Hands smoothing down his chest, you revel in the dips and curves of the muscle there. Once he finds rhythm in his motions, your hands wrap around to his back and shoulders; fingernails digging deeper and harder as each stroke becomes faster, harder and more intentional against you.

When it all culminates just right, you clutch his flesh and laboriously moan his name.

Juyeon's eyes find yours, glazed over with lust; makeup that has begun to warp and smudge still clinging to his eyelids and lips that are far redder than his first meeting you here. Captivating and beautiful. His mouth sits slightly parted as he focuses on the task at hand, and more than anything else you know that the task is you.

The excitement of a first time paired with the devilish inclinations that neither of you should be here—a surefire way to have this all quickly coming to an end.

You moan. "Harder," you plead, though it's quiet and bitten back. Juyeon takes the direction well, gives you exactly what you've asked for, and just as quickly the tact you've once had melts away in favor of desperation and unrelenting requests for more.

Then, Juyeon's face presses down and with his lips against your ear he says, "I want to have you on your knees."

Arousal immediately washes through you and pools in your gut. The shift is fast—your head spins as you're easily flipped onto your stomach and large, strong hands grip your hips and yank them upwards. Once in position, his palm smooths down the center of your back as he carefully fits himself back inside; bigger, thicker, harder than before. Juyeon is gentle and mindful with the repositioning, but it is merely seconds before you're pushing back against him and so, he happily takes the hint with longer, fuller drives once again.

However, now your hopeful composure is nothing in comparison to the way he feels inside of you. You whimper and moan unabashedly with every purposeful drive, hands clutching the bed sheets beneath your body. It's overpowering; his hands gripped tightly at your waist, your hips, sometimes leaning forward to grip at your shoulder for even more leverage than before. Juyeon pants lightly as he fucks you, the occasional hint of a groan rippling in his chest as he sinks inside. You twist to change the position of your face as it remains pressed against the pillow, but what finds you upon doing so comes to be your ultimate undoing.

Staring back at you is yourself, the reflection of a mirror you'd not noticed before standing tall on the wall and perfectly offering vision of every movement that either of you make. You're able to see the veins in Juyeon's arms shift beneath his slightly tanned flesh and protruding on account of the strenuous physical work. His eyes remain fixed on the place where he stretches you open to accommodate his size, now easily taking all that he has to offer. Black hair sits wet and pressed against his forehead, his fingers carve indents into your flesh as he holds you in place; Juyeon is kind, but there is nothing gentle about the way that he takes you now. His drives against you are hard and fast, chasing release for the both of you, the sound of his hips finding your skin reverberating throughout the otherwise empty hotel room.

You feel yourself tightening around him, and a groan from him follows as a result. You can't stop watching, you're drunk with the sight, sound and feeling of him. You're so close, nearly painfully so. Desperately begging for something that you know is soon to come.

"Good?" he asks again, voice broken off and barely audible. The growl residing within the tone travels down your spine and settles right between your legs.

"I'm gonna come," you say. And you sound utterly pathetic as you do so.

"Take that as a yes then."

The following drives are even more purposeful than before, seconds that feel like a lifetime of steady strokes inside of you until you are whimpering and writhing beneath him with no actual words to offer as a response. In mere moments you're coming undone around him just as he had hoped for, incomprehensible nonsense falling from your parted lips as he shows no signs of slowing in chase of his own release.

Juyeon's hands grip around your waist, repeatedly pulling you along himself until his jaw tightens, a visceral, animalistic groan gritted out between firmly clenched teeth until finally his mouth falls slightly slack, he offers one, final hard press of himself as deeply inside of you as he can manage and he spills into the unfortunate barrier that must exist between the two of you.

As the moments following begin to settle and your heart begins to find a more normal pace, you hear Juyeon huff out a heavy sigh from behind you, slowly pry the try of you apart, and then unceremoniously lobs himself to lie on the bed beside you. His eyes are closed, chest heaving in the aftermath of his rather impressive work, and surprising even to you; you smile.

"Good?" you ask, cheeky.

He cracks a single eye open to look at you and says, "Yeah, good."

"Is it going to be weird now?"

A little late to broach the subject, you realize. Better late than never, you suppose.

"It doesn't have to be," Juyeon says, breaths still laborious as he makes an effort to engage despite it. "Was it weird with Sunwoo?"

"That's different."

"Is it, though?" Turning himself on his side, Juyeon faces you fully with messy hair and even messier black smudges circling his eyes. He says, "It's different because if Sunwoo weren't in the picture, then maybe this might have a shot at being more than what it is." A smile curls into his lips in spite of your heart beginning to sink. "But your heart isn't in it, and that's okay. You're not hurting my feelings. If it was going to be weird, I'd be the one making it that way, and I have no intention of doing so. We both knew exactly what this was when you made that call."

His eyes narrow mischievously and then he adds: "Really glad I'm the one that got the call, actually."

You swat at his shoulder. "Shut up, don't make me regret this."

"I'm not the one that's at risk of doing that," Juyeon says through a sigh, "You are going to have to tell him. Eventually."

"Why? Are you going to tell him if I don't?"

Juyeon appears as though he flips the question over in his mind a few times before he makes any motion to answer it. All things considered, you couldn't exactly blame him for landing on the side that you would be far less pleased with.

"No, I think it's far more appropriate if you do," he says. "You seem to believe that there's a version of this story where he never has to find out, but I assure you that's just not going to be the case. I know you don't see it now, but I'm fairly confident there's a future where you're going to feel compelled to do so."

Staring at him, you allow a few moments of silence to buffer and then you say, "You think we're going to make up."

"That's what your heart's in, isn't it?" Juyeon shrugs then inches a bit closer to your body, a hand timidly smoothing over the flesh of your thigh. "This was fun—wouldn't mind fitting another one in for the road—but once we leave here we both know this is never going to happen again."

Glaring, you shift away despite not entirely hating the idea.

"Both groups have to go overseas in a week, talk about an exciting secret getaway."

"The damage has been done," Juyeon says, reaching up to gently push stray strands of hair away from your eyes. "There's really no need to double and triple down. Don't call me when we're abroad… Call Sunwoo."

"And if I don't?" you reply, petulant.

Juyeon rolls his eyes, sighs again and simply says, "You will. For some reason, you're the only one who doesn't seem to know that yet."

Dragging himself out of bed, Juyeon hauls himself off to the bathroom to clean up and as he strides past you, you can't help but think that he wears the afterglow of sex exceptionally well. His skin seems to shimmer with a glow that hadn't quite been there before, and upon this realization you cannot help but wonder how it is that you look right about now. Not particularly well, you figure. In more ways than one, at that.

You wonder how Sunwoo looks with the very same afterglow. You wonder where he is, and if he is wearing it right about now.

There's a lump that forms in your throat at the thought, in spite of everything that has just transpired. You don't know if that's fair—the way that thinking about it makes you feel. Playing tit-for-tat games that have no clear victor crowned at the end. Have you won? Is the victory yours? And why, above all else, does it not taste so sweet?

The inhale that follows is sharp and unsteady. Juyeon can be heard in the bathroom with the faucet on, but not much else making his movements known.

"Do you think he'll be mad?" you say, hopefully loud enough to be heard over the running water. Unsure if you have the strength to dare utter the question again.

But he does hear, and his head pops around the corner without bothering to shut the faucet off. His hair is wetter now, pressed away from his forehead and a few droplets still clinging to his skin. The look on his face is one that you can't quite decipher; some mixture of emotions that don't quite equate to pity, but rather something more akin to compassion. 

"I don't think he's going to be mad," Juyeon says, and it's evident through his delivery of the words that he is choosing them with immense care. His lips thin into a line, one corner dipping downward ever so slightly and he says, "If he's going to be mad at anyone, really, it's only going to be at himself."

And maybe that's worse, you think in response. 

[emmg]

wip yeah yeah whatever it's never wednesday

I've been tagged by a few folks and I'm having trouble remembering because I've had a shitty ass day but I love you. And I miss you. And I need you.

So I'm tagging all my usual boos back. K thanksss. @aldisobey @heylittleriotact @thepalehorsevictoria @caffeinatedmunchkin @xxnashiraxx @jainydoe

I honestly don't really have anything in particular cooking, so this is just something from the next chapter of Aftertaste, the stupid sugar daddy AU I can't stop having fun with. It's one of the most cursed things I've written lmao

****

She tousles her hair. Bites her lips raw, like some tragic heroine wasting away in a garret. Paces the apartment for the most flattering light—nature’s filter, since she has standards—and extends one arm to the heavens, the other tugging at the neckline of her shirt. Nothing too obscene; wouldn’t want to inconvenience some tragically repressed colleague of his with a crisis of conscience. Then again—why not? 

Let them suffer. Let them swallow around the dryness in their throat, let them grip their pens a little tighter. A whisper of lace, just enough to suggest that yes, she owns lingerie, and no, it is not because she enjoys spending $80 on machine-washable disappointments. 

Let him imagine her breasts—imagine that they exist, that they could, theoretically, be his to touch, that perhaps, if he’s really exceptionally well-behaved, he might even get to slide his cock between them. Not that there’s much to work with—more symbolism than substance, more spiritual journey than actual grip—but hey, she suspects he’s the kind of man who would whimper at the mere suggestion of friction. The type to shudder through it, clutch at her shoulders afterward like she’s just guided him through some kind of sacred, transcendent experience—one that leaves him dazed, vulnerable, and in dire need of a therapist with very strong professional boundaries.

Maybe, just maybe, if fate is kind and the gods of dignity finally decide to smile upon him, next time he spills onto her face or neck, it will be on purpose. A deliberate choice rather than an unfortunate trajectory issue. Perhaps even with a plan this time, some semblance of aim, a fraction of control. And afterward, he’ll do the gentlemanly thing: wipe the tear tracks from his face, mumble something about how he’s never felt this way before (bless his heart), and take out his wallet to buy her a pearl necklace—the kind that actually comes in a box, not the kind she has to scrub off in the shower.

It wouldn’t be a hardship. She finds, to her mild surprise, that she actually likes the man. At least as a human being, which is more than she can say for most. 

Click. Send. 

She knows he sees it because he is the kind of technologically inept buffoon who never figured out how to disable his read receipts. A man living in blissful ignorance of his own transparency. How cute. 

A pause. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Nothing. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

A great, yawning chasm of nothing. 

She sighs and plops her ass on the bed. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Perhaps he has died.

Perhaps the mere implication of cleavage has sent him into full cardiac arrest, right there at his desk. Emmrich Volkarin, well into his fifth-or-whatever decade, struck down—not by time, not by fate, but by the revolutionary concept of boobs. Maybe he hit his head on a stack of his own pretentious books—some dusty, 800-page discourse on moral decay—and perished instantly, a martyr to propriety. Mr. Professor, defeated by décolletage. Tragic. 

Ah. Something. 

A ha-ha reaction, skittish and accidental, yanked back almost immediately, and replaced with the trembling penitence of a heart.

And still. No. Words. 

She rolls her eyes, sends him a photo of the most aesthetically offensive thing in her apartment. 

That’s my monstera

This time, a response. Still criminally slow, but at least they've moved past Morse code levels of hesitation. 

Emmrich, miracle of miracles, finally sends a photo back. 

It’s a dog. Poorly cropped. Enthusiastically blurry. A dog in spirit, certainly, but in form? A vague collection of fur and misplaced limbs. The man takes photos like a cryptid spotter. But hey, at least the pup looks happy. 

This is my Manfred.

Manfred. 

What an absolute catastrophe of a name for a dog. 

[daemon-in-my-head]

Huh, let's do one of these again cuz I'm feeling some kinda way

Dark Urge Ask game - redeemed post epilogue funsies

If your Durge could change one, single thing, event, feature, just anything about their life, their body or their relationships, what would it be?

Do they ever miss the cult or Bhaal or wish they chose differently? How are we coping is what I'm asking.

How's shit with their LI going? Did they have one? Is it going well even after the post-epilogue party? What's the vibe here? Did they maybe even find a new partner?

What's it like being known as a hero? Do they enjoy it? Are they getting shy whenever they hear a bard recount their tales? Is it too overwhelming, and they decided to try and escape it?

How's our mental health? Did we get out unscathed, are we still tormented by nightmares? How do we cope with this little absolutely life changing journey we just went thru? Any lifestyle changes to deal with it?

Have we learned from the mistakes of our predecessors, or are we fully embracing the Abdel Adrian route? Are they trying to establish themselves as an influential figure or trying just to live a lovely little peaceful life?

How do they feel about never getting the majority of their memories back? Is it relief, that they won't remember what atrocities or mistakes they make or perhaps dread, because a Bhaalspawn undoubtedly made enemies and they'll never know who they are?

How's it going in terms of faith? Serving Jergal, another god altogether, are we faithless nowadays? What's the situation here?

How's the canon situation on a scale of 1 to 10? 1 being this could be part of a sourcebook, 10 being this is basically original fiction now.

Do any of the traits they learned in their old profession ever come in handy later down the line? Have they opened a clinic, do they get by as a mercenary, are they staying far away from everything even slightly connected to their past life?

Are they gonna reach the later half of their life expectancy or are we gonna have some sweet early demise going on here? Will they ever get to enjoy the fruits of their labour?

How exactly does loosing Bhaals essence impact a being created by him? We holding up well or barely scraping by?

Generally speaking, without saying much, what's the vibe here after it all ends? Tragedy, coffeeshop AU kinda vibe, rom-com, drama baby, slice of life or hero's quest?

Do they ever feel like they miss any of the other chosen? How much do they manage to recall? Are they beating themselves up over it?

What's their biggest struggle now that everything is over?

Also what's the greatest joy now that they're "free" (depends on interpretation ig)?

Was it worth it?

Do they ever meet any of the other tadfools again? Are they questing together once more? Do they purposefully stay away from some?

How are the others doing actually? What's Durges opinion on it? Do they think their old companions are doing well, are they glad about it or maybe even resentful? Do they ever even find out?

Any physical changes going on here compared to how they were before the whole 'defeat the brain' business? What are they? Is Durge handling them well or do they need a bit more time?

Now as for the fun part.... Do they ever remember what exactly they did with some of the other chosen? How awkward is it or are they proud of it? Does anyone else find out? Give me the tea dammit.

Does the skrunkly little tyrant ever make his way back into the picture in some way? What way exactly?

What happened to the physical prayer for forgiveness? Is it stored in a lil chest somewhere in their new home? Did it get burned? Did it get buried? What's going on here?

What happened to the stones? Where are they? Do they still exist? Remember most of the idiots only wanted the crown, nobody ever said something about those pretty gems that spend god knows how long with the others. Basically how freaky is Durge about them?

What happened to a bunch of very peculiar weapons such as; the Fabricated Arbalest, the Stillmaker, Bloodthirst, Crimson Mischief, Ketherics Warhammer, all that fun stuff.

What happened to the coat. Tell me. How's it doing. Where is it. What's going on?

Finally, last but not least. What is Durges biggest wish now? What do they strife to attain? Peace, happiness, the food they've been craving for a solid week now?

Wild card / Dealers choice.

Obligatory reminder how these work: ask prev when u reblog, be nice, this isn't strictly romantic, bla bla bla yk what I usually put here. Basically, have fun, go wild, be nice to your fellow brain rotters, make someone's day. We're all sane here. Promise.

[ask-the-golden-god]

*The arceus gave his body a stretch. A satisfying click followed, followed with a sigh of relief.*

Cepheus: Well, that was something. Ah, those vibes. The goo body was definitely fun. Oh right. I was leaving lol.

*The swirling portal stood behind him, sparkling with small stars. Cepheus took one more look at the beach, noticing some of the guests he had spoken to at this event. He wouldn’t forget any of them. Especially the two he couldn’t help. He had to figure out a way to be there for them. That victini. That poor, innocent victini. Fuck, it was awful for him to remember that Arceus. Temperance. What a vile individual. He shook his head and stepped through the portal. On the other side was a library, a familiar place to him. It was filled to the brim with a variety of different books he had collected on his many travels. Some from his own family, others from the minds of mortals. Hovering near one of the bookshelves was a mew, reading a book for themself. One of Cepheus’ best friends.*

Cepheus: ...Yeah. You're right. I just need to give them a little time.

Kel: And remember all the good you did too. That Lugia had a major moment of realisation. You were able to make that Calyrex release their hold on that flower crown it took. You were a positive influence to many of the folks down there. Bringing the chill vibes, as you said countless of times.

Cepheus: Heh, what would I do without you Kel? Always right like usual. That’s why you’re my right-hand mew.

Kel: You're capable of so much without me. You just need reminding of some of those basic things.

Cepheus: Yeah yeah. I get you. Regardless, it was actually a chill time. Definitely needed. Many most bodacious folks met. Those Magi. Absolutely radical. Love the advice they gave.

Kel: And what was your takeaway from that advice?

Cepheus: To wait for the right moment. And maybe try a little communication or something. I dunno. Who knows when his universe will open up to me?

Kel: Ah, exactly what me and your several children have said. Why is it that when we give advice, you don't listen to it but when another being comes along and gives you the exact same advice, you take it into consideration?

Cepheus: Sometimes advice has to come from another you're not familiar with to truly sink in.

Kel: Yes yes. I can see that. Ceph, what's the plan now then?

Cepheus: Spend some time with the kids. Travel around a bit. What I should have been doing instead of watching Aladar's atrocities.

Kel: Good. I'll join you too. Can't have you going back on your word. You've got to help yourself sometimes and that means not obsessing over his actions. You know we all say this because we care about you.

Cepheus: Yeah, I get that. I care about you all too. Perhaps I could check in on those two during my travels?

Kel: After you've seen your family.

Cepheus: Alright alright. Fam first then seeing if they're good. I got it. Time to see what the kids are doing then.

Kel: Oh, a word of warning. They have been watching your antics too.

Cepheus: Ah. So, I'm likely to expect a dog pile like before?

Kel: More than likely. I had to stop your friend Geode from coming down there because of that whole arceus thing.

Cepheus: And that would have been hilarious. Imagine. A zygarde appearing out of nowhere to defend a goomy. Ha.

Kel: Indeed.

*Slime Boi has left the Magi Retreat.*

*Cepheus is now available for asks.*

*Kel is now available for asks.*

[veritas-scribblings]

cherish - @rosekillermicrofic - words: 890 [mature: some thoughts of cannibalism]

Whomever thought that 18 years of age would be the correct age to force Evan, Barty and Regulus to be entirely self-sufficient obviously had a lot more faith in them than they ever really should have. Evan is fully prepared to admit that he, being raised in the depths of pureblood aristocracy, is high and proud about many things. His ability to independently care for the three of them is generally one of those things.

Normally. But it is surprising what hunger can do to a man.

There’s no fucking food in their home. 

For all the collective intelligence and skill between Evan, Barty and Regulus, it has apparently never occurred to any of them that food doesn’t just magically appear, no matter how great their magical aptitude. Food, unfortunately, actually needs to be purchased, prepared and/or cooked in order to actually be consumed.

There are several bottles of tequila and whiskey on the kitchen bench (the essentials, according to Barty), a jar of preserved horned slugs (because Regulus is a freak), and a sad browning lime. 

And now it’s 1.27am and Evan has reached the stage of hunger where his stomach feels like it’s begun to consume itself, and he just doesn’t know where to find food at such an unholy hour of the morning. Unfortunately, this is not a life skill his pureblood upbringing bestowed upon him.

“I once robbed a bakery,” Barty muses. Laying on his back staring at the ceiling (vaulted, Regulus had informed them when they’d all moved in), Barty throws a bouncy rubber ball up and down. It goes thunk, thunk, thunk against the wood. 

“I once robbed a bakery,” he repeats when he doesn’t get a reaction. “Just a little one. A…little robbery. It was 6am in the morning and I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a run and…you know, bakeries start…baking…early. Could smell it all the way from down the road. So I went in. Enchanted the bread sticks to chase the owner out.”

Barty is so full of shit. He never robbed a bakery, Evan is sure, because Barty would have surely brought him or Regulus along. Larceny is not a crime one should be committing alone. And, Evan thinks, Barty sometimes forgets how memorable he is, what with being the son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement…and just a little bit bat-shit crazy.

“It was run by this little old muggle grandmother,” he says. He throws the rubber ball again. Thunk. Thunk. “One of those old French-style bakeries…”

“Boulangerie,” Evan supplies, because being raised in the pureblood aristocracy is useful for some things, like appearing cultured even when Barty doesn’t actually care about such things.

“Boulangerie,” Barty repeats dutifully. His expression is distant, almost glassy, and the emerald green of his fringe has fallen across his eyes. “Made off with a bag of pastries. Ate ‘em on the way home.” 

“You did not.”

"Did too."

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Evan tries to grab the stupid bouncy ball, but Barty is too quick for him and palms it away before throwing it at the far wall across their lounge. Again and again.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Perhaps…stomach growling, Evan glances side-long at Barty, who is deep in thought. Perhaps Evan could eat Barty, and not in the kinky sense of the word. He could sink his teeth into the rich, golden flesh of Barty’s neck. Of Barty’s arms. The expanse of Barty’s back. The ropes of muscles Barty has developed after so many sleepless nights of running the streets around their home because he has endless reserves of energy.

He could eat Barty, flesh and blood and bone. Digest him. Become one with him.

See, Barty has a smell about him that is deep and heady. A smell that Evan loves, so thoroughly masculine in its warmth. When they were younger and Barty was just hitting the peak of adolescence, it would bother Evan endlessly because it would be everywhere permeating every aspect of their dormitory. The smell would cling to Barty’s clothes. To Evan’s clothes and Regulus’s clothes, that somehow also became Barty’s clothes. To Barty’s bedsheets. To all their bedsheets.

And Evan was sure at the time that his raging hormones (and raging horniness and general raging obsession) would get him in trouble.

That Barty would see it or feel it, somehow notice it, even through the layers of robes they’d had to wear, that Evan entertained filthy thoughts and dreams about him. And Barty would realise that he’d made a terrible miscalculation when he’d decided to claim Evan as his and Regulus’s shared territory, and it would be the end of it all for Evan.

So, thank fuck for Evan that Barty–for all his intelligence–is so fucking oblivious.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Evan had once been so proudly sure that he was past all of that. The adolescent obsession. The adolescent angst. The terror of losing both of his best friends to the depths of his depravity. 

Only, laying on his back next to Barty, Evan realises he’s still caught in the corner between ‘fucked’ and ‘doomed’ with no way out.

His stomach grumbles. 

It’s hollow. Like he’s hollow. He thinks, dimly, through the haze of his ravenous hunger, that he could fill himself with Barty. Every nerve. Every cell. 

And the hollowness might just pass.