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alchemistc · 4 months ago

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"Evan's not here," Tommy says, and Eddie scowls at him as he pushes past Tommy, already aiming for the kitchen as he hitches the six pack he'd brought with him up under his armpit. It'd been a - a thing. A 'my best friend and my new friend are too busy sucking face to spend every spare moment distracting me from my problems' thing, a thing where Eddie sort of finally understood exactly why Buck had hip checked him on the basketball court months ago. He wants his best friend back. He wants the ease of his friendship with Tommy back.

Which is - Christ, he's selfish, is the thing. A month without Chris there to keep him occupied and Eddie has had some startling realizations about himself. ("You're not selfish, Eddie, you're the most selfless person I know." from Buck and "So fix it," from Tommy, a rare night out with the both of them because he'd headed date night off at the pass by asking Tommy to go out for drinks before he and Buck could make plans without him).

"My world doesn't revolve around Buck," Eddie tells him, and screws the cap off a beer to hand it to Tommy. Tommy's doing that judgmental face he gets when he wants to say something bitchy but hasn't put the words in the right order yet. And - Eddie's not lying. Buck is a fixed point, an ever present life-line, but he's not the fucking sun.

Neither is Chris, apparently, which is news to Eddie and he's - spiralling, still. Quietly, calmly, and he's only punched one hole in the wall on a bad night.

"You ever go to Frank?" Eddie asks, like Frank is the only therapist in the greater LA area, and Tommy rolls his eyes, disappears long enough for the muted sound of the television to go quiet.

When he comes back Eddie's reading the label on his beer bottle

"Apparently I resent you," Eddie says, and Tommy chuffs a laugh.

"Apparently?"

"No, I -." The words had been just as hard two hours ago. This little trip was his own design, he'd been told specifically to sit in it for a while but Christ, an hour a week isn't enough time to talk through his issues and it's not like he can tell Buck he resents him for finding something he's happy and stable and solid in. So. Tommy it is. "You and Buck are good together. I'm happy for you both. I am."

Tommy settles against a countertop with his hip digging into the Formica. His kitchen has gained a dutch oven that looks suspiciously like the one Buck has been showing Eddie for like six months that he couldn't justify the cost of because he's not around enough to use it as much as he'd like.

"I'm not usually the one without his shit together," Eddie says.

"No offense, Eddie, but I thought the whole point of therapy was you realizing you rarely have your shit together."

Also true. He's - usually better at hiding it though. Kim was a joker stacked up on a wobbly house of cards and he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd bring the whole thing tumbling to the ground. Mass casualty event. No survivors.

"You make each other better people," Eddie says, which is the wrong thing to say apparently because Tommy scowls.

"If you wanna completely ignore all the work we've both put into ourselves," he snipes, and - yeah. Fair. Buck's been in therapy for years now. Every once in a while he'll pull something out of his ass that makes Eddie's skin itch - something so mystifyingly self-aware that it makes Eddie want to claw into his chest cavity and rip out his fucking heart. And Tommy - well, he doesn't know much but it's not like Tommy's the paragon of perfection. He's worked through some shit. Is still working through shit, if the aftermath of his and Buck's first real fight is any indication.

"I've never been with someone who makes me want to work on myself," Eddie admits, and the lines around Tommy's eyes shift. He sighs.

"Never gonna find that if you don't want it for yourself."

Yeah. Frank's said as much. It's just - Eddie doesn't have a starting point. Tommy had the whole hiding his true self thing, and Buck had the dead-brother-shitty-parents thing, and he's whittling them both down to the sharp edges of themselves in his mind, which isn't entirely fair but it's easier than trying to confront what the fuck his own problem is. Dead wife, his kid in another state, a contentious relationship with his father, a whole backlog of PTSD he's never really confronted head on. Weird feelings cropping up about a religion he thought he'd left in the dust and sand of Afghanistan and a hole he's been trying to fill up with other people since - well, he doesn't even know since when.

Tommy's got his dog tags laying in the bottom of an empty fruit bowl on his kitchen table. Eddie's never seen them before, and some part of him knows Tommy'd brought them out for a conversation with Buck he'll never hear himself, and he aches. He doesn't want them, but he wants what they have, wants to be able to talk about the difficult shit without closing in on himself, wants to have someone to come home to, wants -

"I spent six months imagining my therapist's head exploding every time she made me talk about something uncomfortable," Tommy tells him, and takes a long drag off his beer. For the first time since he'd knocked on Tommy's door, Eddie actually feels a little bad about interrupting his night, but that just leaves him spiralling some more because Eddie usually feels bad about everything, all the time, so why hadn't he felt guilty about this until now? And why does he feel guilty about not feeling guilty?

"I just want him to fix me," Eddie says, and Tommy laughs. Laughs hard and long enough that Eddie's feeling offended. Off kilter and pissed off and -

"You're not a single loose wire, Eddie. Can't just replace a cable and have a clean slate. You gotta change your oil and replace the spark plugs and top up the coolant, over and over again until you die."

It's the sort of metaphor Eddie'd like to lob across the field of engagement just to watch it get shot to pieces. It's apt, though.

"Feels like the whole engines gotta go," Eddie tells him "Transmission's shot and my catalytic converter keeps getting stolen and the mufflers been welded back on so many times that it's half-solder."

"Christ," Tommy says, which. Yeah. Exactly. "Well you can't exactly send yourself to the junk yard for scrap and buy a newer model."

"Buck does," Eddie snaps, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He'd been there the last time Buck brought up his 1.0 days.

"Half the time a system update patches ten bugs and creates twenty more."

"So Buck's buggy, is what you're saying."

He rolls his tongue over his teeth. "You are running off faulty software and you've been refusing to update to the new version because you heard it'd burn the battery faster, is what I'm saying."

Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of charge to begin with. And the metaphors are starting to muddle in his brain, too many different ideas battling around when he's already spent an ornery hour talking to Frank and another trying to convince himself he doesn't resent his best friend for accepting his own fucking flaws and working on them.

Tommy sets the beer bottle down. Eyes Eddie for a moment, and Eddie wonders how often he levels that look on Buck, how Buck feels when Tommy flays him open and digs through his insides. "You wanna go hit something for a bit?" he asks, and Eddie nods so quickly he nearly smacks his nose into the brim of the bottle in his own hand. He's about done feeling his feelings, for the moment. He'll probably end up being annoyed that Tommy makes him wrap his hands before he takes some aggression out on the bag hung up in the corner of Tommy's garage, but maybe when Tommy gets annoyed with him and does that takedown maneuver that knocks the wind out of Eddie's lungs when they're sparring he'll let that go.

Tommy flicks his forehead on the way to grab him something to wear. "That's for calling my boyfriend buggy, jackass," he says, and laughs himself all the way down the hall when Eddie splutters after him.

His bedroom door snicks shut by the time Eddie's recovered enough to remind him that he'd been Eddie's friend first.

#eddie&tommy #just a little something to tide us over until we get eddie riding the struggle bus on screen #bucktommy

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leviismybby · 5 months ago

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You watch as Levi does push ups, his shirt was soaked by sweat, it was very warm outside and he has been working out for at least an hour now, he looked so good. When he finishes he looks over at you on the bench and approches you, his eyes running open and down your body tho his expression stays the same. "Here." You throw him a water and he easily catches the flask, sweat running down his biceps. He takes a sip before taking a seat beside you, his hand resting on your thigh. "How long have you been watching me?" Levi is aware that you love watching him work out, you always did even before you two got together. "Enough to let you have your way with me right now." That gets a slight eyebrow raise from him. "Hope you're not saying that just for a fucking show."

And oh boy you didn't, Levi's hand was over your mouth as you were facing the bookshelf while he was pouding you hard. You grabbed the wood tightly, eyes rolling back each time his cock hit your spot. The library wasn't the best place to have sex but Levi was too eager to wait. "Atta girl. Always taking my cock so well." He grunts, his other hand squeezing your breast, his thrusts getting more erratic. He spins you around and quickly pins your back against the shelf, his hands spreading your legs pulling up up and keeping you against the bookcase as he continued to fuck you hard. Your lips meet in a fierce kiss, his tongue immediately making it's way to your mouth, few books fall off the shelves when Levi speeds up. "Fuck...your pussy feels so fucking good..." He grunts between hot kisses, his abs clench when your nails tug on his shirt. You bite his lower lip when your walls clench around him and you cum, your legs shake slightly but Levi isn't letting you down. "Aww you think I am done with you? How cute. I'll continue fucking you until you can't walk, princess."

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months ago

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Flirts IV

Mapi León x Reader x Ingrid Engen

Summary: You have to go

It's not that you don't want to be there because you do.

It's that you have to go away for a surgery.

There's some rich woman in California who needs you to operate on her cat. She's paying an extortionate amount for your services and sending a private jet to pick you up.

You love those kinds of pet owners, the ones with enough money to fly in the very best if only because of the clear love they have for all of their pets.

But they're also clients you can't deny.

If someone wants to fly you out for enough money to keep a family afloat for a year, someone with enough influence to make or break anybody's career, you can't say no.

Even if your girlfriend is fighting for Euro's qualification.

"Do you have to go?" Mapi asks, sitting inside of your unpacked suitcase like she was Bagheera in a box.

Honey sits on the bed, head in her paws as she waits, tail wagging, for Mapi to throw her tennis ball.

"Yes," You say, trying to choose between your purple or your blue scrubs," It's a lot of money. Enough for that fancy holiday to the Maldives you guys want to take."

"But it takes you away from us," Mapi whines and Ingrid makes an agreeing noise from over by the door.

"I've travelled for work before."

"You're going to miss my match," Ingrid says and a pit forms in your stomach.

Before this job came up, you and Mapi were meant to be travelling to Norway to see Ingrid's last Euro Qualifiers game before going off in a camper van with her parents.

You'd still make it to the last part, depending on what the labs for this cat came back as but you'd have to miss the match.

You reach out for her, drawing her closer by the waist and resting your head on her chest.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I am, really. I can call up and cancel if you really want me to. I know a guy to recommend instead."

Ingrid sighs, her chin sitting on the top of your head. "No," She says," That cat needs the best care possible. We all know you're the best. Go and be a hero."

"I'd hardly be a hero. It's just surgery."

"Surgery for some woman that clearly adores her pet cat. What you do saves lives. I think that makes you a hero."

"You're so sweet, Ingrid."

"And hot!"

You laugh. "Thanks for that, Mapi. I'm sure she knows that seeing as you tell her everyday."

Mapi shrugs with a smirk on her face. "I'm sure it's nice to be reminded."

Honey whines on the bed and you roll your eyes.

"Throw the ball already. She's getting impatient."

Mapi frowns, waving the ball around.

Honey's eyes dart around erratically to follow it.

"She isn't barking, though?"

You laugh, crossing the space to take the ball and lay a soft kiss on Mapi's lips. "Because she's well-behaved, Mapi. She knows not to bark unless it's an emergency."

You throw the ball up and down to make sure Honey's still watching before you launch it out of the room.

She's off like a shot as Ingrid hauls Mapi out of your suitcase.

You still feel guilty though, through the flight, through the labs, through everything.

The cat is cute one, a little tortoiseshell with an amicable nature and a complete lack of awareness of her surroundings.

You've always been an animal person. You've always loved all of them but living with Mapi and Ingrid has just given you an even newer appreciation for cats.

The checkup happens quickly and the labs are already done and completed by the time you arrive.

Money really does move things along because all the charts are perfect and after what should have been a week long wait to begin, you manage to take a day to get over your jetlag and get to work immediately the day after.

Surgery is simple to you. It's easy and soon enough the cat is halfway to recovery.

You don't quite understand how private planes are hired and sent out, if someone has to book a runway days in advance or if they're open indefinitely.

The original plan had been for you to take a week to do this but now it's all done, you don't quite know what to do with yourself apart from stew in guilt.

You had planned to take your mind off Ingrid's game by throwing yourself into work.

You have no work though and can't help but imagine yourself in Norway with your girlfriends, curled up in Mapi's arms while Ingrid whispers to you.

You swipe away a tear as you head down for dinner, your host gracious enough to treat you to a meal for all your good work.

You've gone radio silent to your girlfriends but neither are surprised.

You're always like that when you go out of the country for work, focused only on your patient. You want no distractions.

Mapi sits slumped in her seat next to Ingrid watching Norway play their last qualifier, sighing to herself as she looks at pictures of the three of you together.

"What's with the pout?" Ingrid teases, running her thumb over Mapi's jutted out bottom lip.

"I miss her," Mapi mutters, feeling a bit like a little kid sulking.

"I know but she'll be here soon and then we go out exploring with my parents before heading back home for preseason. It's not that long of a wait."

"I don't want to wait at all."

"I know but-"

A body slumps down on Mapi's other side and both of them turn.

"I'm not really a fan of this hotdog," You say," It's not bad but I guess I'm not that hungry. Do you want some Mapi?"

You don't get an answer from her because she crushes you into a hug. The hotdog that you regrettably bought squishes between your bodies.

You don't complain though, especially when Ingrid moves into the hug as well, tightening her grip around the both of you.

"I thought you couldn't make it?"

"Money talks," You tease," And the owner felt a bit of pity when I told her that I'd have to watch this match on tv. Chartered a jet for me to come straight here."

"And the cat?" Mapi asks.

"The cat's good. Recovering."

"I'm so happy you're here."

"We're both happy," Ingrid says," So, so happy."

You grin at your girls, the smiling splitting your face.

"I'm happy to be here too."

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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dadsbongos · 5 months ago

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cycle & jerk

5k words / warnings - pinv sex (unprotected, creampies), breeding kink, light choking, hair pulling, chilchuck's a mean dirty old man, heat cycle, i haven't written in awhile so like. idk don't execute me if this isn't a slay

summary - you are a rat-half foot-hybrid mix, king of the junjile but still social and fierce, and you go into heat and chilchuck can smell it (ew) and he's the only one that can help

~~~

Huffy panting causes Chilchuck to stir in his bedroll. A whine muffled into thin fluff, then the gentle drag of scratchy blankets catching on clothes as a lump grows more apparent beside him. Shyly, a hand wanders from clutching his arm to petting down his chest -- pausing at his belt and scrunching his shirt with a hearty groan. He watches quietly, heart thumping into his chest because he’s just not sure how to breach this.

Stupidly he’d assumed he still had more time. Looking back, he’s genuinely unsure as to why he ever thought that. The signs were there that tonight was his culling, weren’t they? He should’ve been more prepared.

four days prior.

Despite only servicing a single party in your entire adventuring career (and only wanting the one), you have a very strict set of dates in which you’re unavailable for work. Yet this month, regardless of his numerous efforts, your party leader has kept you in the dungeon past expiration.

“I told you I needed out of here before today, didn’t I?”

“You did…”

“And where am I?”

“Still here…”

To his credit, Laios appears earnestly ashamed -- hands folded in his lap and head bent to avoid looking you in the eye. He murmurs soft apologies, even as your attention is called across the room by Marcille.

“Take it easy,” she coos, which only infuriates you further, “What’s so important that you have to be so mad, anyway?”

“It’s basic decency,” you throw an arm out at your side, gesturing to your fellow half-foot on the right, “Chilchuck, back me up!”

“She’s right,” Chilchuck shrugs, “Although it sounds unfair to put all the blame on Laios.”

“I can’t leave before we’re done here,” you grumble, swiveling to face him fully (Laios sighs in gratitude that your wrath has been directed elsewhere), “I don’t get paid upfront, you know?”

“Huh, wonder if there was some way you could’ve fixed that.”

“I only work with Laios, why would I need to join a union?”

“Scab,” he coughs, far more teasing than of genuine frustration.

“Maybe we could help get you back to the surface if you told us what the problem was!” Marcille rolls around onto her hands, eyes wide in curiosity, “C’mon, share! Light a fire under us!”

“It’s embarrassing,” you scooch closer to Chilchuck before sagging against the wall, joining him on the ground. You fail to notice when he flinches at your proximity, “My business is my own.”

“Best leave it alone,” Senshi agrees, “We’ll just have to stay outta your way ‘til we’re done here.”

“Well, don’t avoid me,” you continue to scoff, watching as Izutsumi rustles along Chilchuck’s lap just to bat at your rounded ears with both paws, “Izutsumi, don’t touch those.”

She hisses quietly, only diverting her attention so far as your tail sandwiched between yours and Chilchuck’s thighs. You allow her to malleate the flesh, only because she makes no off-hand comments about how strangely cool the skin is (just the memory makes you glare over at Laios again, who cowardly shrinks back).

“You’re irritable today,” Chilchuck glances at you warily, tone equally cautious.

“And?”

His back slides down the wall until he’s nestled fully into his bedroll and turned away from you onto his side, “Nothing.”

Izutsumi hums quietly, head plopping into your lap, you two exchange confused glances before collectively deciding to let his sudden retirement go.

Since that night, Chilchuck has been avoiding you. You’re certain.

Initially, you’d attempted to rationalize it as a sense of hysteria, that you were simply hyper aware of his presence after the incident shared with Izutsumi. Until more incidents began compiling atop each other, and you were unable to pass them as individual misunderstandings.

Such as that next morning.

“Oh, you getting water?” Chilchuck rose from his slump against the far wall, gaze honed on Laios.

Your leader nods before thumbing towards you, “Yep. Found a small fountain across the hall. Wanna come?”

Chilchuck looks at you, blinking stupidly, before shaking his head, “I’ll probably wait until we set camp again.”

Then there was lunchtime.

“You’re so far away…” Marcille whines, stretching her arm out as if to manhandle Chilchuck back towards the rest of your party.

“There’s no room over there.”

Everyone stares at him for that, Izutsumi curling into your side protectively while Laios points down at the gaping space between you and Senshi with his plate. He grins, full of heart and goodwill, “There’s room right there, Chil’.”

“Oh,” Chilchuck’s shoulders slack, body unenthusiastically scooting across the floor until he’s awkwardly inserted beside you. Noticeably closer to Senshi than you, chuckling distantly and gazing solely into his food, “Duh. Didn’t notice that.”

Izutsumi smacks her lips in a rush to swallow her bite before contradicting, “You were staring at that spot for five minutes.”

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he recovers quickly, then promptly shutting his mouth the rest of lunch.

And the next day.

Anytime you spoke, he’d find an exit from the conversation. He’d conveniently need to speak with Laios, or Marcille, or Izutsumi, or Senshi whenever you approached. Not to mention how glaringly obvious the physical space between you was, whereas he usually traveled towards the middle of the pack with you he’s now suddenly braving the front alongside Laios.

Each effort on your part to shut down tension was swiftly dodged, only managing to thicken the strain between you.

Until that night:

“I’m heading for the bathroom,” Chilchuck rises from his bedroll with a yawn.

“Want me to go with?” Laios offers.

“No,” but his kindness is wasted on Chilchuck, who grimaces at the thought of pissing with a silently listening Laios.

Laios frowns over at you, “But it’s dark out there, I would’ve kept him safe.”

“He’ll live,” you retort, frustration with the lockpick boiling over into an eye roll.

You feel a lithe finger dig into your thigh, finding Marcille turned onto her tummy in her blanket, “You could go confront him now. He’ll have no excuses with nobody else around.”

Figures someone as invasive as Marcille is so invested in yours and Chilchuck’s recent friction.

“Yeah, I’ll just go up behind him while he’s peeing. Great idea.”

“Scare him into submission,” Izutsumi adds, though betraying you by selfishly occupying Chilchuck’s mat across the room. She snuggles into the warmth he’s left behind, yawning loudly -- looking about three seconds from drifting into slumber.

“There’s ale stocks along the way,” Senshi now joins the conversation, and is arguably the most helpful, “Some of ‘em bound to be full. He won’t turn down a drink.”

“Huh,” you tease the idea further. Even if by some uncharacteristic possession, Chilchuck does refuse the offer of alcohol, you can always beat him with the bottle. Knock him out to tie down and force out answers once he’s awake, “That could work…”

You replay that very thought process in your head as you await for Chilchuck to wander back down the hall. You passed as far as the corridor after the ale shelves before realizing how strange lingering outside the bathroom is, then deciding to sit with your back to the wall. Not long now, Chilchuck will be right in front of you.

He won’t jump back in shock, either. He’s heard you walking, you know he did because you heard him pause, sigh, and continue at a much, much slower pace. You’d almost be swooning over how he could discern it was you by your walk, if only there wasn’t such a vexing reason for you to be out here.

At least you have the advantage, your superior rodent vision can make him out in the pitch dark, meanwhile he’s relying on estimation as to where you are. If you wanted, you could probably just throw the ale at his head and get the knocking-him-unconscious bit over with.

“Okay,” he sighs again, louder, arms folded across his chest, “What?”

“Me what? How about you what?”

Chilchuck leans his head away from you, as if he can’t so much as stand to look at you, “What’re you talking about?”

“Just sit,” when he makes no such move, you lift one bottle in your hand, swirling the dark liquid inside, “I brought a bribe just to be nice, don’t let it go to waste.”

“Where’d you get that?” his curiosity blocks out his better instinct, sitting at your side to snatch up the bottle. You can see the instant he regrets it -- his nose wrinkles up and he swallows harshly, “Okay, what do you want?”

You ‘hpmh’ at his testy tone, letting him stew in the unpleasant silence before he’s uncorking the bottle and taking his first gulp. His nonchalance is more irritating than his avoidance; now he wants to insist you’re the weird one when he was dodging you as some toxic, erratic creature. Rage spurs you to your feet, swinging around to stand directly in front of him.

“You’re avoiding me, I know you are!” in retrospect, you will be glad you’re so far from the party so you two can yell without disturbing them.

“I am not!”

“Stop being defensive, just tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it!”

“I can’t,” Chilchuck grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, face blooming red. That tangy aroma usually hidden until it was right under his nose, flooding his mouth. It was now overpowering your usual scent, and he assumes the only reason you’re so oblivious is because your own advanced smelling has grown blind to it, “It’s nothing you can fix. I’m just cursed with heightened senses.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?!” you stumble back, arms curling around your stomach, “No way! You can…”

Oh, God.

“Yep.”

Oh, God, no.

“Gross!”

Chilchuck shrugs, tilting the ale against his lips and murmuring into tinted glass, “Usually it's only the bloody part we can pick up on, but uh,” he sips the bitter liquid, clearly hesitant to finish his thought until your curious hum encourages him, “I guess beastkin are more… potent…”

“Ew!”

“I didn’t want to finish saying it!”

“But you did,” you gag, “You’re a pervert, phrasing it all nasty like that.”

“What? Would you rather me say it how Laios would?”

“Don’t even joke about that,” you go rigid suddenly, heart seizing at the mention of Laios, “He can’t find out about this.”

“Agreed, it’d be disgusting to hear him ask all those personal questions.”

“So,” you emphasize, clasping your hands nervously, “I need to get it taken care of before I become a problem.”

Chilchuck freezes. Eyes drifting slowly from his bottle to your pinched face, “No.”

“What?”

“No. Ask Senshi or Marcille -- hell! Knock out two problems in one swoop and have Laios help! He’ll leave you alone for the rest of your life if he can get all his questions out now.”

“I wasn’t saying that,” you totally were, and you should’ve known better due to his aversion to interpersonal party-relationships, “Just, I dunno, keep me away from the others.”

“Why me?” he groans.

“You’re the only one who knows…”

“What about Izutsumi? Can’t she be your guard?”

“No! I wanna preserve my positive image in her mind as long as I can.”

Chilchuck scowls, polishing off the bottle with a loud gulp and rolling the neck between his hands, “Guess this is why we never saw you around this time.”

“Uh-huh…”

“And you’re gonna be miserable down here until it's over.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it’ll only be worse once you actually go into heat.”

“I know, Chilchuck, I’m thirty -- I know how my own heats work.”

You watch confirmed and suspected information sink in for him: Chilchuck was surprised to meet you upon joining the party, as far as he’d heard from whispered tales beastmen looked human most of their lives. Yet you’ve got large, circular ears with a light layer of fur, a pudgy button nose that twitches, and a fleshy tail unfurling to your ankles. You store fat easier than any other half-foot he’s ever met, your legs are stronger and faster than any other half-foot, too.

As terrible as it sounds out of context, your body fascinates him. Not to liken himself to Laios, but well… Ideally this could be his perfect excuse to fully explore, he could have so many questions answered.

Are there humanoid ears hidden behind your hair? Does the peach fuzz on your tail match what courses over your thighs and arms? Has the strength of a rat’s jaw proportionally stretched to your own, like with your legs? Is your whole body warm like a humanoid or cool like your tail? Do you only leave every other month because your rat heat is worse than your human ovulation?

Would having sex with you be like with any other half-foot, or would you be a completely new experience?

Have your strange circumstances forced you into a romantic stasis, making you vulnerable and sensitive to his experienced hands?

If he refuses you now, would you take the bait and ask Laios for help instead?

“Laios seriously doesn’t know about this? At all?”

“I’m sure he knows menstruation exists,” and by proxy ovulation, “but no, I haven’t mentioned my heat.”

“I would’ve thought he’d constantly ask about your… anatomy…”

“Honestly, I think it’s why he approached me to join his party, but I told him off after the first weird question,” you laugh quietly at the memory, “Funny enough, he didn’t seem weird. Most men that approached me were dogs, so meeting him was a relief. Never wanted to work for someone else after our first dive together.”

Chilchuck nods slowly, smoothing the pad of his thumb across the emptied bottle and staring into his dark, murky reflection, “You’ve been in the party longest. You gotta be fond of the guy by now.”

No, he corrects, judging by how you phrased it -- you’ve always been fond of him.

“I guess…” you shrug, “but I’m not fond fond,” you cross your arms defensively, humiliated chills racing up your arms at his unspoken rejection, “I could be, if you’re so adverse. It doesn’t have to be you, Chilchuck. Sorry for asking something so intimate.”

Chilchuck lays the bottle down, shaking his head as he stands, “Don’t ask that dolt. I’ll help.”

“Really?”

More questions infiltrate his mind, unwelcomed as they are interesting.

Do you squeal or huff when you cum? Are you the type to leave scratches? Do you bite (and thus, back to the jaw strength thing)? Would you let him yank your hair? Your tail? Both?

“Thanks, Chilchuck,” you feel the inexplicable need to whisper your appreciation, as if raising your voice could somehow rouse his testy attitude and result in backtracking.

“You should call me Chil.”

“Huh?”

“It’d be awkward to hear my whole name during sex. That’s about as close as people can get, right?”

“Oh!” you’re taken aback. You thought he was against that, though clearly…

His face is flushed (however his decisive speech and sturdy stance negate any intoxication allegations), and you can almost make out the thump of his heartbeat in the filling silence. Or maybe that part is your imagination. Maybe you’re hoping his heart is racing as fast as yours.

“When would be best?” he clears his throat, pulling at the collar of his shirt as though it's choking him, “Now?”

“No!” you cry, mostly out of shock he’s that willing, “No, it wouldn’t do anything now since I’m not… you know. Yet. We’ll have to wait.”

“How long?”

“Not sure. This is why I like to be at home during.”

“I get it,” he runs a hand down the length of his face, hissing quietly in exasperation, “I hate playing these things by ear.”

“‘These things’?” you chuckle as Chilchuck’s face goes red at the implication, he storms past you praying you drop his slip-up, “You do this kind of thing often?”

“Shut up.”

“So, you’re just the guy to go to, then! I should come to you every other month!”

“Shut up!”

…

“Glad to see you two made up,” Marcille’s cheery tone is the first to rake through the room next morning, “Though…”

You’re practically draped over Chilchuck’s back, already feeling your body temperature climbing unnaturally. He’s patting your sweltering cheek sympathetically, allowing you to burrow your face into the bend of his neck. And you’re pressing your chest obnoxiously into his back.

“You’re a bit close,” she teases in a quiet giggle.

Chilchuck rolls his eyes, biting back any replies to avoid unintentionally spilling your secret.

He turns, lips brushing your temple as he whispers to you, “How’re you doing? I could probably lie to Laios and- “

“No,” you whine, embarrassment evident in how you curl your arms tighter around his waist and shuffle closer, “I can’t right now, that’s so… weird.”

“Sure, that would be weird.”

That night, both you and Chilchuck jammed into an off-room from the rest of your party. You two having made the escape after everyone else fell asleep to avoid questions about why you were separating yourselves.

He chooses not to comment on how you strip down to only your panties before falling asleep.

…

While he’s internally debating the ethics of chickening out on his promise to you, you’re suffering. Bad.

Sweat clings along the back of your neck and all down your molten face. Worse than that heat, is the one between your thighs. You’ve been duly rubbing at yourself through your panties for the better half of eternity, earnestly hoping to deal with this yourself rather than following through with using Chilchuck. That in itself is proof you’re barely in your right mind, masturbating has never worked before -- obviously it won’t now.

All it succeeds in is making you wetter and messier.

A little physical stimulation, you reason, can’t be bad. So you faintly trail a hand over Chilchuck’s soft stomach, pausing before his crotch and feeling your chest pound at the thought:

Below his navel is his penis.

Then there’s the next thought:

His penis should be inside you.

You moan quietly, eyes clenched shut and cheek smushing into your bedroll. Were you not preoccupied with the broiling in your stomach, you’d probably be feeling the ache in your knees holding up your weight. Your back arched and rear presented for mounting.

Just as you’re delirious enough with desperation to shake Chilchuck awake, he’s turning onto his side and carding stray hairs from your damp face. Fire licks up his fingertips and he frowns, “You’re warm.”

“Chil,” relief fills you at his voice, something else filling the seat of your underwear. The hand on his tummy winds up to the collar of his shirt, you fumble with the top button, “Chil, can you- ? Please, I feel so fucking hot, Chil. I need you.”

Chilchuck casts the others a brief glance through the door before pushing up onto his elbows, one hand joining yours between your legs. He swallows harshly at the warmth, slithering beneath the waistband of your panties to skim his fingertips directly along your pussy. You push back into his hand with a mewl, near the point of gasping for breath at the new sensation of a man’s fingers pressing inside you.

“Slipped right in,” he muses, tilting his head to be level with yours, “So wet and ready, you should’ve woken me up before. Could’ve saved you the embarrassment.”

Anything impactful like words and vowels is slurred as you rock into Chilchuck’s hand, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. The pads of his fingers dive towards the pouch of your stomach, curling in search of one specific spot.

You gasp sharply and buck back, unabashedly and with no care if it catches bleary eyes from the other room, making him sure he’s found it. His other hand juts out to press up on your tummy, only aiding the pressure of his fingers inside you.

“Not- uh! - not gonna finish like this, Chil,” you whine pathetically, batting your lashes at him wetly.

“Who said anything about that?” he slips his fingers out of you, then swishing the soaked digits around your clit just to hear you try, and fail, to muffle a squeal into your pillow, “Finish: like it's a job. I’m trying to watch you squirm like the bitch in heat you are.”

You hadn’t assumed he was the type, given his opposition to being personal. His consistent, almost annoyingly thorough, separation of business and pleasure. This (apparently incorrect) observation stems from how you also hadn’t assumed he was the type to be curious about you.

Chilchuck teases your slit to watch if you'll try smothering more moans by biting your mat. He inches his face to yours, listening for pinched curses and wails. Eyes trail down your face to your chest, studying the way it pillows against the bedroll. He feels every part the creep he accused Laios of being.

“You're so sensitive,” he notes, shuffling onto his knees behind you, shoving his pants midway down his thighs, “What? Not used to this?”

You swat at him in protest, though still humping pathetically. Every twitch and moan is based on pure instinct, you’ve got no clue how to intentionally be sexy -- you’re just praying Chilchuck is too hypnotized by your cunt for your inexperience to be glaringly obvious. Between work and the fetishizing of both your race and curse, a partner has been hard to find: making you a rare half-foot approaching your golden years as a virgin.

Chilchuck lubes the head of his cock with your syrupy wetness before sliding inside, hands playing the fat of your hips. He lets out a low groan, one hand groping from your side up the curve of your ass and along your spine before winding in your hair. His fingers slot around the roots, taking the base of your skull to use as leverage while he fucks you.

He can make out the choked sound of you tempering a moan by sinking your teeth into cushion. You reach back, nails snagging his exposed thigh to anchor him deep inside your wetly clicking cunt. Chilchuck wrangles your back against his chest by your hair, placing his hand over your mouth as a muzzle. Hot breaths fan the soft skin of his palm, skin slapping skin slowly growing louder in a way that should make Chilchuck more careful than it does.

Rather, he speeds up, hand on your hip rounding to circle your sloshed, swollen clit.

“Just shut up and take it,” he grunts, releasing your mouth to seize your throat, until ribbed tissue presses into his palm.

Gagged whimpers and gasps die as sputters in the pit of your chest, Chilchuck biting and sucking your neck to silence his own wanton crowing.

Every glide out of you is met with your violent heat and need sucking him back in. Your head swivels, putty nose rolling against his cheek as you press sloppy kisses along his cheek.

Heeding your frantic, whispered pleas, Chilchuck shifts to return your kisses. Tongue against tongue, hands pulling your bodies into one sticky tangle.

“Gonna let me breed you?” he growls, using his weight over you to suddenly pin you against your bedroll. Your wetness dripping toward the mat, down his wrist, and along his pelvis, “Gonna give me a baby? Make me a daddy?” your ass perks up, tail coiling around his thigh to tether him, he chuckles cruelly down at you, “Yeah, such a good mousy cunt for me. Open and wet, taking my cock.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, gasping aloud now only for Chilchuck’s hand around your neck to return to your face -- two of his fingers depressing your tongue. Even with the obvious attempt to hush you, you call to him. Garbled, braindead slews of pleas for his cum and begging for (somehow) more attention.

“Is this really all your heat, or are you just such a secret slut?” your whine and clenching stir him up, gooey and compliant and bursting at the seams just for you, “Trying to be all cute, asking for help,” his thrusts quicken when you arch back, hand snatching around his at your clit, “If you wanted to be my cumslut, you could’ve fucking said so.”

You bury your face into your makeshift bed, muffling something in the mat, and Chilchuck yanks your head up by your hair,

“What was that, slut?”

Your thighs are quivering, cunt gushing around him, chest pounding erratically with the need for air, “Just want your cum, Chil!”

Chilchuck stills against you, shuddering and cock heavy in your gut as he cums inside you--

Not that you’re finished yet.

“So good!” you sing, welcoming the reprieve and stubbornly tucking Chilchuck deeper inside you despite him being spent. He throws his head back, eyes rolling in his skull as you continue, “Just a bit more, Chil, please, please, please!”

“Desperate whore,” he slumps forward, biting your shoulder before whirring onto his back, “You do the work now, if you’re so fuckin’ greedy.”

“So mean,” you pout, though the complaint doesn’t deter you from sinking onto his cock like this.

“You’re gonna fuck me asleep,” Chilchuck is courteous enough to languidly snap his hips up into yours, “Needy, desperate bitch.”

For as much as he teases you -- he’s on the brink of tears from overstimulation, voice clipped and throat raw with the need to cry.

“Just one more,” you whine, hands scratching back against his chest, “Gimme one more, please?”

“Fuck,” Chilchuck sucks in a sharp breath, icy tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, “Fine.”

An airy giggle flows through your lips, ditzy and hot and eager.

A few aggravated plaps is enough for Chilchuck to be puffing and shaking, your bounces deteriorate into heedy grinding. Chilchuck winds both arms around your midsection to pull your back against his chest, frustrated tears caking his lashes the longer his abused cock cooks inside you.

“C’mon, babe, you can cum for me. You gotta feel good, too, right?” he’s murmuring in your fluffy ear, flicking your clit with his thumb, “No point in this if you don’t feel good, too.”

His words are not what flips you into euphoria, but rather the sensation of his cum trickling from your swollen cunt -- fucked loose from your incessant jerking on him.

You toss your head back, Chilchuck narrowly avoiding a broken nose by swerving to the side. Loudly thunking together, your clamped knees trap his hand between your thighs -- gurgled cries for breath and his name croak from your hanging mouth.

“Good slut,” he lays sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against your neck, fingers slowing to a pause on your clit, “Best cunt for me.”

“Thank you,” you sigh into the open air, voice all soft and sweet.

Chilchuck laughs at the sound, lulling to the side to spoon you, “You’re way nicer like this. Could get used to it.”

“Don’t ruin this,” you yawn, pinching his wrist.

“Whatever, this better be enough to satisfy you,” he pulls the blanket over your conjoined limbs, too drained to pull up his pants and redress you.

“Hey,” you call, met with a soft groan of acknowledgement, “You know I’m not a mouse, right? I’m a rat.”

“Mhm,” he lazily confirms, “Sounds better than ratty cunt, though. So pick your battles.”

The next morning, a hand is shaking you awake. A soft and polite gesture immediately ruined when you realize the hand is much larger than Chilchuck’s. In a panic, your eyes shoot open to see your cheerful party leader.

“Thanks for going in the other room,” is the first thing out of his mouth, and you want to punch him, “I figure you two would want to get sorted out before everyone else wakes up.”

“Laios…”

“Hm?” his hand is still burning a hole through the sheet on your shoulder.

“Stop touching me.”

“Sorry!” he clutches the offending mitt to his chest, then rising to a stand and waving goodbye, “See you in a bit! Try not to take too long, okay? I have a lot of questions.”

“Get out.”

Unbothered by your mortification, Laios gives a thumbs up and creeps out into the room with the rest of your party.

“We should kill him,” Chilchuck husks into your ear.

“We should.”

“So,” Chilchuck cups the pouch of your tummy, squeezing in a way simultaneously strange and affectionate, “‘s this gonna become a problem?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I think I’m infertile.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Rat eggs and human eggs don’t actually mix well.”

“Well, it’s a relief I won’t have to raise another kid, I guess. How terrible would that be? I’d be on my deathbed when it gets married.”

…?

???

“Hey, wait,” you roll over in bed, brows furrowed at the man, “Another?”

He nods sluggishly, judgment clouded by both drowsiness and libido, “Three daughters already, so that’d be my fourth,” he cackles at your shocked face, “What? Sex with a coworker you don’t know isn’t panning how you thought?”

“Oh, shut up. I know you, just not your family. Totally different.”

“Definitely. Opposites.”

“So,” Laios swings his head towards Chilchuck, smiling politely, “How many nipples?”

~~~

stupid bonus

“What?” Chilchuck’s eye twitches.

“Sadly, I think it's only two because there’s only two visible mammaries…” the blonde has the gall to sigh at such a thought before suddenly blooming excitement, “Unless there’s more hiding in some kind of wrap! Are there?”

#chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck smut #chilchuck tims smut #dungeon meshi x reader #dunmeshi x reader #dunmeshi smut

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breezilis · 26 days ago

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something that makes me soooo insane about telemachus in i can't help but wonder (and also in the wider context of epic the musical) is that telemachus says in i can't help but wonder,

"i can't help but wonder what your world must be / if we're like each other, if i have your strength in me / all this time i've wondered if you'd embrace me as your own"

because — for so much of his life, telemachus has probably been told stories about king odysseus, his father, cunning strategist, favored of athena, etc etc, and wanting to live up to that ("i know life and fate are scary, but i wanna be legendary!", "and i would fight them if i was half as strong as you" from legendary)

he has also spent so much of his life being terrorized, and watching his mother being terrorized, by suitors for her hand — and he probably thought "well, FATHER would be able to drive them off!"

and then odysseus does come. and he kills them all.

and. yes. father has finally returned. finally driven them off. but his father also had to save telemachus from melanthius, the one suitor who threatened to "break the kid's hands" to cow odysseus.

there must have been something in telemachus that thought, "ah. so you are exactly as legendary as everything i've ever heard about you, father. and i am...not."

reminder that, in we'll be fine, telemachus says that his time with athena has been the best day of his life "'cause [he] got in a fight and [he] didn't die" — that was probably his first ever fight.

plus, with the way the suitors mock him and speak about him, he's probably VERY AWARE that he is constantly compared to his father, and found lacking.

so of course he's thinking about how his legendary, cunning, kingly father might ALSO compare them, and might come to the same conclusions as everyone else. he might well decide that telemachus would not be WORTHY of being, to borrow telemachus' own words here, "embrace[d] as [odysseus'] own".

of course, odysseus has never once thought about his son as anything other than HIS — "my boy", "my son", "sweetest joy i've known", a driving force to getting him home in the horse and the infant ("penelope, telemachus, i'm on my way") and in keep your friends close where you can hear telemachus as one of the voices urging odysseus to keep his eyes open — but i wonder how long it would take telemachus to really believe that his father isn't disappointed in him, because he has spent TWENTY YEARS being put and putting himself in the shadow of this man — and it might even make him self conscious, that odysseus spent all that effort coming home to his Ideal Family™ only to be met with the reality of what they really are.

i firmly believe that to ody, the reality of his family will always be better than the "ideals" — and that probably ody's "idealized family" is literally just. whatever penelope and telemachus are like now.

but idk. it's just something i feel like they'd have to work through, now that odysseus IS home, and it is just such a consistent part of telemachus' character that i haven't really seen anyone discuss.

#epic the musical #telemachus #odysseus #epic odysseus #epic telemachus #the ithaca saga #the wisdom saga #jorge rivera herrans

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beansprean · 1 month ago

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WHAT WE CLUE IN THE SHADOWS: A FINALE CONSPIRACY BOARD

So. WWDITS may have the actual balls to do this to us. and I for one am INCREDIBLY excited for the possibility. If you're a WWDITS fan and haven't seen Clue (1985), I highly recommend taking 95 minutes to do so before the finale. Just in case.

Clue is my favorite movie, I have probably seen it upwards of 100 times for real, and I can recite it from memory with 90% accuracy. I also have the pleasure of owning and playing the WWDITS-themed Clue game, which is centered around finding out who stole the witch's skin hat and where in the house they hid it. I don't know if that will play into the finale at all, but it's something to think about.

The thing about Clue (the film), if you aren't aware, is that there are three different endings. On the vhs/dvd, you see all three in a row between 'that's how it could have happened, but what about this?' title cards. In theaters, there were three versions of the movie (labeled A, B, and C) that were dispersed to different theaters, so depending on where and when you went to see it you would see one of 3 endings. (It's kinda unclear which letter corresponded to which originally, so my labels will be assuming a 1:1 comparison between the order of the home version of Clue and the airing order of the WWDITS episodes.) The Clue endings are not all made equal, and on the home version, the final ending is announced as 'what really happened.'

So allow me to take a moment to talk about how the different endings work in context to each other and the film, and how that could translate to three different endings for WWDITS.

CLUE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT (for real, go watch it)

(last chance to watch Clue go)

Ending#1: "Communism is just a red herring"

In this ending, the first one that plays in the home version, Miss Scarlet is revealed to be the murderer. She is a snarky, sarcastic madam who runs a "hotel and telephone service to provide men with the company of a young lady for a short while" and has policemen on her payroll. This is what I would consider the expected ending, the one that makes sense for most viewers. It's not shocking, but it's funny and well acted and it makes the most sense. Miss Scarlet has the right personality for murder, was in the most convenient area of the house to commit them, and had Yvette (the maid, formerly one of Miss Scarlet's call girls) committing some of the murders at her direction, so she had enough alibis to not make her too obvious. Many people watching this movie for the first time will have her high on their suspect list.

This ending also dismisses the idea of 'dangerous communism' that had been a thread throughout the film (as it is set in 1953 during the second Red Scare) as a misdirection. Miss Scarlet isn't stealing government secrets to betray the US; she's doing it to make money. The real danger all along was capitalism, something that s6 of WWDITS has said repeatedly.

So, to recap, this is the Standard Ending. The Second Best ending. Version B.

Ending #2: "Mrs. Peacock did it all."

This one, played second in the home version, is in my opinion the weakest ending. It reveals Mrs. Peacock, the neurotic, hysterical, and allegedly politically corrupt wife of a senator, as the murderer. She's hilarious and fantastic to watch throughout the whole film and I love her, but this charm drops after the reveal and she becomes cold and drab as she threatens her way to safety. She committed all the murders herself, which would be very difficult to achieve with the tight timing and her position in the basement during the search.

She ends up being caught outside the house by a police inspector, who had earlier shown up disguised as an evangelist telling her to "repent, the kingdom of heaven is at hand." Interestingly, they originally filmed him immediately shooting her dead without provocation, but they thought that was too dark and edited it into an arrest instead (which is why there is such a quick cut after he pulls his gun, and we only hear her rather than see her after that). This is the 'repent for your sins' ending. You do bad things, bad things happen to you.

The obligatory "it's always who you least expect" ending. The Still-Good-But-Not-The-Best Ending. Version C.

Ending #3: "You're Mr. Boddy!"

This is "how it really happened" - the twist ending! The hero was the villain, the villain was just a pawn, and everyone committed a murder in the house to cover their own asses. Prof Plum killed the fake Mr. Boddy, Miss Scarlet killed the cop, Mrs. Peacock killed Mrs. Ho (the cook), Mrs. White killed Yvette, Colonel Mustard killed the motorist, and Wadsworth/Mr. Boddy killed the singing telegram girl.

Mr. Green, who reveals he works for the FBI, kills Wadsworth/Mr. Boddy and arrests the rest of the cast. Understandably the best and most exciting ending (though not without some plot holes) that everyone loves. We get a surprising reveal from two of our main characters that not only changes the context with how you view them, but informs aspects of their character that have been there throughout the film! Now we understand why Wadsworth retained control of the house and the timeline of events, why he was so familiar with the house, and why this entire thing was orchestrated in the first place. We also understand why the cowardly and clumsy Mr. Green was consistently the first to jump to help and defend the other characters, even when it meant putting himself if physical danger. Unfortunately this ending also suggests that he was only pretending to be gay (wouldn't that be a twist for Guillermo lol), but he could also just be in a lavender marriage which is what I choose to believe.

This ending also has the iconic 'flames on the side of my face' scene and repeats 'communism is a red herring', this time in the context of Mr. Boddy's intention to continue blackmailing them all now that they have taken care of anyone who could have pointed the finger at him.

This is the True Ending. The twist you didn't expect but are delighted to find. The 'nothing was as it seemed' endng. The ending that is the most intentional and complete, where everyone gets to shine. Version A.

So what will we be doing in those shadows?

We can assume that e11 will not revolve around finding a murderer, but it does, from what we've seen in the trailer, revolve around making a wife for the monster. Do we get three different wives? Three different actors to play her? Three different superhero identities for Nandor and Guillermo? Three different levels of nandermo: one with a handshake, one with a hug, one with a kiss? Three different explanations for the origin and/or purpose of the documentary? (this is my personal favorite) Or is each ending entirely divorced from the other? Only time will tell.

What I'm leaning toward is that each episode will come up to the same turning point - a decision, a reveal, etc. The first two versions will have reasonable possibilities, the first less surprising but more enjoyable than the second, and the third... The third will be what really happened, and pull a twist no one saw coming. Perhaps even a character will reveal a hidden identity. Maybe, just maybe...we get Simon the Devious.

I only hope the order of the episodes doesn't change between channels or time zones because that will make things very confusing when liveblogging it in the group chat lmao.

#wwdits #wwdits speculation #clue 1985 #wwdits season 6 #wwdits s6 spoilers #wwdits series finale #my post #not art #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #id in alt text #me continuing to make everything about simon the devious i just miss him

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bwat5-blog · 21 days ago

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Why Didn't We See Cait Tell Vi About Jinx?

**Spoilers For Arcane***

There has been a tremendous amount of conversation regarding Jinx's fate in the end of the show. I think by now, most of us seem to agree she is alive. There is a significant amount of evidence. But one of the conversations I have enjoyed reading different takes on, is did Caitlyn tell Vi her suspicions? should she? and why didn't we see one way or the other? This will be fairly short compared to my usual work, I just wanted to delve into these questions, offer my thoughts, and hopefully get some good discussion out of it!

THE EVIDENCE: (In no particular order)

The Shimmer streak right as the explosion occurs

I have seen some argue that it's simply the purple inside the bomb. This is possible of course but it seems extremely directed.

2. Caitlyn's investigations

When it is all said and done, we have a quiet moment with Caitlyn investigating the cooling/vent system of the tower where Jinx died, as well has holding the mostly intact head of her monkey bomb. the implication here is quite clear. But of course it is not definitive. They are only telling us she reason to be thinking about Jinx being alive.

3. Full Circle

The second shot is the last one of the show.. if we didn't have the first shot to fall back to it would feel quite random but if you think back to that, it seems quite clear what they are implying. Additionally although I don't have a good way to share it here, the score in this moment is variation on "Dear friend across the river" which we hear Powder singing to open the whole show.

4. Glitched The End

That is the very last shot we are given and the animation is very in line with the glitch style of Jinx we have come to know so well.

5. Arcane Afterglow For Act 3

youtube

Skip to 1:19 if that is all you are here for

________________________________________________

There are others for sure. I saw someone in the community post some pages from the artbook showing things like "i'm still here" I believe it was. And I know there have been other interviews and such. This is just what I am personally aware of. And while of course I am just a regular fan and I don't know any better than any of you, this is all enough for me to feel confidant saying she's alive. I am of a similar opinion to many I have seen. I do not think Caitlyn had told Vi by the end of what we saw, but I think it's because she herself is not 100% sure yet.

Why isn't she sure?

Well even using the evidence I listed, only one out of those five points is something Caitlyn would be aware of. Now I do think she is probably fairly confidant, as the implication of her investigating at all was very clear. But keeping in mind that she knows how badly Vi wanted to save Jinx, and the enormity of the guilt Vi must feel given that Jinx had to save her (Vi was legitimately having a dissociative episode born of her PTSD and there was nothing she could do. Don't start with me Anti-Vi'ers), I think Caitlyn would be very careful to not give Vi false hope.

Would Caitlyn Even Tell Vi and Risk Her leaving?

I think so. And my reasoning is that she has done it before. When she paved the way for Vi to free Jinx, there was every possibility the sisters would vanish into the night and Caitlyn would never see them again. With that in mind, and their dynamic in general with Caitlyn probably feeling she has a tremendous amount of trust to keep rebuilding between them, I seriously doubt she would risk hiding something so large from Vi if she felt confidant Jinx was alive. Jinx wanted Vi to live free of their past and find her happiness. I think Caitlyn would honor giving Vi the choice and hope for the best. Especially taking into account the whole dynamic around Caitlyn showing Vi how much she loves and respects not only her, but her heart. She cherishes the heart that drives Vi to protect those she loves. I don't see Caitlyn betraying that by trying to control her.

Is it better for Vi to know?

This one is tough. On the one hand, we have to factor all the things we already discussed in. We know Vi wanted them to be together. We know she is probably torturing herself over her sister's perceived death. But, we also have to consider the other side. Because by the end the Sisters are family again. So why would Jinx leave and not tell Vi the truth?:

Jinx herself will never know peace in Piltover or Zaun (at least as things are now). I'm not doing a whole thing here, but in Zaun they all want her to be their symbol. And in Piltover, regardless of her heroism or the reason she did what she did, there will always be stares and whispers for her crimes. Not to mention the whole process of whatever resolving the issues of her crimes would mean in the first place. It would not only be trouble for her, but probably for Vi and Caitlyn as well. She gave Vi permission to move forward with her life, and we saw Vi take it which is a reason to be hopeful. But if I were Jinx, and I had decided to leave, I would be very aware of the possibility that Vi would feel honor bound to leave the love she had found, and turn her back on the peace Jinx tried to convince her she deserves. Because while Vi is full to the brim with wonderful qualities, her journey to believing her own self-worth is still very new. And I think Jinx wisely would be worried Vi could not let her go alone. Just as Vi has to start finding herself free of their past, Jinx needs the same. It's not that she doesn't love Vi. I think she has made it EXTREMELY CLEAR that she does. But in terms of her mental state and her arc, I think she has resolved the conflict between the shattered ghost of Powder, and Silco's terrorist daughter. she IS JINX. She is no longer A JINX. And I think to find out what that means, she has to step away from the shadows of her past and start completely over. Just as Vi has to start finding out who she is without the crushing guilt and pain of their childhood. Listen yall, I know I can be quite harsh on Jinx especially because Vi is my favorite. But let me bring you back to something I first realized in my deep-dive on the sisters relationship.

Vi is a courageous, loving, and loyal sister who would fist fight the devil himself with one hand tied behind her back for her loved ones. But she is still only a person. And as always, the brilliantly heart wrenching writing of this show tells us exactly how Jinx feels about her older sister in the opening of the show, and proves it again at the end:

Even when they were little girls on that bridge, Vi walked tall, trying to shield Powder from the horror around them. But when it became too much, when the horror, and the pain, and the loss overwhelmed her, Powder threw her small body over her big sister trying with everything in her to be that shield for Vi.... Just as she would the next time Violet needed her...

I am firmly and completely convinced she would not leave Vi like that unless she truly felt it was the right thing for both of them. She has come to far and been through too much. Agree or disagree, I think she is doing her best to be that sister Vi deserves once more. Even if its painful.

What I Hope:

My hope, is that Caitlyn shares her information with Violet when she feels she has enough to not devastate her beloved with false hope. And that hearing that, Vi will choose to honor her sister's decision, as well as see the truth that she herself deserves love, and peace, and safety, and be at peace. My hope is that in the end, Vi can see Jinx's decision was not one of neglect, or abandonment, or crisis. But just as Vi had always tried so hard to be Jinx needed, in that moment Jinx saw what they both needed, and made the hard call, to give them both the chance the world tried to steal from them.

Thank you all for reading. I know I have been a tad feisty lately and I wanted to get back to talking about what I love about this show! These characters and this story connect with us all on such deep levels because of their humanity. Their flaws, their strengths, the moments they succeed and the moments they fall short. Ultimately, we can't know if Violet will do the right thing if and when she finds out. But she and Caitlyn give me hope. I hope this has done the same for you.

Never stop standing for the stories that matter. See yall next time!

#arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #vi arcane #caitvi #jinx arcane #caitlyn kiramman #vi and jinx #powder #arcane vi #long post #Youtube

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janitorhutcherson · 1 year ago

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i'm totally NOT touch starved so IM TOTALLY NOT asking for peeta mellark and touch starved reader... totally NOT. (i love your writing sm ☺️)

i am FINALLY giving the people what they want!! i know this isn't a whole fic/imagine but instead headcanons, BUT! it is finally peeta. i promise there will be more peeta content in the future. im working my way through the movies again and im about to reread the books, i want to be accurate about his portrayal so y'all feel like its more realistic, but here is a lil taste of what is to come! i rly hope you enjoy <3 btw!! this takes place after EVERYTHING in the books. ur basically katiness.

• Peeta is a huge softy, he's cuddly, loving, affectionate, and definitely touch starved himself. He's the type of guy to mostly have his own contact with you in some way. Sometimes he will grip onto your arm, he'll have his arm around your shoulder or your waist, or even just grip onto your shirt. When you're sitting on the couch, he opts to sit hip to hip even when the entirety of the couch is empty. When you're not cuddling in bed, you're facing opposite sides, sleeping butt-to-butt. Even with that being said, sometimes Peeta needed some space, his own bubble. You, however, did not love that.

• This is exactly why it was somewhat difficult for Peeta to understand touchstarved!reader. Regardless of how close you were, you needed more. Anytime you're walking in the district, rather it's to pick up some ingredients for the bakery or simply a leisurely walk, if he opted not to hold on to you in some way, you'd freak a little. You'd grip onto his hand, either squeezing it in yours or holding onto his larger fingers.

• Whenever dishes were being done or chores were tended to, you would wrap your arms around his waist from behind or follow him at the heel. You were desperate for his attention, his affection, his touch. Without it, you felt cold and disconnected. His touch pleased the ache that prickled against your skin from years of desperately wanting to be held.

• At night, you'd squeeze up under his arm. Your head would be tucked into his armpit, your arms wrapped around him as you tugged him close, closing your eyes and taking in his smell. When you'd fall asleep facing away from each other, Peeta wouldn't even notice you flip over to face him once he was fast asleep, curling up against him, squeezing him tightly like your life depended on it.

• In all honesty? It felt like your life did depend on it. You were a tribute alongside with Peeta, you'd both been through hell and back together. You had nightmares and he was the only one that could ground them. Part of your touch starved desperation came from the times you were alone, afraid, for yourself, for your lover. It was difficult.

• A lot of nights Peeta would ensure he'd hold you close, all too aware that he was the cure to your nightly insanity. This made you feel better, softer, warmer. On days when you were simply cuddling in bed together, you felt like you couldn't get enough. Your legs would be tangled with his, your foreheads touching, arms wrapped around one another. But nothing felt good enough. In instances like these, you would climb into his shirt, sticking your head through the hole for his own head, one that was stretched out from the many times you'd done this, one he specifically designated as his lounge shirt for this reason. Other times you would both strip your clothes off, cuddling skin to skin while Peeta would stroke your hair, pressing soft kisses to your forehead.

• All in all, Peeta is a gentle and caring lover, understanding of your needs. He'd do his best to meet them, even when it meant staying glued to your hip. He loved you, the history you two had, the stuff you'd been through, and he'd do anything to ensure your happiness and your safety. After all, you were who saved him, who kept him grounded as well, the love of his life... but, his thoughts are for another story.

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storiumemporium · 1 year ago

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Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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astermath · 10 months ago

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hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!

HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!

wc: 1.4K

notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!

Steve is one attentive boyfriend.

It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.

He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.

So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?

It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?

You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.

“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.

The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.

The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.

"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"

You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"

"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"

"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.

"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"

Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.

"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.

"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."

The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.

Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"

You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.

By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.

Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.

Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.

Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.

"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.

"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"

The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.

"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."

He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.

"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.

"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.

"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."

The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”

You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.

“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.

“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

#tysm for the ask!#stevemath #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington writing #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington comfort #serpentwithatardis #aster replies

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skullamity · 11 months ago

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PSA for trans men and trans mascs on T who are afraid of/concerned about or experiencing male pattern baldness: Talk to your endocrinologist who monitors your T about hair loss before you talk to anyone else, you have options!

When the hair in the top of my head started to thin, I talked to my regular GP. She told me it should be fine to use Rogaine topically. There were no other options, either because she was somehow not aware OR was under the impression that alternatives might interfere with HRT. If this was the case, she did not relay this info to me, and if she had, I would have made an early appointment with my endocrinologist, who specialises in HRT for trans people specifically, and asked her about my options.

But, since I only have appointments once a year with my endo now because my levels are generally super consistent, I decided to try Rogaine. I lasted about a month, because it basically meant I had to wear a lined hat at all times to make sure I wasn't getting any on my pillow/cats/child. You need to apply it two to three times a day and leave it on your scalp for a couple of hours for the best results, every day, forever, and if you stop using it, your hair goes back to whatever it was up to before that made you concerned in the first place. I quit after a month and resigned myself to eventually going bald.

I finally had a phone appointment with my endo last week (was supposed to be in person but she had an emergency and was working remotely for the day), and when I brought this up and that I had tried Rogaine but couldn't deal with all of the above + my scalp was not reacting well to the alcohol in the foam so I quit, she was like ????? what? why didn't your GP just prescribe you finasteride???

I am now on finasteride! It is a dirt cheap, tiny ass pill. I only need to take a quarter of a pill once a day (my endo also helpfully explained to me that pill cutters exist and are also dirt cheap, so perfectly cutting a pill into quarters takes about 5 seconds and I got it for a whopping $8). Just like Rogaine, I WILL need to take it every day, forever, but it's not going to get all over my pillow and make my cats sick or cause my kid to grow a beard or whatever. It isn't going to dry my scalp out, and it also the cost comparison is a joke. I take it every morning at the same time I take my adhd meds, so it's easy to remember.

I have seen so, so many trans men and mascs online lately worried about this, probably because I've seen so many conservatives and the kind of detrans people that conservatives like to parade around put a lot of emphasis about how T will make you UGLY and make all of your hair fall out. I do feel sorry for any detrans women who are dealing with wonky hairlines or male pattern baldness, but also it sure is convenient that none of them see fit to mention that if you are experiencing those things, you can literally just talk to your endocrinologist about what your options are and then take a quarter of a pill every day to fix it. Almost like making you aware of that might move you away from their end goal, which is getting you to detransition.

#trans man #trans guy #transmasc #hair loss #transmasculine #endocrinology #finasteride

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Just Friends: Isn't It Fun?

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: You make a new friend.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You hum as you come up the walk of your building. It isn’t in the best location. In the dark, it’s scarier as a shadow overhangs the door beneath the awning. You reach into your knapsack, hanging from one shoulder, as you eke out the tune to Easy Street offkey.

As your keys jingle, a shape pops out of the bushes and you scream, throwing the keyring as you turn to sprint back down the pavement. You’re caught from behind as a familiar chuckle rolls up into the moonlit sky. You grunt and elbow Bucky as you realise the trick he’s pulled.

“Ah, why would you do that?” You wriggle until he lets you go.

You face him and try to snarl but you’re so relieved it’s just him, you can’t help but smile.

“Just having some fun. At your expense,” he chuckles and bends to pick up the keys. “Can I give you some advice, dreamy?” He raises your keys and holds them so one points between his fingers. “Keep your keys out, hold em like this and if some creep jumps out of the bushes, stab em good.”

“Stab-- Buck,” you shake your head. “I can’t do that.”

“You can if it’s life or death,” he swings the keys around to hang from his thick fingers, “here.”

“What-- what are you even doing here?”

“Huh. You didn’t let me ask my question first,” he huffs as he stands back and waves you past. “Why didn’t you tell me you were working late?”

“Well, firstly, you got lots going on,” you say. “And I didn’t think of it. I’m fine.”

“Fine, I could be a real bad guy waiting for you out here in the dark,” he taunts.

“But you’re not. So now my turn, why are you here?”

“Well, I was wandering by on my way to see a Buster Keaton marathon and thought maybe you’d be up for it...”

“Tonight? Right now?”

“I see,” he grabs the door as you opens it and holds it, “you’re too busy. Or maybe you’re too good for me.”

You enter and he follows. It’s that familiarity that you just sort of fell into with him. He’s like a wise big brother, even if he really is older than your grandpa. It’s the most unexpected bonds that are the strongest.

“No, not at all, Mr. Hero,” you climb the stairs as he stays a step behind, his hand on the railing right by yours.

“Ugh, why doesn’t this place have an elevator?” He whines.

“I thought the serum would give you extra strong legs,” you toss over your shoulder.

“Whatever.” He clucks, “so how about it? You wanna fall asleep in the theatre with me, dreamy?”

“Dream-- why do you call me that?” You head down towards your door.

“You got your head in the clouds. Also, when you watch movies, you get this look in your eyes, like you’re living on screen. Dreamy. See.” He explains.

“Mm,” you grumble.

“You don’t like it? I put up with Buckaroo.”

“That was once and it was a slip-up,” you unlock your door. “Fine, I’ll go with you since you don’t have any other friends.”

“I have friends.”

“Sure you do,” you snort and turn to give him a playful wink. You put your keys and bag down on the tall table. “You and Cap, the superfriends. Heroes and buddies til the end—whoa!”

You hit the shoe rack and stumble, landing on your ass. Bucky is quick enough to save you but he doesn’t. He watches smugly and cackles as your cheeks burn up.

“Not funny,” you pout.

“Oh, it is very funny,” he approaches and offers his hand. “How’s that humble pie taste?”

“Fine. I was being a meanie. I admit it but you got my adrenaline up. I can’t help it.”

“Ha, yeah, that was good. You shoulda seen the look on your face. And that noise you made.” He hauls you up as his vibranium thumb rubs between your knuckles. “Ayeeeee!”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“You do.” He grins. You scowl and he laughs again. “You know I love that face. The day you actually get mad at me, I’ll be down on my knees, dreamy.”

“Ugh, you are such a...” you let the sentence trail off and the dimple stays in in his cheek as he crosses his arms.

“I’m a what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, say it,” he goads.

“No.”

“Come on, I can handle it. You know, I got hit by a truck the other day, I think I can take a few words.”

“Hit by a truck? Bucky?” You squeal. “Are you okay?”

“Ah, look at me. I’m fine. Not a scratch. That you can see,” he shrugs. “So what am I? Tell me.”

“No,” you turn your nose up.

“Say it. You’ll feel better.”

“It’s... not nice.”

“Come on,” he unfolds his arms and flutters his fingers at you, “I am trained in torture.”

“No,” you grab his hands, his skin rough, “no tickles.”

“So, tell me.”

“Not fair,” you struggle to keep his hands away from your sides.

“Almost...” he wiggles his fingertips a half-inch from your middle.

“Brat! You’re a brat!” You step back, out of his reach. “Okay, and if you keep being one, you can go to the movies alone.”

He laughs and grips his hips in victory, “wow, you know, I’ve actually never got that one. Creative.”

“Right, well, I can’t sit in the theatre in this get-up,” you look down at your frilly plaid overall dress and white blouse.

“I didn’t get to mention that yet. It’s a choice, as the young ones say.”

You cringe, “it’s my work uniform.”

“Uniform?” He squints.

“Don’t, okay? I get enough guff from the customers.”

“Guff? Oh, that’s language I understand.”

“Ergh,” you stomp your foot. “You are so... so... old.”

You turn and march away. He laughs and you turn into your bedroom. He just loves to tease you and despite your efforts, he always gets to you. At least he’ll have to be quiet during the movie.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #just friends #drabble #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #avengers

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