#I don't think there's any other battle with an exception for it

[msunitedstatesjames]

I've touched on this in a couple of other semi-related posts before, but I find it hilarious and I appreciate how much Johanna Hezenkoss thinks Emmrich is the protagonist of Veilguard. Like, this woman could not give less of a fuck about Rook. She almost always refers to Rook only by their relationship to Emmrich. She refers to Rook as "one of Volkarin's hangers-on," "that impudent whelp following [Emmrich] around," "Volkarin's companion," and as Emmrich's "paramour." None of these imply that she thinks Rook has much agency. Instead, she acts like Rook is just helplessly following Emmrich around like a puppy, helping him complete tasks (which I guess is partly true).

If Rook romances Emmrich, Hezenkoss assumes that Emmrich seduced Rook and not the other way around, even though Emmrich is noticeably older than Rook and has hardly left the Necropolis in years. She's seemingly amazed by it, and yet it never once crosses her mind that Rook might have initiated the relationship (which is actually the case).

She also refers to Emmrich as the one who destroyed her construct, which is technically true, but she ignores the major assistance he had from Rook, another companion, and most notably Manfred. He couldn't have pulled it off without their help, and had in fact given up, but Hezenkoss acts like Emmrich was her sole opponent in that battle.

I've said before that part of the reason for this is that Hezenkoss seems to think of herself as the main villain of the story, so Emmrich must be the main hero. Hezenkoss says that some of the other big bads of Dragon Age, the Venatori, were nothing more to her than slightly useful and genuinely annoying. She clearly thinks herself above an entire organization of some of the most powerful mages in the world. And she sees Emmrich as pretty close to her in terms of raw power, since she almost invited him to her Vengeance Party but ultimately decided he was too much of a danger to her plans. She also states that she tried to get him to join her in the past, which I don't think she would do for anyone she considered to be less than her equal. Emmrich is genuinely the only person in the game she shows any respect for. Though she mocks his age and finds him to be too sentimental, too moral, and too fearful, she shows signs of agreeing with him on some topics, and she obviously respects his abilities if nothing else. No one else in the game acknowledges his frankly ridiculous knowledge and skill level (except Solas in the end) as much as Hezenkoss does.

And really, Emmrich does have main character energy. Though he does have some age and mortality related fears, dude is overflowing with confidence. When you first meet him, looking for a Fade expert, he has absolutely no problem telling you he's the best possible person for the job. Though he apparently hasn't left the Necropolis in years, he's totally down to join the team and go anywhere you want him to go. If you romance him, he is initially surprised, but he quickly turns into the smoothest dude around, and throughout the game you can hear him comment on some of his many relationships through the years. He's well-dressed, well-spoken, charismatic, highly educated, unfailingly kind, extremely powerful, and he's done so well for himself that Harding mistakes the son of a butcher and a cook for a member of the Nevarran nobility. No wonder Hezenkoss thinks he's the protagonist. The real protagonist is just out here winging it on guts and good luck alone.

[mantis-lizbian]

okay, y'know what? let's go into this same. ignoring all the rules in 5e that i think are dumb, an itemized list with explanations. obviously, my list won't necessarily be the same as everyone's, but it'll illustrate the problem with suggestion in a practical sense, not just as a structural critique from the standpoint of game design, which i know a lot of people don't actually care about.

bare in mind that these are going to be criticisms with regards to the kind of game D&D 5e is and wants to be, and are largely going to use other editions of D&D as points of comparison, rather than other TTRPGs as a whole, just because to do so i feel could easily approach "i want a game about a witch looking for lost pets in the Alps" type stuff. no sense in criticizing D&D for not being Monsterhearts or GURPS, after all.

classes are too simple. any given berserker barbarian is functionally indistinguishable from another. for some classes, even different archetypes don't offer enough variation from each other to feel meaningfully distinct. here's a challenge: take your party of four and make an entire 6th-level party using only one class in each of 3.x, 4e, and 5e. depending on the class you choose, you may have more or less difficulty, but in two of those, you generally can manage to make four characters who can all function in a party together without feeling like clones of each other, and perhaps even able to actually complement each other.

classes are too complicated. for the most part, AD&D, BECMI, OD&D and the like, classes only have a couple of fairly basic features, most of which are granted from 1st level. this means that if a character dies, you can roll up a brand new one and jump straight back into play that same session. not being able to do this makes everyone, even the GM, resistant to allowing a character to die, defanging one of the only meaningful consequences to losing combat inherent to the mechanics.

battle master fighters restrict everyone's options in combat. if you're playing a melee combatant, there's very little you can do apart from run up to your chosen enemy and smack them in the face with your weapon until they die. disarming, feinting, tripping... these were all things any character could do in 3e, as outlined by the rules, and these things were possible in AD&D and the like because they weren't explicitly spelled out in the mechanics. the GM is free to adjudicate how to handle these maneuvers as they see fit, but because they aren't explicitly granted to a specific kind of character, they aren't implicitly denied to everyone else.

ability scores do not matter outside of Dexterity and whichever one your class cares about, and specific circumstances dependent on which saves are being targeted. 4e did start this, but even it made a conscious effort to make every class care about at least two scores alongside Dexterity, outside of saves. in AD&D, every score determined a number of things independent of your class (with the exception of Intelligence and Wisdom, if you weren't a spellcaster). and 3e required you to spend character resources (feats, specifically) to do things like use Dexterity on melee attack rolls, and even then it couldn't be added to damage, so there was still value to Strength even if you fought exclusively using daggers. all of this results in making it so that if you're using point-buy to determine ability scores, there is no meaningful mechanical consequence you can count on having to contend with for dropping every score to 8 so you can pump the ones you care about up to their maximum (in fact, i suspect that 5e makes point-buy cap out at 15 specifically to prevent players from doing exactly this to pump their two important scores to 18). unless you're a barbarian, even Constitution isn't as important as it should be, given the ingrained hesitancy 5e's design creates towards letting characters die.

only a couple of feats are actually better than taking the ability score boost, until you hit that cap of 20. even fewer are ever going to be meaningfully applicable to the same character as another, meaning that altogether, depending on what you were able to boost your class's main ability score to, by level 12 or so... you're likely to feel like meaningful pickings are slim for what to do with your remaining ASIs. it also becomes clearly apparent that the reason feats are an optional replacement for an ASI isn't so much an attempt to simplify the game compared to 3.x's notorious endless ocean of feats to wade through, and more about just having something to do with those ASIs after reaching 20 in your main score.

due to free Dex-to-damage, the only reliable consequence of a low Strength score left is encumbrance. which is often the first rule players choose to ignore, and even if they don't... an 8 Strength is still enough to wear full plate, and carry a pike and heavy crossbow and still having plenty of carrying capacity for a decent amount of random loot. so yeah... this is a rule that even if you aren't ignoring it, the rules are doing plenty to avoid it ever coming up anyway.

skills offer a great way to flesh out who your character is outside of "someone who rages" or "someone who chucks fireballs". unfortunately, your class still fully defines these things, outside of the two you get from your background, or if you choose to spend one of your feats/ASIs on gaining another three. at which point, you're probably going to have proficiency in more than half of all the available skills.

several excellent designers have gone into a number of other issues with D&D 5e's skills, from how overwhelmingly important ones like Perception are, how laughably irrelevant others are, and the issues in figuring out how to make good use of the knowledge and Investigation skills.

resting is... so... a lot of classes have nothing to do with a short rest. one time, i was playing as a warlock in a group that only ever took long rests because no one else got anything from just taking a short rest. which meant that the warlock essentially only had 2 spells per day. granted, this didn't mean nearly as much as it should thanks to cantrips, but i'll get to that later. so yeah, short rests were introduced in 4e where every class got equal value from them, and so they were more reliably used.

crafting is pointless. the example it gives of making a suit of plate armor taking 300 days means that it would take an entire year to make something that you're likely to find or at least afford with easily a month of adventuring. there's also no accounting for how good a craftsman you are. in 3e, that same suit of plate armor will take (assuming no failed checks along the way, to be fair) at most a month and a half. even assuming you fail half the checks, that's still only a quarter the time it takes to make that armor in 5e. this is still a decent time investment, but especially when you consider how having a higher Craft skill bonus (or even just a good roll) means you may be able to shorten that time, it brings it into the realm of "okay, that could be worth it, if i really wanted to".

bonus actions are only usable by a handful of classes, and may as well not exist for the rest, outside a couple of feats. with only one other action, alongside moving, that makes the kind of tactical combat built on the same principles of 3.x and 4e drag and feel incredibly monotonous (especially when, see #3). 3.x and 4e have alternative things you can do with your move action, which - especially alongside full-round actions - just as a way to open up design space means that there are a lot of ways to expand your options in combat. while AD&D also only features an action and movement - and doesn't even have a bonus action - combat is much smoother due to the overall simplicity of the game, and the fact that rounds represent a whole minute, not just 6 seconds.

cantrips are broken. they're usable at-will all day, which is fine. definitely an improvement i like over 3.x, and it gives your spellcasters something spellcastery they can reliably do any time. that's cool. but when they deal as much damage as a crossbow, and are based on your spellcasting score, it adds to the aforementioned thing about how most classes don't need to worry about more than one or two ability scores. why bother carrying around a crossbow when your fingers can shoot infinite crossbow bolts, possibly even targeting something other than AC and not dealing physical damage?

...oh wow. there's a character limit in posts...

im confused about the dnd 5e hatred. yall arent just ignoring rules that are dumb? ur dm actually follows every single thing in the book for real?

if you have to ignore some of the rules for the game to be good then the game is not good

[mybworlds]

Fathoms below

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: Marcus Acacius is a fighter and a conqueror, he's returning to Rome when a mysterious girl saves him from a shipwreck.

Masterlist

A/N New story, new (?) characters, I hope you like it as much as I do and if you don't like it, please be merciful. Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️ Have you seen Gladiator II? What do you think? I'm quite disappointed, if you want we can talk about it in a separate post.

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Taglist @harriedandharassed; @orcasoul; @blazeflays; @ijustlovemensm; @duck-duck-goose2

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

His whole life has been on a battlefield. His skin is now dark from all the dust soaked in sweat and spilled blood, his skin burned under the scorching sun. His hair a mass perpetually disheveled by the wind, by the many battles won over the years.

Marcus Acacius is the general of the Roman army, the most intelligent, the most ruthless. His hands are now a perpetual red, too many lives had been taken by his sword, no matter how many baths he takes and the considerable amount of perfumes and oils used, the battle is a part of him.

The battles faced in Numidia and Egypt had contributed to the extension of the glory and power of Rome. Acacius, after his last victory, is ordered to return to Rome where he would be celebrated and would have the great honor of becoming one of the most important men in Rome.

What the emperors order, the general performs. No matter how brutal or inhumane it is, he obeys. He doesn't always love what he does, sometimes it is senseless. But in Rome he could never say no, no one can.

Once, at the end of one of his many military campaigns, Acacius is on the coast of Sicily with his men — the province of Sicily was the first to be created and an important land of meetings and trade for the glory of Rome. He has just finished yet another campaign and cannot help but think of how many men have been killed at the whim of two mad emperors.

Acacius only follows orders, but he can't take it anymore. He fights, he kills, sometimes he takes prisoners if that's what he's ordered to do, sometimes not. He doesn't care about glory or having statues dedicated to him, he just wants some peace for himself and his life. He’d like to live peacefully at least for a while, “General!” one of his subordinates calls him back to reality “We are ready for interrogation.” he sighs before joining his men.

That day, the General has to interrogate one of the prisoners to find out if they’re plotting against the empire, the man's face is desperate. Acacius, even if he doesn't fully understand their language, can clearly see the fear in the man's eyes. He speaks and asks what they are organizing against Rome, but the only words are "mercy, I know nothing", he looks at him and the more he looks at him the more he feels disgusted by all this. At yet another futile attempt to learn something from him, his subordinate kills him.

Acacius looks at him shocked and completely incredulous, “He wouldn't have said anything anyway.” the other justifies his action.

He’s about to reply when a noise catches his attention and then two frightened eyes catch him, then he sees you fleeing. Your gait is awkward almost as if you’re in some kind of pain.

Without raising the alarm of an intruder in the camp, he walks away from the scene of the murder and starts following you into the woods with his trusty dagger still in his hand. He knows, in fact, that you could be a bait and that you could be used to lure him away from his men.

“Stop.” he shouts at you “Don’t run away!” he adds.

You stop and look at him, your gaze still terrified as if you’ve a monster before you. Marcus Acacius has long seen himself as a dog faithful to his masters, always ready to obey no matter what, even if his actions were monstrous enough to make him feel like a monster.

He looks around for the presence of other men who were lurking around there ready to attack him, but the nature around them doesn’t suggest the presence of other people except them.

Your gaze is still terrified, however you don’t stop looking into Acacius' eyes, feeling as if he’s being scrutinized in the depths of his tormented soul.

Then a completely unexpected gesture, you touch his face. Your skin is cold as sea water, “You’re freezing, are you okay?” he asks you, jumping at the unexpected cold on that hot summer day.

You look at him confused, “Where are you from?” he asks you curiously.

But your look is confused, “You don't understand me, do you? ¿De dónde es? Waar kom jy vandaan?” Acacius tries to establish contact with you, but with the result that you shake your head and look at him, both surprised and curious at the same time.

He puts away his dagger and raises his hands in surrender, “Sorry, if I scared you,” he tells you.

Oh, if his subordinates had heard that, they would have called him a wimp!

There’s something about you, something terribly beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Your beauty is unmatched and yet the General had met all sorts of women, but none as beautiful as you are.

Then, you both look at each other for a long, silent look before you start caressing his face with both hands, who knows if you want to tell him something and he doesn’t understand what you want to tell him!

Acacius finds himself closing his eyes in a moment of total abandon, something he had never allowed himself to do before. Because of his role, he could never let his guard down, he always have to be vigilant and wary, but at that moment he doesn’t even know why he feels so captivated by you, a mysterious girl.

Your touch is so gentle it almost sends shivers down his spine and for a moment he feels like he's in the right place at the right time where no war or duty calls him back to his place, he feels an absolute peace even if it lasts until you move your hands away and he opens his eyes again.

Your eyes are a mixture of confusion, fear, curiosity and beauty. Acacius wants to do the same thing you did with him, but then he thinks that maybe you would have been afraid and you would have run away.

“What’s your name?” he asks again, hoping that your name comes out of your lips, the name of a girl who seems to have hypnotized him.

You look at him again, opening your lips slightly as if to speak to him, but no sound comes out of your mouth.

Are you mute?

His expression softens and a faint smile curves his lips. You imitate his expression, “I have to go now.” he tells you slowly in the hope that you could understand and taking a step back.

Oh, how much he’d have given to stay and not have to return to Rome, he knows what awaits him!

You too move away from him, lowering your gaze for a moment and then looking up again.

After a last silent glance, everyone goes their own way. Who knows if you live there!

The next day, Marcus, much to his embarrassment, was gifted a new marble statue as a result of his latest conquest for the Empire. It’s beautiful and the sculptor seems to know him very well since he managed to depict in detail every single wrinkle and war scar. He thanks the man, but deep down he doesn't feel comfortable taking that gift with him, but he can't refuse it either as it would mean offending the sculptor.

A few weeks later, he's on the ship headed to Rome. Acacius had thought about you several times, but without finding you, and yet there aren’t many villages in the surrounding area and he finds himself very disappointed at not being able to at least say goodbye to you before returning to his home. The General is near the bow of the ship, reading important documents in which his last enterprise is documented, when there’s a strange splashing sound that takes his focus off from the papyrus. Marcus looks up from his papers and walks over to the railing. Nothing special except some ripples and probably a few dolphins here and there.

The Sun dips into the waters of the Mediterranean Sea, when the man goes to sleep. Despite his tiredness, he can't sleep because on the one hand he’s happy to return home and live his city again, but on the other he knows that with this his latest victory, the emperors will force him to marry some domina. And Marcus knows that, although he's a man and enjoys certain freedoms, in the end he will have to give in and marry so as to contribute to the birth of other powerful men who will contribute to the glory of Rome.

The man must have fallen asleep because suddenly he feels a jolt to the ship, he gets up with difficulty staggering from one side to the other. The sea is definitely stormy. When he leaves his quarters, his men are screaming for mercy from the god Neptune. The waves reach the deck, wetting everything and everyone, and the ship rocks more and more violently.

“General, we’re lost!” someone shouts “We’re still too far from Rome and we can’t even go back! This will be our tomb.”

Although he wants to encourage his men, the situation is truly desperate. The waves are crashing onto the deck with great violence, wetting everyone, and the sky is torn by flashes of lightning. Then, everything changes for the worse in a few moments, a lightning struck the mainmast which breaks and catch fire. Some men throw themselves into the sea in desperation, others remain clinging everywhere could. General Acacius is hit in the head by bow mast and ends up in the water.

The man doesn’t even know how he doesn’t faint after receiving that strong blow to the head and tries to surface despite the high waves, but his clothes and the fury of the sea don’t help him at all. He begins to drink saltwater and drown in the depths of the sea, when something seems to grab him and drag him away. The man faints.

When Marcus regains consciousness, he feels the gravel and the sand of the coast beneath him. He opens his eyes, barely raising his head, he feels overwhelmed and confused, when he sees a girl — that same girl, you — next to him, he's about to say something, but you place a finger on his lips, your skin is soft and cold as he remembered it, you look at him with a pleading and worried look, you smile at him as if you are happy to know he’s safe and after looking into his eyes again as if to make sure he's okay, Marcus watches you go away and disappear into the waves. A few moments later a fishtail appears where you disappeared.

It can't be!

No one can understand how much you love the world above the surface, the sun, the wind, you love every sound that comes from it.

You are a mermaid, but you want so much to live up there.

You are looking out more and more often, running the risk of being seen by humans. According to your father, they are the worst creatures in the world, always hostile and destructive to each other and to you. But not according to your aunt, Mira, she loves humans and in fact she encourages you to go up and explore the terrestrial world.

When you were still a baby, you went up to the surface with her. It was your first time and you loved every moment, at least until a galley almost saw you and this led to a furious argument between the two brothers which then led to Mira exile.

From that day on, your father prevented you not only from seeing her, but also from imitating her. You should never have come to the surface again.

You obeyed, at least until the renewed curiosity towards the surface and humans came back forcefully to make its way inside you and since then you’ve started secretly collecting everything related to the human world, they are so beautiful, they do so many wonderful things and they write so much. One day you’ll learn to read in their language, maybe you can ask your aunt Mira for help, she knows a lot of things.

You mostly come up to the surface in the evening or at night, this is because it's the safest moment not only because your father isn't around, but also because you are less likely to be seen by humans.

And that evening is no exception even though there is a strong wind and the currents are quite strong even down there in your world. It's one of those days, that humans call summer, the first time you see him.

In the evening you like to watch what your aunt explained to you is called Moon reflected in the waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The water becomes so bright on the surface that creates a strange play of light. That summer evening, you surface cautiously and very carefully, looking left and right, you come out of the water. Your beautiful fish tail gradually disappears as you surface and is replaced by nice long legs.

Your aunt had explained to you that this magic happens for you mermaids. You can go up to the surface, but you can't stay there for long. Magic always comes with a price, she told you. In fact, if it was possible to have legs, then you would also feel great pain in having them.

Effectively, your legs always hurt a little and it's not always pleasant to walk on them, but walking on the ground makes up for that pain. You immediately notice a small group of men at a certain distance, they seem to be soldiers from the way they are dressed. Your aunt Mira told you everything about them, even though she always warned you not to get close to them because it's too dangerous. Watch them from afar, but never get close to them, these were your aunt's words. But you want to touch them, see them, talk to them. It can't be that they are just murderers like your daddy says.

Your father told you that humans are always fighting among themselves, always ready to kill each other, to hurt each other, to prevail over each other and he once told you about a large group of humans wandering around from one corner of the sea to the other who does nothing but crave power and claim their dominion over that territory. Mira told you that when they don't live in their beautiful houses, they move from one place to another and use tents to sleep and several tents together form a camp.

Oh, it must be wonderful to move on ships or living in beautiful houses like the ones you've seen in the books you keep in a little nook away from everything and everyone!

You see many tents in the distance, so you know that further ahead there are many humans around. You look around you cautiously, close your eyes and strain your ears: there are some who speak of something and others who say something else, someone silence someone else and others are making strange thudding noises.

You open your eyes and step out of the water completely. After a few steps you turn toward the sea and see your home from the human perspective: a mass of dark water tossed by the wind. You turn around and look for something to cover yourself, you are completely naked and you aren’t sure if humans go around like that.

After getting dressed, you move silently and approach those voices that are gradually becoming louder and louder.

Then, you see him: a man with a grim and sharp look, his eyes are dark and he looks at the man at his feet with a serious expression. The kneeling man is shaking and says something you don’t understand, but the man in front of him continue to stare at him coldly, then someone behind the man with the cold gaze, approaches with something in his hands that has every appearance of being something dangerous. In a few seconds something happens that you never thought you'd see: the third man with that stuff in his hands, quickly approaches the kneeling man and hit him with that same item he has in his hands. The man falls on his side almost screaming, you open your eyes wide, amazed and scared at the same time by the speed of the gesture and by that dull scream emitted by the man on the ground who doesn’t move anymore.

You look at the cold-eyed man and the third man, the first one has an annoyed tone of voice towards the other one who in turn answers with great speed. Who knows what they are saying to each other!

Then, you look back at the man on the ground and only then you notice what what appears to be blood. You’ve seen enough, it's time to go back. But as you step back, you step on something that catch the eye of the cold-looking man who turns his head in your direction. Your eyes meet for the first time and you feel a strange sensation that make you run away quickly in the same direction you’ve taken to reach that field.

You can't run as your legs still hurt too much. A burning disappointment spread in your chest, maybe your father is right about humans and your aunt is wrong. You’ve almost reached the beach, when you hear the same voice behind you. His voice isn’t cold this time, he seems surprised. You don’t understand what he's telling you, it's the first time you hear a human speak. It's a strange language theirs, but for some reason, even though you don’t understand anything he's saying, you turn around towards him and his dark eyes almost freeze you in place as if he has cast a spell on you.

His voice don’t seem to be threatening at that moment, yet you see and hear how he addressed the others, who is the man in front of you? You press yourself against a tree behind you with a frightened look. You see him put away what he has in his hands and lift them up as if to reassure you, he speaks to you, his tone of voice is calm. It gives you the shivers. He starts to come towards you, approaching with a slow pace, you want to run away, but your legs don’t seem to respond to your desire to escape.

He's telling you something, his voice is warm and peaceful. Beautiful, almost musical. It reminds you of the echo that seashells produce on windy days. It's a nice sound, but it makes you shiver. He's now one step away from you, his eyes are so dark. His stained face has a strange color, his skin color is so unique.

You find yourself reaching out to his face, his first reaction is to pull away and you pull your hand away in fear of his response. Then, he seems to relax and you stretch out your hand again.

His skin is a little damaged and warm to the touch, tingling where his beard is, you graze the outline of his lips and face with your fingertips, then follow the line of a scar under his eye as if to memorize every detail of him. Humans are so beautiful, so fascinating. You want to tell him he's beautiful, but you don’t know how.

Then, something inexplicable happens: by touching him you can feel and see what he saw, he really saw so much. How much blood he shed and how many people he saw, how many he argued with, talked with, you can even sense his deep torment, you feel even more curious about him now!

You look him straight in the eyes for a long time and he looks back at you in silence. For a moment the air seems to hang between you two, then you wake up from that spell and withdrew your hands.

He speaks to you so sweetly that you almost have trouble associating him with that man with the cold, authoritative look from earlier and the bloody memories you somehow saw. His eyes have a hint of sadness that contradicts his fury in battle.

Maybe he’s not happy doing what he does!

You'd like to tell him that he's beautiful and at the same time how beautiful and complicated human nature is, but you don't know how to tell him. You wish you could talk to him, understand him.

Then, he talks to you again, walking away from you and you realize he's leaving. You didn't want him to leave, but you can't force him and then now more than ever you want to know everything about humans, their culture, how they live, but above all you want to know what he will do, where he will go.

You do the same thing without ever leaving those dark eyes that in the light seem to be the color of the sandy bottoms of your home.

When you are sure he’s gone, you slowly reach the shoreline. You turn in the direction you came from and think back to that human, Marcus Acacius. You were very struck by how he hides his torment behind that almost cold and authoritarian mask. He’s such a fascinating creature.

You smile as you think back to what the human — Marcus — has seen and done, oh how you wish you could see some of the many things he sees, experience them with him. It would be incredibly fascinating.

You stay there for a while, then when the wind ripples the surface of the sea, you understand it's time to go. You place the soles of your feet in the water and at that moment a sensation of trembling mixed with cold spreads inside you, a sharp, painful sensation jolts you and runs through your legs, then gives way to an almost giving way feeling in your legs. You end up falling forward and at that moment you no longer feel your nice long legs, but your tail again. You drag yourself through the water until your tail is completely submerged and you can dive back into the depths of the sea.

Oh, you want to talk to your aunt Mira, you want to ask her if she knows of a way to get you to stay on the surface longer.

In the days that follow, you often return to the surface, barely peeking out of the water just to see him, you often see him on the beach, sometimes you see him sharpening what you’ve learned to be a dagger, you see him take off his armor and remain on more than one occasion with only a gray tunic and thoughtfully observe the horizon. He looks sad, thoughtful. You wish you could see again what is bothering him so much, you wish you could help him.

You still haven't found the courage to go to your aunt and ask for what's closest to your heart: to become part of his world. You hope your aunt can help you, she knows a lot of things.

Every day now when the sun goes down, you come up to the surface just to see him. One day you see him sitting on a rock a few meters from the shore, you hide because you don't know how to explain to him of your fishtail, he probably wouldn't understand. You see him wearing a wet shirt completely adhered to his body, he’s all intent on washing his hands and arms, they are dirty with what appears to be mud. His hair is wet and his curls are matted and dripping with water, one curl falls untidily on his forehead. His features in the light of the sunset seem to be even more masculine and incredibly beautiful.

You reach out a hand towards his face even if from afar as if you wanted to caress him and at that moment a light wind rises and the man's hair is as if shaken by a tender breeze that leads him to look up towards the horizon and you to hide behind a rocky ridge.

Oh, Marcus..

“I'll find you,” you hear him whisper. It’s one of the first sentences you understand in the human language. In fact, in these days listening to them you have learned a lot and now you are starting to understand something too. You hope he's talking about you, though of course you're not sure.

Days go by and coming to the surface and being with him, even if at a considerable distance, has become a nice habit. You don't even care if your father sees you or not, you go to him. Unfortunately, a galley appears near the coast of the island and you understand that they have come to take the man away from there. Who knows where they're going... maybe if you followed them a little...

You don't regret following him, even if you go really far away from your home, but you don't care at all. You follow the ship at a distance fearing that someone might see you. You’ve been following him for almost three days and you often see him there on the deck. He often stands there staring at the horizon with a thoughtful expression, who knows what he's thinking about.

One day the sky is almost as black as the night sky, the clouds are so dark that they scare you and you are so afraid for him. The wind is so strong and the waves are getting so high that even swimming is difficult for you.

Then, everything changes in an instant. A bolt of lightning strikes the trunk of the ship, which breaks in two and hits Marcus who was not too far from the rail and falls overboard. You rush towards it, the water is so dark that for a moment you can't see anything.

A few moments later a noise reverberates in the sea waters and you see the ship sinking, it’s a disturbing sight. You move with difficulty through the waves, you see many objects that were surely on board end up down, then you see him.

You see him unconscious, whirling in the waves and ending up under. You swim as fast as you can and reach him, grabbing him and making him resurface.

“I’ll save you, don’t be afraid.” You tell him reassuringly, he opens his eyes for a moment and then closes them immediately and abandons himself on you.

You can't quantify the time that passes until you reach dry land. Without thinking that anyone might see the scene, you drag Marcus, still unconscious, to the shore.

You start to feel pain in your fish tail which is a sign that your tail has started to change and turning into legs, but it doesn’t matter now. You drag Marcus until he's almost completely out of the water, his hair is wet and full of sand and gravel, “Please, open your eyes,” you beg him, moving a wet curl that fell on his wet forehead. You look at him and notice his torn robe on his arm, there's a bloody cut and you immediately peel a scale off your tail to heal him.

“You are beautiful, Marcus,” you murmur, looking with a rapt air at his face, so beautiful that it reminds you of the one depicted in a book you have at the bottom of the sea. You caress his face, his burning lips, but this time you can't see anything, perhaps because he is unconscious. You put your head on his chest and you feel him breathing fortunately. Only now you give yourself a moment to relax and smile happily that he’s safe.

A few moments later when he starts to wake up, you lift your head from his chest and at that moment he opens his eyes. He has beautiful eyes, you can't help but smile at him, you murmur "You’ll be fine now, you’re safe.” You quickly let go of him when you hear a chatter approaching.

You leave him so quickly that you don't think he could have seen who you really are.When you are far enough away, you turn around and see him surrounded by a small group of people who have reached him and helped him, "Now you are safe." you repeat to yourself, casting one last glance towards him who never stops looking towards the sea.

You smile one last time before diving back in the bottomless blue of the sea and reaching your home again, but with the promise that you’ll soon return and see him again.

[queenvhagar]

It’s hilarious when TBs cry “Rhaenyra TRAINED to be heir” because that honestly makes her look worse. Wdym she spent 20 years training and managed to fuck things up more than Aegon, who got pulled out of the trash 2 days ago?

Legitimately and it's why nerfing the Greens was such a dumb choice 😭

Like what do you mean you apparently trained your whole life (which btw spending years away from court hiding from bastard rumors "managing" Dragonstone is not really training for ruling an entire kingdom, especially when it comes to navigating political realities when in power) (but then again that's something she no doubt figured she could ignore in favor of ruling with hardcore fire and blood and fear of dragons and Daemon)

Like apparently you "trained your whole life" for this and you're somehow the only one divinely ordained and suited and qualified enough to rule...

AND YET SOMEHOW up against these apparently incompetent, short-sighted, impulsive Greens, who are made up of:

- a drunk dude who's apparently never been trained to rule despite him ruling being the plan since he was a baby, who appoints his unqualified and unnamed frat boys to Kingsguard, bullies his brother in public, drunk flies his dragon to battle, and executes a dozen dudes for "no reason" causing a "PR disaster"

- a kinslayer attempted kingslayer who took out one of his side's only dragons and rider because he got bullied :( and now he hates his brother and wants power and also he's gonna nuke a village for no reason except to feel powerful and manly I guess... also he unfairly does nothing about Rhaenyra's blockade and it's HIS fault people are starving from the blockade apparently and that's why the common people LOVE Rhaenyra SO much

- the dowager queen who converted to Team Black out of sapphic longing for a woman she was friends with decades ago for a couple of years, who willingly sells out her entire family to the enemy, including the son she crowned, two other sons fighting for the war she started, her father who was her only ally at court, her brother who was the only one to sympathize with her position, her sworn shield who lives to serve her and protect her family, her uncle and his men leading the Hightower host out of Oldtown, most of her family's dragons who will die defending their riders... all for the chance to win the favor of a woman who never showed any ounce of care for how her life turned out and the sacrifice she made (in fact the woman who was remorseless about her son's eye getting cut out, who blatantly pushed lies that endangered her whole family, who married a man who hates her whole family and wants them dead) (she fails in winning her favor) but girls stick together - girl power! And she's finally free from the confines of medieval feudalist patriarchy :) (except there's nowhere for her to go and no way to live her life as a free woman in any capacity as the wife of the former king and a highborn lady, unless she wants to try to be a survivalist in the wild or go to Essos and join a pleasure house, which, again, not really "free" and sustainable long term options for her)

- a poor helpless infantalized neurodivergent woman who can't even ride her dragon because she doesn't like it for some reason and she's incapable of acting outside of autistic stereotypes, also she's totally fine about her 6 year old getting murdered in front of her very eyes now, and actually she's gonna use her visions to condemn the brother who's always had her family's back up until this point and instead help the man responsible for her child's death, because she's seen the Grand Design and wants to help Team Black now :)

- "misogynist incel" but somehow also at the same time "Alicent worshipping and unreasonably Rhaenyra hating sex toy" (don't think about why he might have valid reasons to hate this particular woman) who doesn't think ahead and is apparently the most violent terrible hypocritical person in this show (don't think too hard about the show making him Dornish and casting a brown actor and the implications it has for this character on and off screen because the show and mainstream fandom won't!)

- offscreen brother nobody barely remembers who only just started riding his dragon apparently

- former Hand of the King immediately fired and sent away and captured off screen after doing nothing to help the war effort apparently

- Lannister twin off to Essos to fuck several wives and mud wrestle LOL!!

- foot fetishist shadowy creep (don't think about how they made a disabled character have a fetish involving their disability for no reason)

AND YET SOMEHOW against THESE villains... she can't even beat them 😭 she can't beat THESE guys who at this point are actively helping her out... she can't take and hold the throne against THESE Greens...

Like way to just completely make her and her team look equally incompetent by failing to take on THESE foes and instead elect to... mope... complain... do nothing except what others tell you to do... basically make no real decisions of your own except... dress as a nun and sneak into enemy territory with no real plan, leaving nobody in charge while you're gone despite a war looming... and burn a group of people alive for no reason to get dragons that you immediately refuse to use... ride dragon... speak a foreign language... cry... kiss your advisor immediately after she opens up about being violently assaulted and mutilated and never bring it up again... girlboss 💪💅

Truly astounding how badly they managed to fumble the bag with the show. Like. My god 😭 THIS was your vision for the historic Dance of Dragons aka the worst civil war in Westerosi history where both sides were Targaryens with dragons who destroyed each other and the Realm in their quest for power? Like THIS is what the singers in mainline ASOIAF books were singing about? 😭😭😭 bruh 😭😭😭

[oh-no-its-bird]

Don't know if you've mentioned it and I've just missed it, if I have feel free to ignore this, but if not I wanted to ask: Since the Hatake clan has so few children and the ones that does exist and children overall are very much treasured, what was the WS era Hatake's view on sending children into war at a very young age? Do you HC that they do it just the same as other clans and it contributed to the dwindling number? Or did they do things differently?

OHHH THIS IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION ACTUALLY ?? OK SO

I hc that obv, warring states era, pretty much all the clans are starting out teaching their kids a lot younger than in modern times. (Though there are some exceptions in modern w some clan kids, who gets the same education that they're clans have been giving for hundreds of years)

Now, modern village-era has a lot more to teach with stuff like techniques and jutsu, (with there having been a big boom not only in the invention of new jutsu when Konoha was founded but also in the sharing of them between clans + making them standard) but warring states held them to a much higher standard with the basics they were given

So a 13 year old from modern konoha may know a few more tricks and techniques than a 13 year old from the warring states— but the warring states kid is probably going to be at a higher standard of skill. Not just bc they had less to learn and was thus trained on their basics over and over again, but also bc the states were harder on their kids bc like. They faced constant danger from literally every single direction at all times.

The village may have industrialized the child soldier buisness but it did help some. It provided a place where they didn't have to begin training till they were older (unless family interfered ofc) where they could act as children without fear of eandering too far and getting caught by bloodline thieves or rival clans, where there was time and space for them to fail at being a "good shinobi" and hopefully learn to be better

The warring states did not have any of that.

Anyways with that said! I think different clans have different standards of at what age their kids are adults now and what age are they properly battle ready.

The consensus tho is usually about ~15/16 for them being an adult (though that's still in air quotes)

You'll notice that clans who have less conflicts/are in more secure positions, have higher standards for adulthood. Like Uzushio, who considers their kids to be adults at 17.

Similarly, clans have different standards for when their kids are battlefield ready! There's a big divide also between the children of the clan head and the other children of the clan— ofc the clan heads children will probably be considered battle ready much earlier than others might just bc the clan head wants to make sure their children really get that experience.

You don't not have to be an adult to be battle ready, and many children are given missions with older clan escorts to guide them. If a child can prove their skill, they'll possibly be given their own solo missions, but ofc the type of mission is considered.

There's also probably a big difference in clans like the senju (not at risk to bloodlime theieves bc of how rare the mokuton is) and the Uchiha (very fucking at risk) treat sending out their children on missions!

So like, a senju kid might get an easy, solo courier missiom after proving their skill

But there's no way in hell the Uchiha would send out a child of the same skill and age on a solo mission of any kind

SO. ANYWAYS. THE HATAKE.

Like you said, I hc that they're a very small clan, and have problems both with fertility and also in safely giving birth. Even if they do get pregnant, there's a lot of miscarriages, c sections, and the mother dying in birth. It's very unfortunate, and because of it they treasure their children greatly

Which means ofc that their views on kids are a bit different than other clans!

Now, they are still a shinobi clan in the middle of the warring states era.

They do however have an extra bonus of being based in Iron— which actually has very few other shinobi clans, and whos millitary is mostly made up of samurai. So they have no real worries about neighboring clans attacking.

They don't even really have any direct enemies among the clans? And they have a terrifying reputation, some earned and some pure rumor, so most who know of them hear their name and immediatley turn around to book it the other way.

Which is to say: it's a bit safer for them to venture out and about than other clans, like the Uchiha.

So anyways:

When a Hatake is around 14-16, they'll lead their first hunt and have the option of gaining their 'stripes'. Red tattoos painted onto their face by the clans spiritual leader (Tobirama, when visiting his mother's clan in the past, got his tattoos here)

Once they have stripes, they are technically considered an adult— but there are ofc stages of it and they tend to not be really seen as an adult adult till about 18

The Hatake's are a self sustaining tribe and only take missions if they need the coin or it interests them. And when they do, the missions tend to be either bloody or something along the lines of "please come stand next to me and look menacing xoxo thx"

They arent to take any missions, solo or otherwise, till they've lead their first hunt. There are occasional exceptions: if the kid begs hard enough/ if the missiom looks simple and easy enough/if the missiom actually requires someone around that age/and ofc it's never solo— but in general before they lead a hunt, they pretty much never ever leave the home of their woods.

Its very boring and does lead to lots of pent up energy and begging of PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GO ON A MISSION PLEASE JUST ONE JUST ONE SINGLE MISSION ILL EVEN DELIVER MAIL IF I HAVE TO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Even once they've got their stripes, it usually takes them a bit to get their first solo mission— both bc of over protection and also bc Haruka, the clan head, is a bitch and thinks it's funny to see them cry about it.

And ofc, the clan head is the one who has final say in who gets what mission. Tho in general the matter is usually dealt with by her heir— she can just butt in at any time

SO. THEIR OPINION ON OTHER CLANS.

The kids themselves burn with jealousy with the knowledge that their peers got to see battlefields when they were 12 or whatever

The adults find it mildly distasteful, but again, they are shinobi clans in the middle of the warring states era (and also a shinobi clan with a well deserved reputation for being fucking maniacs who would tear the world apart for their family)

So they're ultimately typically kind of "damn that's crazy. I would never." (Judgmental side eye and quick retort towards their own child to not get any ideas)

I think it's hard to say specifically bc its a balance of them valuing children and all but also like. Shinobi. Yk. They are a culture built on the backs of blood and bone

There's also an interesting prospect of how coming to the village changed this— or would have, in the short years the Hatake had their before they got wiped the fuck out

Ofc, using my own ocs here, when they come to Konoha there's only one real kid left, Ichigo at ~10, and there's a few years of busy work with Konoha getting set up and all sorts of shiny new things and people to distract her before it becomes smthn she remembers to beg for again

Sakumo would be born a couple years later, and his clan would die before it became a relevant enough topic to really discuss

BUT YEAH THATS MY TAKE ON WARRING STATES CHILDREN CULTURE N STUFF THANK U FOR UR ASK

[rainbowangel110]

"Mewtwo is good" *has a Victini and A GODDAMN NECROZMA on the team*

I dunno if I have any other fellow Pokemon moots here but I saw this cute trend and wanted to try it out!

Take this quiz to see what gym leader type you'd be!

Make your team!

Do this picrew to visualize you as a gym leader!

I chose 3rd Gen (but the remake so Alpha/Omega) because it was my very first one!

Tagging: @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @elnyrae @romantichomicide95 @phantom-fanfom-blog @sckerman @genyastolemyheart @happybird16 @the-milk-anon @wyvernslovecake @bruhm0mentum anyone else who sees this!

If you're not interested in Pokemon, please ignore! But I'd love to see your type anyways if you wanna jump in!! 💕

[steampoweredskeleton]

Ignore

[philtatosbuck]

sorry but it’s incredibly funny to me that the scream franchise cannot breed a single normal ship. and this is coming from someone who thinks the Scream 1 friend group was the worst & gayest friend group to ever exist, who also ships billy/stu and tatum/sidney and Fully believe sidney and billy was the worst case of bearding in the world. like i frankly... ignore movies 2-4 a lot because i’m just not interested in them tbh but just like. based on the first movie, the fifth movie and the sixth movie? billy/stu, sidney/tatum, tara/amber, ethan/chad, quinn/mindy (i actually don’t know if this one is that popular but i’ve seen it), etc, etc. it’s like. incredibly funny to me. i don’t care who ships what i think it’s soooo funny half the main characters are killers and half are victims with like a good mix also being victims. incredibly funny to me.

[writers-potion]

Writing Female Fighters

The Heroine Must. Fight.

Today's female protagonists cannot sit on the side crying and breaking down or whimpering as the battle ensues.

Readers want to see autonomous female fighters who can at least defense themselves with courage and adequate skill.

Not all women are the same, but the heroine should get her butt moving.

Less Muscle, but More Flexibilty

The average woman is shorter than the average man, which makes it more difficult to wield a long sword or slam something down on the opponent's head.

A woman who works out can plausibly be stronger than a male couch potato, but if her male counterpart works out as much as her, the man is going to be much stronger.

On the other hand, the center of gravity in a woman's body is lower than a man's which makes it harder to knock her off her feet.

She is also more flexible, which gives her advantage in grappling fights, making use of complex landscapes, or deflecting blows.

A woman's small size can also be an advantage if her opponent has only ever trained with male opponents. His big hands might not get a good grip on her slender limbs.

In historical fiction, giving your heroine good muscule build can be tricky as exercise was generally considered harmful for women, with some exceptions for horseriding any maybe archery at best.

In such cases, make your heroine an accomplished dancer or an eager horsewoman, or the only girl whose father considered to be son replacement and thus, gave her a boy's education.

Women of lower classes who couldn't afford to be fashionably weak will be plausibly stronger, perhaps even more than an idle gentleman.

More Room for Negotiation, but Prolonged Ruthlessness

In the Suspense part of your fight scene, females are more likely to negotiate and talk more, strategically trying to descalate the situation rather than attacking on a momentary impulse.

Generally, women are less aggressive than men and remain level-headed longer than her male counterparts, opting for non-violent methods first before using force.

Exceptions apply if she is trying to protect her children (or someone who she cares for as a child). Mothers can be tigresses.

A female pre-fight conversation may be: "If you had not done so-and-so and betrayed me with so-and-so, we could have been good friends as I thought we would be." "What do you mean? It was in fact you who brought bad blood between us. I can still hear you laughing with so-and-so, taunting me, purposefully making me look bad -" "But that was so long ago! If you want me to say sorry about something so insignificant, you should have just said so: I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?" "Ha! I can't believe you say that so easily. You still don't get it, do you?" "Who's being petty and unreasonable now?"

A male pre-fight conversation will be shorter: "Who's the coward now?" "You're wrong." "Prove it." "Bastard."

Compared to men, it will take more time for a woman's fight hormones (adrenaline, neurotransmitters and such) to kick in.

She would be slower to engage initially, throwing reluctant punches and thinking, but she'll grow more and more violent and lose all rational thought and compassion, and once she's in full flow, may not stop even when her opponent begs for mercy.

When writing a male-female duo, you can show him going for the first blow while she observes and strategizes first. When he's past his peak and panting, she is flying about left and right. Later when the tension wears off and she becomes wobbly and teary, she can rely on him to have recovered faster and distract other teammates so that they won't see her cry.

Plausible Skills and Backstory

In many cultures and time periods, the general attitude of society towards girls is that they have no place in fist fights or martial arts, unlike how it is encouraged for boys of the same age. So if your heroine has physical prowess that surpasses typical 'fitness' or is hidden, build a backstory of how she's obtained it.

For modern heroines, it can be as simple as signing her up for martial arts classes or yearly membership at the local gym. For historical fiction or girls with strict 'feminine' upbringing, it can be trickier.

It can be related to profession: maybe she was an erotic wrestler, catfighter, or an assasin who thought killing was more honorable than prostitution. They may have dabbles with it for a short time and is now trying to hide their past from their respectable employer or fiance.

It can be family backstory: Perhaps her mother was an accomplished martial artist or she had to fend for younger siblings on the streets from an early age. Maybe she was the only girl in a family of many boys who refused to be the punching bag.

Inexperienced Female Fighters

A woman with no fighting experience or training is likely to resort to one of these on instinct:

Try to talk herself out of the situation, attempting to persuade or negotiate for her life.

Grab something to use as a weapon. This instinct seems to be stronger for women than it is in men.

Use her hands to try and break free, or kick (often wth little success)

Pull hair

Scratch.

In a serious fight, pulling hair and scratching won't be helpful, except when the police come to find her body, they would find the opponent's DNA under her fingernails.

Plausible Weapons and Clothing

All of the above applies to scenes where both parties have no weapons, or has the bare minimum (like one dagger each).

Weapons are equalizers, and if your heroine is pointing a gun at her opponent she will definitely NOT hesitate to be the one to shoot first.

When giving your female character a weapon, choose one she can plausibly use. It would take an unusually brawny woman to wield a great medieval longsword.

For historical fiction, give your heroine something she'll plausibly own. Swords and firearm were a no-go for women, but archery was borderline acceptable.

For clothing starters, you definitely CAN NOT dress her in a tight miniskirt and chainmail bra with long, flowy hair and multiple silver chockers. Unless she's trying to seduce her way into her opponent's bedroom, and he has a chainmail bra fetish.

A practical heroine will have her thighs covered, preferably with leather but at least with fabric, since a lot of blood flows through the thighs and a slash would be critical.

She'll keep her hair tied, tucked under a helmet, braided back, etc. so that it won't impede her vision.

She'll support her breasts with a strong sport bra. In a historical eprioid, she'll either tie her breasts tight with a fabric bandage or support them with some kind of leather corset.

Invent a female version of male fighter clothing of the time you are writing about if it doesn't exist.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[pickingupmymercedes]

A bit mushy - Lewis Hamilton

Let's see how Lewis and his wife do in a Couple's Interview.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Fun and light Lewis for the win, again thanks a million times to @greedyjudge2 for the idea and for some of the questions, I know I don't usually write carefree Lewis but it's my favorite ❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The room was buzzing—cameras being adjusted, light stands tweaked and a handful of crew members chatting as they waited for everything to come together.

Lewis sat comfortably on the low-slung, cushy armchair beside his wife, his hand resting casually on the back of her seat tracing lazy circles on her back. They looked impossibly relaxed, as if the cameras were invisible, and this was just another day at home.

The director, a laid-back guy with a coffee stain on his jeans and a clipboard that looked way too serious for the vibe of the shoot, strolled over.

He was juggling his phone and an energy drink, clearly a man trying to keep his cool while wrangling two of the most charismatic people in motorsports.

“Okay, so this should be easy” he started, his voice overly casual like he almost didn’t want to disturb the couple’s chemistry “No serious stuff. No PR-approved answers. We’re here for the real deal. Just answering a few questions about each other, nothing too scandalous. Think... fun, but, y’know, juicy enough to make people smile.”

Lewis’s wife, legs crossed and leaning slightly into her husband’s space, raised an eyebrow. “Define juicy” a sly smile tugging at her lips.

The director chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, like... light-hearted scandal. Stuff people don’t already know. Maybe embarrass him a little—" he motioned to Lewis—"but in a cute way.”

Lewis shot the director a mock glare “Right, you don’t really need to ask her that” he said, his voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm.

His wife snorted, turning to face him with a grin. “Promise not to dig too deep. Unless we’re talking about those sneakers you wore to the beach...”

Lewis groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “Not the beach sneakers again! One time and I’m branded for life.”

The crew around them snickered, and even the sound guy adjusted his headphones to cover a grin.

There was something about the way they bickered that had the whole room leaning in, as if everyone was witnessing the most intimate, casual conversation between two people who just fit.

The director, fully entertained, motioned to the cameraman to get ready. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the good stuff for the shoot. Remember, it’s just you two being yourselves. No need to put on a show.”

His wife reached over and squeezed Lewis’s hand. “No promises.”

As they shared a quiet laugh, the subtle touches and glances between them were enough to make anyone nearby smile. There was no need for grand gestures—the way they leaned into each other, how their conversations flowed effortlessly, said more than any scripted moment ever could.

They had that kind of love that made everyone else feel like they were in on something out of ordinary, just by watching.

The cameras zoomed in slowly as the couple got comfortable in their seats. Lewis leaned back, his arm still slung casually around his wife’s chair, his body slight angled so he could face her better, and she tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him like she always did when they were in the middle of one of their many quiet conversations.

Except this wasn’t quite so quiet. The cameras were rolling now, and the world was about to get a glimpse into how they were with each other.

The director's voice came through, just loud enough to hear but never intrusive.

“Alright, let’s get this rolling. What embarrassing fashion trend did you take part in?”

Lewis immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if he was preparing for battle. “I’ll own this one. Bandanas. Wore them with everything back in the day. Thought I was some kind of rockstar or something.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows shooting up. “Bandanas?” she asked, feigning surprise. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned closer, as if letting the audience in on a secret. “You sure it wasn’t the Timberlands?”

Lewis threw his head back with a groan, already knowing where this was headed. “Not the Timbs,” he mumbled, shaking his head like he was in actual pain.

“Yeah, the Timbs” she said, fully grinning now. “Let me remind you, you used to wear them with everything. Jeans, tracksuits, shorts, suits—”

Lewis raised a hand, stopping her, though there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I still stand by those, alright? I don’t care what anyone says. Timbs are timeless.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, patting his leg. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The banter between them came so naturally, it was easy to forget there were cameras pointed right at them. The crew standing around had mostly stopped what they were doing, some watching the couple with amused smirks, others clearly touched by how playful yet undeniably affectionate they were towards each other.

“Okay, next question: What first attracted you to each other?”

Lewis’s wife leaned back, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to come up with something profound. “His sense of style,” she deadpanned, lips twitching as she fought back a grin.

Lewis blinked, his head cocked to the side. “Seriously? You were just attacking my Timbs? That guy’s sense of style?”

For a moment, she held her ground, lips pursed in mock-seriousness. But after a few seconds of staring at him—his bewildered look, the way he was just waiting for her to crack—she broke. Her laugh wasn’t exactly loud but it filled the room.

“Okay, fine!” She reached out, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “It was your eyes.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up as he gave her a soft smile. He just stared at her, thrown off by her sudden honesty.

She smiled, her gaze softening too as she looked at him. “They’re intense, you know? Like you see things really deeply. The way you look at the world... it’s impossible not to notice.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his usual witty retorts momentarily forgotten. His hand moved instinctively to cover hers on his leg, squeezing it gently. “Well, damn” he finally said, his voice quieter than before, almost reverent.

The room around them seemed to still. There was something about the way they looked at each other that made it feel like they were the only ones there, like everyone else had faded away.

“Next one—‘On what occasion have you lied to me?’”

Lewis’s eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he glanced at his wife. “Uh… Remember when I blamed Roscoe for loosing up your house shoes?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “No. You’re telling me you wore my house shoes, Lewis?!”

He winced, trying to play it cool. “I mean… It was just that one time! They looked comfy, and my feet were cold. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just thought Roscoe had lied on them, not that your big feet had wrecked them!”

The crew chuckled, sensing the playful tension building between them.

“Roscoe was the perfect scapegoat…” Lewis defended himself.

“My poor baby” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You threw him under the bus!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Lewis replied with a smirk, leaning closer to her, his tone turning softer. “But hey, I bought you new ones”

She raised a brow, clearly amused but still pretending to be serious.

“Have I ever made you jealous?”

Lewis leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he quipped in before she could. “She has, yes.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? When exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time like he always did when he wanted to build up the suspense. She leaned in; her curiosity evident in the way her lips quirked. “Come on, give me the details.”

Lewis shook his head, clearly amused. “The silver dress” he said, voice low.

For a second, she didn’t react, clearly trying to place the memory. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in recognition. “Ohhh, that night!”

Her laughter exploded from her, loud and sudden, catching even the crew off guard. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach slightly as she laughed, while Lewis sat there, arms still crossed, trying his best to look annoyed but clearly failing.

“That night was something” she said between laughs, her eyes shimmering with tears of amusement.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think it was so funny.”

“Oh, babe, you were so grumpy” she teased, nudging him with her foot.

Lewis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just looked at her with that mix of exasperation and fondness that made it clear that, no matter what she did, she was always going to get away with it.

“What’s a song that reminds you of each other?”

This time, she didn’t even hesitate. “A Life Like This by Nao.”

Lewis’s face softened immediately. “Why that one?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual teasing grin. This one was softer, more intimate. “Because... before you, I was just going through life, you know? Things were just happening, and I wasn’t really... present. Then you came along, and it was like everything shifted. It was like my Saturn return was finally over, and I could just... breathe.”

For a moment, Lewis said nothing. His face betrayed him—no amount of his typical coolness could hide the way her words hit him.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re really gonna get me emotional, huh?” he murmured, his voice so low only she and the mic could pick up on his voice.

She just smiled; her eyes full of love. “That’s the plan.”

The crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles. It was impossible not to feel the connection between them, like they were watching something precious unfold right in front of them.

“What’s something you wish you did more often?”

Lewis leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Lazy mornings.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” he said softly, his eyes on her. “No alarms, no schedules, no meetings. Just us. Laying in bed, talking, laughing... not worrying about what we have to do next.”

She nodded again, her smile turning wistful. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met, and once again, the room seemed to shrink around them, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble.

“Okay love birds, next up ‘What is the most treasured possession that the other has given you?’”

She paused, tapping her chin as if she really had to think about it, though the answer was clearly already on her mind. “The necklace you gave me on our third date.”

The director blinked, looking between them. “Third date?”

“Oh yeah” she nodded, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling as she shot Lewis a teasing look. “He was whipped by then.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “You make it sound like I was proposing marriage.”

“You weren’t far off, though” she teased, reaching for the necklace hanging delicately around her neck. “He gave me this beautiful pendant, that he designed himself, by the way, and I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this guy is serious.’”

Lewis chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah” he grinned. “No point in playing games.”

She looked down at the necklace again, her voice softening. “It’s not just the necklace though. It’s what it represented. He was showing me he wasn’t just there for fun—he was there for real.”

Lewis met her gaze, his smile quieter now, filled with affection. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“When did you first know that you were in love?”

This time, she was the one to hesitate, a mischievous glint in her eye. “In love with whom?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Lewis groaned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, don’t start.”

She giggled, clearly enjoying every second of his exasperation. “I knew I loved you when we went through about a dozen paint stores in Milan looking for the perfect shade of gold for that painting.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, didn’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could’ve just mixed the colors myself and gotten something close. But you were so invested in finding the exact match that I just... I kept going. And I knew it then. I knew I loved you because you cared about the little things, the details that most people would overlook.”

Lewis stared at her; his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that seemed to melt the room around them.

“What’s your favorite memory of the two of you?”

Lewis leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That time we missed the flight in Paris.”

She let out a groan, breaking the feeling in the room, she already knew where this story was headed. “Nooo, not that!”

“Yep,” Lewis said with a smile. “So we were in Paris, right? And someone—” he pointed at her playfully, “—was absolutely convinced that the subway would get us to the airport faster than any car could.”

“It would’ve!” she protested, already laughing. “The traffic was insane!”

“Yeah sure” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So there we were, dragging our bumps through the subway stations, hopping from one line to the next. Every station was like a maze, and we were so lost. I kept telling you, ‘Let’s just get a cab,’ but nooo, you were determined.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was an adventure!”

“It was chaos and we missed the flight by hours” Lewis corrected, his voice teasing but fond.

“But honestly? It’s one of my favorite memories. You were so carefree, so determined, so in the present. We were lost in Paris but we weren’t lost within ourselves.”

Her smile softened, her eyes holding his for a long moment. “You never told me that was your favorite memory.”

“Yeah” he said quietly, his voice more sincere now. “I felt like we could just... slow down. Be present. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me.”

For a moment, they were silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The room around them was so still that the soft hum of the cameras was the only sound. The crew watched them closely, as if holding their collective breath.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to catch “I think that’s my favorite memory now, too.”

Lewis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a few seconds, it was like the cameras weren’t even there. It was just them, lost in a shared memory, a world of their own.

The director, sensing the intimacy of the moment, cleared his throat gently.

“Alright, now to wrap this up ‘When can we expect little Hamiltons running around?”

Both Lewis and his wife exchanged quick glances, and almost in unison, they burst out laughing—only this time, their laughter had a bit of an edge, like they knew something the room didn’t.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Ooooh, good one.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?” she added, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Real smooth.”

The crew, sensing the couple was playing coy, leaned in just a bit, waiting for a juicy response. But instead, Lewis leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Well, you never know, right?”

His wife smirked, glancing at him sideways, playing along. “When you least expect it”

The director, not quite satisfied, pressed on. “Any plans in the near future?”

“Oh, besides, like, tomorrow’s plans?” she quipped, keeping the teasing energy alive.

Lewis chimed in again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve got a lot of plans. Travel, Roscoe’s bath time…”

The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”

Lewis gave a knowing look to the camera, adding one final, cryptic comment. “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”

And with that, they both smiled at the cameras, their laughter filling the air as the director called “cut” for the final time.

The room gradually came back to life, the hum of equipment being packed up and crew members chatting quietly filling the air. The couple stayed seated, though, still caught in the gentle pull of their shared moment, almost unaware of the bustling scene around them.

Lewis exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at his wife, his arm instinctively pulling her a little closer. She smiled, still leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

“That was a bit mushy, wasn’t it?” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

Lewis smirked, brushing his thumb gently against her arm. “Just a little. But you started it.”

She chuckled softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Tou’re not usually one for getting all sentimental on camera.”

He shrugged lightly, but there was no real defensiveness in his posture.

She smiled, her heart swelling at the softness in his gestures. “Good. I like you better that way.”

She sighed softly, sitting up a little and stretching her arms out with a satisfied groan. “People are going to think we’re a pair of softies.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Let them.”

She smiled, sitting back in her chair and looking at him with a tenderness that only deepened as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek for a brief moment. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to be.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and looked straight at her. “Nah, it’s not.”

Unbeknownst to them, the cameras were still rolling—just a little, a behind-the-scenes shot meant to capture those moments of candidness. The crew tried to keep their distance, giving the couple their space, but every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about Lewis and his wife, the way they moved around each other, the way they fit together.

Without thinking, he stood up and extended a hand to her, pulling her up from her seat. As she stood, she let out a small laugh, one that was soft and filled with affection. But before she could fully straighten up, Lewis slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest in a gentle, protective embrace.

For a second, she stiffened—more out of surprise than anything—but then she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture, nothing extravagant, but in that moment, it was everything.

“Alright, lover boy” she murmured, her voice laced with contentment. “What’s all this about?”

“Just holding you” he replied simply, his voice low and soothing, the kind of tone he used when it was just the two of them, no audience, no pressure. “Feels like we haven’t had a minute to ourselves in forever.”

She smiled as she found her place on the crock of his neck, her fingers absently tracing circles on the back of his neck “You’ll get them,” she promised quietly. “We’ll make time.”

Eventually, Lewis pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” he started, his tone teasing “about those Timbs.”

She groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. “I thought we agreed to leave the Timbs in the past.”

“I never agreed to that” he grinned, tightening his arms around her playfully. “I’m still rocking them, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “Well, at least one of us has evolved.”

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, the sincerity of the words wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. “I really do.”

______________________________________________________________

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[oreganocactus]

i don't participate in any sort of svsss fandom stuff so my apologies if this has been said already but a HUGE part of the humor of that book comes from how it parodies typical isekai harem tropes and not just in the way you might think. there's the typical "wow so cheaply derived porn trope" humor but part of the humor is also in that despite LBH being the original protag, the book SVSSS itself features SQQ as the protagonist.....

ppl like to joke about SQQ's "harem" but the humor of the harem isn't just in that he has one at all (when normally that would be LBH's role), it's how every "member" of that harem fulfills a typical isekai harem role in an inverted way!!!!!!

most obvious example is LBH. he's an inversion in that he's originally intended to be an all-powerful demon king who's a housewife in SVSSS, but (imo) the humor in his "role" is that he's supposed to fulfill the trope of the young abused battle-hardened "demon" girl who longs for peace and housewifery and latches onto the older man who showed him kindness -- except instead of being a moe anime girl, he's an all-powerful protagonist-style power insert hero. so, not so much an inversion of "this demon king is actually a housewife??" and moreso "this housewife is actually a male demon king" (which might not sound like much of a difference at all, but it's moreso about how the MEN fulfill harem girl tropes and not the other way around.)

another example is YGY - set up as a "big brother" figure and clearly has history with SQQ. he's meant to fulfill the trope of the clingy "older sister" childhood friend who promises marriage to the protagonist and has clear history w/him but is insecure about his role because he's not as "appealing" as the other options. his humor as a "romance option" comes from 1. him being a man (you might notice this is the case for a lot of these LOL) and 2. actually, in fact, being immensely powerful - it's another inversion of the trope of the physically weak "starter" harem girl who agonizes over being unable to do more for her beloved childhood friend in their journey.

my favorite example: LQG is the most obvious "tsundere tomboy" trope ever. physically powerful, out of touch with her emotions, gets flustered and aggressive with her crush, focuses on getting stronger above all else yet somehow extraordinarily beautiful -- all of these are extremely obvious tropes assigned to this "tsundere tomboy" trope, with the humor lying in the contrast of LQG actually being a man. the succubus extra is hilarious not just because of the awkward situation and their reactions, but because it's an EXACT setup of an extremely common scene in isekai harem novels. the cold tsundere beauty gets affected by succubi, doesn't know what to do, goes to the protagonist for help - it's the exact kind of situation that would have the protagonist pushing her down and saying lines like "you shouldn't act like this - i'm a man too, don't you know?" and making her aware that she's a woman and "in danger" around him. it's funny because LQG is very much a man, and indeed SVSSS parodies this directly by having SQQ tell LQG that he's a man too, he'll understand if he needs to jerk off! no worries!

even ZZL falls into the trope of the typical beast-kin girl who's saved by the protagonist and falls into his harem, subverted by his loyalty to someone ELSE besides SQQ and nonchalance as he does it.

it's the main draw of the humor of the novel for me and i surprisingly feel like not enough people talk about just how much SVSSS really leans into being a parody of a harem-collecting isekai....

and if you're curious about my credentials for making this post: if you name a shitty isekai novel, i've almost definitely already read it all. i read too many midsekais. it's like an addiction.

[nightingale-prompts]

Overworked- DCxDP prompt

The knight led the group of selected heroes into the throne room. Sitting before a crowd of his people was none other than the ghost king.

"Do not test His Majesty, his mood his well this day. Say only what is necessary." The knight warned before stepping aside.

The kind wasn't what Constantine had mentioned. He was young and rather small for the throne he now sits on. The green flaming crown was unmistakable though.

The young man glared at them with intense animosity, his upper lip curled as he held back a reflexive snarl. Sharp canines peeked out just for a moment as he schooled his expression.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" The kind said drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. His black claws each clicking aginst the cold metal.

The group had been briefed on the situation by Constantine after they were summoning to this realm.

The short and sweet was that they were being mandated to appear before the king of the infinite realms for a long list of violations against the order of the universe. The current group contains Bruce, Clark, Wally, Kon, Jason, Hal, Barry, and Damian. Constantine himself will also be there but he already knows that this tribunal will have multiple groups.

The group reamined mostly silent.

"Where you not read your list of crimes?" The boy asked this time.

An attendant scurried through the crowd with a large scroll in hand before the king immediately waved him off tp return to his post.

"No, lets skip the reading. It would take cycles to get through the charges. Let me be brief. You have all been found guilty of charges of resurrection, time traveling, timeline manipulation, Planetary rearranging courtesy of Mr.Kent here, Interdimensional universe travel, and UNIVERSE MELDING! THE LIST GOES ON!" The king became more irate with every charge. "Tell me why I shouldn't banish you to an empty dimension right this instance."

Constantine knew this was all politics at the end of the day. This whole thing could be smoothed over with the right words by the right person.

"We are human." Bruce said firmly before anyone could stop him. Jason held back a groan of agitation.

"...So you are. What does that have to do with anything?" He boy asked.

"Isn't it natural for us to want to live and do whatever we can to keep living?" Bruce responded

Murmurs erupted amongst the crowd of onlookers.

"So what? Do you think you are the exception then? Look around heroes. This room is full of ghosts who would also have done to keep living. My people couldn't avoid death but they accepted it. What can I say to them if I let you go while they paid their price? How fair would that be?" The king condemned.

The murmurs turned into cheers for their king's words. It was unfair. Why do they get to do what they want without repercussions when they died without even getting the option to live?

"If it counts for anything many of us died to protect as many people as possible," Hal said.

"Well, good for you. How much was that sacrifice worth in the face of your resurrection? That probably doesn't feel cheap at all." The king said sarcastically. "I suppose that goes for most of you."

"I have an objection. Resurrection is not a choice if someone chooses to bring us back we don't get a say. By default we shouldn't be charged for it." Jason argued.

The king paused and raised a hand silencing the crowd.

"Hmmm, I suppose you are correct. Fine, I will strike it from the record." The kind relented.

The heroes had finally found an in. If they could argue their charges down they could leave.

"None of use have willingly time traveled. Hell i hated it. Being lost in time was not a chose we made." Wally said as Barry nodded along.

The king bit the inside of his cheek as he pondered the response.

"I suppose I can overlook it."

"Let me just say that any melding of the universe happened as a consequence of our battle with Darkside." Clark said getting rid of their their biggest charge.

"Darkside?" The king narrowed his eyes.

A courtier stepped forward and leaned down to whisper into the boy king's ear.

"I see. He will be added to the ledger for his crimes. His trial will not be as forgiving as yours. You will not be seeing him again." The boy silently signaled to the knight who bowed and exited with a group of others.

The boy sighed and stood up.

"Follow me."

The group was led down a long corridor to an office with stacks of paperwork from floor to ceiling lining the walls.

"Welcome to my personal hell." The king announced.

Constantine whistled at the sheer number of documents scattered across the room.

"Sorry about the whole court thing. I don't really want to do it but I kind of have to. The Observers demand some kind of punishment for violations. Also, you need to understand that your actions are kept track of and you can't escape it. When you break the rule I have to do the paperwork. AND I HATE PAPERWORK. So here is the deal. You guys bring me the people that have done worse than you on this list and I'll call it square. And if you don't I take everyone's souls." The King handed the scroll to Bruce. "I want the Al Ghul clan first."

"Wait but my-" Damian spoke out but was cut off by the King's raised hand to silance him.

"It is irrelevant to me what your personal issues are. Every violator will be judged for their crimes. If they can give me a good plea then they can return. Consider yourself lucky that you're too young for a full sentencing. As for the rest just do what I say and make up for your crimes. This is a mercy so don't complain."

It was clear that the moody young king wasn't going to argue. It was best to keep quiet and before they knew it the group was sent back to earth.

"You have no idea how lucky we got," Constantine said lighting up a cigarette and leaving to get a drink.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warning: postpartum depression requested by multiple: mama's family

"Where's my baby?!"

You can practically hear your teeth grinding together as you give your aunt a tight lipped smile. "He's due to get up any minute." She sighs, like it's an inconvenience, your mom hot on her heels.

"Hi honey," she says, glancing around your now pristine flat, "how are things?"

"Oh, fine." It's the same thing you've been saying this whole time. I'm fine. I'm good. Everything is great. "Went to the pediatrician the other day, Ry is perfect and healthy." You omit the rest of your news, the sudden reappearance of Simon, the stable, consistent presence in your life, the man who was supporting you in anyway he could.

Even though you absolutely do not want your mom or your aunt to meet him, let alone know about him-

you still kind of wish he was here.

He told you yesterday, regretfully, that he had meetings on base all day today, and you told him your mom and aunt were coming by, but probably wouldn't stay long. It was good, that he wouldn't be around.

Before he left for the night, he made you promise to call if you needed him. Text him to check in. You did as he asked, but didn't hear much. Not a surprise, since he said he wouldn't have a lot of time to respond, but still wanted updates.

"That's great honey." Her smile is genuine, and you know she means it. She does mean well, mostly. It's not her fault you're bad at asking for help, or that since you left home, you've become stubbornly independent. You even spent a few years "gallivanting across the globe" as your sister liked to say, shirking responsibility after uni.

Your family was used to you being a bit of a ghost.

"- don't you think?" Your aunt's voice brings you back to earth, and you nod robotically, unsure of what you're agreeing to. You're about to apologize for missing the conversation when the baby monitor on the kitchen counter lights up, Orion's fussy 'I just woke up mom, come get me' cry crackling from the speaker.

"That's for me." You joke half heartedly with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. You know the battle with ensue as soon as you come back into the living room with the baby, and you dread it.

"Hi baby." You bend at the waist, scooping him out of his crib. "You're gettin' too heavy for mama, big boy. Don't know what I'm gonna do when you're older." The thought stops you in your tracks, the acknowledgement that he'll get older, that soon he'll be six months, and then a year, two. He'll learn to crawl, to walk, to speak. It's exciting, and anxiety inducing. What if you mess him up? What if you don't give him a good life? What if you're not a good mom, or he gets sick, or there's an accident, or an attack or-

No. You're not going to do this. You're not going to fall into these obsessive what ifs. It will only make you sick to your stomach.

You get him into a new nappy and clothes before slinking back into the living room, cowed with your head down. His head turns against your chest, seeking, and you know he's starting to realize he's hungry.

But the vultures don't care.

"Bring that boy over here, let me hold him." Your aunt croons, syrupy sick voice conjuring a roar of nausea.

"He's probably hungry." You start to warn them that this won't last long as you lower him into her arms, but you know it will fall on deaf ears. "So-"

"Just get a bottle from the fridge dear, I can feed him no problem." You fight the urge to to snap at her, unreasonable rage swelling inside your heart. No one feeds him except you, and Simon. Bottles are fine when you're asleep and can't nurse, or between feedings, but he doesn't eat as much from them. Of course, you've tried to tell them that, multiple times, but it never seems to stick. Your mom knows, but she never stands up to her older sister.

Like mother like daughter, you guess. You've never been a doormat per se, but you don't have a strongest backbone, and becoming a mom has changed you, a lot. You've become even more soft, more sensitive. It's... a problem.

"How are you feeling, honey?" You know she's asking mostly about your body, your stitches, your physical aches and pains, which were plenty considering what you went through when Ry was born, but your mom's voice is gentle, like she senses you frustration, and you give her a weak smile. It's nice she's expressing interest, but that's usually as far as it goes, unless you count the meals she's brought over that you barely picked it, not having enough energy to even feed yourself, or shower, or the suggestion that you give her the baby all the time so you could 'take a break' even though he screamed the moment he was separated from you. Not helpful. Nobody cared that you had scary thoughts, scary moments, scary days. Nobody offered to be here at night with you, when you were all alone with the baby after dark, terrified, crying in the bathroom with your face buried in a towel so you wouldn't wake him. No one was here when you were afraid you might hurt him, or yourself, and no one seemed to hear you when you shrugged over and over again, your lack of interest in everything explicitly clear.

You sucked at asking for help, so you didn't. And when you did, you never got it right, or got the right answers, so you stopped asking. Everything became fine. Good.

"Fine, good." She opens her mouth to say something, ask some question, probably about Ry, when your blood goes cold.

The sound of your front door opening rings out like a bang, your eyes widening in panic, and you nearly run to the kitchen.

Oh fuck. Oh no, no no no-

You turn in slow motion to see your baby's daddy, the man who has a key now, stepping through the doorway. As soon as you lay eyes on him, you split down the middle. You're horrified, because of what's about to happen with the two hens on the couch and-

your libido roars to life. Simon's not wearing his usual jeans or joggers and black hoodie, but a camouflage military uniform. One that he fills out, broad shoulders and broad chest fitted snug inside the material. You think you're staring. Or drooling. Or both.

His lips quirk up on one side with a secretive, almost seductive smile, and he peeks over your shoulder before turning his attention back to you. "Hey mama."

"H-hey. Uh. Hi." Your hands uselessly flit around, like you're trying to swat some invisible bugs away or something. "My mom is still here. And my aunt," you can't help yourself, you take him in from head to toe one more time, "you look... nice."

"Price makes me wear my BDU for on base meetings." He grunts, slightly exasperated. Who?

"BDU?"

"Battle dress uniform. It's... the approved, standard uniform. I don't wear it... in the field." His lips press together, and your mind wanders, curious questions about 'the field' popping up like fireworks, but you push them away. Now is definitely not the right time. His thumb brushes your cheek, under your eye, and he frowns. "Everything alright?"

You step to the side, motioning to the living room, where your aunt and mother are whispering fiercely. You roll your shoulders, and take a deep breath. "Do you... want to, say hi?" The question is weak, your voice small. His brow furrows. He looks hesitant, and you don't blame him. They're a lot. It's a lot. He glances down at you again, head tilted in consideration. "Or you could just go. If you ran out that door... well I'd only wish I could come with you." You whisper, and he cracks a smile.

"No. 'm not runnin' from any part of you, sweetheart. C'mon. They can't be worse than..." he trails off, odd look in his eyes before it clears, "they can't be worse than a lot of things."

He follows you around the corner of the kitchen, crossing the threshold of the living room with two large strides.

Your mother gasps. Your aunt makes a sound that you can only describe as a goose being strangled, and Orion starts to cry. Perfect.

"Oh, oh shhh, shhhh." Your aunt tries to soothe him, but you know it won't work.

"Mom," you call over the noise, gesturing to the giant man standing next to your coffee table, and you, "Mom! This is Simon." She stares at you, confused, shocked even. You never told her your one night stand's name, just that you couldn't track him down, so she doesn't make the connection.

Still, she gapes at him. Clears her throat with a question.

"Is this... your boyfriend honey?" Your aunt's expression is not much different, and you freeze. Is he? Is that what this is? You half expect Simon to reject the term boyfriend flat out, but instead-

"Something like that." His hand settles between your shoulder blades, and you lean into it, relishing the comfort. Just the presence of him in the flat is enough to soothe you, lessen the tension you feel building in your chest. "Sounds like he's hungry, mama."

"Yeah, I think he's more than ready." You reach for Ry, eager to pick him up, but your aunt shifts her body, shying away, turning her shoulder to you. You're used to this, the keep away, the way they always try to convince you he'll calm down, to let them hold him for too long, to get him a bottle... but Simon is not.

He goes rigid at your side. You can feel the muscle in his arm turn to stone, and his eyes narrow, upper lip curling. Your mother's eyes go wide, but your aunt remains oblivious. "I can feed him, dear. Go get a bottle warmed up and-"

"No." Simon snaps, rough pitch of his voice dipping deeper into the manc accent, and she bristles. This bitch wouldn't be scared of the devil himself.

"Excuse me?" You watch the muscle in his jaw flex with fascination, wondering what he'll do next. You're brought back to when you met, when he stared down the guy who pushed you out of the way at the bar like he was going to murder him, before calling you over to settle next to his thigh. He put his hand on your waist, shielded you from everyone else for the rest of the night.

You were a goner before you ever had a chance to begin.

"Orion wants his mother. You can hand him over without a fuss, or I can throw you out of this flat. Your choice." His words are hard, cold steel, a sharp knife slicing away, exposing vulnerable parts and smashing them to pieces.

Your aunt has the gall to look scandalized, but when you glance at your mother, she has a different expression. It's warm. Approving. She mets your eyes with a small smile as you scoop Orion up, and then she stands.

"We'll get out of your hair, honey." She tugs you into a half hug before looking over. "Nice to meet you Simon." Your aunt is ranting and raving all the way to your front door, but once it's shut...

"Bloody hell." He mutters, and shakes his head. "I won't let anyone push you 'round like that, sweetheart. Family or not. Especially not in your own home, I-"

"Thank you." It's all you can say. "I um, kind of suck at sticking up for myself, sometimes. It means a lot, that you would do that. For me." He steps close, hand covering Orion's belly and chest, even though he's still crying.

"Kitten doesn't have any claws," he murmurs against your ear, and your eyebrows knit together. Uh... what? "Don't worry, you won't need 'em. Not now that you have me." There's something dangerous in his tone, something lethal and profound. It’s as fervid as his proclamation about his commitment to you, to Orion. Like dark water, bottomless and black, it draws you out deeper, sends shivers up your spine, but doesn't turn you away. It makes you curious, intrigued, desperate to peel back his layers, to dig into him until you know it all, inside and out.

Curiosity killed the cat, isn’t that what they say?

You weren't afraid of him that night, and you're not afraid now. You know Simon is not an ordinary man. You know you've bitten off a lot, by having his baby, rekindling this connection, giving him a key-

but you plan to chew.

[helenofsparta2]

Having the whole plot between Nico and Percy be resolved simply with “You’re not my type” in Blood of Olympus was such a huge disservice to both characters

They are pivotal parts to each others journey. No person in PJO influenced Nico as much as Percy did, aside from Bianca, and no person represents Percy’s guilt and the responsibility he had to shoulder more than Nico does. The writing for both characters really suffers through this lack of a real satisfying resolution.

First to talk about what Percy represents for Nico:

Percy, first of all, represents Nico’s introduction to the mythological world

He is the first demigod Nico ever came in contact with

He saved him and Bianca from the manticore (somewhat)

Nico stated in Blood of Olympus than Percy had reminded of the heroes of his mythomagic game come to life

Nico wholeheartedly believed that Bianca would be safe, if Percy was with her and created this image of the perfect hero in his mind, putting Percy on a pedestal

2.

In Nico’s mind Percy is irrevocably intertwined with Bianca and everything that happened to her

Despite Nico naively believing, that Bianca would be safe if Percy were around, he was instead the last person to ever talk to her, and present when she died

Percy informed Nico of her death (Dead silence. I stared at Chiron. I couldn’t believe nobody had told him yet. Then I realized why. They’d been waiting for us to appear, to tell Nico in person, Titan’s curse)

Nico turned him into the scapegoat for her death, so that he could let all his grief and anger and bitterness out on him

Bianca sent Iris-messages to Percy, so that he would find and help Nico (“Percy has been worried about you, Nico. He can help. I let him see what you were up to, hoping he would find you.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Her ghost only appeared to Nico when Percy was with him

Percy is the only person Nico knows of, who also grieved for Bianca (“Bianca,” I said. My voice was thick. I’d felt guilty about her death for a long time but seeing her in front of me was five times as bad, like her death was fresh and new. I remembered searching through the wreckage of the giant bronze warrior she’d sacrificed her life to defeat, and not finding any sign of her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. Battle of the Labyrinth)

3.

Percy is the person who protected and cared for Nico more than anyone else in pjo

Tried to convince Bianca to think more deeply about her decision of joining the hunters, especially thinking of him (“Biance, this is crazy,” I said. “What about your brother? Nico can’t be a hunter.” (Titan’s curse)

Searched the woods in the dark for hours after he had disappeared (Annabeth and Grover helped me search the woods for hours, but there was no sign of Nico di Angelo.)

Didn’t tell Chiron about Nico’s parentage to protect him from the Gods. (I don't think Nico understands who he is. But we can't go telling anyone. Not even Chiron. If the Olympians find out—") Titan’s curse)

Decided to completely commit to the prophecy, solely so Nico didn’t have to bear that burden and go trough any more suffering(It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger," I said. "I owe that much to his sister. I… let them both down. I'm not going to let that poor kid suffer any more." ) Titan’s curse)

Searched for Nico in the months after Titan’s Curse (Now, six months later, I hadn’t even come close to finding him. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. Battle of the labyrinth, chapter 3))

Saved his life on Geryon’s farm. (“Either way, you get my friends,” I said. “But, if I succeed, you’ve got to let all of us go, including Nico.”)

Always offered Nico a place at camp half-blood to the best of his abilities (“We missed you at dinner,” I said. “You could’ve sat with me.”“No.”“Nico, you can’t miss every meal. If you don’t want to stay with Hermes, maybe they can make an exception and put you in the big house. They’ve got plenty of room.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Invited him to join him on his birthday (“Is that… is that blue birthday cake?”He sounded hungry, maybe a little wistful. I wondered if the poor kid had ever had a birthday party, or if he’d ever been invited to one. “Come inside for cake and ice cream,” I said. “It sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Reminded him that he was still a child (I smiled. “Maybe it’s okay to still be a kid once in a while.” I tossed him the statue, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Helped him to get the sword of hades back to impress his father (Then I looked at Nico. Unfortunately, I recognised the expression on his face. I knew what it was like wanting to make your dad proud, even if your dad was hard to love., Sword of hades)

Acknowledged everything Nico did in The last Olympian and is one of the main reasons why Hades has a cabin at camp. ( “But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that.”)

4.

Percy was Nico’s first, and after Will, his biggest love

Nico had feelings for Percy, which didn’t leave him for around 2 1/2 years, and accompanied him throughout the most challenging parts of his life. 

Feelings, which were so deep, the god of love personally acknowledged them.

Favonius even called Percy, the person Nico cares about most in House of Hades.

This was more than just a mere crush

Percy is so completely intertwined with most aspects of Nico’s character arc, in both PJO and Hoo, be it his feeling of ostracism, his relationship to Bianca or him coming to term with his own sexuality, that them not having a final interaction, makes his writing feel shallow and unfinished. Especially Nico coming to terms with his crush on Percy opens up the opportunity for a really heartwarming conversation and a moment of character growth and maturity for both of them, instead of it being wasted on one throw-away line.

And it’s the same the other way around. Nico is also a huge part of Percy’s journey.

He especially represents Percy’s biggest failure.

The first five Percy Jackson books are characterized by Percy having to take up responsibility and him being afraid of not being able to fulfill them. Be it responsibility for camp, the world, Bianca’s death, the prophecy, his friends, teh unclaimed demigods, or everything else. Most of the time, Percy was able to make sure everything turned out fine. He saved camp, he saved Olympus, he finished his quests, made the right decision for the prophecy, and he made the gods swear upon teh styx. But there’s one exception. And that is Nico.

Percy did everything in his power to make sure Nico would be spared any more hardships. He took up the burden of the prophecy, explicitly, so that Nico doesn’t have to go through any more hardships

He searched for him after Titan’s curse, kept his identity a secret and even risked himself, Annabeth, Grover and Tyson dying if it meant saving Nico

Still, Nico is one of the characters, if not the character, who has suffered the most in PJO and Hoo, even partly because of Percy (though, of course, Nico having a crush on him was not Percy’s fault at all)

He lived alone at 11 years old on the streets and in the labyrinth, while getting manipulated by an ancient evil spirit

He was isolated and ostracized at camp half-blood

He experienced the horrors of Tartarus completely on his own

He got captured by the giants and slowly suffocated to death in a small jar

He had to deal with internalized homophobia and his complicated feelings regarding Percy

He has been a vital part of two wars at only 15 years old

Had to admit his crush involuntarily in front of Jason, etc.  

One of the things Percy battles with in Heroes of Olympus is this overwhelming sense of guilt. He blames himself for almost everything that went wrong over the last few years. Be it for Iapetus, Calypso, or especially Nico. Having Percy acknowledge this complicated relationship he has with him during House of Hades, but not allowing the two of them to talk it out is genuinely baffling to me, and one of the (albeit many) reasons why I really don’t like most of Percy’s writing during Heroes of Olympus, despite the fact that he is my favourite character by far. This could have led to a moment of character growth, where Nico helps Percy to aknowledge that he feels guilty for things he had little to no control over, while Nico himself realizes how important he actually is to Percy.

They are also so similar in terms of who they are and what they’ve been through, that even if you ignore their history with each other, it seems insane, that they didn’t interact in any meaningful way:  

Both were ostracized at camp half-blood because of their parentage, and so far are the only two half-bloods we know of with that experience

They are (together with Hazel) the most powerful demigods in the Riordan verse, and have feats which far surpass anyone else’s

Both are in some way afraid of their powers

Both went through Tartarus

Both have relatively similar relationships to their godly parents

Both have gone through immense trauma and loss

And if you read heroes of Olympus, it actually very much seems to build towards a final resolution of their relationship

Percy and Nico were, aside from Frank, the two people closest to Hazel; both saw her as a little sister, and Hazel treated them both like her brothers

Nico was the first person Percy met from his old life

Percy was the one, who received the visions of Nico being captured

From everyone present, Percy trusted Nico to lead the others to Greece in his moment of greatest desperation

They both had introspections about the other in house of Hades, Nico having to deal with his crush and Percy with his guilt in Tartarus

But, in the end, after they met again, nothing happened. The only scene we really got was the “You’re not my type” line and Percy being surprised by it for a couple seconds. That’s it.

We saw no meaningful conversation between the two of them, no acknowledgement of what they’ve been through together, no lasting feelings. Nothing.

In regards to their relationship, Percy acknowledging everything that Nico has been through led to nothing. Nico acknowledging his feelings for Percy and finally letting go of this pedestal he had placed him on led to nothing. You could argue that their entire relationship, which has been built up since Titan’s curse led to nothing. And considering that they are so important characters for each of their character arcs, their characterization very much suffers from this writing decision.

The two of them, together with Hazel, are my three favourite Riordan verse characters by a long shot, but some very important aspects of both of their characters fall so flat to me through this lack of a satisfying resolution.

 Both of them deserved so much better.  

They are the friendship with the most missed potential in the entirety of the Riordan verse and probably the most fleshed out and nuanced relationship Rick ever wrote.

R.I.P.  Nico di Angelo, and Percy Jackson, you will always be brothers in my mind.

[iamthemain-character]

Are Your Ears Burning? 18+ only - Minors DNI

astarion x fem!reader

CW: smut, masturbation, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), astarion being a brat

A/N: If you know me irl, no you don't (lovingly)- otherwise, welcome to my first smut fic (i need to be put down like a dog). Also shout out to S.H. for being an editor and proofreader, cause my asexual ass don't know shit <3 can't wait to live in the asylum with you when our delusions take over our brains

bg3 masterlist

You couldn’t fucking take it anymore. 

Life out on the open road was exhausting, and often far dirtier than you’d like, and most days you just wanted to collapse into your bedroll once the night sky blanketed the camp. Although, when the travel was not so long and the days were a little bit calmer, your mind would finally be able to think of other things than sheer survival. But that was where the real battle lay, and you had no defenses against your opponent. 

The most beautiful bastard to ever walk the earth, otherwise known as Astarion.

It was truly horrible. The elf vampire’s mere existence was enough to send your body fluttering. The way he would lounge by the fire, feet reaching for the warm, head tilted to face the heavens. Or when he would put on his armor, dexterous fingers flexing as he tightened leather straps. It didn’t help that Astarion was an outrageous flirt, who knew exactly how to lower his eyes just so, or how to change his voice to a vocal caress. Sometimes you wondered if he could possibly read your mind, if he was amused by how utterly pathetic you became the moment he said your name. 

Perhaps it would have been easier if he could, because then you wouldn’t be caught in the dilemma you found yourself in. You know of Astarion’s background, knew that he was trying to undo two centuries worth of pain and hurt. And for that reason you didn’t dare speak your desires to him, not willing to chance the fact that you might ruin what little healing he had found. 

At the end of the day, however, you still were just a woman. And it was in the twilight of a long day that you retired to your tent, hot and flustered from so much more than the campfire. Your core ached, desperate to find some sort of release for the sheer amount of arousal it was constantly put through. But of course, when you thought of pleasure, it was the face of Astarion that came to mind. But that was not a path you were willing to go down. 

Tentatively, you moved to lay on your bedroll; even though you were completely alone, and well within your own right, you felt embarrassed as you took off your shoes, your pants soon cast aside as well. You lay back, taking a deep breath as you attempted to clear your mind, to relax and enjoy yourself. You began as you always did, fingers trailing over your opening, touching the spots that you knew would make you feel good. 

Except when the first wave of pleasure hit, all your mind could think of was Astarion. His pale face, with those alluring ruby eyes filled your mind, and you found your lips longing to utter his name. It shocked you for a moment, but you couldn’t help but note the way the thought of him had made the experience more enjoyable. 

You struggled within yourself, questioning the morality of thinking of Astarion for your own pleasure. You had no right to him, and aside from his flirtatious nature, you weren’t even sure he wanted you in that way. So you resolved to push any thoughts of your white-haired companion away, resorting to sheer pleasure to satisfy yourself. 

You went for where the aching was in your core, fingers pushing through your own soft folds, gathering the slickness that had already collected in just the few moments. You carefully pushed into yourself, breath catching as you maneuvered through the first ring of muscle. Slowly, you pumped your fingers in and out, taking care to brush against your sensitive inner wall. To your dismay, however, the feeling of your fingers within yourself didn’t bring you nearly as much pleasure as you had hoped. Your mind betrayed you, focused on how it was woefully your own hand and not a certain vampire spawn companion’s. 

You slipped in another finger in an attempt to help fill you up, and your mind drifted to Astarion. What would it feel like if it had been his cock inside of you instead, pushing up against your center. Would he be thick, stretching you out around him? Or would he be long, needing to encourage you to keep taking him in. Your fingers picked up their pace, desperation starting to take root as your longing for the real thing increased. 

With a jolt, you caught your ruminating thoughts, heat burning through your face rather than your core as shame coiled in your stomach. Frustrated, you removed your own hand, a little miffed at how difficult your hopeless crush on the elf had made your life. You took a deep breath, moving onto a different tactic; if you couldn’t control your thoughts, you wouldn’t think at all. Your clit had already swelled a little from the arousal, and as you brushed your fingers over the bump, it produced a satisfying thrill up through your body. 

You began working the bud with your fingers, a soft sound escaping you as you felt your pleasure increase in your body, responding to the stimulation. You allowed your mind to grow hazy with the sensations, little prickles of pleasure running through your hips and legs, giving your body the experience it had been craving. 

You pressed on your clit more firmly, touching yourself with more intensity as your body grew hotter and hotter. Little noises escaped with your uneven breathing, the pleasure unable to be constrained to your body and escaping into the air. You had to be careful, your tent was in a circle of your companions’ after all, but your need overruled any real sense of propriety. You continued to vocalize your pleasure, whispered “pleases” mixing in with the quiet noises that escaped you the more you felt pleasured. You could almost hear Astarion’s voice in your ear, murmuring words of encouragement, of praise, enticing you closer and closer to your climax. 

“Astarion…” You groaned, unable to resist the way it so easily came to your lips. 

Little did you know that just outside your tent, crouched beside the very wall of tarp that you were next to, the man himself sat, pointed ears listening intently to your sounds. Astarion had no intentions of listening into your private moment as he had walked past your tent, but the moment he had heard his own name moaned out, your voice so sinfully needy, he had rooted himself to the spot. It didn’t take him long to deduce what was happening, the scent of your arousal, damp and slick on your hot skin, told him all he needed to know. So he sat there, listening intently, his own hunger growing, tightening the leather of his trousers. 

Your breath came out in little pants as you felt the coil burn hot in your lower abdomen, ready to spring at any given moment. How you longed for Astarion’s actual touch, for him to help you along; instead, however, you contented yourself with a final swirl of your forefinger, and the coil snapped. Warmth swelled in the center of your body, and your body sank into the thin bedroll, satisfaction easing the tension that had plagued you for so long. You pulled your hand away from your body, letting it fall beside your trembling thighs. As soon as the initial high was over, however, guilt poisoning the ecstasy, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. No matter how hard you had tried, you couldn’t get the beautiful elven man out of your head, the stupid bastard. 

“You did so well, darling. So good, coming for me just like that.” You could almost imagine his voice purring to you. 

Except you didn’t imagine it. 

Your eyes fly open, and standing at the end of your bed was Astarion himself, a beautifully wicked smirk curled across his lips. His ruby eyes gleamed with gratification, looking as pleased as can be as his gaze drank in the sight of your dripping folds. 

With a start, you broke from your blissful haze, scrambling to cover yourself; Astarion, however, had other plans, pouncing on you immediately, grasping your wrists and pinning them to your sides. “No no, darling, don’t get shy now.” He clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “You don’t get to act coy, not when you called out my name. This is mine to enjoy, and you’re not taking it from me.” 

Astarion punctuated his words by bringing your messy fingers to his lips, taking them into his mouth, tongue swirling around them as he tasted you. He groaned, eyes closing for a moment as he savored your flavor. “So sweet, darling…I simply must have more.” 

Your mind was still caught in shock, lost for words as he shifted down your body, hands caressing from your wrists, following the path of your arms as he trailed further and further downward. He knelt into his position of worship, finding the altar between your thighs, more than ready to taste the wine of your body. Despite how needy he felt, he wanted to savor this moment, the way he finally had your truest feelings laid bare before him. 

“Were you truly so desperate for me, love?” He purred, rubbing his nose against your soft inner thigh. “Our perfect little hero of the realm, fucking herself on her fingers, crying out my name. How perfectly filthy.”

“I...I just needed-”You feel beyond embarrassed, being caught in such a personal moment, but even more so being caught by the very man you were using to get off. 

Astarion, however, was the furthest thing from displeased, chuckling as he pushed on your legs, sighing happily as his face was smooshed between your plush thighs. “I know what you needed, pet. You could have just asked, you know; I would have been more than happy to oblige.” 

You inhale a sharp breath, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, a flicker of concern tightening around your heart. “I don’t ever want to put you in that position again…”

Astarion faltered, his heart melting a little as he realized what you were insinuating. He moved back up to hover above you, the cool leather of his pants stretched over his knees as they pushed up against your thighs, effectively keeping your legs wide open for him. He gently stroked your waist–better than the way you had imagined–his slightly dry fingertips soft as he mapped out the curve of your form. 

“You could never.” He says, his creamy voice quiet as he spoke, the most earnest you had ever seen him. His eyes matched the color you felt in your heart, heated and passionate. “You are nothing like him, or any of them. You…” He leaned in, and he pressed his lips to yours. His whole body leaned into you, craving the warmth he could feel radiating off. “You have proven time and time again that you see me as more than a body.” Astarion whispered against your lips, his own still brushing them. “You have given me a place to call home, to not constantly have to protect myself. And now that I’m not just trying to survive…” He moved his lips to your neck, biting gently. “I find myself wanting.”

His meaning was clear in his words, sending tingles up your body from how much more it excited you. “You have to know now just how much I feel about you..how I adore you.” You reach up a slightly shaky hand, cupping his sharp jawline into your palm. He leans into it, hands tightening into a possessive grip on your waist, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving. 

“It cannot possibly match just how much I adore you.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss into your palm. His eyes flit open again, glancing at yours. “And I would like to show you, if you’ll let me.” 

Your breath catches as your heart skips, heat curling in your stomach again. Unable to trust your voice you give him a silent nod, the need evident in your gaze. 

Astarion presses one last kiss to your lips before he returns to his irreverent worshiping, his slender hands wrapping around your thighs, nails pressing into your skin as if to mark you as his. He brings his face the slit between your folds, and he inhales deeply, a satisfactory sigh leaving him. You clench around nothing, his warm breath scattering across your damp skin making your body tingle with arousal. 

“Look at her, already so beautiful and ready for me.” He murmurs, pressing his pointed nose into the little crevice above your clit. He darts his tongue out, flicking the swollen bud, smiling as he feels the twitch of your body in reply. “But look at her, poor thing…she deserves tact, and true pleasure, not just a brutish push to an orgasm. Never fear, my love..” He pauses, pressing a kiss to your pelvis, “I am here to take care of you as you deserve.” 

Astarion rolls out his tongue, pressing it flat against the opening between your softness, and he drags it upwards. He hums with delight, just the hint of your essence making him greedy for more. He pushes through the soft flesh, dragging his tongue expertly up and down, lapping up the mixture of arousal and release that remains. 

You can’t help the soft noises that escape you, no words being able to describe how you’re feeling, the sensations too strong to remain within you, finding their release through your vocal cords. This only spurs Astarion forward, however, who continues swiping his tongue through your vulva, unabashedly hungry in his consumption of you. The only breaks you receive are when he occasionally pauses to tell you how perfect you are, or how good you taste, or how much he adores you. The moment the elf finishes vocalizing his sentiments, however, he returns to your body, working his tongue over and over again. 

You find yourself wishing you could have had this first, Astarion’s actions surprisingly better than your own, as if he was simply meant to know your body in this way. Had you not been so entirely consumed with the sensations his mouth were bringing you, you might have had the notion to be irritated, but instead you only found yourself delighted by his uncanny ability to find the places that pleasured you the most. 

While Astarion could have happily just kept dragging his tongue over you like a man dying of thirst, he wanted to continue focusing on your pleasure. It delighted him, being able to give pleasure because of his affections he felt, with no ulterior motives, and he was determined to enjoy it to the fullest. His shifts a little, easing his tongue into your opening, his body jolting as he feels you gasp and tighten on the muscle. Teasingly, he moves his tongue, easing you open again, sliding it as far as he can get. He presses his face as far into you as he can, taking full advantage of vampires’ lack of needing air. He presses his nose against your sensitive clit, rubbing it slowly, building up a rhythm with his tongue as he moves it  in tandem with his teasing nose. 

He feels a surge of satisfaction as you moan, grinding your body against his face, letting him delve deeper into your soaking cunt as he gets more and more drunk on your taste. He can feel you getting close from all the stimulation, the way his hands have to keep you from closing your thighs around his head–not that he’d mind going that way, but he has other plans for you. 

“You’re doing so well for me, my love….taste so sweet, being so filthy on my tongue.” He murmurs, rubbing his nose against your throbbing clit, and you nearly lose it from hope the vibrations rumble through your flesh. “You’ll be a good girl for me and come, won’t you? Let me taste my saccharine reward.” 

“Astarion, I…” You’re not really sure what you’re trying to say, thoughts increasingly difficult to form with every flick of his tongue against your tense inner muscles.

“I’m here, my darling…my beautiful woman…” He presses a kiss with his lips to your labias, a sweet gesture compared to his demanding tongue and insistent nose. “Let yourself go. Baptize me in your glory, please.” 

He’s begging you. Tongue pushed deep into your core, pointed nose steadily pressing into your bud, Asatrion is begging you to come on his face, and you don’t have the strength– nor the desire– to deny him. 

“Astarion!” You moan out, hips bucking against his face as the tension snaps, your body going slack against him as warmth courses through your muscles. 

Astarion feels a surge of delight and satisfaction as he feels his face dampen, and he forgets any rhythm with his tongue as it greedily laps at you, as if he needs every last drop of your release to survive. You can barely make out his murmurs, only catching your name and words of praise here and there. You whimper as he licks at you, the sensation bordering on overstimulation for your pleasured body, but you can’t deny the ache feels good. 

Finally, Astarion’s face pulls away from your warmth, and he presses one last soft kiss to your swollen clit, inhaling deeply to take in your scent once more. He sits up, reaching a hand out to brush back the hair sticking to your forehead. 

“You alright darling?” He asls warmly, smiling down at your flushed and dazed face. 

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to collect yourself. “I’m…I”m wonderful…perfect actually..” You glance over him, and feel your stomach flip as you see the obvious bulge in his pants. “Astarion, you-” 

He waves you off, pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Do not push yourself, dearest. I wouldn’t want to break your pretty little body on our first night together.” 

“I want you to break me.” You blurt out, heat rushing to your ears as you drop your gaze. As if you weren’t already a trembling and aching mess from the most thorough and pleasurable eating out you’d ever received. Yet somehow, with Astarion, it was never enough. “Please.” 

For a moment, Astarion just gazed down at you, his wine-colored eyes deep in thought as he seemed to consider you. Finally, he smiled, and he reached down, untucking his shirt. “You are so perfect, darling, you know that?” 

Even after all that you’ve experienced, your body burns with arousal again as you watch him remove his shirt, tossing it aside without a care. For a moment, you feel you might faint when he tells you you can touch him, but you manage to stay conscious. Your trembling hands caress over his smooth chest, feeling the cool, pale skin, and the lean muscles that it encases. Astarion shivers at your touch, adoring how he simultaneously feels both adored and wanted. 

He unlaces his trousers, disposing of those and his underwear, watching your expression carefully.

The heat in your center doubles, and you already ache for friction, for him as you gaze at his body. His cock is long, erected upwards as he takes in the mess he’s already made. Veins curve around the shaft, dark against his taut, pale skin. You shudder as a thrill runs up your spine as you imagine how that will feel, and you wonder if you can die from anticipation. 

“Is this what you imagined, darling? Or have your wicked fantasies bested me?” Astarion teases, his voice low as he returns to his position, howevering over you. He dips his head down, nibbling at your ear before moving down to press a trail of kisses across your neck. 

“You are far better than anything I could have imagined, though...I’m not sure this isn’t fantasy.” You breathe out, feeling dizzy from his proximity. 

“This is very much so reality, darling.” Astarion murmurs into your skin. “And I have every intention of proving it.” 

He leans up a little, just enough so that he can grasp your hips, lifting them to meet his body. As you watch him bring his member to your opening, you wonder if you will ever remember how to breathe. But suddenly, you feel him push in, and suddenly all you can focus on is just how right it feels.

 He takes his time, though it's easy for him to slip in, your body plenty wet from your arousal. He groans your name softly as he feels you clench down, as if your body is demanding to have more without delay. He happily obliges, pushing forward a little more intently, watching to ensure you are comfortable. 

You have no qualms, however; every inch you receive sends little waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You wonder how you ever lived without this, the desperate ache inside of your core easing away as he fills you up. As he gets closer to his base, it becomes a bit of a stretch, your body not quite used to the length, but your moan is full of appreciation rather than pain. 

Astarion bottoms out, a deep breath escaping him as he does. “My darling…” He murmurs, caressing his hands up and down your hips. His eyes are hazy, his body thrumming with heat, with the sheer ecstasy of being so deeply intertwined with you. 

Your own body is pulsing, and you grow a little greedy, your hands grasping at his pale strands of hair. “Astarion...m-more…please…”

Astarion moans again, amazed by how he could have someone so incredible possibly want him. “Do not fear, my love. I have every intention of giving you everything.”

Astarion pulls back his hips, pushing them back in a little quickly, his stomach lurching as he hears the gasp that escapes you. He repeats the motion, building up a steady pace as he thrusts in and out of your warmth. It's like your bodies need one another, crave the most carnal and yet loving intimacy that can be had. Astarion's hands firmly grasp your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips so he can thrust deeper, a little harder as he does so. Both of you moan, the pleasure intensified through the new angle. Astarion stops being careful, pumping in and out of your soft body at a reckless pace, needing to chase the pleasure that continues to rise higher and hotter between the two of you. 

The two of you are lost to your ecstasy until you reach the height of it. You come hard and fast, your insides burning up from the tightly wound coil. You forget everything, calling out Astarion’s name without caring if others will hear it, clinging to him as your pleasure takes you. Astarion follows almost immediately after, hips stuttering before he just presses into you, allowing his hot release to fill up your body. Your thighs soon become slick as it spills out of your body, but you hardly notice, more focused on the sensation of Astarion’s body laying on top of yours. 

For a few moments, you both just lay there together, panting heavily, minds spinning from the sheer amount of bliss the two of you have created. Your hands stroke through his hair, his own hands still cupping your waist as if you are the only thing grounding him to the earth. 

“You are so perfect, my love..” Astarion whispers, his voice husky and low, barely a murmur in your ear. “Just positively divine.” 

You smile, a little flutter of satisfaction warming your own heart. “As are you. I feel absolutely incredible, thanks to you.” 

The white-haired elf chuckles, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Do not ever thank me, my darling. I’m almost ashamed to admit how much of this was for my own pleasure. You will have to force me to only think of you, next time.” 

“Next time?” You echo, quirking a brow at him, hope fluttering in your chest.  Astarion’s smile curls across his flushed face, and he tucks your hair behind your ear. “Of course darling. I can’t have my beloved resorting to her own hands the next time she needs to feel good. Especially if I can be the one hearing you moan my name.”

[hawkinsbnbg]

Today, Mike had woken up on the wrong side of his bed so he was especially vicious as he ranted about anything he found irritating about Steve.

He hadn't even reached the midpoint when Dustin decided to rip him a new one. Which, yeah, was fair because he didn't usually do Steve that dirty. But his bad mood had taken over and he found himself arguing with Dustin.

"It's not like you don't gripe about him every day," Mike retorted heatedly. "In fact, you are the one making fun of him the most out of everybody here," he gestured widely at the others (Lucas cringed, Will looked guilty, Max and Erica high-fived each other, El nodded calmly, Eddie just gave him a little wave).

"That's because I'm his brother," Dustin said matter-of-factly while adopting Steve's signature mom pose. "But who are you? You're just his ex's brother. Without Nancy, you're just a random kid to him."

(Eddie, Max, and Erica looked at each other with the same smirk. "Oh, that burns."

Lucas just sighed helplessly as Will and El watched on in amusement.)

Mike's nostril flared indignantly. He would never ever admit this, but while he thought Steve was lame and an idiot sometimes, he respected Steve plenty. Not enough to admire, but enough to fight Dustin for him.

"So what? I know him longer than you," Mike fired back. "I have more M&M's and 3 Musketeers from him than you do, I played baseball with him every weekend, and I also watched Star Wars with him."

"You do understand what ex means, right?" Dustin narrowed his eyes at him. "Nancy's his ex-girlfriend, ergo you're his ex-something, ergo you need to stop living in the past. You know why? Because I," Dustin pointed at himself smugly, "am his favorite now. I'm the present and the future. His shotgun, his house, his pool, his snack cupboard will forever be mine, thank you very much."

And just like that, all hell broke loose.

Because not even Will was willing to accept that bullshit. Steve never had a favorite, okay? As their babysitter, he wasn't allowed to.

"What the fuck are you fighting for?" Mike glared at Erica who was (impressively) making Dustin wail like Mew on the floor.

"Steve still owes me a lifetime of free ice cream, duh," she looked at him like he was an idiot. "Stop talking shit and come help me."

A wise man once said: "Enemy's enemies are friends."

So it only took Mike a second to give her a hand.

———

"Why didn't you stop them?" Steve asked in exasperation, thinking about the fistfight that would've taken place in the Wheelers' basement had he not interfered on time.

"'Cause the more they eliminate among themselves," Eddie leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially, "the less I gotta fight to keep you."

"But I'm their babysitter," Steve pushed him away with a finger on the forehead. "And you're supposed to make it easier for me, not harder."

"Sweetheart," Eddie grabbed his wrist and nuzzled his nose into it, "Just say the word and I'll make something harder for you right now."

"You're incorrigible," Steve rolled his eyes, but his pretty smile had betrayed his mood.

"Yeah, all because of you, baby," Eddie pressed his lips on the back of Steve's hand. "O prithee, my princess, give me the remedy."

"What if I don't have any?" Steve raised his brow.

"You do, darlin'," Eddie pulled him close and cradled his face. "My tonic is right here," a kiss on his forehead. "My joys," on his eyelids. "My happiness," on his his nose and then his mouth, "my love."

Later, when they cuddled in bed, sweet and tender after loving each other til midnight, he would tell Eddie there was no need to ask for him in the first place.

Because he had been Eddie's boy since the day the battle vest was draped on him.

It seemed Steve did have a favorite, after all.

Except, it was none of his kids.

Truly a tragedy.