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lewkwoodnco · 7 months ago

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You look like shit - Lockwood x Reader

One time you told lockwood he looked like shit and four times he told you you looked like shit

��You look like shit.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re in a hospital bed but I’m the one who looks like shit.”

“Exactly, you look spectacularly terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I tried, but my sorry excuse of a boss got his ass kicked by some Type Two, so here I am.”

“Doesn’t your sorry excuse of a boss write your cheques?”

“Have I mentioned how fond I am of my sorry excuse of a boss?”

a/n: just a little drabble i typed up having been inspired by this post :)

tropes/warnings: mostly fluffy, some mentions of grief, slight description of injury, smidge of flirty-ish banter 🙈🙈

wc: 1.5k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

“You look like shit.”

Lockwood froze with his mug halfway to his mouth. He gaped at her briefly before setting the mug down once the shock passed. She was Lockwood & Co.'s newest employee and it was only recently that the ice had been sufficiently broken for their interactions to evolve into something more than a passing smile or greeting. This, however, was more than he had expected. He was possessed by a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh.

"It's like, 10 in the morning, and you already look exhausted. Do you ever sleep?"

He struggled with his words for a moment. "...yes. Sometimes."

"Not enough, clearly."

He did look especially worse for wear that morning. Only just recovering from a mild flu, his insomnia was at an all-time high and the lack of sun over the past week had his skin looking nearly transparent. He was a frail, washed-out thing flitting restlessly between rooms, bemoaning all the cases he was missing out on while cooped up here.

He smiled for what felt like the first time in days. She coughed, embarrassed, feeling like she had grossly overstepped.

"I mean...you don't look that horrible."

Fortunately, Lucy chose that exact moment to walk in and sufficiently distract Lockwood with the details of their newest case and she took the opportunity to duck out of the room. What the hell had she been thinking?

"H- oh, you look like shit."

She emerged from behind the counter through a cloud of steam, her hair resting on her shoulders like a large, frizzy, brittle rat. While he and George had spent the morning at the Archives, she had spent it at Portland Row preparing Fesenjān for their lunch as part of some stupid bet she had made with George.

"Oh, good, you're back. You took your time."

"George is still there so Lucy's going in to hel-"

She cut him off by shoving a spoon of hot stew into his mouth.

"Taste."

Lockwood spluttered around the spoon, mouth working furiously to cool the scalding food while she watched him intently.

"Well?"

"It's...it's good."

"As good as George's?"

He grimaced. "I don't think I should be taking sides in this." He didn't even want to think about George finding out.

"This isn't taking sides. But also, if anyone asks, you weren't here. So...?" She fixed a desperate look on him. Lockwood sighed.

"It could use a little more salt."

"Angel." She turned around, pulling out the salt while he watched her with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. The crazy hair suited her in some odd way.

“You look like shit.”

He had meant for it to come out as teasing but at the sight of her tearstained face, it sounded terribly mean. He had found her sitting on the front steps late one evening when he was about to turn in, only a thin hoodie insulating her from the harsh cold. Her head whipped around at the sound of his voice, a hand carelessly dragged across her face. He took a seat next to her, dropping his voice.

"Everything alright?"

She swallowed, eyes trained on their shoes. Her voice was hoarse with disuse.

"One of my friends moved away a couple of years back. She's been in an accident."

"How bad of an accident?"

There was a tightness in her chest that made it difficult to go on. "The worst."

In a rare moment of weakness, she crumbled, sagging against Lockwood like she had no spine left to hold herself upright. He wrapped a warm, comforting arm around her, and the simple gesture was enough to break her down. She cried into his shirt, cried for the friend she would never see again, cried for the part of her childhood that had chipped off and floated away into some abyss. Cried while he held her.

"I can't -" she hiccuped, unable to hold back a poorly concealed sob. "I can't even remember the last thing I said to her." It felt like an awful thing to admit, something sinful and evil, something that made it impossible for her to shake the tremble from her hands. His hold on her tightened a fraction, like he was holding her shattered pieces together, and she clung to his shirt with all the despair of a shipwrecked passenger.

Maybe it was selfish, but she didn't want him to leave. And so he stayed.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

They had just returned from a job at some old, abandoned building set to be torn down in a few months. George and Lucy were handling some other case at the other end of the city, so the sounds of them shucking off their coats and gear echoed through the empty house. Between the two of them, she was always more prone to going ham on their cases. Today, it was in the form of her barrelling full tilt through a series of cobwebs to serve as a distraction. The case had ended with Lockwood hurriedly bagging the Source and her pink-faced and speckled with the grey strings.

Back at Portland Row's kitchen, there was still a lingering tinge of warmth to her cheeks. Lockwood paused by the cupboard where she was pulling out some mugs and plates, idly picking off the remaining strands still loosely clinging to her hair and shoulders. As his movements slowed, fading into something more gentle and meticulous, she glanced at him. He looked back. The cobwebs now littered the little space between them, but still he did not move away. The back of her neck prickled under his wretchedly attentive gaze. She did not know how to look away.

"Tea?" she croaked out, throat embarrassingly taut with choked-back emotion.

Whatever spell that had settled over them broke. Lockwood reeled back, almost noisily busying himself with fishing out the biscuit tin, forcing something nonchalant into his voice.

"Sure."

They spent the rest of their night operating with an invisible bubble between them, neither of them daring to get too close to the other lest a brush of the hand shattered the pallid illusion they were play-acting in. The house was far too quiet that night, filled with the unbearably soothing sounds of their cutlery, the rain and their breathing. Lockwood fiddled with his mug. She scratched at a particularly obscene message etched into the thinking cloth. He dragged a shoe along the scuffed kitchen floors. She drummed her fingers restlessly, watching the seconds tick by excruciatingly slow on the clock.

Where the hell were George and Lucy?

“You look like shit.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re in a hospital bed but I’m the one who looks like shit.”

She was in a gleaming, sterile hospital room, painfully twisted into some uncomfortable plastic chair after a night of fitful sleep and checking to make sure Lockwood was still alive. Lockwood had gone out for a solo case and she had been waiting up, expecting him to return any minute when the hospital called. Luckily, it was nothing fatal, but enough to keep him out of commission for a while. Enough to make her worry.

“Exactly, you look spectacularly terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I tried, but my sorry excuse of a boss got his ass kicked by some Type Two, so here I am.”

“Doesn’t your sorry excuse of a boss write your cheques?”

“Have I mentioned how fond I am of my sorry excuse of a boss?”

He quirked a smile at that, then immediately winced. She lightly tilted his bruised face just as he raised a tentative hand to the stitches on his lip, their fingers brushing against each other for a fraction of a second. He looked at her questioningly, unable to see how it was healing himself, and she thought it was extremely unfair to have eyes as disarming as his. She shoved down the stab of sympathy at the unexpectedly vulnerable sight. Hospital gowns really did a number on how strong, or lack thereof, a patient seemed.

“Poor baby. Do you need someone to kiss it better?”

“You could kiss me better.”

“You…are clearly still concussed. Where on earth is your nurse?”

She stood and busied herself by sticking her head out the door and looking for his nurse, which was most definitely not an attempt to hide the flush creeping up her neck. After a few minutes of futile searching, she returned, alarmed at how wan Lockwood was starting to seem.

“I don’t remember getting a concussion,” he murmured, closing his aching eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t. That’s how concussions work. Idiot.” She tried to keep her tone light, but he cracked an eye open as if he had heard something in her voice. He slipped her fingers through hers casually and she felt the tension in his stiff shoulders ease.

"You should sleep," she tried gently. His thumb slowly traced hers drowsily. Still, he forced his eyes open with considerable effort. Looked at her like she was all he wanted to see for the rest of his life.

"In a minute."

It was the first of the lifetime of minutes ahead of them.

TAGLIST: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cielooci @midnight--raine @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #fanfiction #fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader

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tadpoles-and-daydreams · 8 months ago

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A ramble on imposter syndrome and the accessibility of witchcraft

So, I’ve been thinking. I think a lot in case you haven’t noticed. Specifically, I’ve been thinking about the major imposter syndrome I’ve been feeling lately in regards to this blog. TL;DR is at the bottom of this post.

People have been, occasionally, sending me asks requesting my opinion on things/how I do things/what I know about XYZ topic. If you are one of these people, I promise I’m not vagueposting about you in particular- in fact, I love these questions! They’re so fun to get and they actually make me sit and think sometimes, or even encourage me to write out something that I’ve been meaning to for my book of shadows. Genuinely, they're wonderful asks to receive. These questions have made me confront something, however; my blog is still small, but some people actually like what I write and value my opinion even if just a little.

I feel like a mimic hiding in the witchcraft community. I feel like, were people to truly understand my experiences, they would want to “expose” me for knowing so little.

So I sat down with those feelings and turned it over in my head and I’ve come to a conclusion. The fact is, I don’t do research. At least- not what I think of when people talk about research. My "research" consists of the occasional rabbit hole I go down, one and two halves of different books I never finished under my belt, what I see scrolling through various social medias, and conversations I've had with other witches. I check to make sure I'm not stepping on the toes of any closed practices- in fact, that's what most of my energy goes to when it comes to research. This isn't a complaint; I'd much rather know that my craft isn't appropriative.

But I don’t know much about mythology, even that of the deities I work with. I don't even remember the holidays and what they're for. I thought Nyx was an Egyptian deity until like four months ago because I'd just heard her name in passing as a child and had never looked into the mythology... Even though I mainly work with the pantheon she belongs to. Y’all, I’ve done like three spells that I remember. My book of shadows is a messy disaster and I love it but it's got so little information in it, because I rarely write things down. Most resources (especially mythology resources) are academically worded or difficult to read for me personally, and all of these things feel like secrets I have to guard with my life because if I were to ever say them aloud, people would know I'm a fraud.

Today I've come to the conclusion that that is, in fact, absolute bullshit.

Maybe it's not, maybe this post will make some people really upset, but in my practice it's bullshit. All of the above is a result of my ADHD and the fact that I am nothing if not a hands-on learner. My craft is mostly my own experiences because that's how my whole life is; I learn by doing. My ideal learning style is sitting with another autistic person whose special interest is whatever I'm learning about and just talking for five hours, but if that's not something I can do, puzzling it out myself is the next best thing. That's what I've been doing ever since I felt had a basic foundation for my craft. Hell, even before I had a foundation I was putting my own experiences into my craft because "Well that rule just doesn't fucking vibe with me."

This post is mostly for me, but partially for anyone who feels similar. We are not broken or doing witchcraft/paganism wrong. We are simply what happens when the kid who could never do homework ends up practicing the "religion/spirituality that comes with homework." Witchcraft and paganism, in my experience, is far from accessible when it comes to the typical image of it. UPG is what makes it accessible. So yes, my practice is heavily UPG, and I don't do as much research as I think people have assumed. But I'm going to let go of the idea that I'm a fraud, because frankly I know enough about witchcraft to have supported my practice this whole time and my deities haven't smited me yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TL:DR:

Fuck the rules, I don't do much research. I've researched the "basics" and what I need to so I'm not stepping on any toes of closed practices, but people seem to think I know way more than I actually do. I've felt like I was lying this whole time but frankly witchcraft just isn't accessible to someone with my flavor of auDHD, so my craft relies heavily on UPG and I've decided that I'm not broken or wrong for that and neither is anyone else. I'm tired of seeing myself as an imposter just because I make my practice doable for me.

#I feel weird about posting this but Loki seems thrilled #of course he is though #“fuck the rules” energy is their whole deal #Frog's writing #shit did I use caps in my previous posts?#Frog's Writing #frog's writing #there we go now it doesn't matter lol #witchcraft #witchblr #pagan witch #pagan #witch community #paganism #deity work #eclectic pagan #paganblr #witch blog

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 4 months ago

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Why Writing Is So Lonely | Rin T.

Hello writers, and anyone else who uses Tumblr on a daily basis like me. (Although I’ve been inactive off and on.) It’s me, Rin, and I wanted to talk about something that I think a lot of us struggle with. Or at least anyone, and everyone who considers themselves writers.

The loneliness that can come with the writing life and being a writer. We spend so much of our time alone. It doesn’t matter if you're using your laptop or scribbling in notebooks. Or pacing around in your living room and muttering dialogue to yourself (which I'm completely guilty of.)

Writing is really a solitary passion, and it hasn't just recently been like that. I'm sure Jane Austen and Edgar Allen Poe dealt with similar feelings. And sometimes that isolation can take a real toll that many of us choose to ignore, both on our creativity, our passion, which I assume is writing in this case, and our mental health.

I’ve been writing for about 4 years now, mostly working on my own little passion projects that I plan on publishing and side hustles, not only for my writing project but also my blog (TheWrite AdviceForWriters). I’m currently knee-deep in 4 different novel drafts that I’m absolutely in love with. However, let me tell you. It can get Very lonely a lot of times. There are days when I feel like I’m the only person in the world who cares about these made-up characters and their fictional problems. The characters I create in my mind are so vivid that they seem like the only individuals who actually care about my passion. (They technically are, considering they are basically my passion.)

It’s so easy to start wondering whether anyone will ever want to read the stories I'm pouring my heart into. The self-doubt I get has been a big part of my writing journey, and sometimes it breaks my heart knowing that I may not please everyone who reads my stories. That I possibly could get the worst reviews out there on my book. If it's not perfect for society. For example, I have been reading and receiving news on Alex Aster and the amount of bad reviews she received for her LightLark novel, and she has had a few times where she’s stated she poured her heart into it. And it's not just Aster who deals with these as a published author; there are many others, and it sometimes scares me.

But you know what? I've come to realize that this loneliness is just part of the writer’s journey. And that it truly is going to be the process of every writer’s journey and career. It’s going to be one of the prominent challenges we have to face if we want to do this crazy, wonderful, painful thing we call writing. And I think it's important we talk about it, especially since I'm a blogger who owns a blog specifically for writers. The biggest reason I chose to create this blog was for this reason and the many other challenges of being a writer.

I definitely will consider this blog post to be a discussion, and if anyone wants to reblog or reply to this blog post and start a conversation, please do so, just so we can support each other and figure out healthy ways to cope.

So, why is writing such a lonely pursit? Well, there are quite a few reasons, especially reasons for each individual writer; however, here are a few key reasons:

The Act Itself is Solitary.

At the end of the day, writing is something we have to do on our own. Sure, we can brainstorm with other writers and friends who write or get feedback from beta readers. Or even develop and edit your manuscript with a professional book editor. But the actual act of putting words on the page is a solo endeavor. We’re the ones doing the typing, the (physical) writing, and the constant racking of our brains to find the perfect word or phrase to put down on paper or the blank page on a screen.

Even when we’re writing collaboratively, there’s still a certain level of isolation involved. I mean, after all, our individual writing process and creative visions have to align for the collaboration to work.

And let’s be real—aligning those things isn't always easy.

I’ve reached out to book editors, more so of developmental editors, which is an editor who guides the writer/author on the actual plot and outline of the novel itself. And they have mentioned the difficulties of needing to align with the creativity of the topic or novel. It isn't easy at all.

I know that for me, my most productive writing sessions happen when I'm alone. And I know for a fact I'm not alone on that.

Having no distractions when it's just me, my thoughts, and the blinking cursor on the screen with a Spotify playlist playing in the background. And while that can be deeply fulfilling and very productive, I will admit it can be incredibly lonely.

It's an Emotionally Draining Process.

Writing isn't just about stringing words together. It's about pouring our hearts and souls onto the page. Were digging into our deepest emotions, our biggest fear, our wildest dreams, our thoughts, our philosophy, I can go on. And that kind of vulnerability can be utterly exhausting.

When I'm in the process of drafting a new novel or the many current projects I'm working on. I often find myself emotionally drained at the end of the day. I've been living and breathing these characters, feeling their joys and pains as my own. describing the actions, words, and emotions these characters do and feel. And then after that, I have to close my laptop, put my pen and notebook away, and try to reenter the “real world"—a world that doesn’t always understand the weight I've been carrying.

It can be so isolating, feeling like the only person who understands the emotional journey of your writing. Knowing what it feels like to create characters and their stories and emotions and personalities just as if they were real humans. Our non-writer friends and family members try their best to be supportive, but unless they experience it firsthand, they cannot fully grasp the depth of what we go through. I can tell when I explain my projects to others who aren't writers, it can sometimes feel like they don't care about what I'm saying to them. Or it can also feel like, my stories are just a synopsis for an underrated movie no one’s ever watched.

It's a Profession of Rejection

I think we all know, writing is a tough gig. It's a tough career and job. Even the most successful authors have had to face their fair share of rejection. The rejections can be received from agents, publishers, readers, or critics. (like I mentioned earlier), and that constant stream of “no’s” can really chip away at our confidence and sense of self-worth. And especially if you're an aspiring author and have not yet published your work. Knowing that rejection is a big part of the career of writing is frightening. Really.

I remember when one of my best friends, who is a writer, who is currently in the process of publishing her book, would send query after query only to receive endless rejections. She told me it felt like the entire world was telling her, “Your writing isn't good enough,” and that can be a pretty lonely and demoralizing place to be. It has made me anxious about getting to the querying phase, as I still haven't begun to query yet.

Even when we start to find some success, the fear of rejection never really goes away. Will readers love our next book as much as the last one? Will readers even like my debut novel? Will the critics tear it apart? I know when I first started writing my first novel project. I rewrote the first chapter. 13 times!! And that’s because of all the questions and doubts I had in mind. It’s enough to make any writer want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

And the thing is, as writers, we often don't have the same support system that people in other professions might have. We don't have coworkers to commiserate with or a boss to reassure us; it’s just us. Our doubts and the eerie silence of an empty inbox. For example, Ana Neu, one of my all-time favorite Author-Tuber's, has dealt with similar struggles. She’s mentioned several times how lonely she feels and how her family doesn't fully understand her love and passion for writing. And I completely agree with her. If you want to listen to more of her, please listen to her podcast and watch her videos on YouTube here.

So, now that I went over the key reasons as to why writing is so lonely, I didn't want to end this post on negativity, that’s why I wanted to list the main strategies that have helped me:

Build a Writer’s Community

One of the best ways to combat the isolation of writing is to surround yourself with other writers. That’s why I found social media to be a gift, not just for the other obvious reasons, but because we get to find writers around the world who enjoy the same things we like. Having that sense of community can be a game changer.

When I first started my Tumblr blog, TheWriteAdviceForWriters, I was really hoping to create that kind of supportive space for writers. I wanted to create a space where anyone who enjoys writing—not just fiction writers, but anyone who finds writing to be a passion of theirs—can share their dreams and struggles with. It's been amazing to connect with so many incredible people who just “get” the unique challenges we face. Being able to share our achievements and share our compassions. It's been vital for my own mental health as a writer, and I hope that it can also be vital for all of you.

And of course, the community is not about venting or seeking validation from others; its about providing feedback, encouragement, and just being able to make friends. Having that makes the lonely parts of the writing process and journey feel a little less lonely.

Prioritize Self-care

It's so easy to get caught up in the work and neglect our well-being. There have been multiple times where I wouldn't take a break from my writing sessions and simply not eat and drink. I wouldn't give myself time to process everything I wrote, and I immediately after would criticize it.

However, I find that self-care is the most important part of combating the isolation that comes with being a writer. For me, that looks like making sure I get enough sleep. You can't process, learn, and remember anything when you don't have enough sleep. During my personal self-care, when I do 45-to 1-hour writing sessions, I usually take a short nap after. Eating nourishing meals and snacks is important, as is making time for the hobbies and activities that bring me joy. I usually like reading books, spending quality time with my family members, and very feisty (and sometimes scary) cat.

3. Cultivate Gratitude

When loneliness starts to creep in, it can be really helpful to shift our mindset and focus on what we are grateful for; this can be really productive and rewarding. Being a writer is a gift; we get to spend our days doing what we love, bringing our creative visions to life and sharing them with people who love literature. Readers are such a big part of being a writer, and they're huge motivations to me.

So, if you can, just take a moment to appreciate the joys of writing. For example, if you have any writing quirks, I personally have to wear bracelets on both of my wrists in order to produce some type of creativity when I write. I'm not sure why it's just something I noticed. I also really love writing my manuscripts physically. I tend to do this when I'm suffering from writer's block, and for some reason my writing style is a lot better.

And don't forget the many other joys of writing, like drafting, and the excitement of sharing your work with others. Having a new idea come to mind that fits perfectly in your plot. Or even a reader or beta reader sharing a comment on your work and giving you encouragement.

Also, please celebrate your wins; it makes writing all too fun, and it's a great way to integrate writing into the real world.

End Note

I wanted to write this post because I know a lot of us deal with feeling lonely; I’ve been feeling that way for quite some time, and I wanted to share it with Tumblr. I feel like each and every one of you all feel the same way. And that’s why I created my Tumblr community; that's the reason I created this blog, and that's the reason I strive to build this into an entire brand.

I want to bring more awareness to writers, we are the people behind the stories, movies, and media that we consume today, and we barely get any credit for our work. I want to make a brand where others who never thought writing to be their passion could actually for once consider “Is writing for me?”

I feel like it's such an underrated yet overrated passion. Yet it's not acknowledged as much.

I hope this post can make you understand that writing is 90% lonely and you are not crazy for thinking so. But, we can use the resources we have today, like social media, to change that and make writing better for the present and the future.

Thank you all for reading. And please, if you are considering joining a community if you haven't already, please join The Write Right Society. We recently met 100 members, and the community is continuing to grow.

#writing #thewriteadviceforwriters #writeblr #creative writing #how to write #writers block #writing tips #on writing #writers on tumblr #aspiring author #authors of tumblr

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haptronym · 3 months ago

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Hap's Adventures in Dadmight

aka “this experience was really strange so I’m going to write 6,000 words about it”.

Fandoms are bizarre. I know this, but I still keep doing the shocked Pikachu face whenever I join a new one.

This time around, I really thought there would be no surprises. And yet, the fandom ended up having a really weird, really uncomfortable dynamic that confused the hell out of me for a long time. I met several others who said “Yeah, it freaks me out too,” but they couldn’t explain exactly why, and nobody really wanted to talk about it. So now that I’m mostly done with the My Hero Academia fandom, I’ll just go ahead and vaporize my bridges with a whole-ass case study about what on earth seemed to be going on here.

Warning: very long, very self-absorbed, as usual. Contains discussions of relationships, underage shippers, and how to influence whether something “feels” platonic vs. not.

Disclaimer 1: This doesn't apply to everything tagged "Dadmight." Just a select subset. But this subset appeared pretty consistently.

Disclaimer 2: I'm posting brief, fair-use-commentary examples of the content that made me question my sanity because it has to be seen to be believed, but I'm not including names or links because I don’t want to easily funnel negativity to them. If an author really wants me to, I’m happy to link directly to their story.

Disclaimer 3: I’m not trying to “spread awareness” or do a callout. I just like to write for fun and this time the fun was puzzling out why I, personally, had the experience I did. Many people feel differently and that's great. If all fluff has always felt 100% wonderful and charming to you, then this post isn't relevant to you. But if a supposedly "cute" story has ever made you squirm with discomfort, this might help explain why.

A few years ago, I took a terribly wrong turn in life and ended up in the My Hero Academia fandom. My kidnappers were these two:

In short: the little kid on the left, Izuku Midoriya, is exactly as dorky as he looks. He was born powerless in a world of comic-book superheroes and has a tendency to burst into tears under any possible circumstance. The series kicks off when the guy on the right, #1 hero and national celebrity All Might, sees potential in him despite all this. In a fit of inspiration, All Might decides to give Izuku the same chance he was given as a young boy. Despite being a notorious lone wolf, he (secretly) names Izuku as his successor and takes it upon himself to covertly train this weepy, noodle-limbed wimp into a hero, the hero, the next Symbol of Peace who will wield the world’s strongest superpower and safeguard the future of society. Surely they’ll pull it off just fine, right?

(Don’t ask how All Might switches from a bodybuilder to the skeleton pictured above. The show doesn’t know either.)

I loved these two. I wanted eight seasons of beach training montage. The mentor/student shenanigans were hilarious and the found family potential was off the charts. They’re two awkward bumbling fools with several truckfuls of emotional baggage, brought together by purehearted heroic zeal. Wonderful.

However, I quickly discovered that the show shoveled approximately ten thousand new characters into every new episode and definitely wasn't going to slow down long enough to give me the All Might & Izuku content I craved. So I wandered off to see what kind of fanfiction was on tap.

...I wandered off, while bracing myself. I’ve been a weeb long enough to know that any characters who pass on power through “DNA” are never going to escape a fandom unscathed, regardless of pesky things like “Age Of Consent” and “Have You Watched A Single Minute Of This Show, He Would Never Fucking Do That”.

Their canon relationship is impressively alarming all on its own:

Izuku is 14-15. Underage character? Check.

All Might is 55+. Enormous age gap? Check.

All Might is both Izuku’s secret mentor and his high school teacher. Teacher-student dynamics? Check.

Izuku is a nobody. All Might is a global celebrity. Staggering power imbalance? Check.

Izuku’s superpower, which lets him go to the school of his dreams, accomplish his lifelong goals, and be the protagonist of this show, was given to him by All Might at great personal cost. Enormous sense of debt and obligation because of a huge sacrifice? Check.

Izuku is an outright fanboy. His room is full of posters and figurines of All Might in spandex. Other characters frequently comment on how obsessed he is. There is a whole plotline about him being so starstruck by All Might that he can’t think for himself. Literal hero worship? Check.

As the cherry on top, they spend most of the story pretending they don’t know each other and sneak around under the noses of every other character, including Izuku's mother. Secret hidden relationship with a minor that no other adult can learn the true extent of? Check.

What a pair. Japanese fandom constantly cracks jokes about how Izuku is probably that kind of fanboy. Even official media is well aware of how sketchy it all looks:

With all this in play, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the stuff in their platonic-relationship fanfiction tag vastly outnumbered the stuff in their shipping one. Phew. Finally, a pair of characters who got something besides endless gross hornyposting.

As I browsed, I kept seeing a certain tag: "Dadmight." This, unsurprisingly, was used by stories that decided to make All Might into Izuku’s biological father. But it was also used by... pretty much all non-shipping media that focused on their relationship. How interesting! I was used to ship pairings having nicknames, but not platonic ones.

I could imagine why the name caught on. All Might was practically the definition of "goofy wholesome dad energy,” and his mentor/student relationship with Izuku was easy to see in a parental light. Plus, Izuku’s actual dad is never to be seen during the story. Clearly he deserves a replacement.

So I delved in. Man, this was going to be great! A huge amount of good clean platonic content, with an easy-to-find tag too. Reading about cute dadly shenanigans was going to be such a fun-

How he would love to fall asleep to the sound of his soft voice and the touch of his rough hands, telling him he was proud of him, caressing his hair. He was so mortified over having this need, for all kinds of reasons, but it became clear a long time ago that fighting it wouldn’t work, so he let himself dream.

Uh... well... Izuku didn’t grow up with a dad, so... maybe he needed a father figure... to... caress his hair with his rough hands...

More hums of contentment make their way from him, his body swaying with every push and pull from Toshinori’s long fingers. He uses them to massage Midoriya’s head, taking every moment to not just clean his hair, but to make him feel good; Toshinori can’t bear for this to be purely utilitarian.

Uhhh... okay... All Might was a rather isolated guy. I bet he appreciated being able to share time with his student... bathing time...

What if the boy would rather this stay simply as it has been, professional as mentor and mentee? What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?

What was this? What exactly did people think kids got up to with their dads!?

Well, maybe I just found a few of the strange ones, I told myself. Fanfiction always has its odd outliers. But after more searching, I realized: no. There was wildly uncomfortable stuff all over. It wasn’t all Dadmight stories. But it was a lot. The most popular authors of the “Dadmight” tag wrote it and the rest of the Dadmight authors gave them big thumbs-ups. It was at least as popular as the “All Might is Izuku’s real dad” stuff and sat at the top of the kudos and comments sorting.

Were people just being polite? Or was I overreacting? I know how annoying it is when people deliberately take things in bad faith and demonize perfectly innocent human affectio—

He kept the contact to a minimum, not wanting to take advantage, not wanting to cross a single, unspoken boundary… but how could he possibly completely refrain, with both how proud and how worried Izuku made him?

There was a voice, in the back of his head, that didn’t agree. That voice – either logic or wishful thinking – told him that while Izuku didn’t initiate physical affection, he surely did lean into it, and seemed to crave receiving it as much as Toshinori craved giving it.

Oh god oh god oh god what is happening STOP—

This was horrible. I just wanted to enjoy cute fluff. I’d never had this reaction to platonic fanfic before. I’m a big found family fan and my worst issue with fluff is usually just that it tends to be kind of samey. I normally love reading about chaste affection and closeness between characters who care about each other. So why did these stories read like Lolita AUs to me? Did shippers in this fandom like to hide their softcore stuff in the platonic tags?

I was soon able to find out. I had been writing my own All Might & Izuku story, and got invited to a “Dadmight-centric” Discord server. Almost all the popular Dadmight authors were there, including the ones who wrote the particular stories that made my skin crawl. There were several channels where people brainstormed, critiqued, and discussed the motivations behind their writing.

Cool! I’d be able to meet new people, make some friends, and get a better understanding of what the Dadmight dynamic really was. So I introduced myself, I chatted, I lurked. Everyone was really nice.

I found zero cheeky shippers. The writers claimed to be horrified by the idea of shipping the two of them. They would never disrespect the purity and innocence of this beautiful platonic relationship, they said, as they churned out stories about Izuku “coming undone” under the caress of All Might’s rough hands. Right...

I could’ve understood if this was coming from naive 14-year-olds. But some of these people were in their 30’s, with kids of their own. If anyone understood family dynamics, it should’ve been them.

But after I spent more time around the server, I began to notice something else... something which explained a ton of the strangeness.

Baby Fever

To understand what was happening, you first have to understand that Izuku’s baby face inflicts instant brain damage on sight. I mean, look at him:

aaa his cute widdle cheeks oh my god—

This kid sets off maternal instincts like landmines, and in the Dadmight server, I found that the Izuku infantilization train had gone completely off the rails. Writers constantly cooed over the adorable antics of 2, 3, 5-year olds and constantly talked about how much they wanted to make Izuku act them out. And surely, if All Might could indulge in the parental joy of caring for an innocent young babe, then his emotional scars would be healed and he could find fulfillment outside of that pesky “saving the world” business.

Now, the bio-dadmight folks had it easy: they just wrote about Izuku in his toddler years playing with daddy All Might. The cuddling and tickles made sense and were very cute. But other writers faced a challenge: they wanted to keep him 14-15 so that canon events could occur... but they didn’t want to be left out of the fun.

So... they decided to rationalize and egg each other on. I mean, how much does age really matter? Being a child at heart is always cute and wholesome, right?

Suddenly, a whole lot of very uncomfortable things began to make sense:

So Much Physical Contact

He loved the physical touch. It was embarrassing and he would never admit it out loud, but there wasn’t much in this world he loved more than receiving physical affection from his idol. Every single time it happened he would save the memory to replay it over and over again whenever he felt sad, or almost every night before he went to bed. He was glad no one in the dorms had a mind-reading quirk. And All Might always gave it more freely when he visited his apartment, so of course he went there.

Izuku is often written to have a near-pathological craving for hair stroking and cuddles. Which is cute when directed at, say, classmates or mom, but gets real weird real fast when directed at the adult man he canonically idolizes to a freakish degree. Ever work with teenage boys? Most of them would rather die than be physically affectionate with adults, even parents... unless, you know, they’re that kind of fanboy.

Even freakier is that the grown adult would then reply, “Hell yeah! I see nothing wrong with getting physical with this kid who worships me! I crave it so much! I can't resist!” Ever work at a school? They have rulebooks and seminars specifically about how teachers should never touch or be alone with kids.

Then again, Midnight exists at this school. Maybe U.A.’s infamous lack of safety standards extends to this too.

Either way, though: cute and wholesome for a parent to do with their three-year-old. Very creepy when a high-school teacher makes excuses about why he really needs to cuddle and stroke his fifteen-year-old student in secret.

Narcolepsy Xtreme Edition

His student was never this affectionate or vulnerable when he was conscious, so he enjoyed the moment, even if it was a short one, as he moved to his room upstairs.

If you’ve read fanfiction for more than seven seconds, you’ve probably seen the “cram the character with booze/painkillers until they blurt out Vulnerable Things” plot device. It’s a beloved classic. But Izuku writers are robbed of the alcohol angle since he’s underage, and morphine is pretty niche. So authors who want to use this trick often just make Izuku tired after a long day, conclude that being sleepy is close enough to being five drinks in, and have him murmur “thanks, DAD... OOPS DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD???” to awkwardly segue into Familial Confessions.

But quite a few stories took the “sleepy” angle to a new, very odd place. Instead of groggily dispensing convenient confessions, Izuku would just... keel over while doing homework and be utterly dead to the world. And instead of having All Might briefly rouse him to shoo him to bed, or worry about his student suddenly becoming catatonic, the writers would make him eerily fixated on the opportunity to physically carry Izuku to his bedroom (which would somehow not wake him up!!!) and tuck him in while waxing poetic about how vulnerable and helpless he looked.

Before joining the Dadmight server, I was mildly alarmed whenever I saw this, wondering why so many authors were obsessed with roofying the teenager and making the adult fondle him. But after joining, I realized: they were just trying to act out the cutesy aww-the-two-year-old-fell-sound-asleep-while-playing, it’s-so-cute scenes that all those darned lucky bio-dadmight people got to indulge in so easily.

Bed Sharing

It wasn’t long before Izuku’s breathing slowed, and soon he was asleep, snoring peacefully. Toshinori, after a few minutes of debating with himself, said screw it and got into the bed with the boy.

Cue me SCREAMING internally in confusion and fear. But no, it was just that the cutesy-kid-trope obsession stretched all the way to “Well, I used to snuggle with my parents at night after I had a nightmare! It was super wholesome!” Which led to scores of stories featuring a celebrity crawling into bed with his student.

All in all, joining this server was a huge relief. I was so glad to see that these hair-raising scenarios were just the result of the authors forgetting to mention “Oh, by the way, the characters are acting weird because we made them all agree to participate in preschooler roleplay.”

Just picture this while reading and it all makes sense.

Fanfic is uniquely susceptible to this sort of “forgot to mention this strange dynamic that I take for granted” issue. After all, 99% of fanfic doesn’t bother to waste time asking “would this make any sense to someone who had never watched the show?” It’s not worth it to focus on such a broad audience. As a result, fanfic normalizes skipping huge swaths of context that would normally be mandatory in a story. Fanfic authors don’t have to practice asking themselves “did I explain this properly?” anywhere near as often as original fiction ones.

This would be bad enough on its own, but then, we go cloister ourselves away into little sub-fandom echo chambers, and spend months crafting obscure in-joke fractals, and get so absorbed in our tiny myopic corners of the community that we also fail to ask, “would this make any sense to someone who hasn’t spent the last 5 months marinating in this specific Discord channel?”

Sometimes we know exactly how niche our stuff is and just don’t care. But too often, we just legitimately suck at guessing how our work might come off to other groups. We don’t have to practice theory of mind as much as original fiction authors do. Our fandom buddies see nothing amiss with our writing (since they know all the server insider lore!) and everyone outside our tiny clique politely ignores our word salad... so we never get proper feedback on how incomprehensible our work can be even to other members of the same fandom.

In this case, this resulted in a whole pack of writers seemingly getting lost in the fluff sauce and completely forgetting to address the fact that the stuff men do with their own five-year-olds generally becomes really weird and creepy when done with someone else’s 15-year-old, whether or not the 15-year-old seems to want it. Izuku was a cute widdle innocent baby in their heads, so they assumed he was a cute widdle innocent baby in everyone else's.

Once I realized where they were coming from, it wasn't so hard to adjust my mental framework and enjoy these stories on their own terms. That said... infantilization still couldn't explain stuff like “What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?”

To explain why that paragraph makes me want to crawl out of my skin, we first need to answer: what makes a piece of writing feel “questionable?”

“Vibes,” A Primer

Love comes in many forms. The big four are platonic, familial, romantic, and sexual. Sexual is easy: you’re horny for the person. Platonic love is specifically non-sexual, and familial love is a subset of platonic love. Romance usually implies horny, though there’s definitely a difference between outright sexual behavior and the behavior we file under the “romance” label.

There’s also a difference between romantic and platonic behavior. And this is where a lot of “questionable” vibes appear: when you’d expect an interaction between two people to be platonic, but for some reason, it has uncomfortable romantic/sexual overtones instead.

But what causes those overtones? A dad can give his kid a kiss on the head, and it comes off platonic. A suitor can give their crush a kiss on the head, and it comes off romantic. In fact, most romantic gestures have nearly identical platonic counterparts. Kissing, hugging, hand-holding, cuddling, vulnerable confessions. So what gives? What makes something “come off” one way or the other?

The actual answer is: a ton of stuff, most of it subjective. Everyone draws their lines in different places, based on culture and personal experience and how gutterbrained you’re feeling on any given day. A lot of it has to do with context (that thing that us fanfic authors are notoriously bad at judging).

Online wars are fought every day about whether some glance or gesture or phrase means they're "totally into each other fr"

But if you want to draw broad strokes, one way to roughly separate platonic vs romantic love is by gauging the level of passion involved. “Passion” is “a strong and barely controllable emotion that compels action.” That last part is key.

Stereotypical romantic love is incredibly passionate. It’s all about desire to act, desire to change, desire to progress the relationship to something more. It features overwhelming anxious preoccupation about the other person’s thoughts and opinions, feeling irresistibly drawn to them, feeling intense longing. It’s about confessing and hoping the other person also feels the same. It often involves attempting to label the relationship, make it “official”, and show it off. It’s about trying desperately to secure assurance that this love will last forever and ever. You have to do something, and every moment spent not doing something is torture.

Contrast this to typical depictions of platonic and familial love. Familial love is calm, encompassing, soothing. It’s secure. You don’t have to worry, because no matter what rough patches you go through, they’ll always be your family and will always have unconditional love for you. Yes, you’ll fly into action if your loved one is threatened, but at rest, platonic love is generally not “exciting” and there’s generally little sense of urgency.

Romance is usually an insecure, anxious thing that’s trying to get to that secure, grounded familial stage. That’s why people say they progress from being “in love” to just “loving” one another. Romance draws people together and kickstarts the bonding process. And as the steady, mature bond of a long-term relationship forms, the obsessive mania of romantic infatuation fades away.

So the difference between platonic and romantic behavior is not so much about the actual actions. It’s more about the mentality. Is the person anxiously trying to secure their partner’s affection while treating the relationship as a really big deal that will make or break their lives? Then their affectionate actions may come off more romantic. Are they seemingly at home in their partner’s presence and not trying to deepen or change the relationship? Then their affection will probably come off more familial or platonic.

There are, of course, a ton of things that go into it besides this, and caveats out the ass. For example, people trying to establish a new friendship are often anxious too. But when it comes to determining the “vibes” of a kiss or a cuddle, this can be a useful litmus test. Failing this test is often what makes something feel Questionable. The characters seem too invested... maybe because it's not truly innocent.

Now, let’s take a look at our Dadmight characters.

The biggest challenge of writing familial closeness between Izuku and All Might is simple: they are not family. They have no long shared history to justify any sort of intimacy. Instead they have a teacher/student relationship that places them both into rigid, frigid roles.

Usually, familial-style bonding just takes time. You wait a few seasons, the characters slowly get closer and learn to trust one another, and eventually they’re hugging. But these two clowns spent the whole show being the ultimate found-family blue-balls experience. They were just never very emotionally open or touchy-feely. Every time they had the chance for Vulnerable Conversation And Cuddles, they passed it up in favor of a pep talk and a fist bump. It took a near-death experience to extract one (1) brief hug and some tears. But in normal everyday life? Arm’s length.

Literally. For example: after five seasons of bonding and character development, they are separated and Izuku is embroiled in a deadly conflict that almost destroys the world. When they finally reunite after the harrowing ordeal, alone under the starlight, they greet each other with a loving, heartfelt… handshake. This, predictably, spawned furious fix-it fic.

Overall, there is a huge gulf that authors need to cross in order to get these two from “polite handshake” to “tender cuddling and kisses.” They could write 50,000 words of setup to slowly accomplish this, but most authors did not want to wear their fingertips to the bone just to inch these two into an embrace. They wanted to jump the gap within a oneshot, leaping from canon frigidity into an unbreakable lifelong familial love that was also super touchy-feely and extremely vocal.

Now, remember what I was just saying? How romance is generally about trying to establish new family bonds? How it’s all about trying to change the relationship into something more?

Knowing all this, what do you think might happen if an author tried to speedrun two characters to the Family Finish Line as fast as they could? What do you think their shortcuts might end up looking like, completely by accident? Especially if their “sane and appropriate human interactions” gauge was warped by an echo chamber of fluff tropes and baby fever?

You might get:

Was it even possible that his feelings could be reciprocated? Toshinori didn’t want to think about it. It would just pain him more. Young Midoriya only saw him as an idol, a mentor who would help him train his body for One for All. Midoriya did not see him in the way he wanted him to.

Or:

He wanted desperately, desperately to have the courage to cross that threshold, to ask him what he longed for, to ask him for that relationship that he dared not voice.

Or even:

Toshinori feels his heart rate pick up and his gnarled stomach twist with nerves. Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell this boy what he truly thinks and risk everything they’ve built up together over the past year-plus? His palms are sweating and he wipes them on his suit pants, rubbing the pads of his fingers together.

I'll stop now. The point is that these quotes could all have been word-for-word ripped from a romance novel. These are some industrial-grade Questionable Vibes. And reading them in context really doesn't help that much, for me at least. It's almost comical when they throw in "...I crave the touch of your rough hands as a son! A SON!"

If you know the building blocks of romance, it makes perfect sense why stories like this could come off this way. Platonic love is great, but it’s also stable, calm, and slow. It simply doesn’t have the sheer explosive force needed to catapult two stilted dorks into a brand-new dynamic within 2,000 words. Most stories can only achieve that kind of mileage via near-death experiences... or by inflicting the characters with neurotic infatuation.

Not only that, but their canon relationship is uniquely poised to set off romance-adjacent warning bells. Because they are not actually family, it makes sense for them to yearn for a deeper relationship in a way that a normal family wouldn’t. It makes sense for them to be anxious and insecure about their relationship, because it’s a very strange, hard-to-define thing that has to be kept secret from those around them. And it makes sense for them to consider their relationship a huge deal, because in canon, it’s fundamental to the most important aspects of both their lives.

I actually think it’s kind of inevitable that their character dynamic will sometimes stray into places that feel romantic. But that doesn’t mean the writer is a secret shipper... because I don’t think that passion always has to imply sexual desire, especially in fiction.

I’ve spent some time around the asexuality community, and my biggest takeaway was that sexual desire is very different from the desire to make deep, lifelong connections. Most asexual people still yearned to find that special someone, their anchor, a partner who unconditionally loved them and would stay by their side forever. Family. They would fall for people... they just didn’t want to fall into their pants. But it was almost impossible to keep these partners unless they were asexual too. Every one eventually pushed to “take things further,” or they left to find another person who would.

So I can understand the yearning for a world where sex is kicked to the curb, where two strangers can find each other and share intense, whirlwind, “you’re my #1” love... without any lewd overtones. This little pocket of stories seemed like a manifestation of that yearning.

Nowadays, more and more stories are taking previously romance-exclusive intimacy and yanking off the sexual baggage. For example, looking on the Dadmight tag will reveal “platonic soulmates” and “platonic hanahaki” stories. Yes, platonic hanahaki. No, not parody. There’s a clear unironic market for this content. People really want to be able to indulge in passionate, “till death do us part” emotional bonding in a safe, nonsexual way.

All Might and Izuku sit in a unique place. Not related, but powerfully linked by something thicker than blood. And their relationship is easy to paint as “safe”. It makes perfect sense that these two would attract creators who want to explore this hard-to-define chaste side of passionate love.

In real life, passionate obsessive-style attraction between adults and kids is a huge red flag. We can never really know whether those feelings are innocent or healthy. 99% of the time, they’re not. But in fiction, the author gets to choose what people really feel and whether things turn out well. They can explore the most unbelievable scenario of all: not a world where everyone is a mermaid, but a world where it’s actually wholesome and healing for a high school teacher and his student to confess their deep, undying love for one another, where a famous celebrity can secretly invite his obsessed underage fan over, stroke his hair, tell him how special their relationship is, and sleep with him in bed, without it ending up on Law and Order: SVU.

On Critique

“Hap,” you might be thinking, “surely these stories can’t be as bad as you say. If they were, someone would have pointed it out to these poor souls. You should have pointed it out to these poor souls. You were in their writing server for chrissakes, and now you’re gossiping about them like a heartless goblin.”

First: yes, I'm a goblin. Second: I did bring this topic up to several Dadmight authors one-on-one. After getting a bunch of head-in-sand excuses in response, I decided to just quietly munch popcorn and watch the fandom’s antics unfold like a slow-motion train wreck.

Third: people did try to point this stuff out.

It was fascinating to watch the Dadmight server whenever someone posted a comment expressing concern. Some comments were trolls trying to get a reaction, of course. But others were very gentle: “hey, isn't it kind of weird to have them hop into bed together? It comes off kind of shippy...” I learned that the reason I had never seen comments like these in the past was because they were usually quickly deleted by the fic authors.

After deleting a comment, the author would often flee to the server for reassurance. The other users would agree that the commenter was definitely in the wrong, since they could see absolutely nothing questionable about the writer’s story. Someone would inevitably chime in saying that, oh, one time they got a comment calling things questionable like that, and it turned out to be from a shipper who shipped bad things. So, you know, anyone who sees shipping in things is probably just a bad person.

Phew. Crisis averted. If you can successfully paint the critic as a bad person, then there’s no need to descend into existentialist dread as you’re forced to critically reexamine the foundational concepts of your writing and your grasp on relationship dynamics.

(Credit where credit is due: one of the rules of this particular server was not to bash or insult people who like things you don't like. In most groups this is followed with an unspoken "...unless you can clutch your pearls over it", but to my surprise, when stuff like the above started kicking off, the moderators did step in to remind people to keep it civil. So, good job, mods. More maturity than I usually see in online spaces.)

But still, if anyone actually bothers to read this long screed, I already know what certain responses are going to look like. They’ll smugly assert that people who see questionable things are just sex-obsessed weirdos, projecting their icky lewd thoughts onto every innocent interaction they come across. A morally pure person wouldn’t make such gross assumptions.

I’m familiar with this kind of response because I’ve spent a lot of time around another group that responds the exact same way to these kinds of concerns. That group is known as fundamentalist Christians, and their attitude fosters three things:

People are afraid to speak out when they feel uncomfortable, because they don't want to be accused of being dirty-minded.

People fail to learn the ground rules of normal romance/sexuality and so fail to recognize red flags.

The community is absolutely infested with creeps who take advantage of points 1 and 2 to run rampant.

Sadly, these three things also seem to be true in the Dadmight community. Being a platonic pairing, it naturally attracts people uninterested in and inexperienced with romantic/sexual relationships. And then the vitriolic, derisive responses to people’s concerns teaches them that it’s wrong to bring up those topics around the community at all.

And so, point 3 blooms. I eventually confirmed that my initial suspicions were correct: shippers did camp in the Dadmight tag, and they got away with posting some impressively brazen softcore underage content in public, presumably because even the people who were suspicious knew that going “hey now” would trigger a circular firing squad.

The Dadmight community wasn’t clueless about this problem. They were incredibly paranoid as a whole. They knew there were bad actors lurking in their tag, but since they had disabled all their own safety alarms and expanded the definition of “platonic” to a ridiculous extreme, they had no way of being able to determine what was shipping and what was not until characters started actively whipping their dicks out. I saw constant fretting over whether it was okay to click the “like” button on an affectionate-looking piece of fanart without knowing for sure the intentions of the creator. But asking intentions was pointless anyway, since shippers just lied to them and then laughed as the platonic group eagerly ate up their evil, dirty-minded content.

I get why these “wait, that feels shippy...” comments feel like attacks. It’s fucking awful when your intentions are pure but someone interprets them in such a horrifying, disgusting way. It feels disrespectful when you clearly label something “platonic” but people still doubt.

But remember: Going from “mentor” to “dad” with these two generally means breaking down normal boundaries, to escalate the emotional and physical intimacy between an authority figure and a starstruck, needy, vulnerable kid, because they have such a special and unique bond that no one else understands. So special, in fact, that it needs to be kept secret from the public.

In real life, this scenario is known as Groomer Tactics 101.

Seriously, stop and read that link. It’s short and non-explicit. This is why I called their canon relationship “impressively alarming”—the bullet points of stages 1-3 describe Izuku and All Might nearly word-for-word. This does not mean I’m claiming All Might is a groomer, or that Izuku and All Might’s relationship is bad. Just that, due to their circumstances, they happen to have all the building blocks of relationships that go horribly wrong. All that separates their scenario from tumbling into Bad is the goals of the adult. So when a fanfic then comes along and makes the adult suddenly really interested in excessive touching? And the only reason he gives is “I’m weirdly drawn to this kid and touching them feels really good”? Of course people will get nervous!

Noticing this does not mean someone is “obsessed with shipping”. It means they’re a normal human being with eyes. Accusing someone of being problematic for making the most obvious possible observations about adult/child interactions is like accusing someone of being an arsonist because they embarrassed you by pointing out that your homemade backyard fireworks setup is halfassed and dangerous.

This does not mean it’s wrong to write wish-fulfillment where escalating to bed cuddles actually turns out great and awesome. But it does mean that, if an author writes it ignorantly or carelessly, they risk coming off like they’re glorifying and normalizing Groomer Tactics 101. It’s the same as when careless Twilight fans glorify and normalize stuff that, in real life, is abusive controlling boyfriend behavior.

Yes, it sucks when people come and yuck the yum. I’m sure the Twilight fans also get sick of people who complain and demonize them instead of letting them write their vampire boyfriend fantasies in peace. But the concern usually comes from a well-meaning place.

Proudly announcing “I ignore the most basic child/adult red flags because they ruin my fun” is not the flex that some people think it is. I highly recommend people reconsider before they try to paint anti-child-groomers as the bad guys.

The Recipe

So, let’s summarize how to reproduce the Dadmight phenomenon. It starts with a canon relationship that has the most enticing found-family building blocks the world has ever seen: a downtrodden kid who really needs a dad + a lonely heroic mentor. However, their canon relationship also sits on top of a powder keg, coincidentally featuring all the “setup” stages of the sexual grooming model:

a lonely, low-self-esteem kid

singled out by an esteemed, charismatic adult who is a pillar of the community

sharing a “special” relationship

constantly going off alone and keeping secrets

A platonic fan community forms that is blissfully unaware of the above dynamics. They head off to fluff echo chambers, as platonic fans do. But due to the crybaby tendencies of the teenage character, they start projecting really aged-down toddler-play scenarios onto him. Eventually, as echo-chambered fans do, they decide that contextualization is for chumps. This results in fics that take the powder keg and add:

The adult craving to touch and hold the teenager

The teenager craving touch from the adult and mewling like a kitten when his hair is stroked (I’m not fucking joking)

Completely age-inappropriate stuff like stroking, kisses, and sharing a bed with a teenage student

Izuku and All Might also happen to suffer from loneliness and isolation, even more so in their fanon incarnations. This really resonates with most fans, who want to soothe and heal them. They also want to get to the healing cuddles within a few chapters instead of wasting time on super-slow buildup. So they make the two of them really strongly fixate on and angst about the agony of their loneliness, and how the other person’s love is the only cure that will fix them. In doing so, they insert:

Anxious passionate obsession

Love confessions

Coming-out scenes

Craving for exclusive relationship labels

Desire for exclusivity

Lastly, because platonic groups are either uninterested in or too young for spicy content, they tend to have very little experience with romantic/sexual literature and the tropes and catchphrases they lay claim to. So fic writers will innocently sprinkle in poignant-sounding things they’ve picked up here and there, such as:

Blushing and heart racing when looking at the person

The phrase “falling for each other”

The man “caressing” his partner with “rough hands”

“He came undone”

And because their communities condemn people who “read into things”, nobody points out any of this shit, and it all slides out into the public Internet unquestioned.

And so, we get the most impressively uncomfortable platonic content I’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder I had never encountered something like this before. It required a lot of unusual circumstances intersecting in just the right (wrong) way.

In the end, I think the biggest aspect was just that I'd never become a fan of characters that had such a potentially-problematic canon relationship. Usually adult and kid characters have very different dynamics, so if fics treat their social interactions with all the tact of a bull in a china shop, it just comes off as lazy instead of creepy. I'd be interested to know if other platonic adult&child fandoms suffer from this issue.

In any case, although it was fascinating to watch, I sure hope I never run into it again.

#hap pops off about meta narrative #dadmight

73 notes · View notes

sparks-and-smoke · 13 days ago

Note

Heyyo! Could I get a fic where Steve is a cowboy and flirts with you at the local rodeo?? Extra points if there is a confident lean in a doorway/on a post to get all up in readers face? ~insert eyebrow wiggle here~

**Squeals** I fucking love a cowboy. And a MODERN cowboy! My small town heart can’t take it. Side Note: this just made me wanna write a whole bunch of stuff for cowboy Steve and Bucky and it's all your fault. Thanks for combining my two hyperfixations.

Characters/Pairings: cowboy!Steve Rogers x Reader

Content/Warnings: if you don't like rodeos, this one ain't for you.

Author Note: I just… really like cowboy Steve.

Beta read by the ever lovely @voice-of-velhart

The county night rodeo was something you look forward to all year. Held at the fairgrounds outside of your little town nestled at the base of the foothills, it was the kind of event that made life in a little town like yours feel real. The lights, the food, the market, the roar of the crowd, but mostly. The cowboys.

Ropers, racers, and riders from all over come to this little event every year to show off and make a little cash. The prizes for winning weren’t top notch, and they weren’t part of the certified circuit. So it wasn’t like there were big names making their way through, but that was part of the fun. A lot of the competitors were just good old boys using skills they use everyday back on the ranch.

Well, everyone but the bull and bronco riders.

Riders were a breed of their own. In it for the thrill and the glory, really nothing productive comes out riding a bull. Save for broken bones and a back that can’t stand straight by 40. At least bronc riders are showing part of the skill it actually takes to break a horse, but bulls were a pure dick measuring contest. Which was half the fun.

You told your friends as much as you settled into your seats in the front row. “I mean really it’s just about looking cool to the other guys ya know.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They look pretty cool to me too.” Hannah drooled as another rider walked by. Dark hat pulled low, his protective vest undone to reveal the dark shirt beneath.

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, sure, there was a certain magnetism to men like that. A kind of gladiatorial bravado that came along with all needlessly dangerous things. But you knew bull riders, in most cases it really was all bravado and they almost never stayed.

“Sexy, you mean they look sexy. Believe me once they open their mouth nine out of ten times they aren’t as cute. Now if you want a real cowboy you want a roper. Team roping or steer wrestling are my preferred but…”

“Teaching the lady how to catch a cowboy I see.” A voice as warm as whiskey radiated through you. You glance down to see a big golden cowboy draped over the fence below you, his wide shoulders and big arms taking up most of the panel. “Did she teach you the hat trick yet?”

You bite your cheek, trying to fight the urge to smirk back, because his smile was contagious. Paired with that brown Stetson and a pair of cornflower eyes that were looking at you like you were made of candy. You could see this man was a charmer. He was a rider, he had to be. And guessing by his gear and spurs probably a bull rider.

“The hat trick?” Hannah asked, looking between you and the cowboy as you leaned back on your bench seat.

“It’s just a game they play, a little trick good ol boys like him use to claim a girl at events like these.”

“Oh, come on now darlin’, it’s a rule not a game.” You roll your eyes. Having never been too impressed with men who thought they could claim you with a hat. “Wear the hat and ride the cowboy.” He clarifies for Hannah, with a wink making her giggle. But his glaze immediately falls back on you. “I’m Steve by the way.”

“I don’t recall asking.” You tease. But Hannah gives you a smack on the arm, her eyes boring into the side of your head. Clearly already under this pretty cowboys spell. Amateur.

“It’s ok darlin’, I'll give you that one for free. Can I have your name?” he asks, taking a step farther up the panel to get a better look at you. He really was massive, his vest only emphasizing the sheer size of him. Now under the full weight of his gaze it was almost hard not to squirm the way that his singular focus zeroed in on you. You gave your name, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. “That sure is pretty, almost as pretty as you. Couldn’t pass up a chance to talk to you. Will you be around after the Broncos?”

You would in fact be around. The rodeo was a weekend long event and your work gave out free tickets so you planned on being back, but you didn’t know if you were ready to tell him all that yet. “Maybe, but I take it you will?”

“What do you think darlin? Yeah I’ll be here all week in fact.” Hannah is staring into the side of your head, her gaze boring a hole into your temple. You have the feeling she is wondering why you haven’t caved, and honestly under other circumstances you would have. “I get the feeling you don't like us cowboys darlin’...”

“I don't have any problem with cowboys, I just don’t play with bull riders.”

Steve raises a brow, a chuckle rumbling his chest. Damn it, even his laughter sounded warm. “Well, lucky me I’m not a bull rider.”

~~~~

Turns out Steve is a roper. Team with a guy named Sam and they are good. Amazing. Steve never misses. By the end of his first 6 second run your mind is filled with sinful thoughts about how good he is with the rope.

They slowly work their way up the bracket. Every run seemed a little more impressive as they immobilized their steers with an ease that seemed above the skill bracket of the teams around them. Sam and his mare just seem to fly across the arena, swooping in after Steve grabs the horns to easily rope the hind leg and pull the steer taunt. They win first without a shadow of a doubt.

As Steve and Sam go to collect their buckles Steve eyes search the crowd. Blue eyes focused on finding someone in particular.

They land on you, with a flash of perfect white teeth and a tip of the hat he reminds you not so subtly that he expects to see you at the bar after this. You don't know whether to throw your popcorn at him or melt into a puddle and slide under the bleachers.

God damn it. You are so gonna ride that cowboy…

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers drabble #sparks picks up #bucky barnes #marvel #avengers #cowboy!steve rogers

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littledollll · 1 year ago

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Call me your angel

Lucifer Morningstar x human!reader

A/n: i love fics that just randomly come to me. In this case I was scrolling through the Lucifer tag like a starved animal (realized I’m practically the main user of it btw) and came across this post by: @masscared-star and immediately thought of some cute sort of intimate conversation scene simply because of that beautiful back-facing drawing. So this is whatever that idea was! Beautiful art btw!<3

Again special thanks to @pebbleswritessometimes and @v3nusxsky for helping me brainstorm and with the general writing process as always.

Warnings: Lucifer’s a little closed off, aludes slightly to sex (barely), non-sexual intimacy, slight insecurity, Lucifer suffering bc of their own mind.

_______________________________

“…you look so pretty..” Lucifer’s attention was captured by your barely whispered words. They were lost in their own mind, always thinking about something, there wasn’t a moment they lived without so much running through their mind. So much you would probably never know.

‘You know enough’, they said. ‘You know what you have to. You know what you really want to.’ Though it wasn’t quite true. You’d never know enough about them. There wasn’t an amount you could know about them without wanting for more.

You wanted to study each and every part of them and their complicated mind. You wanted to understand and feel whatever they did. To feel tethered to this wonderful being. But you know better. And so do they. There is a price to pay with that much knowledge, with all that power.

Maybe in far into the future, you’d finally know everything about the devil, maybe you could have a sliver of understanding for all of it. But for each thing there is time, unlimited time at that. So you had no rush. Lucifer felt comfort in knowing that.

The feeling of your warm hands wrapping around their back and just over their stomach made a slight shiver run through their body, their wings fluttering at the contact.

Your chest pressed against their back, wrapping them in a familiar and warm embrace. And in that moment you felt every running thought leave their mind as they relaxed into your embrace. Their ever-powerful wings rested against their back, against you.

“I wouldn’t know what it feels like.. I have my fair supply of never-ending thoughts. Insecurities and such. Curiosities mostly.”

Immediately, they knew you were observing them. Reading their behaviors. You already knew, or at least had an idea of what was on their mind.

“It’s not all that different from yours then.. no, not truly.” You nodded, they continued.

“Curiosity brought me here.” You disagree. But arguing that would be pointless, you have a thousand times before. “Why do you humans wish to know and have an explanation for everything? The universe is so grand and complicated... sometimes I wish I knew nothing.”

That’s a hard sentiment to combat. You say nothing, letting their statement be just that. “We think we deserve to, maybe. Is it wrong to wonder about everything that was and brought us here? We all want to know about different things, mostly anyways. I wish to know all about you.”

“You deserve to.”

Their statement leaves you confused. Didn’t they just argue we really shouldn’t? That it’s foolish for a human to want to know and understand everything. “I don’t think we d-“

“No. You deserve to. But I fear knowing everything might cause more harm than good. I do not wish for you to understand my wretched mind. But I wish to offer you understanding… does that make any sense?”

Their hands meet your own, feather light touches trace your forearms and each hand, each finger even. Like they’re just admiring you. As if they hadn’t a thousand times before. As if they hadn't a few moments ago. Their hands wrap around your own.

You nod again.

“I’m not in the dark about you… I don’t feel as such either. Maybe it’s my human brain making me want to know it all, hm?” They playfully scoffed, amused by your behavior towards this topic.

“There is vast knowledge that lives in me. Greater than any human mind could ever comprehend. Greater than even I can truly understand. It certainly feels like a burden. But you welcome it and me with open arms, why?”

That idiot. How can somebody so smart be so stupid all at the same time?

“I don’t think you need a map to understand why I love and accept you, angel.” That made them pause. You felt them suck in a breath, and their heart just- stop. Granted it was something they did for your comfort, the devil doesn’t truly need a heartbeat. So there was no concern for their health, but fear for wondering if you went too far.

“..I call you my devil so often, I-..” you wished you could see their face now, it would give you a bit of an idea on how to continue. But you’d have to guess and trust you know them enough to know how they felt in that moment.

You felt a soft squeeze in your right hand, before their thumb began to gently caress the back of it. It made you sigh in relief. “I feel as if you’re my angel, in a way that is very personal to me and no one else.”

That felt nice, hearing your soft words, understanding more or less what you meant by it. “I like it... you may continue calling me that.”

“Call me your angel.” They spoke almost shyly, even through what you would often call their ‘fancy’ way of speaking (a habit you’ve also picked up after so long with them). It was thoroughly amusing to you.

“And so I will, my angel.” They felt the words whispered against their skin, something was oddly comforting about it, Lucifer wished to relish in it forever, bathe in the feeling of the warmth of your love. But that was no far fetched dream, this was it. That warmth was you. That warmth was theirs for all eternity.

#lucifer sandman #sandman lucifer x reader #the sandman #lucifer morningstar the sandman #lucifer morningstar sandman #the sandman lucifer morningstar #the sandman lucifer #the sandman lucifer morningstar x reader #gwendoline christie #lucifer sandman fluff

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bxriles · 7 months ago

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A while ago I announced that I would be writing a fic about an uprising in the Court of Nightmares. Here’s the summary I gave:

There's a set of siblings in the Hewn City, dreamers who have been abandoned by their High Lord. One of the sisters enters into a political marriage with Rhysand (pre-ACOTAR) and mysteriously ends up dead after discovering that he's found his mate. After the people learn of her death, a rebellion led by the two remaining siblings ensues in the Court of Nightmares and goes all the way up to Illyria.

WELL I am happy to announce that the first chapter will be posted on Sunday, June 16th! I’m planning to post it on my ao3 but I could be persuaded to post it on Tumblr as well if people want that.

As a disclaimer, if you’re someone who LOVES Rhysand and the IC, this most definitely is not the fic for you. If that upsets you, please just scroll on and protect your peace. There is a reason why I mostly used anti tags here.

K THANKS! SEE Y’ALL SUNDAY 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

PS - I’ve gotten lots of questions in my DMs ever since I initially posted about this, so see below for some FAQs:

Q: Is this an anti-Feyre fic?

A: Nah. While Feyre certainly is an antagonist, she is not the villain. Feyre has her flaws, but she’s not who the characters in this story have beef with. That would be Rhys. That said, the Hewn City characters do not like/respect her because of what she represents to them.

Q: Will there be romance/who is the love interest?

A: Yes! I can’t help myself and I loooove to include romance when I can! Eris will be the love interest, but the romance will not be the main focus.

Q: Will this be a y/n fic?

A: No. This will be a story with several OCs. I know people tend to dislike OCs, but the reality is that we just don’t know that many canon CoN characters, so I need OCs to tell this story. Plus, I personally love OC stories and I like writing them. I hope that you’ll be willing to give them a chance!

Q: How many chapters will there be?

A: I’m honestly not sure because I keep waffling with the chapter length. I have 15 chapters outlined, but that could grow into 20 or shrink into 12 depending on how my revisions go. Let’s tentatively plan for 15, give or take a few as time goes on.

Q: When will updates be posted?

A: As was the case with all my other fics, I’ll do my very best to update once per week, usually on Sunday. There may be weeks where a chapter is a few days late depending on how hectic my life is, but I will do everything in my power to update every week! I take a lot of pride in being someone who always finishes my fics, and I don’t want to start leaving them incomplete now!

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tentenismybitch · 5 days ago

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since 2025 is the year of tenten posting, headcanons about my blorbo:

she is an orphan to me, mostly because i imagine that she is a little bit abrasive and can very often forget her manners, especially when provoked. she’s not nearly as rude as naruto or sasuke but she lacks the well-mannered politeness of lee, neji, and gai because she had no one to teach her these things (ok we all know that iconic sakura scene where she complains about naruto’s #fatherless behavior to sasuke, a fellow orphan, who gets pissed off at her? yeah… tenten also behaves #fatherlessly sometimes)

HOW exactly she is an orphan varies depending on what i’m writing - sometimes it’s the standard “parents died in the kyubi attack.” sometimes her mother died in childbirth and her father turned to his work in grief and died on a mission. sometimes both her parents are anbu who had a child (by accident?) but don’t want to quit their jobs so, again, died on a mission. it really depends on the themes of the fic - also, i do like to occasionally give her a slightly older sister who takes care of her after their parents die

this is mostly to justify the fact that i pretend she looks like this, but one of her parents is from kumo and moved to konoha temari-style, tho this was at a time when they had to renounce their home village and could not become a shinobi of konoha. they never got married hence why she doesn't have a last name. i have an AU in the vault that provides an angsty variant on this where both her parents are from kumo, but i am keeping that close to my chest just in case i ever write it

complete disregard for canon and inspired by this post by @erumai-maadu but despite having a march birthday, tenten is actually younger than neji and lee because she was born in the previous year. she got put in the academy early because that’s what they do with orphans

tenten is a hot girl. you now how every girl was in love with sasuke when they were in the academy? that’s how it was for tenten in her year. she was a lot of girls’ gay awakening. basically this post but it’s true for everyone

she is also oblivious tho so does not realize her own charms and that people are into her. A LOT of team gai’s mission success rate in other villages has to do with tenten accidentally charming the pants off shinobi who are otherwise hostile to konoha

tsunade is of course her idol, but she looks up to pretty much all kunoichi older than her - when she was due to graduate from the academy, she secretly hoped that kurenai would be her sensei, but obviously ends up happy with gai (an iconic male feminist in this misogynistic ass shonen LMAO)

ino is her non-team gai best friend, partly b/c they actually knew each other growing up: her father was in the torture and interrogation unit when he was alive, so he was well acquainted with inoichi, but they would’ve gravitated together anyway because they’re both funny, bossy, and gossipy.

also she doesn’t like sakura for a while in the same way that like. when your friend and the guy she’s been dating get into a fight and almost break up but then stay together and heal so your friend is happy but you still side-eye the guy for a couple of years? yeah. she does grow to love sakura by the time we get to the timeskip tho

SPEAKING OF NON-TEAM GAI FRIENDS. idk. idk. maybe it’s cus of this fic, which i originally read on ff.net many years ago, maybe it’s cus of this fanart of them as anbu teammates that i saw also years ago and now can't link but…her and sasuke would be friends. maybe they somehow became friends as children, before his clan was murked. maybe in a rare fic of mine when neji actually dies, she tries to replace him with sasuke. maybe kakashi puts them on a long mission together during the Blank Period and they bond cus tenten is good at bonding with standoffish brooding b*tches idk. sasuten friendship is real to me tho

gai (and lee) have rubbed off on her with the rivalry shit: she tries hard to fight it but she is compelled through a force far beyond her control to challenge temari. first to a rematch but eventually it’s like. temari comes to the village and tenten is baiting her into rock-paper-scissors and shit like that. she absolutely is keeping score. just like kakashi and gai, they are evenly matched

ok clearly i want tenten to collect guys with offputting vibes like pokemon cus her and sai would also be friends TO ME. IDK. literally yesterday in the shower i had a fic idea where tsunade assigns tenten, sai, and sasuke to be kakashi’s bodyguards when he becomes hokage. is this idea mostly to further my sasusai agenda but also make tenten a main character in it for some reason? maybe so. i am not sorry

other offputting vibes guy pokemon she has collected: gaara and shino

i have to make a separate post for team gai and shipping ones cus this is already too long chile 😔

#tenten #this isnt even all of them honestly. the tenten vault is huge #ino #sasuke #sai naruto #temari

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groovebunker · 3 months ago

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i’m gonna be obnoxious about this and people are just going to have to be cool about that. yes? good.

happy birthday to what would you do (if they ever found us out) (affectionately known as wwyd)!!! a year ago today, i posted chapter one and (i’m not being dramatic here) i think it changed my life?

little backstory: i’m a dyke with eyes and a type, so when i watched fran drescher making impassioned speeches about labour rights, i was both smitten and reminded that i’d been meaning to watch the nanny. i was also (mostly unbeknownst to me) about as mentally ill as i’ve ever been in my life. i was halfway through a phd which i loved but it was making me so, so unwell. anyway, i started watching the nanny as some kind of escapism and one night, i was like…has anyone thought of fran and cc kissing on the mouth? and they had (obviously) and so i started thinking about that and how whine cellar is a deeply disappointing episode in so many ways and then i was like ‘i can fix that! with a one shot!’.

fast fwd to april 2024. i’m in my favourite city in the world. i’m posting the 11th chapter of that one shot far too late at night (sorry sara). it’s ended up about 85k words long. i’m no longer a phd candidate. i’m significantly less mentally ill. and i’ve spent the last 8 or so months being held by a group of people i would never have met if i had never started writing again.

i didn't quit my phd to write fan fiction, obviously. but writing fic helped me realise how unhappy i was because it was something that gave me joy in a time that was so fucking bleak. i don't really like thinking about it too much but it wasn't great. and then i had this lifeline. these two idiots (affectionate) falling in love with one another, not only in wwyd but all the other fics i was writing. and talking about with people who were commenting and finding me on tumblr. and then, eventually, we weren't just talking about fran and cc, we were talking about our lives! because we were friends!

people will tell you before you start a phd that it's a lonely experience. i was the only history student in my cohort. i only met one of my supervisors in person at his leaving drinks. i have two friends i met at my uni, one of whom was the first person i told that i had to quit. i had other friends and an incredible, loving, patient partner, and they were amazing. but still, it was lonely.

and then i just fucking wasn't.

january ‘24, the squad evolved from being my stupid tumblr tag to being the most chaotic group chat i have ever been part of (until nic got us nicely organised). a week or so later, i quit the phd. and i told a bunch of people i’d never met that i was dropping out of grad school and they were so fucking kind. i will never forget that. the squad, in all its iterations, will have my heart for my whole life. i will not rest until i have annoyed you all in person. my dream is winning the lottery and flying you all to a villa in spain for a week so i can cook you dinner (and cass can make bread) every night and drink wine and splash about in the sun (or in sara’s case, hide in the shade and probably yell at us to put sun screen on). when i say i love you, i mean it so wholly and truly.

anyway, back to wwyd. it’s not my first fic. i’ve been writing on and off for 15 long, long years. but i hadn't written a ton for a while (other than my aloto fic bc gretson my beloved) and i really kind of expected to get a couple of comments and a few kudos. i just had a story that wanted to get out so i published the first few chapters in really rather quick succession (i’m sorry to anyone who reads my stuff, my adhd is too bad for a posting schedule) and people…loved it? like, really loved it. which was so nice because i’m gonna be honest, there was not an adoring audience for my academic work (perils of being a genocide scholar). and i know it's become quite a few people’s comfort fic. i know people have reread it, more than once in some cases, which feels wild. people have left the most wonderful comments, said the kindest things, drawn gorgeous art, made a fanmix (which is fucking amazing), followed along on this journey which i did not expect them to do.

i don't have favourite children (b&w fans, i promise you, the next chapter is in the works) but if i did, wwyd might be one. sure, she's my difficult eldest child. but she got me into a fandom for the first time in years, she’s given me friends i know I will hold onto for the rest of my life, she reminded me how much fun writing can be. and she’s spawned so much more because she made me so much more confident as a writer.

so i don't think i’m being overdramatic when i say it changed my life. if you’d told me all of this when i hit publish on chapter one last year, i would have told you to fuck off. relatively vehemently. but i’m better now. and i’m so fucking grateful for this fic for being part of what gave me that.

anyway, thanks for letting me be a bit self indulgent - promise you don't have to sit through this ever again (maybe for won't you when i finally get it done. i’m sorry. i’m verbose). and once again, to everyone who has read wwyd, given it kudos, commented, reblogged a chapter on tumblr, all of it, my eternal thanks. i couldn't have done it without you.

finally, because i cannot say it enough, to the squad, you have my whole heart. it’s actually mad to me that this time last year, i had no idea who any of you were. your stamp on the last few chapters of wwyd is indelible. your stamp on my life is somehow more permanent than that. thank you. ilsym 🫶🏻

#fran x cc #my fic #personal #the nanny #cc x fran #wwyd #ccbds #cc babcock defense squad

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oktopiasscarletqueen · 14 days ago

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Neurotic Erotic (Bloodweave Fic) playlist

Alright, so, heres the playlist I made for the fic and unreasonable analysis I made relating the songs to Gale and Astarion.

I know writing all this is a touch cringe, but I’m at peace with that; BG3 is a special interest of mine, and so is musical/literary analysis. That being said, I’m not trying to write any kind of groundbreaking, profound interpretations here. Moreso, I’m yelling my funny words at you because I like to yap. And, sometimes this is what me and my little sister do for fun; J and I put on music and go, “ [insert character would like this sound in a Modern AU” or, “this song is incredibly [insert character]-core because…”

Before you jump in, I’m gonna warn you, the transition between ‘Francis Forever’ and ‘Cancer’ (track 6 & 7 respectively) is a touch jarring, as is the inclusion of ‘Cancer’ in the middle of the playlist in general, lol. Second, I’ll warn you this list is bound to get updated here and there eventually. Also, I may update/add to these in future.

I have put the songs “in order”, or as best “order” as my brain can think of right now.

Oh, and of course, spoilers ahead for essentially the whole game.

Fic Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56262295/chapters/142934368

Youtube Link: https://www.youtube.com/@Oktopiasscarletqueen/playlists

Spotify Link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3BIufG9W5783HUh3OvDboD?si=675313ddfbbe4664

Song list, and correlation (with my interpretation and justification, if that interest you at all, lol):

INTRODUCTION:

¡Aikido! (Neurotic/Erotic) – Everything is a Lot by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

This song is about being obsessed with death, or the idea of dying; Theres something very Gale & Astarion about it (one being asked to die and the other literally being dead). Astarion being dead is a sort of representation (within this fic) of Gale’s later focus and near idolisation of dying, which really reminds me of the song. It’s title and the general idea behind it inspired me to write this fic. Mostly the title, its catchy and interpretive whether you know the song or not.

2. Maya the Psychic – Hesitant Alien by Gerard Way

So, y’know the tadpoles, right?

3. Starman – The Rise & Fall of Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars (2012 Remaster) by David Bowie

So, y’know the “Dream Guardian”, right?

GALE:

4. Cover This Song (A Little Bit Mine) – Everything is a Lot by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

Early game, Gale’s caught up on Mystra, and that’s an objective fact. That’s what this song is in relation to him. Wishing to have her back, or at least her grace and favour. Like, imagine being cast aside by a god. A god who was your previous lover and kinda decides your fate.

5. First Love/Late Spring – Bury Me at Makeout Creek by Mitski

More Gale “pining” songs (you’re gonna see a lot of this). In the case of this one, the song is a sort of ‘love, life and duty is painful’. After the Mystra heartbreak, I can imagine Gale’s not exactly keen on letting anyone in else they abandon him again (Gale has a big ego, but he feels he’s not enough—he’s scared he’s not enough). Also, a few lines stick out for interpretation in regards to Gale. ‘One word from you and I would jump of this cliff I’m on, baby’ is very fitting for Mystra being like “lmao, kys” and how Gale is fully ready to do that as a show of faith. Another line that I wanna note, ‘And I was so young when I behaved 25…’ reminds me of not only Gale’s early magical prowess, but the fact Gale being only 8 when he met Mystra for the first time; Gale had big shoes to fill, extremely high expectations to live up to and also an omnipotent, ever-present god leaning over his shoulder. This is where I’m gonna put a link to this Tumblr post because the OP does a fantastic job at dissecting all that (TW: mentions of grooming): https://www.tumblr.com/kirain/739521230081851392/i-want-to-take-a-moment-to-talk-about-gales

6. Francis Forever - Bury Me at Makeout Creek by Mitski

Kinda similar to above, but more “romantic” in a really twisted way. Gale really did love Mystra, I think; In the case of this song, it’s less about him as a character but more his past feelings and the grief there (obviously this isn’t what the songs exactly about, but we’re running on interpreting them into fictional characters, so… lol.

7. Cancer – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

So, y’know the Nether Brain fight and Gale’s Orb, right?

8. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (Remastered) by Elton John

Acceptance and a return to the “average”. If you don’t let him ascend, Gale has the option to just live life at his own pace, and for me that’s his canon ending. My boy deserves a rest, and this song just remind me of that.

BLOODWEAVE (songs that just scream them)

9. Cannibal Queen – Tell It to the Volcano by Miniature Tigers

I just feel like the lyrics suit Gale’s feeling for Astarion in a really fun way, idk man. It’s just weirdly them-core.

10. Baby You’re a Haunted House – Single (no album) by Gerard Way

Another ‘Gale to Astarion’ song. ‘…you’re a haunted house’ as a lyric reads as someone who has a lot of metaphorical ghosts in them (closet full of skeletons). Shout-out to the versus: ‘In the dark, we dance together…’ ‘In the dark we laugh together, because the misery’s funny to you’ ‘Sometimes you scare me, but I’ll come around to you… And I’ll find a way to scare you too’.

That’s just them (you’ll hear this from this section a lot).

11. Red Moon – Everything is a Lot by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

First and foremost, this song is SO underappreciated (as is the album). It’s one of my favourites. This so in particular just sounds like the embodiment of Bloodweave. I take a lot of inspiration from this song when it comes to Neurotic Erotic (the fic). This song analysis would be paragraphs upon paragraphs long, so I’ll sum this up as simply as I can:

- Astarion is kinda ethereal looking (moon-elf-core) - Gales heart go doki-doki later in fic (referring to the 5th verse: 'Waxing to the rhythm writhing my chest’) - Gale and Astarion are drawn together by circumstance - They remain in each others orbit regardless of circumstance - Night is their time

Theres so much more, but I’ll leave some of the linking to you, lol

12. The Rhumba of Death – Camp Here & There: Campfire Songs Edition by Will Wood

*see to every other comment in this section*

13. We’ll Never have Sex - Single (no album) by Leith Ross

I think it’s not necessarily an argument that Astarion has issues around intimacy, particularly sexual intimacy. That’s what this is; this is why the song is here.

TRANSITION (A heads up to Astarion Territory, lol. Plus, I just like the song :P)

14. Interlude – Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance

Every playlist needs a good intermission, and this one has an Astarion-vibe to it. Serves as a good heads-up for whats to come and as a cool down from the previous song instead of just jumping right into a different tone. Plus, I’ve not gotten over my emo days, so…

ASTARION

15. The End – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

The end. The end of Astarions mortal life, the end of being under Cazador’s thumb while tadpoled.

16. Dead! – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

You can’t put ‘The End.’ without ‘Dead!’ and vice-versa. But, the lyrics do speak to me in encapsulating some surface-level Astarion plot, especially when it comes to his mortal, Magistrate days. Did Astarion get what he deserved? (referring to the versus: ‘I’ll be here waiting, babe; Did you get what you deserve?’). The BG3 artbook tells us Astarion was a corrupt magistrate, so this feel fitting. It’s speculative, but I think Astarion wasn’t too popular when he was alive, lol.

17. The Sharpest Lives – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

‘I’ve really been on a bender and it shows’Astarion doesn’t have the best coping mechanisms and skills, and this song is that. Plus, it’s another vampire-related song so it fits in well. And the lines below feel like they were written for him (y’know what I mean?): ‘You can take off your skin in the cannibal glow, Juilet loves the beat, and the lust it commands, Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo’

18. Brand New City - Lush by Mitski

I feel like Astarion has a lot of issues around control, like specifically in regard to needing to be in control in some small way. He’s emotionally withering away with his destructive ways, but it’s the only way he knows how to grasp onto some semblance of control over his life. ‘I think my ways are wearing me down, But if I gave up on being pretty, I wouldn’t know how to be alive,’

19. The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You – Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance

This song is about Gerard Ways substance abuse and struggles with it, his addiction personified as a woman. In a similar vein, I’m using this song as a representation of Astarion’s own addiction (or obsession) to power and revenge. Its fuelling him, but its also slowly him a dark, toxic (and even dangerous) path.

20. Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In! – SELF-iSH by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

Another case of a song about self-destructive behaviours that just really fits Astarions own trauma and his response to it. Will Wood is a genius lyricist, don’t @ me, and this is a prime example of his work capturing addiction and other self-destructive behaviours, feeling powerless in stopping/not being able to stop, even though you could (with a lot of effort of therapy, mind you).

21. Kill All Your Friends – Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

The opening lines capture more Astarion plot: ‘Well, you can hide a lot about yourself, But honey, what’re you gonna do?’ Mainly, this song just feels like it fits him, especially with ‘I was killing before killing was cool,’.

22. Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!) – The Normal Album by Will Wood

Another vampire song, so naturally its here. A number of the lines in this song feel like inner turmoil within Astarion, but I can’t just copy paste the whole thing here, lol. Side note, this song has been in my private Astarion playlist for the past 2-ish years and I’ve always been like, ‘man, I wish I had the time to make an animatic to this (or Hand Me My Shovel) for Astarion’, and recently I stumbled upon an Astarion animatic someone made to this song and was SO SHOOK. So, I’m going to link it, because its fantastic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWKObQgHaGg

23. Your Body, My Temple - Camp Here & There: Campfire Songs Edition by Will Wood

POV: Astarion’s manipulating you.

24. Vampire Reference in a Minor Key – “In case I make it,” by Will Wood

Very Astarion-core song, but specifically in regards to his softer side (in the case of this fic, his feelings down the line for Gale). Obviously the vampire song is gonna remind me of the twink vampire.

25. The Chain (2004 Remaster) – Rumours by Fleetwood Mac

So, y’know Cazador and Astarions “siblings”, right?

26. Against the Kitchen Floor – “In case I make it,” by Will Wood

So, yknow the confession Astarion has in act 2, right? My canon ending for Astarion is him healing, finally. He’s a spawn, yes, but he’s making the most of that his immortal life as he can. I’ll say it again, Will Wood is a GENUIS and (most definitely because it comes from his own experiences) he captures the process of healing but not being fully there in this song. In relation to Astarion, this is him trying—genuinely trying to be better and work out what he’s going through. He’s not there, he won’t be for a long time, but he’s willing to try. Trying is the first step.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bloodweave #astarion #gale of waterdeep #astarion x gale #astarion/gale #fanfic #gale dekarios #fic playlist #baldur’s gate 3

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mandobatemans · 1 year ago

Text

intrigue (Tom Wambsgans x f!reader)

warnings: infidelity, fingering, unprotected piv sex, soft!dom tom, size kink kinda, biting, greg, do NOT have sex with the head of conservative news organizations irl!!!, i am a shivcel fr anything negative abt shiv in here i didn't mean it ily siobhan 🫶, NSFW UNDER THE CUT

word count: 4,740 (i got carried away)

A/N: this is loosely based on s4 e7 but there's no real timeline so it probably takes place like somewhere around season 3 or 4? this is my first succ fic so...enjoy 🤗 & also this took me SO long to write i'm so deeply sorry to anyone who was waiting

also posted to ao3

Tom had never been a fan of the whole “open marriage” arrangement. When he thought back to that fateful night (fateful night…who else would say that about their wedding night?) what he remembered most was the look on Shiv’s face when she told him that she wanted an open marriage. On their wedding night.

It was more for Shiv anyway. Tom rarely thought about actually acting on the arrangement, whether it be out of love for Shiv or loyalty to her father, he wasn’t sure. Sure, he had kissed someone here or done oral there when high on coke, but he had never actually fucked anyone else.

Something was different, though, tonight. Firstly, they were hosting a Waystar/ATN event at their apartment, and despite being chairman of ATN, he wasn't even sure what the evening was for. Shiv had told him about it last minute, casually mentioning it as they were being driven to work, like it was dinner at Logan’s rather than hundreds of media moguls and politicians to host. Actually, dinner at Logan’s felt equally, if not more, important than tonight. A better equivalent for how nonchalantly Shiv had mentioned it would be Connor inviting them somewhere.

Secondly, Shiv had suggested, outright, that they both find someone to hook up with at the party tonight. Earlier in their bedroom, after getting dressed in silence, Shiv had turned to Tom while putting her earrings in to share the idea. He knew she would be acting on it whether or not he did, and why shouldn’t he? It had been a while since he had gotten laid and was verbally (and physically) assaulting Greg a lot more as a result.

Did he just pick someone? How did you approach someone and say, “Hey, I’m in an open marriage but I’ve never actually done anything more than get my dick sucked with anyone else…anyway, let’s fuck!”

Tom fidgeted with his glass as he surveyed the room.

Despite your personal beliefs and the endless human rights violations that Waystar was affiliated with, their (and by extension ATN) events were some of the most lavish you'd ever attended. As a political journalist, it was standard for your company to send a journalist or two to whatever soirée the Roys were throwing. Everyone took turns, and this time you had drawn the short straw. It hadn’t been too bad so far, you thought, although perhaps you were jinxing yourself. You had kept to yourself mostly, chatting with other journalists you frequently saw around the city on assignments, snacking on the hors d'oeuvres, and listening to the ridiculous conversations political and media bigwigs were having.

You had been to an event hosted by the Roys before, but they were usually at ATN, Waystar, or some expensive venue. Being invited as a member of the press to Shiv Roy’s apartment felt strangely intimate. You were certain this was some calculated business move on the part of one Roy or the other, but you honestly didn’t really care. Whatever drama was happening within Waystar Royco was contained within the Roy family. You were simply here to supplement a piece your coworker was writing on the atmosphere of this political season.

It was only an hour into the party when you had collected all the quotes and interviews you needed, and sampled almost all of the hors d'oeuvres. Your boss expected journalists to stay for most, if not all, of the night for these things, in case some political bombshell were to happen. You were pretty sure nothing too monumental was going to happen in this room full of suits, especially with all of the Roys notably absent from the festivities. Even Shiv, whose house it was, looked like she wasn't paying any attention to what was going on in her home. In fact, she had been in the corner all night, talking to some prominent New York and D.C. women, important enough that you knew their faces but not important enough for you to attach any names to them.

You checked your phone for the time. You could probably get away with leaving in another hour if you made up some family emergency as an excuse for your editor. Even another hour seemed like ages. Maybe you could re-interview some people? Speak to some guests whose quotes would never make it in the article just to kill time? Sighing, you opened your messages, thumbs hovering over the chat with your editor, putting your journalism degree to use by brainstorming an excuse to get you back home in your bed before ten o’clock. When you turned around to pace while you typed (a nervous habit), you found yourself face-to-face with one of your hosts.

It felt like a fucking cliché. Literally bumping into someone at a party? If one of your writer friends wrote something like this, you'd tell them it was bullshit and things like that didn't happen in real life. Yet here you were, inches away from–

“Tom Wambsgans, Chairman of Global Broadcast News at ATN.” He introduced himself, reaching out a hand for you to shake.

You returned the handshake, grateful that he wasn’t offended by you bumping into him. “I know who you are.”

“And I know who you are.” He paused. “That sounded stalkerish, didn’t it? I meant, I know who you are because I’ve read your articles.”

“You have?” You were surprised. Your company and your articles in particular were considered left-leaning, the very opposite of the stories ATN ran.

He nodded. “Gotta keep up with the competition. I’ve seen some of your features on the network, as well.”

“Really? I would have thought you would just watch ATN all day,” you teased.

Tom made a face and then shook his head. “No, no, no. Plus, I wouldn’t really call any of our journalists ‘journalists’ so much as pretty faces. You do your own research and look good on the camera. That’s impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow and Tom’s eyes widened, processing what he had just said.

“God, I do sound like a fucking stalker.”

You laughed, “Just a little bit.” You let him cringe for a second, then smiled to reassure him. “No, but I’ve seen some of your interviews since you took over ATN. You look good on the camera, too.” You paused, before adding, “Maybe that makes us both a little stalkerish.”

His eyes lit up at your response, earning a genuine laugh (the first one that night not faked for some suit, he noted).

“Uh, sorry for bumping into you. I wasn't looking where I was going,” you explained, waving your phone in your hand for context.

“Ah, cell phone. The curse of the twenty-first century.”

You furrowed your brow involuntarily for a moment. He wasn't how you expected the spouse of a Roy to be like. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, you weren't yet sure.

“I’m making a huge ass of myself, aren't I?” He sighed. “I’ll leave you to the party–”

“No! It’s okay. Stay,” you heard yourself say. It was Tom’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Okay. You found him attractive. And even despite his eccentric comments, you also found yourself wanting to talk to him more. You were, however, purposely avoiding looking at the wedding ring on his finger.

To Tom, it all seemed too perfect. You, for example. He was being honest when he said he had seen and read some of your work and that he enjoyed it, and he did sometimes watch other networks to get an idea of the competition, but he had left out the fact that there was something about you in particular that made him watch the entire segment when you happened to be on air. And the fact that sometimes he'd scroll through your articles online and imagine you reading them aloud to him. But he wasn’t a stalker. And now you were here, in his house, on the night that his wife had all but shoved him into the bed of anyone that he wanted.

But still; one pleasant, slightly flirtatious conversation didn't mean you wanted to ride off into the sunset with him. Or, more accurately, go upstairs with him.

He scanned the room for Siobhan. Although it had been her suggestion, and he knew she had acted on the arrangement before, he still felt like it was somehow a trap. Like she’d hire someone to hide behind the bedroom door that night and catch him with his pants down (literally) to use as blackmail.

But sure enough, she was across the room, laughing at something some lobbyist had said, and resting her hand on the other woman’s arm slightly longer than a casual touch would last.

The longer he thought about it, the more confident he felt. If you were interested, he wanted to spend the night with you. And maybe more. But he was getting ahead of himself.

“It's kind of loud over here. Come on,” he gestured with his head toward the opposite corner of the apartment, one not occupied by any guests save for an elderly politician snoring on the couch.

You followed him, nodding when he asked if you wanted another drink before picking a champagne flute off of a passing server’s tray. He handed it to you once you reached the corner, your hands touching during the exchange. It seemed like even more of a cliché to feel sparks fly at this tiny touch, so you ignored that, as well.

“You host these kinds of things often?” You asked, leaning against the wall and taking a sip of your champagne. The room was full of very important people, though none of them seemed to be talking about very important things. You couldn't quite wrap your head around why a high-level executive who had married into one of the largest media conglomerates was wasting his time talking to you (flirting with you?), but you had seen stranger things in this city.

He grimaced and shook his head. “No, no. I’m usually just a guest.” Tom laughed and took a sip of his drink. “And not a very important one, at that.”

“I’m sure that's not true. I mean, how many people watch ATN? And you’re in charge of what airs or doesn't air.”

“1.89 million,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink, “Outside of the office, nobody’s really worried about what I think.”

“Not even your wife?” You stopped after you said the words, giving your brain a second to catch up with your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect, I–”

“No, no, no, no, it’s okay,” he assured you, reaching out to rest a hand on yours consolingly. Tom leaned in closer so only you would hear him, unnecessary considering the secluded corner you two were in.

“But no, not even my wife.”

Your eyes darted to his hand atop yours, suddenly aware of how large his hands were. They almost completely covered yours, and they felt so comfortable and right there, like–

“We have an open marriage,” he suddenly said.

“Oh.”

Tom seemed disappointed with this reaction, quickly removing his hand from yours and adding, “That’s just to say that, our marriage is, uh, unconventional, so her not caring what I have to say isn’t that unusual.”

You were still processing the feel of his hand on yours, much less the revelation that he actually might be flirting with you and that it actually might go somewhere. By the time your thoughts caught up with you, it seemed like he was about ready to excuse himself and go scream at his reflection in the bathroom.

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” you responded, mirroring his gesture from before and resting your hand on top of his to comfort him. “You don’t deserve that, really.”

He scoffed. “You don't know what I deserve.”

You looked up at him, taking the time to absorb the look in his eyes that revealed just how much he was going through.

“Uh, Tom?”

Tom rolled his eyes and turned away from you to snap at the source of the interruption. “What, Greg? Can’t you see I’m having a conversation?”

“It’s just–well, Shiv is leaving with someone.” The taller man gestured at the door, where sure enough, Shiv was weaving her way through the crowd toward the elevators with the lobbyist from earlier, her hand guiding her by the small of her back.

Tom bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, Greg, we do have an open marriage. So, everything’s fine. Now, scram.”

Greg looked between the two of you and hesitated for a second before nodding and disappearing back into the bustle of the party.

Tom turned back to you. “That’s Shiv’s cousin, Greg. I’ve sort of taken him under my corporate wing, so to speak. Showing him the ropes and all that.”

You nodded, finishing your champagne.

“Well,” he said.

“Well,” you echoed.

He paused for a minute, though it seemed to last much longer than that. “You’re writing an article about this party, right?”

“Yeah,” you responded, unsure of where he was going with this.

Tom leaned in, lowering his voice. “What would your editor say if you got a behind-the-scenes look at the party?”

You raised your eyebrow.

“Of course, you'd have to come upstairs…” Something shifted in his tone. You were well aware of what the change implied, and you’d be lying if you said you didn't want to jump at the offer. This wasn’t you, though. Sleeping with a married man? On top of that, not just any married man, but the host of the party that you were covering for work. It sounded like a problem you’d encounter on an Intro to Ethics exam. But any moral qualms you had about the issue were pushed out of your head when you registered the way Tom was looking at you.

“Of course,” you repeated, nonchalantly, setting your empty champagne glass on a nearby table.

Something flickered in Tom’s eyes. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, Wambsgans,” you replied, gesturing dramatically.

Neither of you spoke for the entire walk away from the excitement of the party to the quiet of Tom’s bedroom. It looked much like you had expected it to look: modern, chic, and impersonal. You were sure Tom (or Shiv) had some personal items somewhere in the house, but the bedroom was so clean and styled that the only indication anyone slept or dressed in there was some of Shiv’s makeup and jewelry strewn haphazardly on the vanity.

When he had closed the door behind you, Tom stepped closer to you experimentally, as if he was afraid you'd flee like a wild deer if he moved too fast. You stepped closer as well, which seemed to give Tom the permission he was looking for. Within seconds, his mouth was on yours, his hands cupping your face, all tongue and teeth. There was hunger and desperation in the kiss, but it was hypnotizing, beckoning you deeper and deeper. He was almost doubled over to reach you (god, he was tall), so you shifted your weight to stand on your tiptoes.

Tom broke the kiss, leaving you with a confused look on your face.

He shed his suit jacket, throwing it carelessly on the floor. Next, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Tugging on the length of his tie, he loosened it enough to undo a few buttons at his collar, revealing an inviting expanse of chest hair.

“Turn around,” he told you, snapping you out of your male-stripper-fantasy gaze.

You did as he said, something in his tone going straight to your core. You felt him run his hands from your shoulders down your arms, then down your hips and up to your waist, the action bunching up the fabric of your dress. He moved your hair to the side, pressing hot kisses to your neck that made your eyes roll back.

“Can I take this off?” He whispered, his lips trailing up to your ear.

You nodded in response, trembling momentarily under his touch. Tom unzipped your dress, helping you push it down your body and step out of it. He unhooked the back of your bra without moving further. It occurred to you then how wrong this was, to be sleeping with someone else’s husband in their own bedroom, but to your surprise, you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was the heat of Tom’s gaze on your bare back. You took your bra off the rest of the way and discarded it on the ground next to your dress. Once in only your underwear, you turned back around to face him, watching his eyes follow every curve of your body to drink in the newly exposed skin.

“Wow,” he said, simply, reaching out to grab you by the hips and pull you closer to him. “You’re gorgeous.”

Grinning, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him again, cradling his face in your hands. You felt him smile back into your kiss. Before you knew it, he had you pressed against the wall, totally enclosed by his larger form. He went from kissing you on your lips to your neck to behind your ear to your chest, as if he couldn't decide which spot deserved the most attention or for how long.

One of his hands slid down to the waistband of your underwear, the cold metal of his wedding ring a shock against your hot skin. You made eye contact with him as his hand slipped between the fabric and your skin cup your cunt, whining when you felt his touch. He seemed to get off on that, capturing you in a kiss again at the same time he slipped a digit into your wet heat. You were too hot; you pressed your hand to his chest to stabilize yourself and pushed your underwear down your legs and kicked them off. Tom smiled at this, getting right back to pumping his finger in and out at a pace that almost made you melt down the wall.

It was probably a power trip thing, you thought, you totally naked and him almost fully clothed. You didn't mind because it was kinda hot, but it wasn't what you had expected from Tom based on the unassuming, Midwestern image of him that was circulated in columns and by the Roys themselves. But, then again, you hadn't expected to find yourself in this position at all when you left your apartment earlier that night.

The pace of his fingers felt so good, so intoxicating, that now that you had him, you needed more of him.

“A-another one,” you whined between kisses.

When you opened your eyes to look at him, Tom had a smug look on his face. Sure, it was arrogant, but it turned you on, so who really cared? “Yeah?” he asked, “You want another one?”

“Tom,” you hissed, gripping onto his shoulder as his finger curled in just the right way that it made your legs go numb.

The look remained on his face, but he added another finger nonetheless. Tom appeared to inhabit both extremes when it came to sex: he really wanted to pleasure you but he also really wanted to do what he wanted. Luckily, those two wants aligned.

He was making you feel so good that you needed to have more of him. Your kisses got sloppier, each so desperate to be further molded with one another that your tongues tried to push impossibly further into the other’s. Tom shifted his hand so he could angle his thumb to rub slow, tantalizing circles on your clit as he continued to pump his fingers. Your grip on his shoulder tightened–you feared your fingernails would leave dents in his skin–but like so many other things tonight, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You could feel the pressure rising in your middle, your cunt clenching around his fingers in anticipation of your impending orgasm, but then it stopped.

You opened your eyes that you hadn't realized were squeezed shut to look at Tom, who had his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with your slick. “Open,” he encouraged. You obeyed, accepting his fingers into your mouth and licking them clean with a ‘pop.’ He stared at you like you had hung the stars in the sky. He jerked his head toward the bed. “Sit.”

There was authority in his commands, but you didn’t fear him; from the short amount of time you had spent with him, you knew he was at his core a sweet man. You would admit to yourself that you had been curious how his awkward, nervous energy would translate into the bedroom, but once alone, he seemed to be a different man.

You watched him strip off the rest of his clothes eagerly, smiling up at him once he rejoined you on the bed totally naked. He must’ve noticed you staring, because he asked: “Do you want me to put on a condom?”

You shrugged, shifting your eyes back up to his own. “No, it’s okay. I'm on birth control.”

He sighed in relief. “Good. I don't even know if I have one in here.”

“Then why’d you ask?” You laughed, encouraged by the smile that crossed his face when you did so.

“Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do. If you said yes, I would’ve sent someone to go get one or borrowed one from–”

“Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Just fuck me already.”

“Alright. If you say so,” he teased, leaning down over you to kiss you. Both your lips were red and puffy from all the kissing and some biting, but it didn’t matter. You could feel his cock pushing against your stomach from the angle, so you reached down to take him in your hand and pump his length.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin, face buried in your neck as he pressed kisses to the every inch of available flesh, “Fuck…Can I?”

“Please,” you responded, noticing a little desperate hitch in your voice that you ignored. Tom licked his hand and cupped your sex with it, running the pads of his middle fingers through your folds a few times to collect the wetness between your legs. Gently, he guided his length into your opening

inch by inch, watching your face for any sign of discomfort before bottoming out.

You should’ve expected his dick to be big from his height, the size of his hands, his nose, whatever, but you hadn’t considered just how big. It was quite a stretch to take him fully, but he gave you all the time you needed to adjust and get comfortable. When you were ready, you bucked your hips up into his to give him the okay.

Tom took your permission to move and ran with it, grabbing your left leg and placing it over his shoulder before pressing you down further into the mattress with his body weight so he could thrust into you at a deeper angle.

You lifted your head to meet him to return to making out, the sensation of his tongue down your throat even more erotic now that he was inside of you, as well.

His thrusts were deep but not as aggressive as he had been with his fingers. He wouldn’t vocalize this, or even admit to himself that he was thinking this, but he wanted this to last. As much as it was supposed to be a hookup–emotionless sex–he found himself wanting it to happen again, despite his attempts to push those thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind.

One arm was thrown around Tom’s neck, hand gripping a fistful of his hair. Your other hand went down to your clit, beginning to rub circles to match the pace of his thrusts.

“You wanna cum again?” He teased, “Again, when I haven't cum once?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, playfully, slipping your finger down from your clit to lightly stroke the length of his cock that wasn't fully inside of you.

He let out a moan, eyes twinkling as he snapped his hips a little harder, snickering when you gasped in response.

Tom caught you in another kiss, resting his weight on his forearm that was positioned next to your head. You arched your back up into him, urging him deeper, which he obliged. “Touch yourself,” he said, disconnecting his mouth from yours just long enough to give the command.

You smiled into his lips, rubbing your clit again as his thrusts became sloppier and jerkier. He was holding on until you came again, despite his earlier cockiness. The moment he felt your walls tighten around him, he let go, spilling inside of you with a grunt.

He pulled out, rolling off of you to lay beside you.

Tom was still catching his breath, and you watched his chest heave for a few moments. “Hey, you okay?” He asked. “Everything alright?”

You smiled, nodding and reaching over to kiss him again. “I'm good, yeah. You?”

“Perfect, actually.” Tom smiled back at you. He found himself lost in the moment, lost in your eyes, lost in the connection you two had just had, and it was too much for him. Quickly, he sat up, ready to change the subject. “You need to clean up?”

You furrowed your brow at the sudden shift in his demeanor, but going along with it nonetheless. Despite him just having been inside you, you didn't feel like it was your place to mention the change. “Yeah. Can I?” You asked, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom.

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. Go ahead. Towels are above the sink.”

You flung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, heading toward the bathroom. “I’ll just clean off real quick, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“No, no, no. I mean, you can stay the night. If you’d like, that is. I could call you a car, though, if I’ve made some awful faux pas and you don’t want to look at me for another–”

“Tom.” He focused on you again after his brief spiral. “I would like to stay.”

He grinned. “Great, that's great.”

“Just let me–” You waved your hands around your lower body, “–clean all this up.”

“Yeah, of course, sure. I’ll be here.” He added the last part in a quasi-sing-song voice.

At the sound of the shower turning on, Tom rose to locate his clothes and try to clean up. He pulled his boxers back on, taking his dress shirt, pants, & jacket to be thrown into the hamper. They really should be dry-cleaned, he considered, but found that he couldn’t be bothered. As for your clothes, he wasn’t sure what exactly to do with them, so he laid your dress across a chair in the bedroom and left your bra and underwear on the floor. He was still considering whether he should pick them up or not when you came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your torso.

Once you had dressed in your undergarments again and Tom had given you an undershirt to sleep in, you started to wonder what all this meant. If it had just been a hookup, why were you staying the night? You had thought you’d feel dirty and disgusted with yourself, spending the night in someone else’s bed with someone else’s husband, but you didn’t. You didn’t know what that said about you, what it meant that you were perfectly comfortable talking into the night with Tom, both laughing and sharing stories long after you had agreed to turn the lights off and get some sleep. That almost made it worse, you thought, that it wasn’t just sex. That made it dangerous.

After you had drifted off, Tom spent a few minutes watching you sleep. He tucked a stray hair behind your ear, watching the worries of the day wash off your face while you slept. He knew it was wrong to be more comfortable in this bed with you than he was with his own wife. But that was something to deal with (or repress) in the morning. Here, now, with you wrapped in his and Shiv’s bedsheets, your form against his chest rising and falling with his breaths, he could pretend it was meant to be like this.

@swiftcession @greenwrldsz @zirrocom @lukas-matsson @ledtassoo @bluecruz97 @rita-lean @grainyimag3

#my fic #tom wambsgans #tom wambsgans x reader #succession

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plounce · 3 months ago

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was talking with oomves about my jerkwol (prior post about him), specifically how my only wolcred is that awful rabbit who thancred dumps for urianger, and a short summary of jerkwolcred+thanuri relationship history got erased so i ended up writing an extremely long summary. which is under the cut, along with a picture of jerkwol, the wol who all the scions justifiably don't want anything to do with. he finally has a name (lyelt)

btw trans woman urianger she/her pronouns. my city my rules my beautiful girl

in arr they were fwb, especially when thancred was veering into alcoholism in the patches. they weren’t especially emotionally close, but lyelt would say thancred was his favorite of the scions. they picked it back up in hvw patches - lyelt did mourn haurchefant bc “he was the ONLY ONE to always be there for me, to never criticize me, to always support me and only ever say nice things about me” (haurchefant was also at camp dragonhead most of the time.)

thancred was in a bad place. at his lowest. lyelt offered to pick up where they left off and thancred agreed. “finally, someone who doesn’t pity me, someone who doesn’t treat me like i’m about to fall apart, someone who doesn’t care about my feelings.” it’s not a bad time, they enjoy themselves, thancred gets a goal to pursue (making someone else feel good) and lyelt gets to be the center of attention with minimal expectation to reciprocate. although thancred stays awake for a long time after. leaves in the middle of the night. lyelt appreciates not having to deal with a morning after, so it’s never commented on. it’s easy (because thancred’s doing so bad).

they meet in the first. lyelt is happy to see him - thancred is mostly just focused on his emotional problems and doesn’t really expect to pick things back up again. during stb lyelt built up an image of thancred as "you'll put up with whatever and still stay standing like it's normal, you don't expect me to be faithful, you're handsome and witty, you’re not annoying and self-righteous, you put up a fight but never insist you're right.. maybe you could be the one?" (again, while thancred was not there) while thancred perceived them as “when we’re both in town and feel like it we’ll sleep together no-strings-attached. i respect you as someone incredibly powerful and important. i don’t expect much of you emotionally”. lyelt hits on him a couple times throughout il mheg when they’re alone, but thancred either doesn’t notice bc he’s so stressed or sort of brushes him off because it’s not the time.

post-titania, lyelt directly propositions thancred at the bookman’s shelves; thancred declines. he and urianger are almost maybe sort of kind of heading a certain direction, and while thancred’s still not sure if he’ll do anything about it (he doesn’t deserve her, after all, and in general he’s been keeping his heart locked up tight), he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, and in any case he just really isn’t in the mood. lyelt is still in the post-battle high and thinks he deserves something besides sleeping on a musty old rug in a dilapidated old cottage so he does not take the rejection well. he eventually gets thancred to say it’s because of urianger, which lyelt really doesn’t take well. lyelt has not ever really cared for urianger - ugly, weird, not important or especially useful. (he doesn’t actually care that much about the WoDs stuff bc he never cared much for minfilia either, but this will come to change once he pulls it into his pile of reasons to hate urianger.) lyelt wasn’t impressed by urianger’s makeover earlier and just thinks she looks awkward and strange (urianger is also not out to anyone besides thancred and ryne, who are the ones she’s been in contact with. the twins catch on pretty fast (due to at least one of them being trans) and start using they/them without saying anything. y’shtola will later directly ask her about it and she will tell her. but other than that she is a very private person and i don’t know if she ever tells lyelt about it - it’s a very tender vulnerable thing, for her, and from a childhood of being bullied she knows to hold all soft personal things close to the heart. not that lyelt would like. use that against her, i don’t want to make transmisogyny a part of his character bc that’s unpleasant, but i just don’t think she’d ever give him the info because she already feels socially threatened by him).

lyelt and thancred get into an argument (see the dialogue in the linked post at the top) (i did try to start writing this scene for ffxivwrite but im lazy, you can see the wip here + here), and while thancred has had [negative sims interaction icon] about lyelt before, this is the first time he’s truly gotten angry with him. lyelt is just pushing all the buttons he can to get back at thancred for the “insult” - thancred’s failures, their past history, and most awfully insults towards urianger - until thancred just storms off because that’s what he does in emotional stress. he goes to urianger and rests his head against her shoulder for a moment. she wordlessly strokes his hair until he straightens up.

as shb continues, lyelt continues negging thancred, being “subtly” rude to urianger (you know the way), and touching him in front of her. she just sort of looks away uncomfortably. she was vaguely aware of them sleeping together in arr (moenbryda told her), and is like… “ah. okay. i should have expected. maybe if i had said anything… done anything… but i’m just a coward. and i’m difficult - i want too much from him. i’m strange.” etc. but she doesn’t say anything. she has no claim over him, anyway. nothing was ever said or done. and with all the things that may be hurtling towards them, maybe it’s for the best. maybe they would have regretted it - if ryne sacrifices herself - when everyone finds out about the secrets she’s keeping for the exarch… it’s for the best. it’s for the best. she closes up. of course thancred would want someone more confident, more attractive, more in-control - less needy, less emotionally desperate, less weird, not someone who has caused so much pain to him. she was foolish for imagining, thinking, hoping… she was living in a bubble that has been popped by the warrior of light. it’s for the best. she can only be herself, and keep on track for the most important thing of all - keeping the exarch’s plan intact. even if everyone hates her, even if everything she wants falls from her hands.

after the attack on lakeland, when they’re making preparations to go to amh araeng, after ryne has told thancred she wants to give him what he wants, when thancred is again at his lowest, he gives in to the pressure (and the rush of pressing on the bruise and splitting it open into a wound, of making the wrong decision, of just giving somebody what they want) and they fall into bed. it kinda sucks. thancred does not finish. lyelt is mad at him because he’s distracted. “are you thinking about urianger?” “no, no, i’m just…” “well focus on what’s happening in front of you instead. i’m right here. i’m here.” after, thancred leaves before lyelt’s asleep. he goes back to his rooms and bathes. of course lyelt left marks. bastard. and then he leaves the washroom and ryne is packing - one small pile of things to take, one big pile of things to leave behind, and of course caving to lyelt didn’t help. everything important to him is crumbling around him despite him, because of him.

amh araeng. miserable crew for a road trip. urianger doesn’t know that they slept together. thancred knows that lyelt would use it against her - or against him. lyelt is mad at thancred for being a disappointing lay, and is mad at urianger and ryne for being the reasons why. lyelt does not really talk to or think about ryne - he’s never cared for children, and he isn’t fond of needy people, and ryne is very needy (due to being a traumatized child.). so i think a lot of the conversations between the wol and ryne don’t happen because he just brushes her off and she’s very intimidated by him, because he’s so confident. he knows exactly what he’s for and what he wants. unlike her. he doesn’t care what other people think about him. he’s the exact opposite of her.

urianger does what she does in canon: urge the wol to go to thancred and be there for him. she’s trying to let go gracefully, quietly. lyelt doesn’t know what to make of it: is she trying to sabotage him? what is she plotting? but he wants to get away from having to deal with ryne, and would rather leave that to urianger. imagine all the scenes where thancred tries to share about his past with minfilia but the wol is either tapping his foot and looking at his watch or trying to feel him up (trying to drive the wedge further, even if he’s still pissed off). eventually thancred pushes him away and heads back to twine on his own, deeply uncomfortable. he feels awful all around, and again he wants to seek out urianger for comfort - but he betrayed her, and he doesn’t know what to do about her, and most of his mind is just a giant tangle about ryne and minfilia and not knowing what to do - so he just avoids her. lyelt gets back and hands the heart over to urianger with a bit of a catty comment that urianger isn’t sure what to do with. thancred sees them talking and is terrified that he told her they slept together.

thancred watches urianger bring the talos to life and feels that same warmth and affection try to swell up within him that he felt so many times in the bookman’s shelves - and then he sees ryne run away and he’s back to feeling like shit. he watches urianger go to her and speak with her and be the guardian she’s always deserved and it’s that love curdling into self-hatred and - and lyelt says something incredibly unhelpful and callous and kind of cruel, and that’s what makes thancred walk away without saying anything in this verse.

urianger bids them farewell, hoping ryne lives. thancred makes his last stand, not sure if he hopes he’ll die - it would make everything so much easier. lyelt gets ryne the rest of the way, but doesn’t go with her into “that white and soundless place.” she emerges herself, her spine straight, and she doesn’t look to lyelt for reassurance. urianger finds thancred out in the desert bleeding out. he says some mostly incoherent but incredibly romantic things to her. she heals him through tears as the other scions arrive and help her, and once he’s stable they haul him to safety. thancred accepts ryne unconditionally and gives her her name. it’s a massive swoop of relief. he starts to think that everything might be okay. maybe he can move past the worst of himself. urianger is full of joy, yet also relief - they’ll be okay without her, when they won’t want her anymore, when she’s revealed for what she is. lyelt is picking at his nails to the side.

back at the crystarium. thancred is trying to talk to urianger, but she keeps making excuses. his mood dampens - she knows. but he keeps trying. if only because she isn’t really talking to anyone right now. y’shtola definitely isn’t talking with her except in hushed, urgent tones. the twins are occupied with saving the world, because they’re good souls. urianger will talk with ryne, though. so thancred ends up sticking pretty close, if only because lyelt comes and tries to find him when he’s alone, but avoids him when he’s with ryne. ryne ends up as a buffer between a lot of the adults in her life. she tries to ask urianger what’s wrong, why she’s so sad, but urianger gently deflects. it’s not her responsibility. which is both true (and something ryne “hypersensitive to adult moods” waters especially needs to hear) and also unhelpful because urianger is deeply miserable.

onward to kholusia. things keep hurtling forward. lyelt is enjoying being the big hero, and thancred is enjoying being a father, but is still very nervous about the whole lyelt mess just lurking in the wings. urianger is walking to her doom (from her perspective). yshtola is keeping a suspicious eye on her. yshtola knows that there’s drama happening but is not especially interested in it. she knows urianger is privy to the exarch’s plan, and she also knows that lyelt is an ass (as ever). y’shtola tries to figure out what’s up with her, but in a very blunt way that does not agree well with urianger’s current emotional state, so they get nowhere.

mt gulg. things come crashing down. when lyelt wakes up back at the crystarium, he seizes upon urianger as the (only available) person to pin all the blame to, and he does it with relish. finally, a way to be justified in how sick he has grown of urianger ruining everything! the villain in his life, and he’s free to be angry! so he says a lot of really horrible, cruel stuff and urianger just takes it. there’s not much she hadn’t already thought herself. and it’s what she deserves. but soon enough y’shtola and thancred come into the room and y’shtola gets between them and argues back (as she has always desperately wished to - everyone is getting to live out their deepest thoughts) and thancred ushers urianger out of the room, but not before lyelt can yell out the secret (“i fucked him, you know! right in this bed! who do you think you are?” etc etc) (i don’t think i’m mean enough to write his lines very easily lmao). thancred winces, lurches, but keeps them moving. y’shtola stays to try and get lyelt’s head on straight (impossible - he storms out). thancred takes urianger to his and ryne’s rooms, and he and ryne do their best to comfort her and to tell her that lyelt was taking it too far and that she is beloved and not to blame, but they don’t really succeed beyond urianger nodding her head and trying to placate them and trying to stop crying, the same as in the other room. thancred does his best to keep his head but eventually he has to make himself leave with the excuse of getting something to eat because he’s so angry at lyelt for his cruelty, and at himself for being a weapon in lyelt’s arsenal against urianger, and for all his past stupid decisions. they don’t talk about the last thing lyelt said. ryne doesn’t know exactly what happened, but this is the moment where her feelings towards lyelt change from intimidation/awe to wariness/dislike.

urianger kneels in apology at the amaro landing. y’shtola tries to stop her. the rest of the scions are deeply uncomfortable. urianger pledges all she can do, and lyelt says something that drives in her guilt and that she owes him for his “forgiveness.” alisaie nearly says something, but they all know he needs to stay in control of himself right now. the sky pulsed and flashed during his outburst at urianger earlier - that’s why y’shtola and thancred came in.

the tempest. everyone does what they must, because interpersonal disputes aside, they have a greater purpose. lyelt mostly just doesn’t want to die and wants this shit out of him. (very little sympathy for emet-selch - finds the whole production boring and tiresome. but that’s not what this summary is about)

they return. thancred and urianger sit down and talk, and they manage to do it like mature adults. during that, thancred apologizes for sleeping with lyelt; urianger says there’s no need, it’s not like they made any promises to each other; “but i had, in my head. i wanted to.” they acknowledge their feelings for each other in relief and gladness. thancred assures urianger that even if he ever saw lyelt as a romantic prospect, he certainly hasn’t for a long time and especially not lately, and “why would i, when such a beautiful, kind, intriguing, intelligent–” “oh, cease such flattery–” “-- gorgeous, patient, strong, incredible woman somehow thinks i’m worth her time?” and in the end, the secrets they had worried over mean very little to each other, and it’s easy enough to fall together as they’ve wanted to for so long, as they thought they might.

eden plays out a bit differently. urianger gets invited along on the initial excursion as a way to get her out of the crystarium and away from lyelt. wol presence is minimal if not nonexistent. waters family light party, at least for the first part. thancred negs urianger way less in this verse - when someone is being genuinely intentionally unkind to someone, teasing becomes much less appealing. (thancred does seem to find it easier to be his better self when there is someone being his worst self nearby: see ran'jit)

lyelt becomes very frosty to both of them once it’s apparent they’ve gotten everything they wanted and are together. “well, whatever. thancred hasn’t been fun for a long time. he betrayed me how many times? and here he is, hanging around the biggest traitor. it’s like everyone’s forgotten what urianger has done. well, i haven’t. and i won’t. it was to me, after all.” lyelt continues to bully urianger, and she never really stands up for herself against him. she still feels guilty, and while she doesn’t believe (most of) what he says, it’s just easier to let it slide off her back and not provoke him further. she remembers how this all works. thancred just does his best to act as a shield between them, and he wishes that moenbryda was here.

but eventually, things return to normal. lyelt vaguely “apologizes” for acting as he did when he was under a lot of stress. and the scions make themselves keep working with the only person who can save this world and their home world.

#chirps #ffxiv #robffxiv #jerkwol

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tititilani · 8 months ago

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Am I writing arguably my first thing in like two years for DBDA? Maybe. Do I even think it's any good? No. Do I particularly care? Also no.

This idea just wouldn't leave me alone so I banged it out in like three hours. Also fun fact, I wrote this partially by candelight because my power went out. Ambiance, anyone? I also posted this on my AO3 in case anyone wants to read this there instead. Just ignore any indiscrepancies in this, I just didn't care that much. <3

wash out the salt from my hands. 1.5 words.

Time moves differently than it does on Earth, as it turns out. Mostly pre-relationship Paineland.

He doesn’t think much of it, at first.

Charles is too caught up in relief, too relieved to have Edwin back where he can keep him safe again, to think about the weird phrasing.

“For decades.” Edwin says with a quiet hitch to his voice, more vulnerable than Charles can ever remember seeing him. He looks stripped down and vulnerable now, without the stiff bowtie and uniform that Charles is so used to seeing him in. Tear tracks mark his cheeks, cutting through the grime that seems to cover every inch of the hell pit they’ve found themselves in.

Their reunion is marred by the gruesome sounds of the last Edwin being devoured at the other end of the room and Charles can’t look too closely at the pile of corpses without getting enraged. He’s already angry at how long it took him to locate Edwin, how many times he had had to go through this loop before Charles could rescue him, but he knows where his priority lies now.

He wants nothing more than to clutch Edwin to him, stitch them together so closely that nothing could ever pry them apart again. He knows it’s not feasible (he’s checked) but he would stitch himself into Edwin’s ribcage without hesitation if it meant Edwin never had to come down to this place again. He also knows that now is not the ideal time for a big reunion, which can come after they are both safe.

“Well, I’m here now, so,” he says, pulling out a lit bomb from his bag and watching the flames glint in the depths of his best mate’s gaze.

“I have been dead for over a hundred and thirty years, after all, of course I should be the bait.”

Edwin’s tone is reasonable even if what he just said is not and he blinks when Charles levels him with a weird look because of it. Something in Charles lurches uncomfortably at the idea that Edwin should be bait for anything again, let alone a hungry beast that seems to specifically eat ectoplasm, and he’s immediately distracted away from it.

“Mate, you are not being bait. We can figure something else out that doesn’t end in you possibly being eaten.”

It’s been some months now since Charles gave a metaphorical finger to hell and rescued the other ghost but the idea of Edwin intentionally being put back in danger still scrapes over nerves that are far too raw. The Edwardian may look as though he is back to his normal posh self, all stiff bowties and perfectly parted hair but he has seen Edward flinch at enough dolls in enough windows to know he is not completely back to normal. Them managing to get Niko back was like slotting a missing puzzle piece back into Edwin’s frame but Charles still knew that there were pieces that could probably never be found.

Edwin frowns at him, fussing with his bowtie in a rare tell. “Per my books, this creatures likes older ghosts for its course – who else can we use?”

Charles thinks on the new and improved cricket bat tucked away in his bag. “I’ve been dead thirty years – should be enough to get the thing’s attention, yeah?”

“Absolutely not!”

(For once, Charles wins an argument.)

The witch is giving him the creeps.

One of her two eyes is bulging out far enough Charles is kind of worried it’s just going to...pop out. He’d try to catch Edwin’s eye but his nose is too far buried in one of the tomes the witch had given them to notice the way said witch is fixated on Charles. She seems to be mostly harmless at least, or at least hasn’t tried anything to make him reach for his bag but the way she is staring at him still has him on edge.

“Your bones are so old now but you are older still,” she tells him in a croaky old voice finally like it’s some sage wisdom and Charles just...has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that. Those books better be so worth it.

“Pretty sure my bones and I are the same age, ta,” he tells her in a voice he really hopes hides how completely bananas he thinks she is. He thinks she’s absolutely around the bend but is trying to play nice to make sure Edwin gets to play in her bookstore as long as he wants to. He’d be willing to deal with a lot worst things if it means he gets to enjoy the little sparkle that new books always put in Edwin’s green eyes.

The bulging eye bulges even more and he leans back in his seat a tad just in case there’s suddenly a splash zone. “Souls are aged by realms traveled,” she says in an even more grave tone while somehow making even less sense at the same time. He has no idea where Edwin has disappeared to in the books stacked precariously around the store but Charles hopes he surfaces soon.

Preferably before an eye falls into his lap or something.

It’s a dark night and Edwin’s head is in his lap.

There are no open cases at the moment, no one in the office, and an abandoned game of Cluedo is on the table. As ghosts, their sense of touch is almost completely nonexistent but Charles still swears that he can feel every strand of Edwin’s hair as he runs his fingers through it. He’s trying to be as gentle as he can be because Edwin deserves every scrap of gentleness Charles can give.

Edwin’s eyes are closed and that little wrinkle that is so common between his eyebrows has been smoothed away into unlined skin by Charles’ thumb. He can’t be super comfortable, his long legs draped over the other arm of the couch, but he also doesn’t seem inclined to move. Ghosts don’t have the ability to sleep or Charles would think Edwin had dozed off against his thigh.

They had been talking a little bit ago but that had faded off and for once, Charles didn’t feel the need to break the silence just yet. He has Edwin close and comfortable and safe and he finds he doesn’t need much else at this moment.

“I did not think I could have this,” Edwin murmurs finally, his tone soft and wondering. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, something Charles is momentarily grateful for. He knows that if Edwin looked up at him, moonlight in his emerald eyes, that there is nothing Charles wouldn’t do to give him anything. “A century in hell was almost worth it.”

Charles’ hand pauses. “A century?”

Maths was never his best subject in school but even he knows the difference between seventy years and a hundred years. The two of them are so tangled together on the couch that he can feel the moment tension returns to Edwin, tightening up his lanky frame and when he finally opens an eye to look up at him, he looks almost worried.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he finally says, voice hushed in the darkness of their office. “But time moves differently in hell. This last time in Port Townsend was about a decade. My first...visit was closer to ninety, I think.”

Charles’ hand spasms at that, the only thing keeping him from clenching it is the fact he doesn’t want to even accidentally pull on Edwin’s hair, even if it wouldn’t be felt. Edwin deserves so much gentleness. The sheer magnitude of how much time he had spent down in hell, fruitlessly attempting to outrun its horror, would make Charles sick if he still had a stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks finally when his urge to scream has faded. After another moment, he resumes petting Edwin and almost against his will, the other boy’s eyes slide closed.

“I did not want you to know how long I was down there,” Edwin says in a low voice. “I thought you might be angry.”

“Never,” Charles says fiercely, voice almost too loud in the quiet of their room. “I would never have left you down there, even if it had taken me a thousand years.” He swallows back everything else he wants to say, like the fact Edwin spent so much longer than even a few hours being tormented by a spider-doll demon makes Charles wish he had another doorway and a molotov cocktail or twelve.

I would tear hell apart for you. I will never let you be taken again. I love you.

He thinks it’s an okay time to say it but it lodges in his throat. Charles wants it to be a perfect time, not just an okay time. He didn’t need forever to figure out how he feels about Edwin but he has forever to make it just right. It is the least Edwin deserves.

He looks back down at Edwin to see he is already looking back and he was right – the moonlight in his eyes makes Charles want to give him anything, everything.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #paineland #chedwin #payneland #charles row #edwin payne #i have no idea what's the right ship name y'all rip #my writing #i had so many ideas and so little time for this but oh well #just me dipping my toes in

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