#WHEN LOVE IS GONE VERSION SUPERIORITY

[unelunebleuedort]

SO

This is THE christmas movie that i grew up with. My mom absolutely adores this movie and it has inhabited a sense of christmas in me where if i don't watch this movie during the christmas season, christmas didn't really happen.

We had this tradition in my family whilst I was a young growing child with a modest ability of learning morals and lessons through the osmosis of watching my peers, elders, and random movies. The scene is set. It is at least December (because we are proper americans with a sense of time of giving holidays their proper due. *looking at you target with your october christmas decorations) and my mother would decide it is time for yearly silver cleaning. For some reason, Thanksgiving was not granted the status of having clean silver for the holiday feast but christmas was. Some strange crossover of Unitarian Universalist, Protestant, and Catholic standards that I have yet to fully comprehend.

So, my mother would lasso my sister and I into a weekend night of polishing various items of silver plattery to a shining finish while watching "The Muppets Christmas Carol". The silver must be polished while watching this grand movie of christmas morals and dickens masterpiece. Now, my burgeoning mind did once wonder why we were polishing silver, a sign of wealth in past times, during a movie that purports to share/use the wealth to better your community; yet, such thoughts were put on the back burner once the Great Gonzo began his narration as Charles Dickens with his accompanying jester, Rizzo the Rat. The precocious child that I was identified and was more delighted by the antics of Rizzo throughout the movie. Who doesn't love Rizzo climbing through the gate bars and turning to the Great Gonzo with a puzzled expression declaring "What?"?

The movie would play on going through the ghosts of past, present, and future and I would continue to rub the silver to a shine with a random thought associated to Aladdin rubbing the gold lamp. However, never did a genie appear. Only a ghost on the screen playing out the wishes of Charles Dickens in a moral/life lesson. Yet, the polishing would always suffer and slow for the shine during the song/scene "When Love is Gone." This song and scene was one of the few that didn't have a muppet front and center so my young mind took notice of such a fact. Adults were playing and this was an adult mood. This scene played in stark contrast to the ones before and after it. The emotions didn't fit what the actors' faces were portraying. She's sad but she isn't crying and yet she's almost smiling. the current scrooge is crying but the past scrooge is almost mute in appearance. The emotions were next level for one as young as I ((at such time as I was watching it). Much like the movie "Inside Out", "The Muppets Christmas Carol" introduced another level of emotion. Unlike "Inside Out," "The Muppets Christmas Carol" was a more subtle approach where each year I watched during our traditional silver polishing, I gained another level of understanding and nuance of what was happening in that scene. She was bittersweet of a love that was, and now a love that was gone. She appreciated the love but lamented the love which has faded. S Present Scrooge cries and is despaired by the missed opportunity or mistake of his past self. His past self is stout and stoic due to his need to complete his career goals in sacrifice of his romantic ones. Each rewatching of this movie allowed me to see and discover how to describe each of the emotions I just previously mentioned.

Therefore, through 3 levels of maturity at our time of viewing (my mother, sister, and I) we all enjoyed a movie that was enlightening and engaging to both learning values and moral traditions. Leaving out such a crucial scene reduces the movie to a solely a more childish interpretation than one that can grow with the viewer. And any type of art that can evolves with the viewer and their evolution of self is massively superior to one that is restricted to one maturity/genre. Because each viewing, much like I still do to current day (with much less silver polishing and more other ADHD hand occupying techniques), provides a new interpretation and/or understanding that can contribute growth to a person's understanding of self/character.

OK THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL EVERYONE FUCKING REPEAT AFTER ME. THIS IS WHAT YOU WILL DO WHEN YOU WATCH MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL THIS YEAR:

You will navigate to the page on disney plus (and it has to be here. Unless someone has actually uploaded the REAL movie anywhere else you cannot get it elsewhere)

BUT YOU WILL NOT HIT PLAY. You won’t do it. Because it’s NOT THE REAL VERSION OF THE FILM AND DISNEY IS FUCKING LYING TO YOU AS IT ALWAYS DOES

You will scroll down HERE. To EXTRAS instead. You MUST GO HERE. This is non -negotiable

THEN YOU WILL SCROLL DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF THE EXTRAS AND YOU WILL THEN HIT PLAY ON THIS BAD BOY: THE FULL LENGTH VERSION

And you will watch it. And you will thank me for having been so blind and led astray by that stupid fucking mouse. You’re welcome.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Jaing Yanli's bad luck with sauce continues.

[lazy-ahh]

Oooooh superhero gn reader x Viltrumite mark, please! During the Invincible War, Mark goes to take reader back to his universe, saying he’s missed them and their life together. Reader rejects him, and makes a deal: if reader wins, Mark has to stop wrecking chaos on the planet. If mark wins, reader will go back with him and whatever ‘life’ they created. And reader ends up losing. :)))

THE WRONG UNIVERSE TO LOVE YOU IN

pairing viltrum! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

this one wants you back. the problem? you don't belong to him. you belong to the mark who loves eve, the mark who will never know you loved him first, the mark whose laugh still echoes in your dreams. now, as his fingers wipe blood from your face with terrifying gentleness, reality splits open: stay and die for a love that was never yours, or let him steal you away to a world where you were his—where you'll always be second to a ghost of yourself. (he promises to be better. you almost believe him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

the sky is bleeding red when he finds you—a sickly crimson streaked with smoke, the air thick with the scent of burning metal and charred flesh. the distant wails of sirens blend into the chaos, a symphony of destruction that never seems to end.

you’re panting, your bruised knuckles pressed into the cracked pavement as you push yourself up, every muscle screaming in protest. the city around you is a graveyard—skyscrapers reduced to skeletal husks, streets littered with bodies, some still twitching, others long gone. the invincible war has turned your world into a slaughterhouse, and standing in the middle of it all, untouched by the ruin, is him.

mark grayson.

but not your mark.

this one is different—sharp where your best friend is soft, his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes dark with something unreadable. there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a coldness in his stare that makes your stomach knot. he wears the viltrumite empire’s uniform, the sleek, lighter armor a stark contrast to the torn superhero costumes scattered around you. a few blood stains littered the fabric, some of it still fresh, glistening under the firelight. it’s not just from battle—no, this mark wears it like a trophy.

you had just finished killing other variants of him, their lifeless eyes staring up at you, their faces so familiar it made your hands shake. you mourned them, grieved for the versions of you in their worlds who must have loved them as fiercely as you love yours. your breath still comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding not just from exhaustion, but from the weight of what you’ve done.

and then he arrived.

this mark moves with a predator’s grace, his steps measured, his shoulders squared with the confidence of someone who’s never lost. there’s a quiet intensity in the way he surveys the wreckage—like a king surveying his domain. but when his eyes land on you, something shifts. the cold superiority in his gaze softens, just for a second, before he schools his expression back into something unreadable.

"there you are," he says, voice low, almost reverent, like he’s been searching through a thousand broken worlds just to find you. the way his eyes trace over you—lingering on the blood smeared across your cheek, the way your chest heaves with exhaustion—makes your skin prickle. it’s not relief in his tone. it’s claiming.

and you realize, with a sinking dread that coils like ice in your gut, that this isn’t over. it’s only beginning.

"missed you," he murmurs, the words rough, scraped raw from his throat. his voice is different from your mark’s—deeper, edged with a hunger that makes your pulse stutter. he says it like he’s been holding it in for years, like he’s carved the words into his ribs just to keep them close.

your chest tightens, heart hammering against your sternum. you’ve heard the stories—whispers of alternate marks, warped by viltrum’s cruelty, ripping through dimensions to drag back what they think belongs to them. and now he’s here, standing in the wreckage of your city, looking at you like you’re a ghost he’s been chasing. like you’re already his.

"you don’t even know me," you spit, swiping the back of your hand across your split lip. the metallic tang of blood coats your tongue, bitter and familiar.

he tilts his head, considering you with a gaze that feels like a physical touch. "i know enough," he says, voice dropping into something dangerously soft. "in my world, you were mine." his thumb brushes over a streak of dirt on your jaw, possessive and tender all at once. "we had a life. a future." his eyes darken, something feral flickering behind them. "i’m taking you back."

your fists clench, nails biting into your palms hard enough to draw blood. you think of your mark—the boy who scraped his knees racing you down suburban streets, whose laughter was always a little too loud, a little too bright. the one who looks at eve like she hung the stars, while you’ve spent years swallowing down words that taste like rust and regret.

"what happened to me?" you choke out, the question tearing from you like a wound ripped open. "in your world. did i—" your voice fractures. "did i love you too? or did you just force me to?"

his pupils dilate, just slightly, the only crack in his controlled facade. for a heartbeat, he looks almost human. "you begged me to stay," he says, low and rough, like the memory is a blade twisting in his gut. "the night before the viltrumite fleet came. you held onto me like you knew." his jaw tightens. "then they burned our world to ash. but you—" his thumb presses against your pulse point, a mockery of tenderness. "you were always meant to survive."

the air leaves your lungs. you can see it—some other version of you, screaming as the sky split open, clinging to a monster because they didn’t know he’d become one.

"no."

his expression darkens—not like a storm rolling in, but like a door slamming shut. the brief vulnerability in his eyes snuffs out, pupils contracting into something cold and calculating. his jaw tightens, the muscle flexing as his teeth grind together, like he’s biting back words he’ll never say. the softness that had flickered across his face for just a second hardens into something unreadable, the lines of his face sharpening into a mask of imperial discipline.

but his eyes—oh, his eyes. they’re not just empty. they’re hungry.

the way he looks at you isn’t just possessive. it’s devouring. his gaze drags over you like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance, like he can’t wait to break it apart and remake you into something that fits in the hollow of his hands. his lips twitch, not into a smirk, but into something far more dangerous—a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile that says, you think you have a choice?

and then, just like that—it’s gone. his face smooths back into viltrumite indifference, as if that momentary crack in his armor had never existed. but you saw it. you felt it. and that’s what terrifies you the most. "you don’t get a choice."

"then fight me for it," you snap, surging forward until your forehead hovers a breath away from his, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to count the flecks of gold in his darkened eyes. the scent of smoke and iron and something uniquely him clings to the space between you, thick enough to choke on. he doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even breathe—just holds your gaze with a half-lidded, almost lazy intensity, like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved.

then his eyes drag downward, slow and deliberate, lingering on the part of your lips, the quickened rise and fall of your chest. there’s no shame in it, no pretense—just hunger, plain and unapologetic. your pulse stutters. for one terrifying second, you almost falter, because this isn’t the look of a conqueror assessing his enemy.

it’s the look of a man remembering how you taste.

"if i win, you leave this planet alone. if you win…" your voice wavers as a memory blindsides you—your mark’s face, soft in the moonlight on his rooftop, his fingers brushing yours as he smiled at you with something warm and unreadable. you’d let yourself imagine, just for a second, that it was love. that it could be you.

now, you’re bargaining with a ghost of him.

"i’ll go with you," you whisper.

he grins finally, all teeth, but still disciplined—like he’s savoring the way your breath hitches when he leans in. "deal."

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the battle is brutal.

you’re strong—strong enough to have shattered the ribs of other marks, strong enough to have left their bodies broken in the rubble of this war. but him? he’s something else entirely. every hit he lands cracks through your bones like fault lines, every impact vibrating through your teeth until your jaw aches. you dodge, but you’re always a half-second too slow, his fist grazing your cheekbone hard enough to send stars exploding across your vision.

and the worst part? he’s smiling. small and private just for you, but still there.

not the sharp, cruel grin of a conqueror—no, this is lazy, almost playful, like he’s savoring the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way your muscles scream as you push yourself beyond limits that should have broken you already. he’s toying with you, you realize with a sickening lurch. not because he needs to, but because he wants to see how long you’ll last.

"you took down six of them," he muses, catching your fist mid-swing like it’s nothing, his fingers tightening until your knuckles creak in protest. "six of me." his voice drops, something almost like pride curling through it. "that’s not nothing."

then his knee slams into your gut, and the world blurs.

you don’t even feel the moment his fist collides with your ribs—just the sickening crunch, the way your body folds around the impact before you’re hurled backward, crashing through concrete and steel like paper. debris hails down around you, dust choking your lungs as you gasp, vision swimming in and out of black.

when the ringing in your ears fades, he’s already there, crouched beside you with all the casual grace of a predator who’s never known fear. his fingers brush the hair from your face, smearing blood across your temple in a mockery of tenderness.

"you put up a good fight," he murmurs, thumb dragging over your split lip. his voice is almost fond, like he’s praising a well-trained weapon. "stronger than most. smarter, too." his grip tightens, just slightly, forcing your gaze up to his. "but you were never gonna win."

your body screams—muscles torn, bones fractured, blood pooling beneath you like a second shadow. but the pain in your chest is worse, a hollowed-out wound no advanced viltrumite healing could ever fix. you think of your mark—his stupid, lopsided smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the light in his eyes when he looked at eve—a light that was never, ever for you.

and now you’ll never tell him.

"promise me," you whisper, the words slick with blood, metallic and bitter on your tongue. there’s so much more you want to say—begging, pleading things that claw at your throat like trapped birds. promise me you’ll love me. promise me i won’t just be another trophy. promise me you won’t get bored and break me when i’m no longer new. promise me you won't throw me aside like he did. but all that comes out is: "promise you’ll leave this world alone."

mark’s thumb drags across your cheekbone, smearing dirt and blood in a mockery of gentleness. his touch is warm, almost reverent, like you’re something precious instead of something stolen. "i promise," he says, and for a heartbeat, his voice is so soft it almost sounds like the boy you knew.

then his arms lock around you, lifting you against his chest like you weigh nothing. the sky splinters above you—crimson and gold and burning, the last beautiful thing you’ll ever see.

(and somewhere, in another life, your mark screams your name, raw and shattered, as the rubble of your city collapses around him. but you’re already gone, and the universe does not care.)

1.9k words full of my number one favourite invincible variant!! thank you so much to the anon who requested this one-shot heheheh <33

[moonchild1]

jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅸ)

hi everyone wow it's really been a while and i'm on list 9 already damnnn that's alot and list 10 is like half way complete already... soooo you might notice a change in the set up this time around i liked how it looked on my ao3 list so i added it here as well, i absolutely love this list like i've gone over this list a million times it's filled with alot of fics i was absolutely obsessed with, you know how attached i get to the characters and this list holds quite a few of them too so i hope you enjoy reading them as much as i did and you fall for them too... remember to give lots of love to the authors of these fics they are absolute geniuses and deserve all the respect and love in this world for creating these beautiful fics and sharing it with us so be sure to give them a follow, like and reblog or even leave a little comment i'm 100% percent sure it would mean alot to them 🥺🖤 also as these fics contain smut no under minors allowed/interact... if you would like to share some of your favourites or just wanna ramble about fics you love send me an ask i love hearing from you guys and happy reading everyone till next time ✨🖤

a- angst s- smut f-fluff

series

dreamcatchers by @ggukcangetit f a

↬  DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.  

block party by @minlucent f s a

↬ moving into your new apartment brings back memories of your biggest mistake. neighbours au e2l

a little bit of your heart by @yoongiofmine f s a ft. myg

↬ you had everything you could ever dream of; the career of your dreams as a music producer, the best friends you could ever wish for, and a exes-turned-friends-turned-fuck-buddies relationship with min yoongi. you knew you and yoongi would never move past that and you were okay with it. Until a friend from your past comes back into your life, offering to give you everything you deserve, everything yoongi couldn’t. Will jungkook show you what you’ve been missing? Or will the new guy threaten yoongi enough to do something about it? 

lost stars by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Jungkook was lost. He didn’t know who he was anymore, so he decided to leave and find himself. But he wasn’t expecting to find you along the way, an island girl who has no idea who he is. Jungkook has a secret. But so do you. idol au s2l

secrets we keep by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Being a camgirl was never your main goal in life, but when the pandemic hit and you lost your job, you were desperate. Now, two years later, the world is back to normal and  you are one of the top creators of OnlyChingu; the South Korean version of OnlyFans. A website where idols hide behind anonymous profiles in search of that connection they lost during lockdown. Jungkook was never into this type of stuff. Until he ran into you. He knows you’re his perfect girl, his ideal type. Will he be able to put his own insecurities aside when chasing you? Or will you let the secrets you keep ruin you? idol au

i hate you, i love you by @jungblue s a

↬ You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends… and you’re absolutely in love with him; he’s in love too—just not with you. 

fatal attraction by @jungcock s a ft. kth

↬ your dangerous ex-boyfriend comes back to haunt you in more ways than one. exes au serial killer thriller

pub golf by @taleasnewastime f s

↬ One night. One stupidly hot man, who just keeps appearing in every pub you go to. Six friends. Nine pubs. Nine drinks. Ten million stupid rules. Let the chaos begin. s2l

animal by @cutaepatootie f s a

↬ boxer jungkook au ANGST

things you don't know by @btsgotjams27 a

↬ It’s been seven years since you last saw the boy that broke your heart. After moving back home, you try everything you can to avoid seeing him around town, but destiny has a wicked way of doing the opposite.

entangled by @caelesjjk f s a ft. kth

↬ Jeon Jungkook is Spider-Man. He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend. You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well? Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world. What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.

when the end comes by @oddinary4bts f s a

↬ Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

new girl by @jjkeverlast f s a

↬ after finding out your boyfriend of 6 years cheated on you, you find yourself moving in with three guys in a loft. what could possibly go wrong?

horizon by @/sokooks f s a

↬ The way you approached life had started to break down Jungkook's emotional barriers. Jungkook couldn't deny that he was drawn to you in a way that was entirely new and unfamiliar. You had become more than just an assignment; you had become someone he genuinely cared about. It was the way you made him feel. With you, he felt more human than he had in a long time. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, his heart had other plans. angel au

searching for nirvana by @/sokooks f s a

↬ he shouldn't be here. he shouldn't be touching you the way he was- but he was here before him. he was your friend, not him. he knew your body, not him. he wanted to be the only one to touch you the way you liked. he he wanted you to remember that. despite the fact that he already had someone waiting for him. best friends au cheating au.

twelve hours by @whatifyoulivelikethat s a

↬ you have twelve hours to make jeon jungkook fall in love with you. he's about to get married. you're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

when it all... by @7deadlysinsfics f a

↬ what’s there to do when your husband says he thinks he doesn’t love you anymore? you pick up the broken pieces the best you can and try to move on

better than me ? by @/7deadlysinsfics f s a

↬ jungkook is clear on what you both are to each other. still, he doesn’t want you to think anyone else is better than him

our first and our last by @thedefinitionofbts f a ft ot7

↬ The first time you met Jeon Jungkook was on your tenth birthday. On that day, he was nothing more than the strange man who jumped into a dark portal that suddenly opened in the middle of the park. The ten year old you just stood in the grass, strands of hair ruffling from the calm breeze that swooped by; head slightly tilted, bright, innocent eyes wide open and staring at him with wonder and disbelief. There was a certain amount of confusion, but your young mind was too naïve to question his actions or what they entailed. soulmate au

dancer in the dark by @gwoongi f s a

↬ Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him. rockstar au

together by @httpjeon f s a ft.pjm

↬domestic!au, couple!au, stoner!au, gamer!au

hot bot by @/httpjeon f s

↬ purchasing a Hot Bot wasn’t exactly something you ever really planned on. when you do, however, it sends your life down a path of convoluted government schemes and dark secrets.

stardust by @iamtaekooked f

↬ You didn’t believe in soulmates until you lay your eyes on Jeon Jeongguk, the younger brother of your best friend’s husband. That is when you see the red string beginning encircled around your pinky and ending in his

serendipity by @rohobi f s a

↬ After you reveal your inexperienced sexual status to your best friend, Jungkook grapples with the news, startled by the idea that the girl he always thought could get anyone, is a virgin. After finding his porn at 3AM, you decide that maybe it’s about time to stain the white sheets of your world with the colors of a forbidden fruit Jungkook seems to have in the palm of his hands.

chasing shadows by @colormepurplex2 s a

↬ Your job gets you into trouble sometimes. Who would have thought crime journalism would put so many targets on your back? But, it’s happening again, someone’s threatening you. Only, this time, it’s not just you that’s in the crosshairs. Your best friend, Enola, is out on assignment and can’t help like she usually does. So, what does she do instead? She sends her brother, Jungkook, armed with a magic bag, a charming smile, and deductive reasoning skills that prove his worth as one of the best PI’s around.

I gasp once, and in that breath, I accept you in by @inkofyoonkoo f s a

↬ In which Jungkook arrives to your small town to spend the holidays, and you slowly let go of all the ghosts of your past. s2l fwb au

sweet nothing by @adonis-koo f s a

↬ Being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself. His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

three's a crowd by @/adonis-koo s a ft. jimin

↬ When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was supposed to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation… ceo au

sleepwalking by @taexual f s a

↬ due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

empty space by @ahundredtimesover f s a

↬ It started as friendship, turned to a casual fuck, then ended in heartbreak. Turns out, he wasn’t who he said he was, and years later he enters your life again, forcing you to face all the emotions you’d been trying to bury. 

OR Officer Jeon looks really hot in his uniform and you wish you didn’t hate him as much as you do.

as the world burns around us by @today-we-will-survive a

↬ You haven’t seen the sun in two years. The Virus wiped out a good three quarters of the world’s population and then the wars that followed wiped out half of that. After everything happened, it was only a matter of time before the different countries started blaming each other and emptied their nuclear arsenals. You’re still surprised Seoul survived – if you can call what it has become “surviving”

hotter than hell by @chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

to turn a bad thing good by @/chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night—and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had.

J’aime by @baepop f s a

↬ You’re the newest hire at a local café and head barista Jeon Jungkook takes you under his wing.

Written in the Stars by @/baepop f s a ft. kth

↬ You’re the girl of Jungkook’s dreams, literally. The only problem: you’re taken by his best friend

make me forget by @roseannekook f s a

↬ You are the lead vocalist and main dancer of your company’s first girl group, but on the fourth promotion of your debut song things don’t go as planned. At the brink of an uprising scandal, you seek refuge in the bathroom stalls…and find it in the arms of no one else but BTS’ golden maknae Jeon Jungkook.

one of your girls by @ggukiepie s a ft. pjm

↬ fwb au college au fuck boy au inspired by the song

boy in luv by @/ggukiepie f s a

↬ just two idiot best friends in l*ve college!au, bff!jk, athlete!jk, student council president oc, cheerleader!oc

the boy who left by @/gujoonim a

↬ As your eyes staring deeply into your possible client-to-be’s eyes, something crossed your mind, it was that pair of eyes that you were looking for when you being abandoned at the aisle on your wedding day. ceo au

love sewn by @jvnghxope s a

↬ You’ve never cared about the thin-as-paper walls of your beloved apartment until Jeon Jungkook moved next door. You could hear everything –from his late-night parties on Saturday, to the quality time he spent with his girlfriend in the intimacy of his bedroom. One day, everything ceases. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and you find yourself knocking his door before you can think it twice.

not yet by f s @bratkook f s a

↬ jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship.

one shot

blazes of deceit by @periminkle f a

↬ when the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide. tangled au disney au

southpaw by @starshapedkookie f s a

↬ Knowing Jeon Jungkook for the better part of your life, you thought you knew everything about him. Well, that was before you two disappeared from each other’s lives at least. When Jungkook suddenly finds himself buying you a coffee to rekindle your friendship, it leads to much more than you bargained for.

house of cards by @jeonggukingdom s a

↬ What does safe mean when you are chased by zombies, when every corner you turn could be the last one for you? What do words like home and future mean when you’re always on the run and every moment could be your last? They mean nothing and everything at the same time and Jeongguk is all of the above. He is your safe haven, he is your home and he is your future. But things like that crumble easily in your world.

enouement by @littlemisskookie s a

↬ War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook. mulan au disney au

miss taken by @junghelioseok f s

↬you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience. single parent dilfjk jk e2l

the ex text by @shadowkoo f s a

↬ The 2 AM texts have started again. It’s a bittersweet familiarity that you can’t run away from, and despite wishing to forget him: no one will ever measure up to the exceptional standard set by your ex, and you’ll never have anyone as good as him either. Like a permanent mark on your heart, Jungkook’s presence has become an insatiable craving, an addiction you'll never outgrow or cast aside.

the proposal by @hansolmates f s a

↬Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. based on the movie the proposal e2l

red and gold by @/thedefinitionofbts f s

↬It’s no secret that genius, billionaire, international playboy, and philanthropist- Jeon Jungkook, better known as the CEO of Jeon Industries-and even better known as Iron Man, is one of the most intelligent, wealthy, and powerful men in the world. There’s nothing that can get to him or his ego, that is, until you happen to show up and give him a run for his money. 

burning bright by @snackhobi s

↬there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you. based on the movie pacific rim

but we loved young by @jl-micasea-fics s a

↬Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed.

the shoulder on which you cry by @lemonjoonah f s a ft. knj

↬ after moving away from your hometown five years ago, you’ve struggled on every return. each trip back being made out of haste due to an unfortunate event in your life. namjoon has always been there to help you through those moments. but when he can’t be there to support you during your current trip home, jungkook offers to stay by your side and be the comfort you need. 

illusion of choice by @hobibliophile f s a

↬ You’ve grown up with the Jeons, Jungmin and Jungkook, for as long as you can remember, your parents being very close. But little did you know that this is because you are in fact arranged to be married to the Jeon heir, Jungmin. However, a tragedy causes Jungkook to take up his brother’s mantle, and that includes becoming your fiancé.

the blue princess and her red rose by @/cutaepatootie f s a

↬ After all, he was her red rose, while she was just another one of the many blue roses that grew in the dying gardens of Greyria. princess au

rigor mortis by @readyplayerhobi f s a

↬ A night out at a bar results in you going home with a young and attractive police officer. But if you think the night was something to remember, that’s nothing compared to waking up to find a zombie outbreak in the city. A chance encounter with Officer Jeon leads to him helping you escape from the plague infested city.

lowkey by @joonbird s

↬ Jungkook is the nude model for your art school’s life drawing class.

part-time lover by @sketchguk f s a

↬there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school. only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time. 

sweet apple biscuits by @rosaetae a

↬ a story about someone who receives letters from themselves ten years in the future and asks them to fix all their regrets and save a particular boy. inspired by the anime 'orange'

i'll be home by @wwilloww f s a ft.knj

↬ When your first love, Jungkook, disappeared from your village five years ago, no one thought he would return, let alone on the night of your betrothal to another man. 

white lies by @noteguk f s a

↬ in which Jungkook lies his way out of and into trouble. But he can’t tell white lies when it comes to you. 

yes coach by @/taleanewastime s

↬ You play in a local netball team and as a new season starts you have a new coach. Enter Jungkook, he may look soft, but he turns out to be a hard taskmaster, one who ruffles your feathers when he makes some changes to the team. Tensions grow between you through the weeks, until they finally reach breaking point.

spf 50 by @gimmeyoon f s

 ↬ If you have to spend your summer home from college working a job you hate, it might as well include sitting by the pool with Jungkook. Now if only kids could stop vomiting in it.

fifth wish by @jiminrings f a

↬ jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead? alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you.

blacklisted by @/httpjeon s a ft. kth

↬after departing from your dom, you’re assigned to two incredibly powerful men.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

[narxcisse]

★ — As screwed as me? (HCs)

Pairing: Jimmy x Equally Screwed-Up!GN!Reader

CW: Jimmy himself is a warning, technically Reader is a CW too, toxic relationship, manipulation, gaslight, emotional blackmail, possible violence and abusive behavior, co-dependency, trauma bonding, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessiveness, isolation, spiraling together, reckless actions, jokes about trauma and morally questionable behaviors, brief implicit mention of what happened with Anya,mutual sabotage. Don't romanticize these atrocities irl

English isn't my native language

Fights are explosive, filled with yelling, manipulation, and even physical intimidation—but you both thrive on it. You don’t break up; just let the tension simmer until find some twisted way to make up.

You both make jokes about your trauma and chaotic tendencies, laughing at things that would horrify most people. It’s your way of coping, and you love how no one else “gets it.”

Both of you are hyper-critical of the world around u, often tearing apart societal norms and other people’s behavior while secretly being just as bad, if not worse.

The relationship is a constant battle for dominance. Jimmy loves feeling in control, but you knows how to flip the script and push his buttons when he gets too cocky.

Unintentionally (or intentionally) isolate each other from the outside world. Jimmy is possessive, and you're territorial, so you often justify cutting off friends or potential allies to keep the relationship intact.

While rarely admit vulnerability outright, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You see through each other’s facades, and it’s both comforting and terrifying.

You love doing dangerous or impulsive things together, whether it’s vandalism, sneaking into restricted areas, or playing psychological games with unsuspecting people. It’s their version of “date night.”

When one of you is spiraling, the other doesn’t necessarily help— just spiral together. You feed off each other’s energy, creating a cycle of self-destruction that feels weirdly satisfying.

You don’t trust anyone but each other. Even when you hate each other, you’re both convinced no one else could possibly understand or handle you, only you can stand each other.

Despite everything, there are moments of genuine affection. Jimmy might pull you into his lap and mumble something about how you’re the only one who’s “real.” You in return might patch him up after a fight, calling him an idiot but staying close anyway.

You admire each other’s cleverness and cunning but are always trying to one-up each other. It’s like a toxic game of chess where no one ever wins.

You have dark, borderline cruel inside jokes about people you’ve manipulated or situations you’ve sabotaged. It’s your way of feeling superior and bonded.

(You probably have one about Anya and what Jimmy did to her.)

Neither of you could imagine life without the other, even though you know the relationship is unhealthy. You’re too far gone to let go.

Jimmy will gaslight you into thinking the fights are your fault, but he’ll also kiss your forehead afterward and promise you’re the only one who matters. You play the same game, leaving Jimmy guessing whether you love or loathe him.

If one of you tries to improve, the other will feel threatened and subconsciously (or deliberately) drags them back down.

No matter how much you hurt each other, you always come back. You’re addicted to the chaos, the drama, and the feeling of being seen—even if it’s through a cracked mirror.

You don’t need to say much to communicate. A raised eyebrow, a smirk, or a slight tilt of the head is enough to get your point across, especially when you’re plotting something together.

You tease each other mercilessly about your weaknesses or past mistakes, but if anyone else dares to do the same, you become a united front of pure wrath.

You’re the most “at home” when things are chaotic. Quiet, stable moments make you both uneasy, and one of you usually stirs up trouble to restore the normalcy of your dysfunction.

You’re not above using each other’s vulnerabilities to get what you want, but it’s almost like a game—you both know what’s happening and let it slide because you’d do the same thing in reverse.

Instead of normal couple activities, your “dates” involve things like watching the world burn (metaphorically or literally), staking out a place for a potential con, or picking apart other people’s relationships while drinking cheap whiskey or red bull.

You both laugh the hardest when things are falling apart. Whether it’s your lives or someone else’s, the absurdity of it all fuels your bond.

Jimmy gets irrationally jealous if you shows interest in someone else, even in passing. But instead of addressing it maturely, he’ll find subtle ways to remind you who you belong to. What do you do? Flirt back just to see how far you can push him.

Both of you have physical or emotional scars that sometimes compare, almost competitively. You act like they’re bragging, but deep down, it’s a weirdly vulnerable bonding moment.

Instead of saying “I love you,” you’ll say things like, “Don’t screw this up,” or “You’re lucky I tolerate you.” Yet, there’s a warmth in your tone that says everything.

You both live for the adrenaline rush—whether it’s Jimmy pulling off a risky scheme or you egging him on. When things calm down, you get restless and look for the next thrill.

You’re honest to the point of cruelty, especially when calling out each other’s flaws. Yet, secretly value that honesty because it’s proof you’re not being lied to (at least not about that).

Despite the toxic tendencies, you're fiercely protective of each other. Jimmy might be a manipulative mess, but if someone even looks at you the wrong way, he’ll make sure they regret it. And you’d burn the world for him, even if you’re the one who started the fire in the first place.

When one of you is down, the other doesn’t offer soft encouragement. Instead, it’s more like, “Get up. We’re not done yet,” or “Don’t let them win. That’s our job.”

You validate each other’s worst traits. Jimmy praises your ruthlessness, and you admire his cunning, even when it’s clearly harmful. It’s a vicious cycle that neither of u wants to break.

You know things about each other that no one else does—things so dark or personal that would horrify others. Instead of using it as leverage, you let it fester as a reminder of your unspoken loyalty.

The fights escalate quickly, with both of u knowing exactly where to hit to hurt the most. But after the dust settles, you act like nothing happened, as if the screaming matches are just part of the routine.

After a bad day, Jimmy might rest his head on your lap or chest while you absentmindedly play with his hair. Or just sit in silence together, sharing a cigarette, no words needed.

No matter how much you mess with each other, you’re in it for the long haul. If Jimmy is going down, you're going with him—and vice versa.

It’s not healthy, and you both know it. But in your twisted, screwed-up way, you "genuinely" care for each other. Your love might be sharp-edged and destructive, but it’s still love, at least from your point of view.

[peekofhistory]

Hello there! I recently discovered your blog and it's really wonderful resource. I have a question and maybe you would be able to answer. From what I know the mourning garments are white, and I've seen some in movies or dramas. But I also saw many hanfu or hanfu-like costumes in dramas that predominately use white as a color for characters. So I am a bit confused, if what is considered mourning garment is much different (in style or in cut)? or the white clothes in dramas are just something modern and for aesthetics? I hope I'm making sense here.. Anyways, cheers and thanks in advance!

Unf, such amazing questions, I love it ❤️❤️

I'm going to answer this one very carefully because I don't want to get screamed at for "gatekeeping" 😆 Right off the bat I'm going to put a disclaimer:

Whatever show you enjoy, whichever actor/actress you like, you do you and have a good time. What I'm going to write is ONLY some trends in Chinese TV/movies over the past few decades, I'm not saying any show isn't "good", please don't hate me.

You're absolutely correct that historically, Chinese mourning clothes are white, but not just white, the material is also important. The actual term for mourning is "披麻戴孝" so if we break the words down:

披 (pi) = to wear on the body (like a cape) 麻 (ma) = hemp (fabric) 戴 (dai) = to wear, to hold, to have 孝 (xiao) = filial piety, show honour and love towards one's parents

So it's wearing white hemp and some sort of white fabric on the head to express one's respect for an elder. Mourning wear is only for those who are older than you (ex. parents, grandparents, older siblings, etc.), of a higher rank, or in some cases your superior (ex. solders in a battalion wearing mourning clothes when their captain passes).

I'll use some screenshots from the 1994 version of Romance of the Three Kingdoms as an example:

Pic 1-3: The emperor has passed away in this situation so everyone is in full mourning attire. His court (pic 1), his concubine (pic 2), his kid (pic 3). If you enlarge the image, you'll see the material they're wearing is quite rough-looking (best seen in pic 3, the other images' resolution aren't great).

Pic 4-6: In this funeral, the Wu Kingdom's Commander of the naval forces has passed away, so almost everyone is in full mourning because that's a very high rank.

Pic 5: You'll see the man on the right isn't in mourning because he's head of the Wu Kingdom, so his rank is higher than the Commander, therefore he doesn't wear mourning clothes.

Pic 6: This man is a visitor and frenemy of the Commander. He's coming from the Shu (Han) Kingdom and because they're not from the same Kingdom, there's no consideration of whose rank is higher or lower. Therefore, he's only worn a strip of white cloth over his hair out of respect (he technically doesn't even need to wear that). Now, obviously, even though he's not required to wear white hemp mourning clothes, it's not a good idea to show up in flashing pink or electric orange (very disrespectful), so he's gone with a soft, pale blue

Pic 7: In this image, a distant relative of the leader of the Shu (Han) Kingdom has passed away (at this point in the show the Kingdom hadn't been established, so he's only the head of a province). This particular relative is younger than everyone present, so; a) he's not ranked above them b) he's not older than them

Therefore, none of them are in full mourning, but they've tied a white cloth to their belt to express respect.

The man in blue, on the right, with the black hat is a visitor from the Wu Kingdom, so much like in Pic 6 he's coming to pay respect to someone not from his Kingdom (doesn't matter the rank) and not his senior) so he's not in mourning clothes (he doesn't even have a white cloth at his belt when he turns around).

So yes, white is traditionally a mourning colour but not all white coloured clothing is for mourning. If you're wearing a white silk robe with embroideries and designs, that's not considered mourning clothes.

Now, having said that, traditionally people still tried to stay away from full on, completely white outfits from head to toe. It's just not a lucky colour to wear. A jacket that's white, or a skirt that's white with a coloured border or some colourful accessories, not a big deal, but if you're going full white in everything...just, no, lol.

As for the Chinese period dramas/movies of today...that's a really deep well to dive through. I'll try to summarize it here and do more detailed posts later on.

TV dramas/movies are never 100% historically accurate, I'm sure everyone knows this, and we don't expect them to be. But for the Chinese entertainment industry it's been becoming less and less accurate in the last 20-25 yrs or so. In terms of clothing/make up/hair/set design/aesthetics in general, there's debate on why these changes have occurred (some say video games, some say foreign aesthetic influence, etc.) but the final result is a LOT of the costumes you see in period dramas today are very, very not historically accurate or even fitting to what is considered "traditional" Chinese aesthetics.

There's a LOT of these "Xianxia" shows going around, stories about immortals and "Gods", "xian/ 仙". I guess the character designers today feel that white somehow makes the characters feel more "immortal", more other-worldly, an imported aesthetic mainly from the West where "white" has been associated with "purity". There's actually growing push-back from the Chinese audience inside China against the character designs in recent years because people are beginning to feel like we're losing OUR aesthetic, these designs aren't what OUR Gods and immortals traditionally looked like. Here's a comparison:

On the left we have some shows and movies from the 80s and 90s, on the right we have more recent shows.

I'll be honest...some of the clothes on the right I barely consider "Hanfu". That's not to say they're not pretty, but the Hanfu influence in them is so small at some point I start thinking, "You're essentially wearing a large-sleeved dress...". In addition to the clothes, there's the hair, the makeup, even the buildings...they're...kind of East Asian styled but not really? I can't even say they're Chinese-styled because it's so generically East Asian some of these set designs.

Traditional Chinese aesthetics favoured bold colours, and the more power and wealth you had the larger the hair styles for women, with rich, beautiful accessories. Gardens and buildings are not minimalistic at all (that leans more Japanese style), rooms are not large and empty, even in large buildings each individual room are sectioned to be fairly small. There's a running joke on Bilibili (Chinese youtube) that the Heavens have gone bankrupt these days because the costumes, the hair, and buildings look so...bare xDD

Some audiences will say these shows are fiction anyway, not set in any particular time or country but...I mean, clearly they're not writing about a Western immortal or an African God, these stories are set in the frame of Chinese characters.

In any case, basically what I'm saying is, take the Hanfu you see in dramas/movies with a grain of salt. Sometimes with a whole bag of salt. It's absolutely no problem to like them, enjoy them, cosplay them, buy them, but don't link them to anything with history unless you do some research.

And again, not saying any show is good or bad, enjoy whatever you want, this is only an opinion regarding trends in Chinese period dramas/movies. If you'd like to see what a traditional Chinese image of "Heaven" and immortals look like, here's a video from the 1986 version of Journey to the West. This is a show I would say over 80% of Chinese people have seen, most of us watched it as kids. Many, many people think it recreates the image most Chinese people have of what our "Heaven" looks like:

Src: 嗑学家与挑剔学家 【86版西游记演出了中国传统神仙该有的样子】 https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1DV4y1g73N/

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | One

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: The thought of something more had never really crossed Wanda's mind when it came to you. Best friends for 10 years and there hasn't even been one instance of accidental sexual tension. You're her best friend, that's all—until someone points out that you obviously have a very specific type when it comes to dating.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: i'm back!!! Nothing like coming back and posting a mini series. Enjoy this superior trope. Updates will be on Tuesdays! As you can see, we're trying something new with explicit content lol 😬

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4.1k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It's strange how sometimes a single sentence can change someone's entire life. 

Wanda's thought about what sentences could change her life—usually, they're morbid and depressing.

'You have cancer.'

'Someone you love has died horrifically in an accident.'

'Your cat actually finds living with you miserable and would prefer the dangers of living in the streets.'

Never in a million years would Wanda ever think it'd be, 'Hey, have you ever noticed how your best friend exclusively only dates girls who look like you?'

And don't get Wanda wrong. It wasn't a morbid or depressing change; it was just...a change. An irrevocable change because now, Wanda couldn't stop thinking about it or noticing it. 

This was all Steve's fault. 

Because if someone like Stupid Steve could notice something like that, it had to mean something, right? But as Wanda remembers about the past girls you've hooked up with and brought around, she doesn't know what to make of it.

A part of Wanda wishes she had never talked to Steve that night at the bar. 

"Where's Vis?" Steve asked, looking around.

"With Tony playing pool, I think," Wanda shrugged. She doesn't particularly keep track of where her on-and-off boyfriend goes. She thinks they might be on an off-period right now, anyway. 

"And where's—oh, nevermind, there she is," Steve started to say but cut off when they both saw you across the bar talking with the bartender, flirting over drinks—which were probably free if Wanda could guess. 

Wanda's slightly annoyed because it's been a long week without seeing you, and Wanda's been used to seeing you almost every day for the past several years of her life. But you've been gone on a work trip this week for a wedding shoot and only came home just a little after lunch and needed an immediate long nap before tonight's get-together. 

That meant Wanda was sorely missing out on best-friend time, and now you were off flirting shamelessly with the hot bartender. Wanda's rooting for you, make no mistake. The bartender is definitely easy on the eyes, luscious hair, and lips—something Wanda knows you're weak for. 

Plus, Wanda's worried you're not anywhere near getting close to settling down. She wants you to be in a happy, fulfilling relationship. But she supposes she's in no position to talk herself. 

Wanda loves Vision without a doubt, but their relationship is definitely chaotic, and Vision keeps pushing for something more serious now that they've been dating (sporadically) for a long time. She's been considering it in her downtime and thinks it might make sense as the next step.

Best friends do everything together, right? So, maybe if Wanda decided to take the next step in a serious relationship, you'd find someone to commit to seriously as well. 

Then, both of you could get married at the same time. Then, they could buy a house in the same neighborhood right next to each other. There'd be endless double dates and vacations together. Wanda wouldn't have to miss you.

But first, Wanda needed to regain lost best-friend time, one-on-one style.  

"Hey, you know what I just noticed?" Steve said, breaking Wanda's drifting thoughts. 

"What?"

"Bug—" 

Wanda makes a face at your nickname. Granted, it was Wanda's fault you ended up with it back in your first year of university. You never let her forget it, especially now that you're a professional photographer.

"—over there has a very specific type she goes after for girls," Steve mused, sipping his whiskey before continuing. "I mean, they always have green eyes and brunette—wait, that's not true. She had two red-headed girlfriends in our last year of university. They still had green eyes, though." 

"Oh," Wanda said, unsure what to say since she's never paid attention to the girls you were dating. On average, they were a brief fling, and only a few lasted longer than half a year. "I guess so?"

Wanda distantly thinks about how she dyed her hair auburn in her last year of university because she was looking for a change that year and Natasha was insistent that she'd look amazing. Wanda recalls you were a fan of the look.

"Yeah," Steve nodded along. "Ironically, they always look like you in some way. Check out that bartender now—long, wavy-haired brunette with green eyes. She's got thick, long lips and even does that dark eye-shadow makeup thingy like you."

Steve just laughed it off, finishing his drink, thinking nothing more of it before he started talking about Bucky.

But it was like something clicked into place in Wanda's brain. A daunting realization that she was wholly unprepared for and not equipped to do anything about. 

Wanda watched as the bartender clocked off for the night and dragged you into a corner booth, drinks in hand. It gave Wanda the perfect view that the bartender wore many rings just like she did. 

In the poor privacy of the dimly lit corner booth, there was a staunch and needy kiss from the two of you, and Wanda swallowed roughly. 

From here, if you were none the wiser, Wanda could be easily mistaken for the girl in the booth with you. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Sometimes, Wanda believes she's just being absolutely ridiculous. So what if you go after girls who share the same features as her? That didn't have to mean anything. You've always told Wanda she was beautiful, and it was perfect how you said it. 

It didn't feel insincere or creepy. It felt good to know her best friend thought she was absolutely gorgeous. But just because you thought she was beautiful doesn't mean you harbored secret feelings for her. 

You'd be insulted if you knew Wanda had ever thought that. She'd just be another one of those girls Wanda's seen you humble on multiple occasions when they found out you dated women, and they were worried you might have a crush on them. 

But then, Wanda couldn't stop thinking she actually might be one of those girls because then she'd think about if you didn't consider her like that, it wasn't about her looks but something about her personality that wasn't your type. 

And what could that be?

Wanda thought long and hard, trying to remember the girls you've introduced her to. 

Sometimes they were funny, and Wanda was funny. She made you laugh all the time. She specifically remembered one time in high school when she made you laugh so hard you peed your pants just a little. 

Sometimes they were intellectual, and while Wanda didn't have an IQ of 160, she did fairly well academically and was on the right track in her career. 

Sometimes they were charming, and Wanda was the type where she got more charming the more you got to know her. 

So, Wanda just doesn't understand. She's nowhere further with her thinking ever since this weird information has been bestowed upon her.

Maybe it all just means nothing. You just didn't feel that way about Wanda despite the type of girls you dated suggesting otherwise. You didn't need a reason for it, and maybe the fact you only felt friendship for her was the reason. 

"Wanna order pizza in tonight?"

Wanda turns her head from the tv and notices you've put your book down. "Hm, not really. We had pizza last week," Wanda shakes her head. 

"How about that Greek place that just opened up on Willington Ave?" You suggest. "Pretty sure I heard you grumbling about wanting Greek food earlier this week."

"I was not grumbling!" Wanda scoffs but smiles when you raise your eyebrow at her. "Okay, I was grumbling a little."

You snicker as you pull out your phone to order delivery. "Oh, sweet golden best friend of mine, whatever shall you do when you get married to Vis, who hates Greek food. Do I foresee a life of Greekless cuisine? Oh, the suffering you'll go through!"

"I don't need him to like it," Wanda slaps your arm, sticking her tongue out before she cuddles you. "I have you to eat it with."

You laugh unabashedly, a sound that Wanda's accustomed to hearing the joyful sound. "Better hope the person I marry also hates Greek cuisine. I don't know if I can live a life of eating double the Greek food. I love tzatziki sauce, but if I grow to hate it from eating it too much, I will make you suffer the consequences of that."

Your voice trails off as you focus on ordering food, unable to see the cogs in Wanda's head turning. 

It's all so easy. There's no tension, no electric vibes happening. Just best friends enjoying the banter and making plans to eat. 

It was all in Wanda's head, right? You're her best friend, so of course you'd know everything about her. 

The right type of friendship is fulfilling and soul-connecting, and that's what Wanda has with you. When you have a one-in-a-million connection like that, the line between friendship and romance is thin, isn't it?

Wanda hates Steve. She'd never think about this if it wasn't for Stupid Steve. She can hear his dumb laugh, blissfully ignorant about the observation bomb he dropped upon her. 

"Do you wanna get ice cream after?" You ask, throwing your phone to the side. "I'll even treat you to the gelato despite knowing I'm going to suffer through your crazy farts later."

"Oh my god, I'm going to trap you under the blanket with it just for that!" 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Within two months, Wanda forgets about it. Forgets, as in that she decides to drop it (let it linger in the deep depths of her brain that she refuses to acknowledge), and resolves that Steve has no brain cells and has no idea what he's saying. 

"Have you seen my strapless black top?" Wanda shouts from her room with the door open. "The one with the v-shaped front!"

"In your closet!" You yelled back from the living room, not taking your eyes off your phone. 

"I can't find it," Wanda whines, and she hears you sigh as you get up. The footsteps approach her room, and she finds you standing at the door with an unimpressed look.

"I don't want to hear it," Wanda sniffs. 

"Hear what, brat?" You say with a brow raised before you start rummaging through her closet. The nickname was a joke you started that Wanda was entirely a spoiled person, exhibiting bratty behavior at times. "That I'm not gonna be your roommate forever, so you need to learn to fold it yourself before putting it away?"

Wanda makes grumbling noises that are mostly nonsensical but smiles when you pull out the top she was looking for. 

"You are the apple of my eye, stinky," Wanda grabs the top from you before she runs into her washroom to briefly change into it. 

"A match made in heaven, yeah, yeah," you roll your eyes with good humor. "Hurry up, Natasha will kill us if we're late for Yelena's birthday. They're on an upwards mend in their relationship, so she's been so unbearably uptight lately to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"I know, I know," Wanda mutters, carefully pulling the top over her head to not ruin her makeup. 

"Alright, I'll hail us a cab, meet me outside."

"Wait, wait!" Wanda calls out. "I need help putting on my necklace."

You chuckle, walking back just as Wanda steps out of the bathroom with the delicate necklace she wants to wear. 

"Alright, alright, relax," you tell her. "Your accent gets really strong when you're stressed."

"You're stressing me out by rushing me," Wanda scrunches her nose even though you can't see it. "I'm also stressed knowing that you have to rush me, or I'll spend the party getting lectured by Natasha."

Wanda's voice comes out husked with the accent, something she's struggled between hating or loving, but mostly loving since you've expressed how lovely it is.

You grab the necklace from her hand, and Wanda moves her hair out of the way. The routine of it all starts to bleed the tension out of her shoulders. 

Then, that horrible Stupid Steve Sentence kicks into her brain. 

 It's only as you put your arms over, placing the necklace against Wanda's chest, and focusing on trying to get the clasp in. Wanda can feel your warm breath against her neck, summoning goosebumps along her arms. You're so close, and she can feel the heat of your body radiating onto her, your fingers just barely brushing against her.

The tension comes suddenly, squeezing inside her chest as her breathing slows and shakes. Her body warms in an unexpected way. 

"Ah, got it," you say, but Wanda can only focus on your voice and breath on the shell of her ear. "Cute necklace but the clasp is so annoying."

You pull away and start walking off. "C'mon, I bet if we tip our taxi driver an extra $20 bucks, they'll speed and we can pray we're on time."

Wanda's left standing there, knowing she probably sounds like she's fresh out of Sokovia with how stressed she is. Her right eye twitches.

Was that...Wanda gulps. Was that sexual tension?

And was she the only one who felt it?

Fuck.

She's going to kill Steve.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Natasha's absolutely neurotic when they arrive. It's just a simple backyard party, but it almost looks like a wedding venue with all the catering and flowers. 

Wanda's pretty sure Natasha's only being like this because she's overthinking about whether to cling to Yelena or give her sister some space to mingle with others. She seems to be sizing up Kate, who Yelena might be seeing, but it hasn't been confirmed. 

Yelena looks between exasperated with Natasha and secretly happy about the entire thing. Wanda can sympathize with her. After all, she's also a little sister, and Pietro can also be way too overprotective. Sometimes she's glad he's abroad in Europe for work while she remains in New York, but she misses him more often than she admits. 

"Alright, alright, Natasha," you groan, and Wanda's mind slips back into the conversation. "We're 3 minutes late, relax, will you? Damn, are you always gonna be like this until you and Yelena get back into whatever sibling bond you had before? Hope you're just like this with us because otherwise, you're gonna scare away all her friends, and she's going to hate you."

"Oh my god, do you think she'll really hate me?" Natasha bites her bottom lip in worry while looking around at all the people that they can only assume she's nagged about being late or whatever mishap. 

"Oh, man," you sigh, putting your hand on her shoulders before pushing her towards the bar. "You need some drinks and maybe some desserts in you."

Wanda's about to follow you when you turn around and nod your head in a different direction. She looks over and sees you're nodding toward Vision.

"You should go say hi to him," you tell her. "You've been complaining about not seeing him all last week, even though I don't know why you guys won't just FaceTime, but I digress. Come find me later, or I'll find you after."

You look over at Natasha, who's peering on her tippy toes to see if she can find Yelena.

"And, hopefully, I'll have ditched this nutjob," you whisper conspiratorially and laugh when Natasha turns around to smack your arm. 

"I heard that!"

Wanda chuckles as you walk off with Natasha while she turns and heads toward Vision. Despite how she was complaining about not seeing Vision last week because she did miss him, her expression was sour as she made her way toward him. 

Vision spots her immediately and waves at her with a warm smile. Wanda feels herself somewhat loosened at his expression. They'd also been friends a long time before they started on-and-off dating, so at the very least, she does miss his easy friendship. 

"Hey," Vision hugs her, slightly rubbing her back before he pulls away but keeps his arm around her. "It's been a while; you look lovely."

"Thanks," Wanda smiles with a shrug. She looks around and sees he's standing with Tony and Pepper. "How are you guys?"

"Could be better," Tony sighs dramatically. "Natasha won't let me do any of my cool party tricks as if I'm going to ruin her little sister's party. If anything, I could make it the party of the century!"

Pepper rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "We were just talking about how we're thinking of going to the Bahamas for vacation in December and escaping the cold. We've invited you and Vision along since it's been awhile since we've all gone together. Of course, we can also invite Bug and Natasha."

"Oh," Wanda says for a lack of anything else to say. She doesn't know how to feel about it, but she peers over at Vision, who's just smiling at her and looking eager about it. 

"I need another drink if I'm going to suffer through this party," Tony sighs. "Maybe I can convince Yelena instead!" He grins, dragging Pepper along, and they walk off together. 

"So, what do you think?" Vision asks when they're alone. "I didn't want to reply on your behalf since I wasn't sure, but I think it'd be good for us. I've missed you," Vision pauses as if he's about his next words but then says, "a lot."

"Yeah, me too," Wanda starts to say, but then her brain gets all haywire because it feels like a lie. She did miss him, but did she miss him a lot? "I think."

"You think?"

Wanda wants to smack her forehead because she didn't mean to say that out loud. "I mean, I was complaining a lot that I haven't seen you in a while all last week."

"Yeah, work has just been overwhelming. I get so tired after work, I just can't keep up with the texting or calls."

But you can, Wanda thinks. Granted, you're her roommate, so it's easier. But even when you have to go on work trips, you regularly text her no matter what time and squeeze in a quick call, even if it's just to say goodnight. 

The entire thing makes Wanda bite her tongue because why was she even thinking about that? That was completely irrelevant to Vision. 

Then—because as if just thinking about you wasn't enough—her eyes trail across the room, and the scene before her makes Wanda even more confused about her feelings.

You're standing there with Natasha at the bar, but it looks like Natasha's calling someone over to introduce you to them.

Another brunette with long, wavy hair, like she just had a blowout done. Wanda's not 100% sure from this distance, but she has an inkling that the brunette also has green eyes. She's wearing a white halter top and wide-legged sage green pants. She wears a lot of rings, but her makeup is lighter and more summery compared to Wanda's darker, smokey eye makeup.

In short, this woman was the clean girl aesthetic version of Wanda. 

And you look interested. 

This was ridiculous, Wanda fumes, feeling her stomach sink and cheeks flare hot in anger. As quick as the anger came, it dissipated.

Why was she so angry?

She feels betrayed, and her thoughts are turning very ugly. Wanda is definitely not being a girl's girl right now with how much she's thinking she's better than the girl in front of you. 

But that just makes everything so much more confusing. 

"Wanda?"

Wanda turns her head back to Vision. He looks concerned, and even when his eyes trail toward what Wanda's staring at, there's no additional reaction. He's not upset that she's staring at you, and that has to mean something, right?

It must mean there was never a concern about how Wanda might've felt about you. Sure, there were a few things Wanda couldn't be without, and you were one of them, but nobody can't be without their best friend. 

No one had ever blinked twice about you and Wanda.

Except now.

And that person was Wanda herself. 

The more Wanda thought about the entire thing, the more she became curious. The idea of you dating people who looked like Wanda was intriguing. She wanted to ask questions but didn't know what to ask.

It might mean nothing, but it also might mean something. 

And if it does mean something, Wanda wants to know what exactly it is. 

Therefore, Wanda needs nothing in her way to find out the truth and exactly what she wants, regardless of the answer. 

This was insane, wasn't it? Wanda's always been ambivalent about dating women. She's never gone out of her way to try it since she had Vision. Never mind entertaining thoughts about dating her best (girl)friend. And now, she was giving everything up in the pursuit of finding out what it could mean that her best friend was dating her lookalikes—and why she cared.

Wanda doesn't even know what she'll want to do with that information. 

Wanda looks at Vision, peering at his features she's always found handsome. When she thinks back, she's not even sure why she complained to you about how she hasn't seen or heard from him lately. She hadn't even gone out of her own way to do something about it.

"I'm not going on the trip. I don't think I actually missed you like that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

The girl introduced to you was named Raye, Natasha's coworker that recently moved from Nashville. It was also confirmed she has green eyes, though they had specks of brown in them. She was a southern belle with a bold attitude, witty, and a wicked sense of humor. All in all, undeniably charismatic. 

At least, that's what you told her in private because all Wanda could feel was unrestricted aggravation with the other girl. The southern twang made Wanda's eye twitch, mostly because she knew you were head over heels for accents.  

"And then before I knew it, I was panicked and more lost than a blindfolded turkey on thanksgiving!"

You burst out laughing while Wanda's expression is stony, but when you look at Wanda, she forces a smile on her lips.

"Hahaha," Wanda dryly let out. "So funny."

But it wasn't. What the fuck did that even mean?

Raye continues to talk while you listen with rapt interest, and Wanda takes the time to observe your features in a way she's done many times before but with a different mindset. 

Your lips are curved in a smile, glistening from your chapstick. They're shapely, and they look soft. It rivals her favorite feature of yours, which is your eyes. They've always been so expressive with her, and Wanda's been around long enough that she knows what every expression means. She can tell when they glint with mischievousness or are soft with immense compassion and empathy. 

"So, what did you think of Raye?" You ask Wanda as you leave the party.

"She's cool, I guess," Wanda answers nonchalantly. 

The rest of the party was excruciating between Raye constantly hanging around you and Wanda also being too nervous to be alone with you. 

"Really cool," you sigh with a grin. "Glad I got her number. It's been a while since I've met someone so funny."

Was she funny, though? Wanda wonders.

"Funnier than me?" Wanda finds herself asking.

"No one could be funnier than you, brat," you smirk. "I almost peed myself laughing again when you almost knocked off Yelena's cake. I thought Natasha was about to enter into a coma." You snicker while Wanda rolls her eyes with a smile. 

"Glad I can always give you the biggest laughs, stinky."

Wanda glances over at your face, recognizing the excitement by the brightness in them. It's just another reminder that, as your best friend, she knows you like the back of her hand. 

But lately, when Wanda watches you pick up girls, she can tell when they're heady with desire. That look hasn't been directed at her, and Wanda wants to know what it'd be like if it were.

Wanda recalls the night you kissed the bartender and imagines if it had been her instead. She pictures your hand sliding across her jaw and cheek while your other pulls her closer at the waist. 

It's horrifying when a slow pit of arousal builds in Wanda's gut and...other regions. It feels utterly frightening and wrong like she's betraying the friendship for having and then reacting to such thoughts about you. 

But there's another part—the part that tells Wanda there's nobody in this world that she loves more than you. The mere idea of ever being apart from you was unfathomable. Wanda could and has endured so many things, and it would always be okay as long as she had you. 

So, knowing that Southern Belle Raye has the potential to be more than a one-night stand to you, Wanda realizes that she has a very small window to not only come to terms with her newfound feelings but also act on them as well. 

If this didn't go well, Wanda would definitely murder Steve.

PART TWO

[gravebirds0dmnk]

DAMIAN WAYNE RANT

Once again!!

Damian Wayne is not just a bratty, murderous goblin child who hates everyone except his dad and his cat. The fandom loves to flatten him into this one-note "feral gremlin" who snarls at everyone and occasionally gets chucked off a rooftop for laughs. But if you actually read the comics, his dynamic with the Bat-family , especially his siblings..is a lot more layered, meaningful, and dare I say... human?

Dick Grayson (Nightwing):

Canon Damian sees Dick as a role model. Period. End of story. Dick was the first person who treated Damian like more than a weapon. He gave him a chance to be Robin, he mentored him, he made fun of him like a real older brother would - and Damian grew for it. He mourned Dick deeply when he was presumed dead, to the point that it shattered him. But fandom? Nah. Let’s just make Damian constantly call him “Grayson” like a snob and ignore all the warmth and growth. Or make him his father figure when he's obviously not!!

Tim Drake (Red Robin):

Okay, yes - these two butted heads hard. The early animosity is real, and it makes sense. Tim felt replaced, and Damian felt defensive and superior. But even that evolved! They’ve saved each other’s lives multiple times. They’ve come to respect each other, even if grudgingly. Damian has acknowledged Tim’s intellect and leadership. But fandom loves to freeze them in that "I tried to kill you once so we must always be enemies" phase, forever.

Jason Todd (Red Hood):

Now this one is where fandom either completely ignores it or just makes it into the “edgy murder bros” trope. But in canon, Jason and Damian have bonded. They both have complicated relationships with Bruce. They both hate authority sometimes. Jason has gone out of his way to help Damian in more recent comics, and Damian has trusted Jason when he wouldn’t trust anyone else. But fandom wants Damian to be scared of Jason or constantly annoyed by him for some reason?

Barbara, Steph, Cass, Duke, etc.:

This is where the fandom just gets lazy. Damian’s relationships withthe extended Bat-family are often nuanced and evolving. He’s had sweet moments with Barbara as Oracle, and his interactions with Steph and Cass (especially post-Rebirth) are often respectful. Damian clearly values Duke and even helped him during the Robin War" stuff. But fandom? Let’s erase all of that and just make Damian a sexist, rude little troll to all women and a lone wolf to everyone else.

Bottom line:

Canon Damian Wayne is a work in progress. That’s the whole point of his arc - he was raised to be a killer and chose to be a hero. His journey is messy and difficult, but it’s full of growth, love, and actual relationships with the people around him. The Bat-family, dysfunctional as they are, is his family. He fights for them, mourns them, learns from them.

Fandom Damian? Often just a punchline or a one-dimensional trope.

Let the kid be complicated. Let him grow. And for the love of Gotham, stop acting like he’s never hugged anyone in his life.

I am begging the fandom to make up its damn mind.

Is Damian Wayne a violent little goblin child who kicks puppies and bullies everyone in his path - or is he a soft, baby-faced toddler who can’t lift a sword without help and needs to be swaddled by every older Bat-sibling in sight?

Because I swear, the whiplash is real.

Let’s start with “uwu baby Damian” syndrome:

This version of Damian is everywhere. The one who’s four feet tall and always sobbing. The one who can’t tie his own shoes but calls Bruce “Father” like a formal Victorian orphan. The one who is basically just a house cat in a cape, curled up in Dick’s lap with his eyes big and sad because someone said “no.”

And look, I get it — young Damian moments can be adorable. He has his sweet scenes. He’s been through hell. Seeing him relax with a pet or accept a hug can be genuinely moving.

But when fandom strips away all his sharpness, his intelligence, his pride, and yes, his snark, just to turn him into a plush toy that needs cuddles and protection from the world, it’s not just inaccurate - it’s insulting. Damian isn’t soft by default. He chooses compassion despite his upbringing. That’s what makes it powerful.

Then there’s “bully Damian,” aka pure Gremlin Core:

This is the version of Damian who never grew past his first dozen issues - the one who tried to stab Tim, called everyone beneath him, and needed a muzzle at all times. Fandom loves to make him the mean little kid who mocks everyone and has zero emotional intelligence.

He’s always the problem. He’s the one who “ruins” family dinners. He’s never learning, never softening, never changing.

Do y’all just not read comics past 2011? Like seriously??

Because here’s the truth: Damian Wayne is both. He’s complex. He’s a product of being raised by assassins and then adopted into a family of emotionally stunted vigilantes. He’s a genius, he’s arrogant, he’s twelve years old and figuring out who he is - and sometimes he screws up, badly. But he also has heart. He loves his family, fiercely and awkwardly. He shows growth. He learns humility. He grieves. He sacrifices. He becomes a better person.

And fandom constantly shoving him into either “misunderstood cinnamon roll” or “demon spawn tormentor” completely erases what makes him interesting.

He’s not your emotional support baby.

He’s not your chaos gremlin for comedic relief. He does not bite people

He’s a character with layers - and he deserves to be written like one.

--

Why is it that every time fandom finds a close, emotional bond -especially in the Batfamily - someone has to ruin it by shipping it?

Seriously. The Batfamily is made up of siblings, adopted kids, traumatized teens, and a dad who can barely handle his own emotions. But somehow, people look at Bruce and Dick, or Tim and Damian, and go, “Yeah, that should be romantic.”

No. It shouldn’t.

Batcest isn’t “deep,” it’s not “exploring dark dynamics,” and it’s definitely not some brilliant subversion of tropes. It’s just weird. The Batfamily works because they are a messy, complicated family learning to love and support each other. Turning that into shipping fuel is a huge slap in the face to what these characters are actually about.

And let’s talk about proshippers who act like they’re fighting for free speech or artistic integrity by defending these ships. You're not standing on some grand moral hill - you’re just defending the right to post gross, tone-deaf content. Nobody’s stopping you from enjoying angst or morally gray stories. But there's a huge difference between writing flawed characters and turning adoptive siblings into a romance plot.

Also, can we stop with the “aged-up Damian” excuse? If you have to age him up just to make your ship barely legal, that should be a sign. You’re not clever -you’re just side-stepping the fact that he’s a kid in almost every version of canon.

The Batfamily already has a thousand ways to be messy and dramatic and interesting. You don’t need to force romance between family members to make it compelling. These characters are rich with story..why flatten them into shock-value shipping?

You want to write drama? Betrayals? Complicated emotional arcs? Go for it. But maybe, just maybe , keep it in-character, in-universe, and not in the realm of “hey what if these siblings kissed?”

It's not edgy. It's not cool. It's just... tired.

Do better.

....

Everyone loves to slap the “Best Dad Ever” badge on Bruce Wayne - especially in fanon. And look, sure: he took in a bunch of traumatized kids, gave them homes, trained them, and cares deeply in his own broody, emotionally-stunted way. But can we talk about how all that dad energy seems to magically vanish when it comes to Damian?

Let’s be clear: Bruce is not abusive to Damian. He’s not cruel. But if we’re being honest? He’s not the father Damian needed either - at least not consistently.

Bruce adopted Dick, Tim, Jason, and Cass under tragic circumstances, but once they were under his wing, he fought for them. He took time (as best he could) to emotionally connect. Even with Jason, whose arc is full of tension, Bruce has shown deep remorse, grief, and desire to make amends.

But with Damian? The literal biological son who was raised by assassins and came to his doorstep at age ten?

Bruce treats him like a soldier first, a liability second, and a child maybe third - if he remembers.

Damian came into Bruce’s life wanting one thing: a father. Not a mission. Not another cape. Not a training regimen. Just a father. He may not have known how to express it (because, again, he was raised in a cult by a mother who taught him love = loyalty = survival), but he wanted love and structure — and Bruce didn’t give it to him.

Instead, Bruce gave him expectations. Be better. Don't kill. Be a Wayne. Be a Robin. Be like your brothers. Don’t embarrass the legacy.

That’s not parenting. That’s PR.

And the fandom? Just sweeps it under the rug. We write fics where Bruce is the perfect dad making pancakes for everyone, but we forget that Damian spent years trying to earn what his siblings got automatically: validation. Trust. Love.

Bruce has grown with Damian, yes. They've had incredible moments. But you can’t call Bruce the ultimate Batdad without admitting that his approach to Damian was stiff, late, and sometimes cold - not out of malice, but out of ignorance of what Damian actually needed.

And that’s the tragedy. Not that Bruce didn’t love him, but that Bruce didn’t know how to show it - and Damian felt the gap like a knife.

Bruce may be a “good father” to many of his kids. But for Damian? He was a father who had to learn, and too often, he was late to class.

[dogbinary]

Tailor's Version I Tailor!Astarion x Florest!reader

rating: E

wc: 3.3k

warnings: angst, heavy themes of grief and death, alcohol use, mentions of gore, nightmares (I promise it gets better), spoilers for the squid/death ending

summary: Tailor!Astarion/Florist!Reader are brought together when Dalyria arrives to Baldur's Gate. Astarion is tasked with designing her wedding dress, Reader is her florist. Slow burn, lots of angst, healing trauma. You get the picture. This will eventually earn its E rating.

a/n: This is a story about grief, learning to lean on those you love, and moving forward even if you feel you can't move on. It's very special to me, and I hope you enjoy it. You are not alone.

Read on AO3 Here

It begins as it always does, with the sound of snapping bones. Most nights, it haunts him - When he longs for sleep that never comes, the memory of the sound finds him there, creeping at the edges of his mind with every restless turn.

Sick, wet gurgling.

Rebirth. Misalignment.

An open mouth dripping with red—the coppery, sweet scent of blood that once enticed, sustained, and warmed him—now only curdles unpleasantly in his gut.

Endless rows of gnashing teeth replace tender lips that once spoke such sweet promises into his skin. The tiny, rough, amber-gray hairs that once sharpened the edges of his lover's jaw are gone. His endless constellation of freckles, a distant memory.

All that remains is pale, purple skin framing vacant, yellow eyes.

Astarion can hardly bring himself to recognize them, but he does.

He does.

Obscured by thrashing tendrils, he sees his lover's empty gaze, even now.

"Astarion,"

Beneath the rough canvas of splitting skin and blood -

Somewhere in those soulless eyes, behind those endless rows of jagged teeth - something deep within Astarion still manages to recognize him.

It's the way his pulse thrums beneath the newly exposed contours of his brain. Three hearts, three separate beats, Astarion recognizes their rhythm.

And everything they've built is crumbling before him.

Is this truly how it all ends, after everything? When the taste of his newfound freedom still lingers on his tongue, when there's so much left of the world for the two of them to see?

What of those whispered promises?

Astarion's tadpole, screeching but compliant, binds him to this creature's will. His mind drags the weight of his body along an invisible string, forcing him to approach this superior, beautiful being. He is powerless to resist.

"Astarion,"

There is no glint of love in the illithid's eyes, no familiarity as they search Astarion's face. There are only wet, writhing tentacles, stretching into every corner of his vision until he's being suffocated beneath their oppressive weight. There is only hunger.

Slender fingers coil around his arm and squeeze. Their claws break his skin, boring deep holes into the flesh of his shoulder and pinning him with their immense strength.

He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes from his throat.

"Brother!"

-

Astarion wakes with a gasp, a mixture of sweat and tears dampening his skin and darkening his sheets. His hands claw at his chest and face in a panicked fit until he suddenly comes to his senses and recognizes his surroundings.

The rose-red canopy above his head, the half-melted candle at his bedside illuminating his overly cluttered space - he's in his room.

Alive.

Well - not quite alive by definition, but undoubtedly not dead dead, and his brain, along with its jumbled contents, is intact, despite what the throbbing at the base of his skull would have him believe.

The linens beneath him are soaked through their silk, thoroughly ruined. 

If he keeps having these fits, he'll have to replace them again soon.

But he's safe.

No brain-devouring monsters in sight.

Just his brother, Petras, who may or may not be worse.

"Hells, Astarion. I could hear you from the first floor." Petras's voice barely pierces through the ringing in his ears.

Astarion opens his mouth to respond but notices the lining of his throat is cracked and dry. How long had he been screaming like that before being interrupted?

He runs a shaking hand through his hair, freeing a few unruly wet strands from where they stick to his face and willing his breath to settle. Air hisses between his clenched teeth, and the absurdity of it almost makes him laugh. His body may be long dead, but its reflexes remain cruelly intact.

Only when his shoulders cease their shuddering and his eyes adjust to the candlelight does Astarion notice that Petras is already dressed presentably for his shift—his dusty blond locks tied neatly in a half-bun and a fitted pair of workman's overalls that smell of fresh leather.

Petras looms at the edge of his bed with his ugly mug and nauseating sense of brotherly duty, averting his gaze, like a mutt caught rolling in the garbage. His boot anxiously digs at a raised floorboard.

He knows he shouldn't be in here, and is keenly aware of Astarion's commitment to privacy. Petras would typically rather risk a naked stroll in broad daylight than intrude on Astarion in his chambers, which tells him that this episode must have been notably more severe than the others.

His brother's eyes briefly flit to the dark oak nightstand beside him. They pause on a nearly empty glass bottle of Angelic Slumber, tucked discreetly behind a stack of leather-bound books. His brows furrow in concern.

The silence between them lingers on, hanging heavily between the two. Worse yet, it signals an impending question - one that Astarion, on a profoundly instinctual level, knows will piss him off.

"Are you alright, brother?"

Right, as always.

"Of course," Astarion responds with a scoff, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Even Petras wouldn't be foolish enough to miss such a blatant dismissal.

And yet -

"Was it about Tav?"

Astarion's jaw tenses, hands clenching the delicate sheets beneath him so tightly they threaten to tear.

"Do you not have anything better to do?" he hisses. I assume the countertops are dusted. Have the new arrivals been inspected and set out on their respective hangers?"

"Our next shipment isn't due to arrive until tomorrow evening -"

"So you've come to me in need of busy work, then," Astarion's voice swells, dripping with condescension, "Perhaps you'd enjoy scraping pigeon shit off the storefront concrete? I might even consider having you tend to the task with your teeth. A fitting punishment for disturbing my rest and disrespecting my privacy."

Petras stutters, readying an apology.

If Astarion were a better man - one that bothered to exercise any form of restraint or familial grace - he would have considered hearing the poor man out, maybe even thank him for his concern, but Astarion is not a good man, and before his brother can so much as utter a single word, he seizes one of the books at his bedside and hurls it as a warning shot.

The heavy novel narrowly misses Petras's head, whizzing past his pointed ear and landing by the door with a hard thud.

"Get out."

His brother backs out of the room, hands raised in submission, but stops just short of crossing the threshold, muttering, "I've left some mail in your office," before gently closing the door.

The empty expanse of Astarion's room envelops him in judgmental silence. He sighs heavily, releasing some of the tension in his chest, before falling back into the mass of decorative pillows that clutter the even emptier expanse of his bed. The ceiling stares back at him, the glow of the candlelight casting shadows over the textured patterns and weaving them into blurred remnants of his dream.

He forcefully presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. It isn't worth dwelling on the night terrors - he'd learned that much rather quickly, merely weeks after he'd watched his lover turn into… that thing.

But he won't dwell on that, either. He won't.

The glass vial on his nightstand silently taunts him. Its pink, syrupy contents cling to its side, evidence of its recent use.  Perhaps Angelic Slumber is a bit of an extreme measure, but the list of potential solutions to Astairon's fruitless pursuit of rest is dwindling down to nothing, while the list of disappointments grows ever longer.

Craning his neck to read the clock on the wall beside him, he's not surprised to find that it's well past noon - still early enough to get himself presentable before opening.

Just months ago, he'd have been rushing to throw on a bit of finery and fix his hair, the pages of his schedule lined from edge to edge with the names of impatient nobles. A fitting here, a cutting there, sewing, prepping, busy hands, busy work, head filled to the brim with spools of different colors and measurements, with not a single square inch left for any unwelcome thoughts. Not a moment to dwell.

But, with the turn of the seasons, business has slowed like clockwork. The shop's primary clientele of affluent Baldarians tend to migrate for the winter, holding up in their vacation homes outside the city before returning for collective holiday festivities. It's the second week in a row that he's had gaps in his schedule, and there are several more to come before the streets are flooded with customers again.

He can afford a hot bath to ease the tension in his shoulders. Perhaps he'll even have a glass of wine to help take the edge off - something light and fruit-forward in flavor, just enough to get him through opening.

He peels the sheets off his body and makes a note to strip them later, then trudges barefoot over his ornate, decorative rug to grab the book he so carelessly tossed at his brother.

The Realm According to Bumpo, Vol. 8, laid flat, page-side down. The force of his throw split the bloody spine - a terrible fate to befall a collector's item. He regards the novel with a small apology before setting it on his dresser and trudging towards the bathroom.

The cold tile bites at the soles of his feet, a discomfort he's learned to accept with the coming winter months. The floor creaks as he approaches the large porcelain tub and turns on the faucet. There's no mirror, no reflection to confirm what he already knows—that he's beautiful, of course, never mind the deepening bags under his eyes. If he can't see them, there's no proof they exist.

He certainly does not look as shitty as he feels.

The pipes groan and thud with the promise of hot water.

He'll make it through this night like every night before this one, just as he has for the past six years. He'll greet customers with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, make more than enough money to afford his diamond-encrusted pile of shit life, and then he'll read himself to sleep - the same song and dance over and over until the sun burns itself out or someone finally learns his identity and stakes him.

-

The crisp scent of new cotton and warm leather catch him as Astarion descends the stairs, masking the subtle sting of cleaning vinegar under the earthy undertones of wooden hangers and countertops.

The store lacks square footage. It’s much longer than it is wide - as is customary for most specialty shops in the heart of this bustling city, where a building's height is favored over its width. He wouldn't call it a flaw in the design, more so a consequence of population density - a small price to pay for the anonymity of a bustling town. The structural integrity is sound despite the building's age, and the thick brownstone walls act as excellent soundproofing. It's nice, if he may say so - tucked away and intimate - one of Baldur's Gate's best-kept secrets.

The real selling point was the second floor. There was no need to travel between work and home, which the realtor was quick to highlight. With so many external factors pressing him to find quick shelter (namely, the bloody sun), as well as the distinct lack of windows, this seemed like the most natural option.

It took Astarion and Petras several months to renovate the space. While the place was long abandoned and cleared of its contents, Astarion had a hunch that it had been some sort of bookstore before it came into his possession. The walls encompassing the central area and the claustrophobic back office were lined with shelves needing to be stripped. There was a distinct musk reminiscent of wet paper that never entirely dissipated, even when the century-old carpet was pulled back to reveal gorgeous, antique wooden flooring. To say he was appalled at the previous owner's lack of taste would be the understatement of the century.

The rest was a matter of decoration and display. Which, given Astarion's penchant for "collecting" trinkets during his travels, didn't take much time at all. He set out the less personal items, paintings of nameless faces, a refined leather assortment of furniture, and large, ornamental rugs to bring the room together.

He'd spent weeks forging the professional relationships needed to obtain his fabrics, began visiting the night market once a month to collect embellishments for his more ostentatious clients, and owned a steady business within the first year of his new life.

And so, the lowly vampire spawn carved out a little piece of this city for himself- this place that once held him prisoner. While it wasn't home, it was something.

It was his.

The amber glow from the main room spills into his office as he pulls back the curtain divider. This room, too, is claustrophobic, with just enough room for his essentials: a single desk, chair, and an oversized sewing machine.

Opting to rid this space of its built-in bookshelf walls may have afforded him some extra room, but he decided instead to use them as storage. The cubbies are filled to the brim with fabric swatches, thimbles, measuring tape, and, of course, mountains of unanswered letters.

A cluttered mess to the average observer, but to him, chaotic organization.

He lights a few scattered wax candles and finds that the mail Petras referred to is, in fact, waiting for him on his desk - a stack of papers piled neatly where several strips of leather and unwound spools had been pushed aside.

He sorts through them and briefly scans his eyes over the name of each sender before disposing of each one in the small bin beside him.

Their contents are the same as always, courteous reminders that bills are due, several solicitations for holiday donations (they tend to lay it on thick this time of year - as if the fates of deaf, blind, wartorn orphans were solely dependant on his 20 silver), and another invitation to one of Gale's lectures.

The paper catches his attention, cardstock with a rough edge. His nose scrunches at the gaudy gold trimming around the equally tasteless title, highlighted by an illusory glowing halo, "The Art of Arcane Illusions: A Symphony of Spectral Splendor."

A slight twinge of guilt tugs at his chest. Despite years of neglecting his correspondence - a towering stack of unanswered letters - Gale continues writing to him. The others have mercifully abandoned their attempts to connect with him long ago.

He tucks the invitation away along with his feelings, depositing it into a discreet desk drawer before settling into his seat. Countless sleepless nights spent in the plush embrace of his office chair have molded it to his shape. He finds comfort in that - every groove acts as a steadfast anchor, keeping him grounded through the turmoil that comes with the busier months.

Astarion grabs his ledger to check tonight's night's schedule. It's not entirely empty; one of his regulars will be in around seven to have some casualwear fitted. An easy turnaround. Then, at eight, he has to fit two young twins for a birthday celebration. At ten -

"Astarion," Petras's muffled call reaches him from behind the thick curtain. I have something here for you—another letter. It must have fallen out of the stack.

"Come in."

His brother's hands are shaking as he enters, and Astarion scoffs to himself. His earlier outburst couldn't have been that bad. He's undoubtedly acted worse, driven by higher levels of stress and even fewer hours of rest. And while that doesn't necessarily excuse his behavior earlier, it certainly doesn't warrant his brother acting like an overly emotional –

His thoughts halt as he's handed a note, thicker than the others and addressed to him by his sister.

He can hardly believe his eyes.

"It's from Dalyria,” Petras says with an emotional warbe to his voice, “She's in Waterdeep. I received an identical one."

Soft, warm light catches on the wax seal, the navy color contrasting with all the stamps she'd used before. Astarion's brows pinch in confusion as he takes the envelope, tracing the pad of his thumb over the indented image of an unfamiliar family crest. He carefully tears the note, finding two separate papers: one folded sheet and one small card.

"Oh, mine only had the card," Petras remarks with an unmistakable hint of disappointment.

He offers the card a quick glance, then a second, once he realizes what it actually is.

A wedding invitation. For him.

Well, isn't that sweet?

It takes him less than a second to decide he won't be attending. Years ago, he may have considered it, but the logistics of traveling to Waterdeep with his… condition are daunting, at best.

Still, it's nice to be considered. He'll have to send some sort of gesture along with his regrets. Perhaps a fruit basket.

He tosses the card in the bin, ignoring the scathing look of disapproval Petras is currently burning into the back of his skull.

"I take it you won't be attending, then?"

"Of course not," Astarion replies matter-of-factly. "Someone needs to be here to tend to things. This place isn't going to run itself."

"It's our sister's wedding, Astarion. Surely, you can find someone to take over for a few days. Or hells, maybe you could, I don't know, consider taking an actual vacation?" Petras crosses his arms, leaning his large, brutish frame against the wooden edge of the desk. "It's Waterdeep. The Waterdeep. Debaucherous-festivals-day-and-night, tavern-at-every-corner Waterdeep."

"I'm aware." Astarion's tone is dismissive. He doesn't spare his brother a glance as he unfolds the second sheet of paper. It's, surprisingly, a very lengthy handwritten letter, which he skims over as Petras continues the assault on his ears.

"You know, I remember a time not too long ago when you'd revel in the idea of depravity -"

Dear Astarion,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and even better spirits. You still often cross my mind, and I hope the sentiment is mutual despite your demanding schedule. Word has spread of your unparalleled talent among the nobles even here, so I'm sure that must be why I have not received any word from you.

Astarion rolls his eyes. The subtle jab does not go unnoticed.

As you may have read, we will be hosting our wedding here in Waterdeep in early spring. The celebration will be held in just a few short months. It still feels like a dream -

The low thrum of anxiety in his chest begins to swell with every word. There must be some significant point to this.

He impatiently skips to the final paragraph, bypassing the rest of her flowery embellishments and flattery, until his eyes land on a sentence that makes his cold, undead heart sink.

I will be traveling from Waterdeep to Baldur's Gate, and I would be honored if you would be willing to craft my wedding dress.

Oh. Oh dear.

"She says she'll be here by the end of the month," Petras notes over his shoulder, nearly startling him.

"I'm perfectly capable of reading on my own, Petras."

But the words start to bleed into each other the longer he stares at the page, and the ringing in his ears grows louder each second.

Neither of them had seen Dalyria since she'd left to help guide the remaining spawn into the Underdark - another piece of his past he'd shoveled 6 feet deep and buried, right along with the rest of the hell he'd been put through 6 years ago, and the 200 years before then.

And now, after all this time, all of the effort he'd spent sealing those memories away and moving forward, they still manage to infiltrate the one place he thought he'd be safe - breaching the walls he'd built to keep them out.

They're being delivered right to his doorstep in just a few days.

Astarion sets the letter on his desk and just… stares.

[ghostlynightpanda]

HELLO can i request something with niragi? 

my idea: niragi x dominant reader. like dominant in relationships or in bed (or both) it doesn’t matter. i just find a thought of niragi being with someone who is not gonna to submit to him interesting. not only they not submit him, but they also want HIM to submit which i think is very unusual to him. i mean in the past he was humiliated and now thinks that any submission is a sign of weakness and blah blah blah and he will never do such thing in any way. like he will NOT listen to anyone in a relationship because now he's big and strong and no one has the power to tell him what to do. in bed he also won't do what you tell him because who do you think you are?? in general, after everything that happened to him during his school years, he is fixated on control and tries with all his might to show everyone his strength, to break people in order to show his superiority - in order, again, to feel control because he didn’t have it before. ok I'm getting carried away but what I'm getting at is that it would be very interesting to see how he would open up with a dominant and emotionally strong partner who doesn't like and won't do whatever niragi wants to satisfy him

plus he used to be so sweet and all before the borderlands so maybe with the right person he could give in for a while and stop trying to prove himself??

#subniragisupremacy ok✌️

if you would do it you can do it with pre borderland niragi instead of the borderland one if you want. it doesn’t really matter what version of niragi it would be lol. it could be niragi on the beach, it could be burnt niragi, still a walking menace but now he's starting to change a little or whatever (8 seconds of character development hello), it could be a pre borderland niragi also. like high scooler niragi or niragi after school when he’s no longer nerd but not still not as unhinged as he was in the borderland. pre borderland probably would be easier because he is not as crazy in i believe he was pretty normal in ordinary life but still it would be interesting to see what would he do with a dominant person since he considers submission weakness

love your work btw!!!

Built to Burn, Taught to Kneel

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

Synopsis: After surviving a brutal game in the Borderlands, Niragi is stunned to reunite with the only person who ever saw the real him. Now, feared and cruel in public, he clings to control with bloody hands, but behind closed doors, he surrenders to your dominance, desperate for the safety he only finds in your power.

warnings/content: Niragi x reader, fluff and smut, mdni, - 3.372 words

The concrete groaned under every step, a brutal echo swallowed by the night air. Rain beat down like glass on flesh, sharp and cold. The game had gone on far too long — two hours of sprinting, dodging, climbing, slipping through shadows.

Dead Run. The instructions were simple: stay moving, stay hidden, stay alive. One misstep, one breath too loud, and the hunters and lasers fired without mercy.

You ducked behind a rusted van, panting, blood dripping from a torn gash in your thigh. You’d seen five players go down already — one shredded on the stairwell, another caught in a spotlight and got shot by a laser. Your breath hitched. Every muscle screamed, but you weren't going to die here.

Then you heard it — chaos breaking out three levels above. Gunfire. Screams.

Another player, maybe. Another poor bastard about to get fired up.

You pushed forward, crawling under collapsed rebar, eyes locked on the distant checkpoint glowing red in the distance — freedom was close. Ten meters, maybe. Then eight. Then—

“Don’t move.”

The voice froze your blood.

Sharp. Familiar.

Dangerous.

You slowly raised your head, thinking you’d been caught by a hunter. But what you saw instead made your breath stop entirely.

Leaning against the broken skeleton of a car, blood on his cheek, gun at his side, was him.

Niragi.

Older. Darker. Covered in blood like it was his second skin.

And looking at you like he'd just seen a ghost.

For a moment, the world seemed to still. Even the rain sounded quieter. His gaze flicked down your body — not with hunger, not yet — but with calculation. Recognition. Something in his chest visibly coiled, like a trap being triggered.

He spoke again, but it wasn’t to threaten you. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

A spotlight swept dangerously close. You tensed to move, but Niragi was faster.

He stepped forward, not looking back, boots crunching over broken glass as he reached for your hand and hauled you up by the arm. Not rough. Not gentle. Just urgent.

“Move.” His voice was low. Controlled. But there was something burning under it. “I’m not letting you die in some bullshit Spades game.”

You didn’t argue.

You couldn’t.

Not with the way he was looking at you — like something unholy had cracked open in his chest and was crawling out, raw and hungry.

You ran.

Together.

And he didn’t let go of your hand once.

Finally, you made it.

The moment the final checkpoint flared green and the doors sealed shut behind them, Niragi let go of your hand like it burned him. You stumbled forward a few steps, chest heaving, blood sticking your shirt to your side. Your legs trembled — not from fear, not really. Just adrenaline finally wearing off.

Niragi stood a few paces away, silent, back to you, shoulders tense beneath the soaked, torn shirt he wore. The gun hung at his side, useless now. Still, he gripped it like the game wasn’t over.

You wiped at the blood on your cheek, already turning to face him when he finally spoke.

“...I thought you were dead.”

His voice was low, different than during the game. Strained. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You didn’t respond. Just watched the way his jaw clenched as he turned to you fully. Up close, you saw it — the same sharp eyes, the same twitch of his fingers when he was overthinking. His face was older, marked by cruelty and chaos, but underneath it…

That boy still existed.

“You’re not,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then louder, more forcefully, like he was trying to shake off the weight of recognition. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Before you could answer, his gaze dropped to your leg — the blood. His whole posture shifted. Not soft, not exactly, but protective. Possessive.

“You’re injured.” He moved toward you again, more careful this time. “Sit down.”

It wasn’t a question.

And even though the old Niragi might’ve flinched away from giving orders, this version? He wore it like armor.

But even now, with the Borderlands between them and everything they'd survived, you still saw it in his eyes — hesitation. Memory. A crack in the facade.

And for a split second, you remembered…

He sat against the rooftop fence, knees pulled up, blood drying under his nose and on the collar of his uniform. His bottom lip was split. His bag was in the stairwell — probably torn up again, thrown over the railings like trash.

Niragi didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see.

But he shook.

You found him like that, back then — small and still trying to hide it. You didn’t ask if they hit him again. You already knew.

“Your eye’s swelling,” you said instead, pulling your bag off and kneeling in front of him. “Let me see.”

He flinched at first, then relaxed — barely — when you touched his chin, tilting it toward the light.

“You gotta stop freezing up when they get in your face,” you muttered, pulling a tissue from your sleeve and dabbing at his lip. “Stand straight. Shoulders back. Don't make it easy for them.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched you with this wide, hollow look in his eyes, like he couldn’t understand why you were even there. Why you cared.

“I’m not saying fake confidence. I’m saying act like they can’t touch you. You let them smell fear, they’ll eat you alive.”

You stopped, meeting his eyes fully.

“You hear me, Suguru?”

He nodded.

“Say it.”

“I hear you.”

“No,” you said sharply. “Say it like you mean it.”

He blinked. Then swallowed hard.

“I hear you.”

Better.

You blinked away the memory just as Niragi dropped beside you with a torn strip of cloth. He reached for your leg but paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Can I?” he asked, quiet.

The question startled you.

He seemed like could burn down a building and laugh about it, but right now he was — asking you permission like it mattered.

You gave a slight nod.

And as he started wrapping your leg with careful fingers and trembling tension in his shoulders, one thought kept circling in your mind:

He remembers too.

The safehouse was cold and dim, but Niragi was... still. His touch had been careful. His voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, even back in school. A part of him unraveled each time you looked at him like you still saw that boy underneath all the filth and fire he’d become.

He didn't talk much after binding your leg. Just sat next to you, close but not touching, glancing at you sometimes like he wanted to say something — but couldn’t afford to break whatever thin layer of control kept him from crumbling.

But that version of him stayed behind the moment you reached the gates of the Beach.

The transformation was instant.

One step through the entrance and Niragi became something else. The calm was gone, replaced by sharp edges and blood-slick arrogance. His posture straightened and his grin came back — but it was all teeth.

“You're with me,” he told you, voice louder now. Enough for the guards at the front to hear. “No questions.”

You caught the glint in his eye before it happened — the way he looked around, daring anyone to challenge him. Daring someone to ask who you were.

Someone did.

A man in a sleeveless shirt with too much confidence and not enough sense stepped a little too close, eyes raking over you.

“Who’s this?” he asked, not even to Niragi — to you.

Big mistake.

Niragi’s gun was out before you could blink. The barrel pressed to the guy’s temple, a wicked smile crawling across Niragi’s face like it thrilled him to do this in front of everyone.

“You ask them another question,” Niragi said softly, “and I’ll take your tongue and feed it to you.”

Silence dropped like a curtain. The man didn’t even breathe.

Niragi held the tension, let it rot, and then stepped back with a chuckle, holstering the gun like it was part of some twisted joke.

“Relax,” he added, sneering. “We’re friendly here.”

But the message was clear. Crystal.

You weren’t just some new player.

You were his.

He led you to the upper floors — the rooms where the higher-ups stayed, where the elite lounged in stolen luxury. Once you were inside a private room, the mask didn’t fall right away. He leaned against the door after closing it, head tilted, watching you.

Predatory.

But beneath that, the tension was real. Like he didn’t know what to do with you here, in his world.

“You changed,” you said, arms crossed.

“Did I?” He clicked his tongue. “Maybe I just stopped pretending I wasn’t a monster.”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped toward him, slow.

His eyes flickered, pupils shrinking like he was preparing for a hit. Or a command.

“You weren’t pretending before,” you murmured. “You were trying. Now you’re just playing another role.”

You reached up, fingertips brushing under his jaw — soft, but grounding. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t lean into it either.

“You think being cruel makes you untouchable?”

“I am untouchable,” he growled.

“Not to me.”

The words hit hard enough to crack something in his expression. His breath caught.

For a moment, it was just silence between them. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab you or kneel.

Then he whispered — not proud, not even defiant: “...I don’t want them near you.”

“I know.”

“They’re animals. I don’t trust anyone here.”

“You don’t have to.” Your tone dipped, firm. “I’m not theirs.”

His gaze sharpened. Like the way you said it did something to him — a kind of power he didn’t have, but that you offered, like a hand on a leash.

And for a moment, Niragi — the chaos, the cruelty, the gun-toting psychopath who burned people alive for breathing wrong — exhaled.

And leaned his forehead against yours.

The room was quiet now, the door closed. The Beach was buzzing below them — laughter, sex, music, the sick high of survival — but none of it touched this space.

It was just the two of you.

Niragi stood near the bed, still breathing a little too fast, like being alone with you was harder than the game you’d survived. His hands were twitchy, jaw tight, shoulders squared like he was bracing for something — but didn't know what.

You stepped back. Slow. Controlled.

“You were ready to kill a man just for looking at me,” you said softly.

His lip curled. “He shouldn't have.”

“You’re jealous?”

“I’m possessive.” His voice dipped into something low, dangerous. “You’re mine.”

“Say that again,” you told him, chin tilted up — not asking. Commanding.

His jaw clenched. There was a pause. Then, quieter: “You’re mine.”

You reached up and touched his chest — right over his heart, feeling the frantic thud of it.

“No,” you said calmly. “You’ve got it backwards.”

He flinched at that. A twitch in his eyes, like the truth of it scared him more than the gunfights and lasers ever had. You could see it — that part of him still stuck in a broken teenage body, screaming not to bend, not to submit, not to lose control again.

You leaned in.

“You remember how this works, don’t you?”

His breath hitched.

“You don’t give me orders.” Your hand slid up, fingers curling into his hair. “You obey me.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But his knees nearly buckled.

You pushed him back, guiding him toward the bed — not shoving, not forcing, just directing. He followed without question, like muscle memory. Like that old rhythm between you hadn’t faded at all, just buried under years of rage and blood.

He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes on you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

“I’m not impressed by the gun,” you whispered, straddling his lap. “Or the act. You think you scare me?”

“I want to,” he breathed, raw. “I need to.”

You shook your head. “No, Suguru. You need someone to stop you.”

He didn’t say a word.

Not when you pushed him down onto his back.

Not when you pinned his wrists above his head with one firm hand.

Not when you leaned down and kissed him hard, slow, with possession in every breath — not violence, not demand, but ownership.

And not when you pulled back, just barely, and said: “Don’t you dare come until I say.”

His whole body shivered.

The boy who once flinched under fists now writhed beneath you — not in fear.

In surrender.

You leaned in again, mouth brushing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his lips. Not a kiss. Just a reminder. Of who you were. Of who he used to be under your gaze.

“I said don’t come until I tell you,” you whispered.

And he nodded. He nodded.

Niragi Suguru — the sadist with a flamethrower, the self-appointed executioner of the Beach — lay beneath you, chest rising and falling too fast, hands flexing under your grip, eyes wide with anticipation and fear and need.

You slid your free hand down his chest, slow, teasing over old scars and new ones, nails dragging just hard enough to make him twitch. His teeth clenched. He wanted to buck, to flip you over, to claw his way back to control — you could feel it under you.

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Because this — you — was the only thing in this world stronger than his fear of weakness.

“You act like submission’s a cage,” you murmured, your lips at his throat now, biting down hard enough to make him groan. “But look at you.”

Your hand dipped lower. Over his waistband. Inside.

He choked on a moan, body tensing — then melting under your touch like it betrayed him before he could catch it.

“Look at you.”

He shuddered. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“I will if you don’t behave.”

“I am,” he gasped. “I am, I swear—fuck—”

You slowed your pace immediately, just to prove the point. Watching the panic spark in his eyes when the pleasure started to pull away.

His fingers curled into fists.

“No one else gets to see you like this,” you said, eyes locked on his. “No one else even gets to touch you.”

His voice was wrecked when he answered. “They won’t.”

“They try?”

“I’ll kill them.”

You squeezed him just a little harder, just a little meaner. “And what if I want to share you?”

He froze.

Then whispered, eyes wild: “No.”

You smiled.

“There he is.”

And then you gave him exactly what he wanted — not just pleasure, but ownership. Control twisted into surrender, right there in your hands. You worked him slow, deliberate, keeping his wrists pinned, making him beg with his eyes and his breath and his trembling thighs.

He was so close. You could feel it — every time his hips jerked, every sound he barely swallowed, every broken little curse he murmured like a prayer.

“Don’t,” you said again. “Not yet.”

“I c-can’t—” He tried to bite it back, tried to hold it, the pain of obedience turning him inside out. “Please.”

Your voice dropped like a dagger to his throat. “Ask.”

He whimpered. Niragi whimpered.

“Please let me come,” he whispered.

You paused. Looked him over like you were weighing it. Then leaned in again, lips brushing his ear.

“Good boy.”

That did it.

He shattered beneath you, hips snapping up, breath catching in his throat as he came with a groan so raw it bordered on a sob — not from pain, but from release. From permission.

From being yours.

The Beach was everything and nothing at the same time. It was chaos dressed up in order. People followed Niragi’s commands, out of fear or respect—or both. On the surface, he was the one who decided who lived and who died. Who mattered and who didn’t. The only order he ever followed came from Aguni, but he usually let him do as he liked.

In front of everyone else, Niragi was cold, calculating. A leader of men who liked to remind everyone how strong he was, how untouchable. He played the part effortlessly, speaking with biting authority, his gun a constant presence. His reputation alone kept the others in line. And he reveled in it.

But behind closed doors? When the lights were off, when the door clicked shut and the quiet settled in between you?

He was nothing but yours.

Niragi stood in the center of a gathered group of Beach members. The area was buzzing with the usual tension—some nervous, others eager for approval. They all watched him like he was a demon, the devil. And he knew it. He loved it.

A man, younger than the others, nervously stepped forward with a report.

“Sir, there’s a group outside the gates. They’re asking to join.”

Niragi didn’t even look at the man as he answered. His eyes were cold, calculating, scanning the rest of the room. The air itself seemed to freeze around him.

“Are they useful?” Niragi’s voice was sharp, like a blade.

The man hesitated, a sign of weakness. That was all it took.

“They’re... they’re armed. But—”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” Niragi’s words cut through the air, eyes narrowing. “Kill them. We don’t need dead weight around here.”

The young man flinched, nodding quickly before retreating, his footsteps quick and hurried.

Niragi’s gaze shifted over the others, daring anyone to challenge him. No one did. No one would. His reputation as a merciless leader was built on fear—and he wielded it like a weapon.

“Anyone else have a problem with my decision?” His voice lowered, turning almost sickly sweet, dangerous.

No one moved, not even a twitch. They all knew better.

“Good,” Niragi said, smirking, his eyes cutting across the room. “Now get back to work.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his stride long and confident, the respect and fear of the Beach following him.

That night, after the power play, after the bloodshed, Niragi returned to your room.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the walls of control he built up around him seemed to crumble. His shoulders relaxed, the hard lines of his jaw softened, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, taking in the stillness of the room. The silence was his release.

He wasn’t Niragi the devil here. He wasn’t the monster people feared. He was just a man—just yours.

You didn’t need to say anything. You didn’t have to. It was understood. The moment he entered the room, he belonged to you. There was no negotiation, no resistance. He had already submitted the second that door closed.

You didn’t speak at first, just looked at him, letting the tension stretch out between you. He was standing near the bed, just watching you, breathing heavy, like the act of being so vulnerable in this place where he should be strong was somehow too much for him.

But you knew him better than anyone. You knew what this moment meant. And you knew that no matter how much he tried to hold on to the illusion of control, he would always give in.

You walked toward him, your eyes never leaving his. Without saying a word, you placed your hand on his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart under your fingers. His breath hitched at the touch, like you’d ripped away the last of his defenses.

“You did well today,” you said, your voice low, intimate. “You looked so good. So strong, so powerful.”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking to yours, a flash of something dark and yearning in them. Please, it said, please see me.

But you weren’t done yet.

“And when we’re alone,” you whispered, “you’re mine. Understand?”

His throat tightened, the words like ash on his tongue. He nodded, but it was a struggle. The struggle to let go. To trust you with this part of him he fought so hard to keep buried.

“I know,” he rasped, the confession raw.

Your lips curled into a slow smile. “Good boy.”

And just like that, he was yours again.

Masterlist

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

I literally made a post on Tumblr about this idea but thought I'd actually share it here but decided to make a more special version:

The y/ns one day going into a throw down to see who is the best y/n...the superior y/n...like the embodiment of the song 'the ultimate showdown'...Or, if you want another version I think is also super fun...'the ultimate smash bros' lol...

And can imagine the cookies standing idly by in shock as they see things like streamer cookie throwing a left hook at alien y/n or entity y/n going John Cena on timid y/n...oooor the cookies, when they notice the y/n show down, start trying to stop it, loving all the y/ns and not wanting them to destroy each other lol!

Decided to write this bonus with the version where cookie are trying to stop the fight...just various scenarios that are happening all at once because of the number of y/ns lol:

Entity, in a tree about to jump from it elbow first onto timid y/n: AND THEIR NAME IS ENTITY Y/N COOKIE!

Regular, seeing entity jump right at them: OH DEAR WITCHES-

pure vanilla, quickly running up to push timid y/n out of the way and then catch entity so they don't take fall damage: BOTH OF YOU, STOP! WE LOVE YOU EQUALLY!!!

Meanwhile:

Streamer, holding a modified keyboard to work both as a keyboard and a blunt weapon in their hands: LET'S FUDGING DO THIS!

Alien, with a blunt alien weapon: COME AT ME, YOU COWARD!

Caramel arrow: OK, BREAK IT UP YOU TWO!

Meanwhile:

Timid y/n and shy y/n...really not wanting to fight but know this is a free for all and both immediately think the other is gonna kick their butt: .....

Both immediately start crying.

Cream ferret rushes up, trying to calm them both down: shh shh it's OK you don't have to fight, let's go for hot chocolate instead...doesn't that sound nicer?

They both go off with cream ferret.

Just pure chaos heh...sorry if this idea sounds stupid just with the y/n tag having so many different kinds of y/n cookies...having a creative mind and listening to these songs all combined really makes ya think XD

Let's- Lemme just list how many Y/N cookies I've made just to be sure what I'm getting into=

Ancient Y/N- virtue of patience

Beast Y/N- Shadow of wrath

Child ancient Y/N- Virtue of innocence

Child beast Y/N- Shadow of grief

Male batman Y/N

Entity Y/N

Alien Y/N- (No stories on them yet)

Robot Y/N

Streamer Y/N

Timid Y/N

Shy Y/N

Ghost Y/N

Merchant Y/N

Isekai'd Y/N

Baker Y/N

Tarzan Y/N

Child of White Lily cookie Y/N

Yeah- I'm gonna figure out how to do all of them T T oh boy-

Y/N cookie showdown!

On a random day of a random week on a random month in a random year, the Y/N cookies found themselves in a predicament. They wanted to be the best Y/N cookie. But what happens when everyone wants to be the best? They argue and fight to claim that title. And unfortunately for the cookies, these 17 cookies were no different.

Ancient Y/N cookie and Beast Y/N cookie are trying to stangle each other

Ancient Y/N: DIE, FOWL BEAST!

Beast Y/N: TASTE MY WRATH, STUPID COPY!!!!

Pure Vanilla cookie and Shadow Milk cookie are tying their hardest to pull the two apart.

The Children aren't exactly any better, even if they aren't fighting physically since Mystic Flour cookie and White Lily cookie are holding them back.

Ancient child Y/N: Crybaby!

Beast child Y/N: Goody two shoes!

Both stop talking for a moment, before crying to the adults.

Both: They were being mean to me!

Mystic Flour cookie: There there,

White Lily cookie: It's ok little one.

Male Batman Y/N: *Holding merchant Y/N in a choke hold* Admit your defeat!

Merchant Y/N: *Wheezing* Over my dead body!

Male Batman Y/N: That can be arranged!

Black Raisin cookie: *Trying to push them apart* No! Stop fighting! I love you both too much to lose any of you! Stop!

Streamer Y/N: *Hitting Alien Y/N with their keyboard* Be gone!

Alien Y/N: *Behind a shield* Like your father?!

Caramel Arrow cookie: No no- no insults! Stop fighting before any of you get hurt!

Robot Y/N: *Trying to shoot entity Y/N* STOP MOVING SO I CAN ELIMINATE YOU!!!

Entity Y/N: *Moving in all kinds of inhumane ways* MAKE ME, METAL HEAD!

Agent Jjajang cookie: No- don't taunt each other! Just behave for witches sake!!!

Baker Y/N: *The only sensible one at the moment* Guys- there isn't a best Y/N, stop fighting-

Ghost Y/N and Isekai'd Y/N: SHUT UP!

Isekai'd Y/N: I'm about to exorcise a stupid ghost!

Ghost Y/N: Not if I hit you with another truck first!

Pumpkin pie cookie: No! Stop fighting! You'll end up hurting yourselves! Please stop!

Tarzan Y/N: *Casually holding child of White Lily cookie (COWL) Y/N by their ankle* Hahahahahaha

COWL Y/N: Put me down you brute! Put me down right now!

Cherry Blossom cookie: Aye! put them down!- put- Hey! Put them down and stop fighting this instant!

Shy Y/N: *Thinking they're done for*

Timid Y/N: *Thinking it's over for them*

Both begin crying and Cream Ferret cookie rushes to them both.

Cream Ferret cookie: Hey hey, it's ok. You don't have to fight. You're safe. Come on, let's get you some ice cream and candy for the other two crying over there.

Both nod as they follow Cream Ferret cookie.

[consistencynevermether]

Astarion x Rouge! Tav

A/N: I am, as the professionals would say, back on my bullshit. anyways here's another in my series of Astarion x a certain class 

part 1 (Paladin Tav version)- https://www.tumblr.com/consistencynevermether/730256251991310336/astarion-x-gn-paladin-reader-hcs-an-this-man?source=share

Bastard x bastard 

You two are absolute little SHITS together let me tell y’all that 

Your love language? CRIME. 

No but seriously imagine this- one of you had this plain steel ring, nothing special or anything just collecting dust at the bottom of your bags. Honestly, you don’t even remember which one of you it originally belonged to

When you first met, one of you had stolen the ring from the other to prove they were “superior with their hands” to the other. Eventually, it became a game between the two of you, every few days stealing this little trinket from each other. And bragging until the other stole it back. It didn’t matter whether either of you wore it on your fingers, around your necks, or even hiding it in folds of clothing. Neither could hold onto it for more than a week before the other snatched it up 

The most memorable little moment with this ring- once you had both gone on a late night walk, hand in hand. The moon's soft glow bathing you both in silver, it was like a scene out of a romance novel, especially when you leaned in to press your lips against his

And then- 

While he was distracted you slipped it off his finger and booked it. Immediately running as fast as you could, not daring to look back, laughing as you sped off with your prize

Unfortunately for you, Astarion happens to be a vampire spawn. Vampire spawn are quite physically inclined, and Astarion is pretty fit

What I’m saying is you made it a good 30 feet before getting tackled to the ground and had the ring wrestled out of your hand 

Honestly, though, you were laughing so hard you didn’t even mind losing the game, you were just happy that for a second your master plan had worked. 

Astarion complained about how his outfit got all dusty because of you, but you had heard him laughing right along with you when he had tackled you to the ground

Astarion won’t admit this, but that ring means more to him than any bejeweled precious jewelry ever could, because it connects him to you

Both of you claim to have the best set of knives and take every opportunity to show off to each other with your skills. Once you actually picked a lock with a smaller blade and you could swear it caused Astarion to be a little flustered. 

Sharing clothes? Sharing clothes. Listen, I'm just saying, will you let your vampire boyfriend burn up in the sun or will you lend him that nice new cloak you just got? Yea, that’s what I thought now it’s joint property. Dw tho it all evens out when you steal one of his nightshirts (it’s the comfiest thing ever, and not just because it always faintly smells like him) 

You guys definitely do couples' heists together. Sneaking, pickpocketing, lockpicking, running from the law, it's all in a day's work for the most shifty couple in Faerun. One of you might distract a lord while the other snuck into his vault to retrieve some valuable magical item. 

Ok but in all seriousness, y’all must be the most ethereal couple around. Imagine seeing two people glide over the rooftops of Baldur's gate, each jump almost like steps to a dance they both know by heart. Flitting around each other like ribbons in the breeze, one with soft silver hair and the other face obscured by their pitch-black cloak, hood pulled up and rippling in the night air. They dance across rooftops, swift as shadows, graceful as spirits, never touching, and yet somehow the rare onlooker knows they are meant to be a pair.

Some bard has definitely written a song about that last bullet point I promise you. 

You two probably had a million cons just waiting to be used. I imagine during your time together trying to get rid of the tadpole, you would both talk late into the night, bouncing ideas off each other, throwing out ideas of different tricks you could pull on the unsuspecting. Some genuinely clever, most just absurd attempts at making the other person laugh.  

If you ever actually got the chance to you it though? Oh ho HO. let me tell you how this went down. Your party had gotten into a situation, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. But by a bout of bad luck, someone had started harassing Karlach and at the same time, Lazel had started yelling at a guard, hand on her sword, inches away from striking. The party needed some sort of distraction, and luckily you both had just the thing. 

Astarion had grabbed the nearest glass of wine and splashed it on you, then putting on his best offended face he anguished, “How could you cheat on me?!?! And with my own BROTHER!?!?” That sentence made everyone's head snap up, including the guards as you both laid the theatrics on thick. You kept this act up with Astarion for a good 10 minutes, with fake tears and dramatics from both of you. At one point on the spot, you made up that he had slept with your mother and it was revenge, and the crowd was extremely invested, people taking sides, guards trying to calm down the chaos. But hey you're fake out worked, Karlach and Lazel were able to sneak away quietly and you had both given the distraction of a lifetime. Shadowheart disapproves.

Occasionally the two of you will talk in Thieves cant to each other when you don’t want the party to overhear certain conversations. Originally you were both probably talking about important things like strategies and debating about how to go about getting rid of the tadpole. But now you kind of both just use it to piss off Lazel a little. 

Ultimately you two really understand each other on a deep level, you really are 2 people with one mind. And together there's a world of adventure out there for you both, and infinite fun magical items for you both too “acquire”.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Four meets the colors

I decided to be absolutely evil so here you go fanfic prompt :

What if four was never capable to combine into link but they didn’t even get the opportunity to take turns because everyone controls different body parts and they have to coordinate absolutely everything together and pulling the four sword back just to be four people again isn’t something they can just do

They learned to live with it but no matter how hard they try to make it look naturally

they still move in a way that feels wrong even when they are trying hard to cooperate

Their feet have slight delay

their hands have trouble gripping stuff in a way that looks naturally and one hand might grip the wrong side of a box ending with nearly dropping it

Their face can show different and several emotions at once and they can sometimes be heard mumbling to themself

And because of that they are perceived as unsettling or unstable by their own village

Their father couldn’t truly understand or accept them because link his child essentially died and they know it no matter how hard he tries to hide it

Their grandpa is getting older and even though he grieved his grandson he still wanted to accept them and when he is gone they would only have Zelda left

And she spends most her time in the castle ruling Hyrule

Shadow is not coming back ever again

And because of that spend as much time as they can on blacksmithing to not have to worry about things

But when linked universe happens they meet a version of them that has everything they could possibly want

Like their own bodies and lives

Shadow is still alive

The village doesn’t fear them

Vio,Blue , Red and Green all get to go by their own names

And four has to go by link

It’s genuinely paining them because it just doesn’t seem fair

Main while the colors hate how four is looking at him

Because they used to think that link would understand and support their decision to stay apart

But obviously link feels to good about himself as the perfect and superior hero of the four sword

And they all start hating him for it because it means that their decision wasn’t approved by the one person it mattered from the most

The chain feels the tension but doesn’t really know how to fix it so they separate both

And when they all get to four’s Hyrule they feel ashamed of how bad they are viewed by their own village

Because the colors are loved but they are not

So they tell them that when they put the sword back they never became one

The colors feel absolutely horrified when they realize the implications

Because four's existence sounds like their worst nightmare

And it makes them feel sick

That a version of them could be so screwed over by their own existence

And shadow isn’t even with them

And their dad doesn’t even want them to exist

Man and they thought they had it rough

Four gets to meet shadow and has a mental breakdown over it

Shadow is also very disturbed by the situation

Also they keep four there is no way hylia can stop them (it still is extremely weird when they interact with their counterparts because they like don’t always have the same expressions )

but also four is all fucked up like red is delusional (he was doing his own thing the entire adventure in the manga), blue has an obsession with keeping things under control(getting frozen and swallowed by a ghost is not fun) (which is why he is so obsessed with cleaning because it gives him a way to control the environment ) , Vio is depressed about shadow,green has a hero complex (he is link if you delete all personality traits except hero)

That combines into a mess of having their own personality but not enough to be their own people (just how they can’t even live without coordinating link's every step)

Yeah that won’t be fun

The colors have it easy in comparison

[effiecalvin]

Hi everyone, I just wanted to give an update on where I'm at on the reprint and everything. This is gonna cover a couple different things.

So, my original plan last year was to release book 7 on patreon in the same way that I released book 6, but taking my rights back from NSP threw all my plans into complete chaos. While I still don't regret it (I feel better than I have in a long time, honestly), my plan to republish the entire series in 2025 turned out to be a little too ambitious. I really wanted them back online so quickly that most people wouldn't even have time to notice they were gone. But when I sat down with TQOI for the first time in years, I realized just how many problems my publisher had missed and how much better it could be if I had an editor who actually cared about the story.

At first I was sort of resistant to this because

It would slow down my release schedule significantly

Professional editors are expensive

I didn't believe I would be able to find a professional editor who cared about my work

Luckily, I managed to find an editor who not only is already familiar with the books, but has agreed on a payment plan that will take a huge burden off me. I had talked a little bit about crowdfunding to cover costs, but I felt so guilty doing that when people have already been supporting me on patreon.

I think the reason why I initially thought I'd be able to rerelease the series all in the same year was because I was thinking about them as a series. Like, releasing ONE series instead of SIX books. Yeah. I don't know. That sounds dumb. I don't know why my brain did that.

So, where I'm at right now is we're looking at Winter 2025 for a release of TQOI. I know that's way later than any of us wanted, but TQOI was the weakest book in the series by a long shot and it needs significantly more edits than the later books. I'm hoping the release pace for the rest of the series will be much faster once we're past it. At the same time, I'm really excited about all the changes I'm making. It's going to have more chapters, more scenes, and more character development, and I hope it will just be a superior story overall. No major worldbuilding elements are going to change, it's just a lot of small details that I think will add up in the end. I did joke about giving everyone normal names, but I think it wouldn't quite feel like Inthya anymore if I did that.

I've also contacted Brenda Scott Wlazlo, who read the audiobooks, and she's agreed to read the revised versions! I know so many people love Brenda's voice, and so I was thrilled when I was able to bring her back in. I'm really hoping we can get the book and audiobook out at the same time, but there might be a slight delay simply because she can't start on the audio until the final draft of the book is finished.

As far as Patreon goes, I want to get back into giving it the attention it deserves. Like I mentioned above, I was originally planning to release book 7 on there, but I'm not sure that's a good idea while the series is out of print and Princess of Domeysil is unedited and certain elements of the continuity are in flux. So, what I'm thinking is once I've got a little more breathing room (I'm drowning in TQOI right now), I'm going to start on a novella about either Lexandrie and Svana or Lisette and The Courier Who Definitely Has A Name I Promise and release those on Patreon instead. I'm leaning towards Lisette because 1. I want to show more stuff about Courier Culture and 2. that seems to be what people want most, but I'd like to write both and maybe release them as a combo book or something.

I'm also thinking about trying to run a Discord server for Patreon supporters again. I did try one a long time ago in the past but it didn't quite work out for a couple reasons. I think I'm in a better place mentally now and, most importantly, I know how to stand up for myself against people who push my boundaries and make me feel afraid. I'm not going to promise that a sever will definitely 100% happen, but it's something I find myself thinking about a lot.

Okay, I think that's everything for now. Thank you so much for sticking with me when I've been so quiet.

EDIT: Another thing to add is I'm not sure if I want to release book 7 on Patreon. Book 6 as it is now is basically an unedited rough draft, and that's a little embarrassing for me, especially since I'm afraid of it leaking to piracy sites and people thinking it's the final version. I think it might be better to write book 7 in private while releasing novella chapters on Patreon instead.

[cookinguptales]

So I've talked about this a little bit in the past, but like... to me, the biggest tragedy of this substandard turning for Guillermo is that he's clearly always associated vampiric transformation with personal growth.

One thing that's always struck me about both Guillermo and Nandor is that both of them have this odd fixation on a nebulous "better" version of their lives that they should be living, and that fixation is so strong that it prevents them from fully living the life they already have. They both have a tendency to be so focused on how green the grass is on the other side that they forget to water their own lawn, if you get me.

Nandor has pretty obviously been on a quest for meaning since at least the first season (due to his crisis over Al Qolnidar no longer existing and his descendent dying) and he has a strong tendency to ignore all of the meaningful things that already exist in his life so he can pursue a fantasy of something better. He constantly throws aside the good things he has because he believes there must be something better. And in so doing, he often loses what he had to begin with.

Guillermo actually does things fairly similarly, except while Nandor is looking externally for something to enter into his life and give it meaning, Guillermo's fantasy life is focused more purely on his sense of self, with the anchor of it being vampiric transformation.

Guillermo has always looked at vampiric transformation as being the magic bullet that will make him good. It'll make him stronger, faster, more powerful, sure. But it's not just that. His entire sense of self-worth is attached to this. He doesn't just want physical power; he wants social power. He wants emotional power.

When Guillermo becomes a vampire, he won't get bullied anymore. When he becomes a vampire, he'll get respect. He'll be smart, strong, sexy. He'll be loved. He'll be able to love himself.

He'll be better.

Guillermo has always unabashedly put all his eggs in that basket. He's always just waited for someone to come bestow worthiness on him. But it's also circular logic, y'know? He'll become worthy once he's a vampire, but he'll also only become a vampire once he's worthy.

He has to earn it, and he'll never be happy until this growth, this vague sense of superiority, is earned.

That's really not how self-worth works, though, is it? No one can give that to you. No one can magically make you all the things you've always wanted to be, and no one can magically strip you of all the parts of you that you're ashamed of. And all the praise in the world won't mean anything to you if you don't believe it.

Guillermo, as he's gotten further away from being a vampire, has actually started to gain all the things he has intrinsically associated with vampirism. He's stronger. He's faster. He's more powerful. He's sexier. He's more confident. People respect him. People accept him. He's been able to start to reclaim his sexuality. He's starting to be able to be himself, and that self is both alluring and dangerous.

But none of that came because of anything he's done to try and earn his worth. It was all accidental; he's been so focused on this fantasy version of himself that he didn't see the way he was growing, changing, and developing in his own way.

Guillermo can't see that he's already grown up to be his childhood fantasy of himself, y'know?

So now he's gone and used all this newfound power and confidence and cunning to finagle himself a bite. But it didn't work. And it didn't make him feel the way he thought it would.

Because it's always been a fantasy. It's always been something to work toward. It's always a version of him that can't exist because it's nothing concrete, it's just the nebulous idea of being better.

Moreover, it's not just a power fantasy, though it certainly is that. I think the key to it here is that Guillermo has really come to associate this changing with acceptance. Not just anyone's acceptance -- Nandor's acceptance.

Along with all the other parts of the fantasy, Guillermo has fantasized about Nandor changing him because Nandor thinks he's worthy. It symbolizes all the longing he's ever had for acceptance and respect and acknowledgement and love and desire. Nandor's really become the center of all that for him, mostly because Guillermo is stupid in love with him. And since he circumvented Nandor's acceptance when he claimed a bite from someone else, he's really missed out on a major portion of what he was fantasizing about in the first place.

No one in the vampiric world is accepting him. If anything, they're pushing him away even more now that he's upset their social balance. No one thinks he's sexy. No one thinks he's cool. No one loves him, desires him, respects him. He still hasn't gotten the acknowledgement that he really wanted all along.

It was never just the powers. It was the fact that Guillermo hated himself. He hated his nebbishness, his weakness. He hated the way he couldn't fit in, not with his peers or his family or his religious community. He hated his timidity and his shyness and his submissiveness. He hated the way he was pushed around by everyone -- and in fact, he wanted to do the pushing.

And he thought that getting bitten would fix all that overnight. But it didn't.

So now even though he's gotten the bite he's always fantasized about, he's still deeply unhappy. And some of this really is the lack of physical power, which he's associated with social power. But I think more of it is that he always thought that a bite would change him on a fundamental level. But he has to come to terms now with the fact that he's still just Guillermo.

He can never be anything but himself. And Guillermo hates himself. He's embarrassed by himself. He's ashamed of himself. The idea of never being anything but what he already is is unbearable to him.

Then you add the fact that he doesn't feel like he "earned" this transformation, he never did get the acknowledgment from the person he needed it from most...

Guillermo was bitten and he still doesn't feel worthy. That's the root of it. He doesn't feel like the bite made him worthy and he doesn't feel like he was deemed worthy of the bite. So the bite itself? Yeah, that's worthless, too. Just like him.

Guillermo is struggling with the death of a fantasy here, I think, and struggling with idea that he might only ever be himself. And all he has to impress those around him, especially Nandor, is that self. And he doesn't feel like that self is enough, especially now that he might have fully alienated Nandor in particular.

God, I just. I really want Guillermo to come to accept who and what he is. I want him to see his own strength and his own power and his own beauty and realize that it didn't have to be bestowed upon him by anyone. It's not just his bloodline, it's not just the master he serves. It's him! It's in him! It's intrinsic! It's good!

It's enough!

I want him to be so proud of himself, because I am. My beautiful little murder machine. He's awful and I love him so dearly. ;;

God, I just want these two idiots to look at each other and realize that what they already have is enough. Nandor already has the love and acceptance he's been craving. Guillermo already has the power and worthiness that he's been craving. They already both love each other. They just need to stop being dumbasses for five minutes!

(But now who's lost in a fantasy world? lmao)

[pipperoo]

so i just rewatched back to the future for the first time in years and i know this has definitely been said, but i can’t keep this in

it’s always horrified me in time travel plot lines in shows or movies when they end up in a better future after they change something in the past. like marty’s parents are happy and in love, george is biff’s superior, his siblings have it more together, his dad wrote his book, and his mom is okay with her kids dating. everything seems better and it’s assumed that this is the happy ending, but that’s not marty’s life!

all the 17 years that he lived are now gone, forever. there of course will be similarities because it seems that he’s still the same kind of guy because his family and girlfriend didn’t act like he was acting that weird, but it’s still not the same. those aren’t the parents that raised him, those aren’t his siblings, his band and friends are probably different too. they’re the same people but not. marty just stole the life away from the marty that grew up with these people. that marty is gone forever! erased from existence! and no one’s ever going to know.

the time traveler marty won’t have the same memories, he’s not going to remember anything that he should have lived through. he has to play this part for the rest of his life, maybe some days he forgets, but something is always going to remind him that he doesn’t really belong. that he’s an imposter in this timeline. he shouldn’t be here, but he is because he can never go back.

how often do you think he slips up? like he clearly doesn’t remember a date with his girlfriend or a family outing that apparently they always talk about. how much do you think he thinks about it?

that always made me nervous when i watched this because, if this time travel shit happened to me, i would freak out, i’d break under the pressure. i couldn’t help but think of the person i replaced. the version of me i unknowingly killed. i could probably play the part for a while, but not forever. i’m getting nervous thinking about it right now! because that sounds so awful!!

anyway the movie is still fun and i still really like it :) (still get insane gender-envy from marty, but that’s neither here nor there) i just can’t help but think this when i watch the ending