#and i really want to go through and underline stuff in

[aparticularbandit]

hardcover or paperback? bookstore or library? bookmark or receipt? stand alone or series? nonfiction or fiction? thriller or fantasy? under 300 pages or over 300 pages? children’s or ya? friends to lovers or enemies to lovers? read in bed or read on the couch? read at night or read in the morning? keep pristine or markup? cracked spine or dog ear?

hardcover or paperback? bookstore or library? bookmark or receipt? stand alone or series? nonfiction or fiction? thriller or fantasy? under 300 pages or over 300 pages? children’s or ya? friends to lovers or enemies to lovers? read in bed or read on the couch? read at night or read in the morning? keep pristine or markup? cracked spine or dog ear?

[not-poignant]

hi hi, hope youre feeling a bit better since your post. i know this message wont be answered right away but just thought id wish you a good tuesday atleast 🐛 i am absolutely obsessed with your underline the rainbow series, found you through your original work (which hasnt happened often, considering i read fanfiction mostly). your take on omegaverse is so interesting and nuanced – oh im hitting word limit!! basically i wanted to ask if you have any omegaverse works to recommend THANKS & GOOD NI

Anon I bet you didn't think you'd be waiting like 2 months for me to reply x.x

But seriously thank you so much <3333

I hope you're having a good weekend!

I'm kind of obsessed with the Underline the Rainbow series too, and now that I know I can write kind of... universes like this, I might do it again one day too! There's so many different scenarios where this could work super well, with different formats and couples.

But right now I'm rolling around in omegaverse tropes and silliness about hormones and invented organs and just really enjoying it. There's something incredibly fun about turning cracky aspects of a format into something a bit more thoughtful, and being earnest about it? Like, we all know omegaverse is kinda ridiculous? But I also have zero shame in loving it so so much.

Being able to write it like this is just... goodness, and the fact that folks like yourself enjoy it? How cool is that?! :D

As for omegaverse works to recommend, a lot of what I read these days are Webtoons, and a lot of the fanfic I used to read is omegaverse. I know I have a lot of really big omegaverse fans (and writers) who follow me, so I'd like to invite all of those folks who post their recs - you can leave multiple replies and if you've written it, please please share it!! I know some of you have written absolute fucking bangers.

My contribution is a webtoon called Define the Relationship, which is an alpha/alpha relationship.

[thelikesoffinn]

„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.  

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just  underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.  

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve  all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

[cottonlemonade]

I'd love a small Lemonade with pineapple flavor, and pomegranate seeds for Daichi and me. Thank you for doing this, it's so cool!!!

Accidental Confession

word count: 901 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: Daichi x chubby!Reader (feat. Suga)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy, accidental confession with pining friend Daichi

“Alright, tell me if this is bad.”

Suga nodded and crossed his arms, watching expectantly as his best friend squared his shoulders and, after clearing his throat, said, “I really like you. Please be my girlfriend.”

Daichi waited. So did Suga.

And then the setter frowned in pity. “Two weeks of prep and that’s what you came up with?”

With a tired sigh Daichi rubbed the back of neck, “Why shouldn’t I keep it simple?”

“Because that was lukewarm at best.”

“I thought it was heartfelt.”, the captain murmured and plopped down on the empty swing next to his friend. It was still pretty early in the evening but the neighborhood playground was already deserted.

“First, I would lose the “really like”. I dare say, a steady three year obsession with her warrants “love”. Second, why don’t you add a bit more… more? Tell her why you like her. Why you want her to be your girlfriend and so on. Girls love that kind of stuff.”

Daichi regarded his painfully single friend and bit back a comment.

“I know what you’re thinking.”, Suga raised his hands in defense, “But you know what they say. Those who can’t do, teach. Now. Once again with feeling.”

Somehow this one was worse than the first. Suga shook his head thoughtfully and focused on a crow hopping back and forth on a bench nearby.

“Maybe a bit of roleplay might help.”, he suggested, “Let me get into character.“

“Is this really necessary?“, Daichi asked with a skeptical frown.

“Would you have gone out with yourself after that confession?“

Daichi cleared his throat again and a slight blush appeared on his cheeks.

“Fine. What do you have in mind?”

And so the two boys practiced. Suga suggested trying different approaches, just to see which “genre” of confession would suit his best friend the most. Their rehearsal went on for so long that there was even a snack break at the convenience store involved. Daichi checked his watch, one hand holding onto the chain of the swing as he kept the hot yakisoba bun tucked between his lips. He still had a good 20 minutes until you were supposed to meet him.

“I think the last one wasn’t so bad.”, Suga said, slowly swinging back and forth and racking his brain for ideas of improvement, “Let’s try that one again, but try to be a bit more confident. Like you’re sure she will go out with you.”

“But I’m not.”

“Fake it til you make it.”, Suga shrugged and jumped up, rummaging in the plastic bag of snacks for props. When he turned around to face his friend for a final run through he had stuffed the two melon breads they bought under his shirt.

It was hard for Daichi to keep a straight face this time. He kept blushing as Suga meanwhile gave the performance of a lifetime.

“Go on, tell me you love me.”, Suga urged.

“I… I love you.”, Daichi repeated and then went on, “Every day you’re what I look most forward to about school.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”, Suga gave him a thumbs up. Daichi was on a roll.

“You’re smart and funny, not to mention beautiful. - I also still can’t get over how easily you can control the first years. And even though it took me way too long to get here, I don’t want to graduate without letting you know how I feel.”

“You know, now would be a great time for a kiss.”

The gray haired boy leaned forward with a superior smirk, fully intending to catch Daichi off guard and maybe push him backwards off the swing in the process.

“Oh! I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. I- congratulations!”

“Y/n!”

Daichi almost stumbled as he tried to untangle himself from the swing and took a few steps towards you.

With tentative movements, Suga fished the two bread rolls out of his shirt. To underline his uninvolvement he opened one of the packages and innocently nibbled on the soft bun, pretending to look anywhere but you two.

“I’m happy for you.”, you said quickly, “And don’t worry I won’t tell anyone. Although, I am a bit confused why you called me here.”

“Y/n.”, Daichi tried to cut in but you were on caught up in your nervous ramblings.

“It was really pretty. Your confession, I mean. I should have known you liked him. You’re always together and seem so close.”

“Y/n.”, he tried again.

“But then again, I feel like that shouldn’t necessarily be an indicator for romantic love. I mean, you and me are close and you obviously don’t feel that way about me. And men should be allowed to be close to each other without immediately having people think that-“

“Y/n!” Daichi put his hands on either side of your face and squished your chubby cheeks to make you stop. Your mouth turned into a kind of fishy gape.

“Sorry.”, you muttered.

“Suga was you.”

“Huh?”

He squished your face a little tighter, making you meet his eyes.

“I was practicing my confession for you.”

“Oh? Oh!”

He let you go and took a step back, patiently watching you put the pieces together.

Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he looked to the canopy of a tree overhead. “Do you… want me to say it all again?”

a/n: thank you very much for the request! I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

[desolateyears]

Have a mini fic about Steve annotating books and Eddie finding it really hot🖤

So obviously, Eddie's a bookworm. Before he had any friends, he spent the better parts of his childhood at Hawkins Library after school and Hawkins Middle's library during any recesses and lunches. He constantly read books, this was before Wayne got him a guitar and before he got into dnd, and being a bookworm tremendously helped him fuel both of those hobbies later on. But before then? The library was like a second home to him. 

And so, recently founding out that Steve reads, like a lot, is something of a revalation. It's not that Eddie thinks the guy is stupid, but he figured the guy spent time doing other productive hobbies at home. But the guy reads, and as previously mentioned, Eddie considers himself a literature connoisseur of sorts. Writing book reports and essays were one of the few things he actually excelled at in high school. 

So anyway, he found out that Steve is a book nerd by finding one of Steve's books open on his bed. Not really the strangest thing that Eddie's come across in Steve's room if he's being honest, and not the biggest indicator of nerdiness, until he focuses his attention and acknowledges the bright colors sprawled across the pages. 

A burst of rainbow colors underlining what Eddie guesses are his favorite parts of the story or important stuff he wanted to remember. And obviously, Eddie has to ask him about it. and Steve explains to him that he has a whole color key and it's made up of romantic lines that make him feel warm, sad stuff that makes him tear up, stuff that is word for word undoubtedly Steve Harrington sprawled on a page. Steve won't tell him which color is which, too embarrassed by it, but he lets Eddie read through them, and then he stares at Steve in unyeilding fondness. 

The look reflected on Steve's is not the same, mostly anxiety and insecurity, which Eddie immediately wants to soothe. It's so so sweet he thinks but Eddie's mouth translates the words into, "That's so fucking hot." Which, shit man, it is but he hadn't meant to say it out loud. 

"Shut up, dude, don't make fun of me right now." 

And listen, books are everything to him, this is no joking matter. They inspire his own stories, whether through a dnd campaign or writing song lyrics. It's honestly probably the most attractive thing a person could do in Eddie's opinion, he didn't know how hot until right about now, but he'll die on this hill. Annotating your books is hot. 

"Listen to me when I say this Steve, while that is the nerdiest thing I've ever heard and I'm, ya know, me. It's also about the most attractive thing that's come out of that pretty mouth of yours, like ever."

And Steve folds his arms across his fucking beautifully sculpted chest and narrows his eyes just slightly, raising a judgemental eyebrow at him. 

"You're being serious."

Oh he's never been more serious about anything in his life. 

"Uh...yeah? Yes. Oh my god."

Yeah, real eloquent Edward. 

Whatever, his heart is pounding profuesely against his rib cage because holy shit Steve is a book nerd and Eddie wants to kiss him fucking yesterday. So he gets on all fours on Steve's bed to lean forward and basically attacks his mouth before he can even think about it. 

And when he pulls back, Steve's pupils are blown wide and his breath has picked up pace, and Steve keeps bouncing between looking at Eddie's eyes and his lips. 

"You just kissed me."

It comes out disbelieving. 

"Yeah and with your permission I'd like to continue, like stat, immediately, now."

"You're insane."

And hands weave through curls and pull. 

Eddie tumbles foward, ending fully sprawled on top of Steve, and, jesus christ, body pressed impossibly close to his. 

And after they're romantic, read: nerdy horniness, little makeout session, he forces Steve to read the annotations himself, going through all the books that are important to Steve. He has to stop himself from moaning to really emphasize how hot he finds it, and to make Steve slightly embarrassed, but refrains. Just lets him continue. 

Eddie has never been so in love in his life.

[ilovechuuy4]

⋆｡°·☁︎ When you hold me, its always better.

Husband!Fyodor x Gn!reader

Warnings; Possible OOC || Nothing

A/n; This is specifically for my bsf @luvfy0dor / @luvfy0dor-main there isn't anything special going on just personal stuff :3 I love you so much ur the best of friends and I hope this cheers you up just the more ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎э (All lace / dividers by @anitalenia )

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Fyodor is the type of Husband to hold you and tell you everything is fine after an overwhelming and stressing day.

You hated this feeling, it was overwhelming and suffocating. The stress and angry swallowing you whole, everything today was sickening, from the people at work to how unwell you felt. But you had to admit, the comforting yet bitter contact of Fyodor's icey hands was enough to help you relax. The two of you snuggled up in the bed bodies pressed against one another, cause for the past 2 hours he'd been calming you done from your stress high. Your head resting one your husband's chest, dozing off a bit. "Mhm, myshka. If you're tired don't you think you should go get ready for bed?" He asked, his voice underlined with that thick Russian accent that you loved so much.

No, I don't want to sleep. Keep talking to me." You hummed softly, shivers running down your spin at the feeling of his fingers soothingly rubbing your nape. A smile etching onto his face as he looks into your eyes. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't push yourself too much, if you're sleepy, sleep. I'll be here." He spoke, massaging your neck slowly as you look up at him. You sit up in his lap reaching up and threading your fingers through his dark, raven hair. "I'm not that tired. It's just it gets really comfortable." You said with a smile, scooting closer to the Russian man as you let your arms wrap around his shoulders. His slim arms tentivley encasing over your waist, his face nestling into the warmth of your neck.

"Whatever you say, my myshka." Fyodor huffed, pulling away from you, his deep, violet eyes staring into your e/c ones. His eyes were filled with unspoken love, he didn't even have to tell you how much he adored you, cause you knew already. Your hand cup his pale face, thumb rubbing the corner of his mouth as you lean in, peppering kisses to his nose, under eyes, and the corner of his mouth a a gentle smile on your face. "Come here, stop teasing me like that." He said, a slight pout under his tone, you couldn't have but laugh quietly, leaning in as your lips meet his. A content hum rumbled in his throat as he kissed back, fingers massaging your hip bone soothingly.

After a minute or two, you pull away with a cheeky grin, your eyes meeting his. They were full of love and affection as he stared back at you with a down pulled smile. "I adore you, I adore you more than I ever thought I could," He let out a shaky sigh before continuing. "You deserve so much more than l offer. You're too sweet for the world." He cooed, his voice full of sincerity as he slumped his body against yours. "Oh, Fedya. Don't think like that, you're more than enough." You reassured, hand soothingly rubbing up and down his back that was cover in a thick, smooth knitted sweater. A quiet groan was heard against your neck causing you to let out a soft scoff.

"Don't get all pouty and whiney now." You teased causing him to jerk up from where he slumped into your body. "I'm not, I'm just simply.. Touched. By your way of words." He said with a huff. It made you smile, seeing some real emotion on such a dull yet loving face. You enjoyed times like these. "Cmon, let's get to bed now, my love." He said, pulling you close and pulling you down to his side. This was a dream to you, one you never wanted to wake up from. "Goodnight, myshka. I love you truely." He cooed one last time, his voice filling your ears as you dozed off.

A/n; THIS IS SORTA RUSHED I GUESS I HOPE IT DOESN'T FLOP˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

[talaok]

An idea for pedro and reader

They are in a relationship and live together. The reader is also an actress. She asks pedro to practice her lines with her. In the play, she is having a really long line, breaking up with the person ans leaving them... pedro can't continue... at night in bed they are cuddling and pedro talks about how he hated the feeling or the thought of the reader ever leaving

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: ahh this is amazing how do you come up with stuff like this

"I know that face," he said, busting you immediately as you emerged from the bedroom.

He was sat on the couch, lazily half-reading something on his phone.

"what is it sweetheart?" he asked, as with a soft click, his phone went black

You bit back a smile "How do you know there is something?"

"Because you're very easy to read" he explained "Now tell me what you need"

"Excuse me? I'm not easy to read" you gasped

"No?" he asked rhetorically "Then what's up with the script in your hand?"

You glanced down at the papers between your fingers, feeling a soft veil of defeat land on top of you.

"Fine" you gave up, "Can you help with a scene?"

It wasn't unusual for you to run lines with each other, god only knows how many times he made you go through that scene from The Last of Us...

"of course" he nodded "What's it about?"

"Break up scene," you told him as you joined him on the sofa "I just feel like I'm missing something" 

"What?"

"well I don't know" you laughed "That's why you're here"

"All right," he said, as you handed him the script.

"You just have to read the ones not underlined" you pointed to the paper

"Can do" he smiled, watching as you stood from the couch and ran your hands soothingly down your jeans.

"ok" you breathed closing your eyes for a moment to get in character.

Pedro took it as his cue to start

"baby I love you" he murmured as written.

"And I-" you stopped, your forehead creasing as if your next words physically pained you "I... I don't know if I do anymore" you spoke "I don't think so"

"what are you saying?" Pedro read again, his tone more clipped now, but you were too focused on your performance to notice the way his eyes had changed, had... saddened.

"I'm saying I don't feel that spark anymore, that-that I miss walking faster when I come home because I know that's where you are, that I can't remember the last time my heart swelled like it did on our first date"

Three long beats passed, before Pedro realized that was his cue

Something was happening inside of him.

He knew this all was fake, but a part of him couldn't help but wander on its own... sure it's just a scene now, but it's so real, people fall out of love constantly, and you- well, Pedro realized for an interminable, terrifying moment, that you weren't immune to it, that what was happening to Jeff in this scene could very well happen to him any day now.

He had always known he didn't deserve you, that you were too much, too perfect, too good, too kind to be with him.

And for the first time in a while, a dreaded thought crossed his mind.

What happens when she realizes it?

"Rose" he called, pulling himself out of his own thoughts

"I know" you sniffled, your eyes filled with tears now "I'm sorry jeff-I really am- I don't know what happened, I don't know what's wrong with me, I just know... I just know I don't love you anymore... I can't bring myself to anymore"

And that was it.

Pedro had to glance out the window to take his mind off of whatever was happening.

"It's perfect" he said, after taking a lungful of air "There's nothing missing sweetheart, you nailed it"

"but" you stuttered "the scene is not done baby, there's still-"

"I know" he shook his head, closing the script.

He didn't want that thing in his hands anymore

"But trust me it's perfect, you don't need any more practice"

"a-are you sure?" you asked, wiping away a leftover tear  

"I am" he nodded "don't worry, you were incredible" he forced a smile "as always"

You grinned now "Oh well, if the Emmy nominee says so..." you considered, sitting back next to him "I guess I'm gonna have to believe you"

__ __ __

the rhythmic thumps of his heartbeat were the only sound you could hear from your place on the bed.

You were curled up against him, your head on his chest, and his fingers playing with your hair as his ability to emanate warmth better than any thermostat ever could, proved itself once again even on such a cold winter night.

"You've been quiet today" you finally spoke the thought that had been eating at you for hours.

He really had been.

When he didn't answer, you looked up at him, stopping drawing circles on his belly.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, wishing you could have had a clearer image of his face than the one the soft streetlamp from outside the window granted.

"No sweetheart, nothing's wrong," he said... but there was something in his tone that felt off.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze.

"You know, I'm not the only one who's easy to read..." you murmured gently, as your right hand went to stroke his pecs soothingly "You can tell me whatever it is, you know?"

A beat passed, and then two, as silence spread around the darkness of the room

"I know baby, it's just" he sighed "it's stupid"

"I'm sure it's not" you reassured him "and it's not like I haven't told you my fair share of stupid things" 

He let out a weak chuckle.

"c'mon" you urged sweetly

He looked at you for a moment, before finally making up his mind.

"it's just- " he breathed "the scene you wanted my help with..."

"what about it?" you asked, after he didn't finish the sentence.

"I-It made me think"

Oh shit, your heart faltered, was he about to break up with you?

"That that could happen in real life too, you know?" he swallowed thickly "that one day you could stop loving me"

Oh

"oh"

"and the thought of you leaving... of- of not having you by my side anymore... it just- I wouldn't know how to do it"

"Baby" you whispered, "what are you talking about?" 

"you're too good for me y/n, and I guess I'm just scared that one day you'll realize it and just... leave"

"stop" You placed a hand on his lips to silence his nonsense "Baby, that was just a scene from a play"

"Yeah but stuff like that happens"

"well not to us" you promised "You're stuck with me forever, pretty boy, whether you want it or not"

"but-"

"no" you stopped him "no but. Pedro I love you" you breathed "I love you so much it actually hurts sometimes. So no, I'm not leaving"

You could now hear his heartbeat even if your ear wasn't placed above it anymore.

he looked at you, really looked at you, and slowly you watched the doubts melt from his irids.

"thank you" he said simply, leaning closer to you "and baby…I love you more"

[bengiyo]

Love is Better the Second Time Around Ep 2 Stray Thoughts

Last week, we met our leads, Miyata and Iwanaga. Miyata and Iwanaga had some kind of relationship as teens in high school and seemed to part on mixed terms. Now they're both adults and have met through happenstance via work. Miyata seems to be suppressing his queerness, and Iwanaga seems determined to reconnect with Miyata. Miyata wanted to break off, saying he's committed to his girlfriend, but we left at them kissing in Iwanaga's apartment before Miyata ran away and admitted to himself that he still has feelings.

Yes, let's pick up from the kiss and get Iwanaga's perspective.

OMG he wanted to elope, and Miyata didn't show up. Incredible.

Iwanaga wasn't gonna let you go that easy, sir, especially not after that kiss.

Oh fuck yeah, Shiraishi! Drama convention says you won't succeed, but I love you for telling your rival to fuck off.

Oof, Shiraishi heard that. I hope he gets meaner.

I am howling! This botched proposal is one of the funniest things I've seen in weeks! I didn't want an adult woman who didn't deserve this, and I like her shutting this down.

Wow, he called Iwanaga and Iwanaga didn't let me down. He put that ring on Miyata.

I wonder if Miyata was referring to the office scene earlier or their time as kids with that comment about ridicule.

Iwanaga is the winner. Despite also being rejected, he ate the cake.

Wait, now I want dumplings.

Oho! Poor Shiraishi! The first time they hooked up Iwanaga was thinking about Miyata. He's been losing to this man for a decade!

Genuinely loved the desk as a barrier between Iwanaga and Shiraishi in that scene and the flashback.

"Please stop posing." I love this show.

Overlaying their conversation with this idyllic date footage is an excellent choice in a short show where the characters are stepping around their history. We don't know that history well enough to read into their facial expressions well, so balancing their voices and dialogue with the montage works really well for mood.

Deeply invested in Iwanaga admitting that he was a jerk when they were teens.

I really like Miyata's second rejection here. There's a sense that he got swept up by Iwanaga before and now that he's older he's doing what he can to avoid that swooning again.

Oh big choices next week!

I'm having so much fun with this show. This feels grown in a way a lot of the second chance stuff we've had has been missing. I've been wanting more adult-feeling BL, and the way all of the characters talk to each other in this show underlines their histories so well. I also just love how forward everyone is about intimacy. There's no shock about it.

[sleepy-vix]

How to annotate your books like i do

i'm writing this because i am bored :)

📰🪶

what you will need:

- a bunch of annotation tabs in a variety of colours (you can buy these on amazon)

- a pencil (preferably tiny so it's not always in your way, but that's up to you.)

- no pens. too permanent and they bleed

- no eraser

- no ruler

- no highlighters, colour pens, or colour pencils

- a pencil hook holder thing that you attach to the plastic flat thing that your annotation tabs are on and put your pencil through. compact. keeps all your stuff together when you're not using the pencil

- a book. obviously

- a drink: optional, and unrelated.

How i make the key:

choose colours that match your book. I usually pick out 5 based on intuition. This is how i make my key:

- the darkest colour is for sad/ horrifying/ basically wtf moments

- i always have one for quotes

- i sometimes have one for fun fact; depends on the book

- i like to have a tab that i label as "hm" which basically means "ooh interesting idea proposed here" (not all books will let me have this tab. like a fantasy book wouldnt have this tab, but a dystopian book would. i love it when books allow me to add this tab ^^)

- sometimes i have one for beautiful descriptions and writing

- i have one for cool protagonist moments

- i have another for 'cool character moments: side characters' (i only give side characters their own tab if i find that i am very attached to them. like i was reading the poppy war, and i was bookmarking kitay moments alot so i decided to give him his own colour)

honestly, i do alot of this based on my intuition, and i like to adapt it as i go along

also here are some more general facts abt my annotation habits:

- i usually leave space in my annotation key because half way through the story i will probably add more to the key

- i don't believe in having a tab for plot points. i'd much rather write my thoughts on foreshadowing and plot theories in the margins of the book with my pencil. i see no need to give it a tab

- my pencil is everything. i try to use pencil to express my thoughts whenever i can. i only tab when i really loved a scene or line and feel that my future self would want to easily flip to it

- i don't force myself to be articulate in my written annotations cus there's no space to be. most of the time i just wrote lol, aw, draw a skull, draw a straight lined face, or draw a crying face so that my future self can see what i was feeling when reading it

- i don't like underlining a whole paragraph, i feel like it looks clunky. so instead i draw a bracket like this [ in the margine so it draws my attention to that entire paragraph and future me will know that i found that entire paragraph to be interesting

- my lines are messy, and i love it. it breaks my reading rhythm to bust out a ruler and meticulously rule my lines, i just wing it and move on

- usually, in my annotation key, to start with, there are no tabs for ships. i usually add that in later on if there is any that i care about. if there is romance that i don't care about then i simply won't add a tab.

my annotation experience is very personal and it's done for my future self, or anyone that would like to see my personal thoughts on the story.

i don't care to annotate in a logical way. i won't make tabs for every main character or every plot device or every romance ship. that makes me feel like i'm shallowly categorizing the scenes in the book... ykwim?

- ooh also, by the end of the book, if i find that i am head over heels in love with it, i'll usually go back and draw on any blank space i can find (i try to draw the scene that is happening)

btw none of these photos are mine

thanks for coming to my ted talk

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What is reader was pregnant at the end of summer nights? Love your writer. I wake up and check your blog every day for new chapters 🩵🩵🩵

Consequence

Warnings: unwanted pregnancy, threats, intimidation, allusions to rape, unedited.

Please provide thoughts and feedback! I had fun doing this and hope to do some more in response to your guys’ asks! Thank you for all your support. 💜

Your shift at the hardware store couldn’t end soon enough. You hike your purse onto your shoulder as you walk out the automatic doors, your stomach rotting and knotted. You’ve felt sick all morning. Your coffee burned like acid going down and you only finished half the stale bagel you found in your mother’s kitchen.

Sleep’s been just as difficult. You can’t seem to get comfortable. Your anxiety keeps you up and a sense of restlessness underlined with dread. The thoughts you keep running from will catch up with you one day.

You pass the pharmacy, glancing through the window at the big poster advertising compression socks. You stop at the other end of the facade and hesitate. You sidle back and stare at another display, pink and white and worrying.

You laugh at yourself. No. You’re just paranoid.

Still, you make yourself go inside. You wander the aisles until you find what you’re looking for. You look up and down the row self-consciously then bag to the shelf. Does it matter which one you get? This one says early detection. And it’s fucking expensive. Does it really have to cost so much to be sure?

Fuck it. For your peace of mind. You may actually get a full night’s sleep if you put this behind you once and for all.

You go to the counter and refuse to look directly at the cashier. You pay, more than you want to, you leave with the test in a paper bag. As you walk down the street, a car door opens behind you. The driver feeds the meter as you distract yourself with the shop windows.

Before you can turn down the path, you hear your name and hand tugs you back. You spin in horror at the voice you never wanted to hear again. You try to wrench away from Andy as he looks at you, a furrow between his brows as he clings to you in desperation.

“Hey,” he says, “can we talk?”

“Get off– what are you– how–” you sputter in confusion.

He lets you go and raises his hand defensively.

“I don’t like how things ended–”

“Don’t like– I didn’t like any of it. Get away from me.”

He flinches and exhales heavily, “you’ve been ignoring my calls. Just hear me out–”

“No,” you spin and stomp away, “there’s nothing to hear.”

He follows you and you speed up, trying to evade him as you hurry down the path. He snags your wrist and the force of it causes the bag to slip from your grasp. It hits the pavement and the contents spill out, the box rolling out from under the receipt.

Andy’s hand stays firm on your arm as you both look down. You feel his grip slacken and you rip away from him. You quickly bend to scramble up your stuff. As you stand he lets out a shudder.

“You’re pregnant?” He asks.

You cringe and swallow, “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” he seems startled, “well… if you are–”

“If I am,” you insist, “it’s none of your business.”

“It is exactly my business,” he retorts.

“Fuck off,” you snarl. “Go home. You already have a child, you don’t need another.”

You evade him as he reaches for you once again. He doesn’t persist as a family comes down the other side of the path with a stroller. Fuck, what a wonderful foreboding coincidence. You pump your arms and furiously march away.

Of all days for him to show up…

How long has he been planning this? Has he been watching you? Those questions rattle in your mind but are quickly muted by the biggest one of all. The one in your hand. Did you really fuck up that bad?

💜

You stare at the two lines. Your heart drops. No. No. God! He already fucked you up so bad, why this? Why? Fuck!

You shove the test off the counter and into the bin. You pace back and forth in a panic, head swelling as the world pulses around you. You can’t do this. You already have your mind made up. You can’t keep it. You refuse to. You don’t want any part of him around you.

“Hey, where are ya?” Your mother hollers up the stairs.

“Mom, I’m busy,” you shout back.

“Not too busy to get your ass down here. Now!”

Shit. You know that tone. You fucked up something. You roll your eyes and rip open the bathroom door. You barrel downstairs and stop as your mother stands smoking by the front door. A large figure fills the frame. Does he not give up?

“I always knew you were up to no good,” your mother accuses.

“What?” You snip, “mom, tell him to go away–”

“No wonder you’ve been shorting me on rent,” she spits back, “you ain’t showing up for work.”

“What are you talking about? You just ask Bert–” You snarl and swallow your anger, directing it instead at your unwelcome visitor, “Andy, go away.”

“Don’t you talk to him like that. You’re not quittin’ this one, honey,” your mother taps ash onto the carpet, “the man’s being nice so you go out and figure this all out. You’re not living in my house if you’re not working–”

“Mom, he’s not–”

“Deal with it,” she crushes the cigarette in the overflowing tray beside the door and stomps off.

You shake your head, “Andy, just go.”

“Please, come outside.”

“No.”

“Do you really want to have this conversation in here?” He challenges.

You roll your eyes and wave him out. He retreats and you follow him, quickly pulling the door shut. You’re already pissed at him.

“What the hell? You told my mom you’re what? My boss? I already have to deal with enough–”

“Well, what could I say? I figured the truth wouldn’t exactly be great.”

“Which truth? The one where you raped me–”

“Sweetie, no, I didn’t–”

“Enough. I’m not telling you again. Go away and leave me alone. I never wanted this. I never wanted you or a baby or–”

“Baby? You took the test?” He asks wispily.

You close your eyes and drop your head back. You hate him. You hate this. You hate everything about your life.

“I’m not keeping it, alright?”

“You’re not– that’s not your choice–”

“It is. You don’t get to take this one from me.”

“It’s mine. My child.”

“Oh, fuck off, look at Jacob. You really another one?”

“Yeah, actually, I’d like to do it right. Sweetie, I can take care of you and the baby. I will. You can get away from here,” he glances over at the stained siding of your mother’s pigsty, “you don’t have to live like this.”

“And you think I want to live with you?” You bark.

“Do you have any other option? Really?”

“Yeah, I do. I’d rather rot in filth.”

His jaw grits and his veneer falls. He puts his hands on his hips.

“We’ll see about that,” he snarls. “I am the father, I get a say.”

“You’re a monster,” you sneer.

He glares at you. He lets out a breath and tilts his head until his neck cracks.

“Only if that’s what you make me be,” he flicks his fingers at you dismissively, “and you have no idea what sort of prick I can really be.”

[specialagentlokitty]

Hotch x reader - mindsets

Awesome! Okay, so could I please get a criminal minds Hotch x reader (romantic) fic where the reader wants to go home and get some stuff done but can’t transition from work to relaxation mode and ends up just sat at their desk a couple of hours after the end of the day staring at a blank piece of paper and they’re trying to make a ‘to do’ list on and when Hotch goes to leave he finds them and talks them through what’s going on and offers some support? (If you need more info please let me know!) thanks so much! - @the-imitation-blog 💜

Staring at the paper, you tried to organise your thoughts, arrange your mind in a way so that you could try to start what you wanted to do but you couldn’t.

So you just sat there staring.

God knows how long you had been sat staring for.

Hotch was leaving his office when he noticed you still sat at your desk, and he furrowed his brows a little, making his way down the stairs.

“(Y/N)?” He called.

You didn’t reply and he walked over, setting his stuff on the desk in front of yours and he looked at the blank bit of paper.

He looked at you.

Trying to figure out what it was that you were doing but he couldn’t, and he wasn’t too sure if you knew what you were doing either.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him and back at the paper again.

Hotch pulled the chair over from the other desk and sat next to you.

“You should’ve gone home hours ago.” He said softly.

“I know.”

He looked at you confused.

“Then why’re you still here?”

“I can’t.. I can’t go from work mindset to relaxing and home mindset.”

Hotch nodded his head a little bit, and took the paper and pen from you and turned them to face him, and he looked at you.

“What’re you trying to make?”

“To do list.”

Hotch nodded his head, and wrote that at the top and underlined it, then he looked at you.

“I’m just going to list a bunch of tasks and you tell me if they need to be done.”

You nodded and he began to list things.

When something sounded familiar you got Hotch to add it on to the list, and it was a slow process but it was getting there.

And when he was done he showed you the list.

“Do you think you can do them all?” He asked.

“No.”

He nodded and gestured for you to gather all your things so you did, and he took the list and put it in his pocket.

“I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.”

He came to yours with you, and while you got changed he began separating everything on the list on what to do first.

He stayed to help you, and when you stopped he stopped with you, talking through the task you had to complete.

Hotch was patient with you, and let you take your time.

He knew you were struggling and he wasn’t one to rush you through this.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked.

“No, can we carry on please? I really need to get this down.”

“That’s fine, yeah let’s carry on.”

“Thank you Hotch.”

He smiled and told you the next task, and you quickly got to work on it while he just stopped and watched you.

Sometimes you needed help to do things, you couldn’t switch mindsets as easily as others and that was okay because he was there to help you

[homestuckreplay]

To be fair, you have to have a very high wisdom to understand Colonel Sassacre. The mischief is extremely nuanced, and without a solid grasp of mangrit and maturity most of the pranks will go over the typical reader’s head.

(page 759)

If I was making a webcomic, I’d probably take a well deserved few days off between story acts, but not so in Homestuck. We’re back, and kind of, sort of, unofficially, maybe, in Act 3?

For Act3posting, I’m gonna do a couple things.

- Hard cap reaction posts at 500 words. Time to get economical.

- End reaction posts with a command suggestion. I can’t access the actual suggestion box, so can’t influence the story directly, but I still have ideas I’d like to share.

Starting now.

So, there’s a message from Nanna in the front of Colonel Sassacre’s – and not just any message. I’d call this a prophecy. This is real fantasy novel territory, with battles and royalty and chosen ones and protagonists with cool dramatic titles and wise old spiritual guides who know far more than they should. I eat this stuff up even when it’s cliché. I wonder if the story within Sburb and the story outside of Sburb could be totally different genres.

Nanna says this book’s ‘journey will end on the Final Day of [her] life’, with Final Day underlined, so we know it’s plot important. This means she wrote this some time ago, already knowing about John’s future. Signing up to be a Sburb beta tester because it’s the Game of the Year no longer feels like a happenstance. This is cosmically fated somehow, which… is a little sad, because it takes away some of John and Rose’s success from them, if they didn’t get to this point in the game through skill but through destiny. I’m gonna have to get used to that concept, and start thinking through how free will can be exercised in a story that plays with time this way.

These titles are SO cool. ‘...the Heir of Breath and Seer of Light, the Knight of Time and Witch of Space…’ these fuck so hard. I want one. These probably correspond to John, Rose, Dave, and their secret fourth player Todd from Missouri, maybe in the same order we meet the characters, although maybe there will be a surprise shakearound. After all, Rose seems way more associated with darkness than light, and ‘Witch of Space’ feels like it’d fit her way better than ‘Seer of Light’. And no way does Dave have the earnestness and devotion necessary to be a good knight – John, on the other hand, could rise to that challenge.

Nanna’s ‘P.S. HOO HOO HOO!’ could indicate that she knew all along that she would become Nannasprite, and perhaps knew that she wouldn’t be able to deliver this message directly in sprite form, as it would be game spoilers. Or it could be that she always liked to say hoo hoo hoo, carrying the spirit of the harlequin even without being prototyped with the doll. Personally, I hope both are true.

According to the Adventure Map, Act 3 is called ‘Insane Corkscrew Haymakers’. This is really different from the first two act titles, which are both very literary sounding, have musical allusions, and indicate a setup and inciting incident of a story, respectively. A haymaker is either ‘a powerful blow with the fist’ or ‘a machine for curing hay in rainy weather’, and this is not a farm story, so my guess is the punch. Act 1’s title related to John and Act 2’s to Rose, so this should be Dave’s, especially as his narrative is often treated less seriously. Perhaps these insane corkscrew haymakers happen during his rooftop battle with his bro?

> John: Find a prank to play on Nannasprite.

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from today's editing, chapter 93 of Underline the Black:

‘They’re all omegas, aren’t they?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How did they have someone like James? I didn’t know two omegas could do that.’ ‘It’s rare,’ Gary said. He stretched again and settled, his muscles looser under Efnisien’s fingers. The trust felt really fucking good. Efnisien wanted to do this again. ‘It’s very rare. But it happens. Just like two alphas can have an omega child.’ ‘And she can drive on her own. I know some omegas can drive, but who gave her permission?’ ‘No one,’ Gary said. ‘She has a birth certificate. She’s registered. It’s harder for omegas to do things like that on their own, but it’s possible. They have to go through longer paperwork processes, the tests are unfairly biased against them, but a driving licence is possible. Education is a lot harder. Most of the schools are beta-alpha schools only, and don’t permit any omegas at all. There are stories of omegas who have died for a beta-alpha level education through the use of suppressants.’ ‘Shit. So they can learn university level stuff? Like beta-alpha level?’ Efnisien said “they,” but he almost said “we.” In that moment, he wanted to know what kind of brain he was born with. He knew what the omega theory modules said, but he wanted to hear it from Gary. ‘Of course they can. There’s nothing wrong with their minds,’ Gary said. ‘All studies done in fair and accommodating circumstances show there’s no difference. The biggest issue is bigotry. Omegas are raised in families that don’t always care about their literacy, or getting them past year six or seven at school. That schooling is often done at home, and sometimes the omega isn’t being treated well, or is expected to work as a cleaner, or a cook, or more. So the studies that show omegas fail at university beta-alpha levels have never fully accounted for the biased background. The myth of omegas being unable to think intelligently past a certain level – so they’re more suited to serve their alphas – is because we’ve raised them to be that way.’

[inkykeiji]

Psychology and Touya-nii...

prompt: psychology series: touya-nii warnings: stepcest words: 730

Touya’s room is so minimal, it’s a marvel you didn’t discover it earlier. 

A heavy psychology textbook, wedged snug between Nietzsche’s The Will to Power and Dostoyevsky’s Notes from Underground, with fraying hardcover corners and a thoroughly cracked spine. 

Your fingers twitch on his bedspread, nails scraping against navy linen, eager to pull the book from its home and creak it open. 

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Touya-nii doesn’t like it when you snoop through his stuff, even though he keeps the most important items—things he doesn’t want you to see, things you should never be allowed to see—locked away in those thick drawers of his mahogany desk.

It doesn’t matter; Touya-nii doesn’t like you doing anything without his permission. You should know this by now.

And yet, even though the thought of disobeying, of misbehaving is enough to inspire a shock of bitter guilt to sear through your stomach, it seemingly isn’t enough to stop you from slipping off Touya’s mattress where he had deposited you and inching towards his meticulously organized bookshelf. 

Because, really, why on earth does Touya-nii have a psychology textbook? You know he’s well-versed in self-study, passionate about collecting, categorizing, and consuming information, and much too intelligent for his own good, but he never went to university, much less studied any sort of psychology, at least to your knowledge.

The curiosity is too much, burning in your blood and itching your veins, and you can’t help but tiptoe over to the menacing book, fingers delicate as they tug it free, slow and steady, careful not to disturb any of the surrounding texts. 

With your breath held stagnant in your lungs, you flip to a random page, bated air rushing from your nose with a sharp gasp, chest deflating with the force of surprise. 

The page held before you is covered in black and red pen, pieces of important information underlined, notes scrawled in Touya’s neat, slanted handwriting littering the margins, full of arrows and asterisks.

The edges of the pages skim past your fingertips as you glide through them, each one smattered with annotations and personal commentary—memos and opinions on the subject matter, questions and asides on specific theories or experiments—with extreme scrupulousness. 

Not that you’d necessarily expect anything less from your big brother. 

You’re so absorbed in your findings that you don’t even hear the bedroom door open, don’t even feel his presence behind you until his steady breaths are soaking into your neck, his airy words hot against your skin. 

“What do we have here?” he murmurs, flowing words dripping from his lips, smooth and calm and even. 

Despite his impassive tone, his question makes you flinch, your reaction inspiring a gentle huff of laughter from him, humid amusement that ghosts over the shell of your ear.

Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he stares down at the text in your hands, a gentle hum of recognition vibrating in his throat.

“Nosing through niichan’s room, were you?” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, tufts of ink brushing against your cheek. “Naughty girl.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you say immediately, automatically, snapping the book shut between your palms. “I was just curious. You didn’t go to school, so...”

“So why do I have this?”

You nod, twisting your head to stare at his profile, eyes wide in earnest, ready to soak up any fragments of his past he might afford you. 

His hands curl around yours, pressing them into the book. 

“Genuine interest,” he offers with a shrug of his shoulder, his answer a sort of apathetic question—take it or leave it, but it’s all he’s giving you.

“You would’ve made an exceptional psychiatrist,” you tell him honestly, though the thought sends chills of dread up your spine.

The statement pulls another genuine laugh from him, and he takes the textbook from your grasp, carefully stowing it back in its proper place.

“You think so?” he muses with mild interest, hands clamping over your shoulders and turning you to face him. 

Your head nods in ardency, unblinking eyes gazing up at him with a sort of religious devoutness, his own stare sweeping across your face, slow and methodical, the ghost of a smile tickling his lips.

“Well then, why don’t we put some of those theories to good practice, yeah?”  

[sl-vega]

✧Sticking to the Script✧-07

⋆｡°✩ 07-rebound already?

"Sorry about that, those were just my friends." you sighed as you put your phone into your pocket. You looked at Xingqiu again. "Thanks for agreeing to help me study by the way, I really appreciate it."

"No problem, anything for you." he replied as the two of you walked into the library. You chuckled and playfully hit his arm "Anything for me huh? Look at you being smooth."

The two of you settled at a table, and Xingqiu pulled out your chair for you. You got your textbook out of your bag, and Xingqiu took out his notes, and two pens, one for him and one for you.

"You need help with your English paper right?" Xingqiu asked as he sorted through his binder, looking for notes that you would find useful. You nodded, giving him your thanks as he handed you some lined sheets.

"You're doing a unit on Shakespeare?" he asked, underlining a few things on his paper. You nodded "Yeah, we're doing a joint unit with the drama department, we're analyzing Romeo and Juliet. And my essay is due tommorow!" you wailed, slamming your head on the table.

Ms. Lisa, the librarian, shushed you from her desk. You whispered an apology to her as you picked up some of the papers Xingqiu set aside for you. "Are you analyzing anything in particular?" he asked, still sorting through more notes, he got out a highlighter.

"Mainly the famous quotes and stuff. Our teacher also wants us to talk about the use of opposites in the play. We're supposed to cover at least one scene from each act." you explained as you watched him take more notes. His handwriting was so neat and pretty, even when it looked like he was just scribbling down words.

He handed several sheets of paper to you, some papers included scenes from the play handwritten by him, word for word. He also highlighted certain bits of the text, and made sure to include modern English translations for you at the back of the pages.

"These are my notes from last year. We did a unit similar to this. Sorry if it's a little messy."

You stared at the page, the blue ink had zero smudges and the sheet had little to no crinkles in it. "If you think that this is messy, just wait till you see my notes." you chuckled. "I know I already said this, but I really appreciate this."

The two of you continued talking, Xingqiu continuing to take notes for you, highlighting important parts of the text and explaining their meanings for you. Once again he had made an hour seem like a few minutes.

"And that's what Mercutio meant when he said 'Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man." Xingqiu explained, finishing off his analysis to you.

"That also foreshadows his death doesn't it?"

"Exactly! See, you're picking up on this so quickly." XIngqiu praised you as he started to pack up his stuff, placing his papers into his folders and his pencil cases into his back pack.

You glanced at your phone to check the time. "You have to go already?" you asked, feeling slightly disappointed that he had to leave.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll see you this weekend though, I promise." He gave your hand a quick squeeze. You felt your stomach drop as you saw him exit the room.

Promises can be hard to keep Xingqiu

Xingqiu put his phone down and rubbed his temples. "You okay?" whispered Kazuha.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Xingqiu replied.

Archons he was in deep

additional notes:

-FINALLY GOT ANOTHER CHAPTER OUT

-so sorry for all the slow updates y'all

-i'm trying

-i was writing for another smau i have coming up

-my commitment issues will be the end of me

-holy hell this chapter got a tad deep

-KAZUHA CAMEO

-they're both in their english class during the xingqiu + kazuha scene btw

-lol not y/n being a drama queen cuz she's upset that she has to wait three whole days before seeing xingqiu again

-you guys don't have any classes together btw

-that blue flower gif means that i'm switching povs mid chapter btw

-i went thru sm different versions for this chapter

-ty to @EggosForBreakfast on wattpad for proofreading this for me

-you should go follow them

-also ty to all my readers: @washa, @kasasim, @wisteriabl00m, @rebeccavsabrina, @nmriki0, @rainycafereader, @slu7, @melatoninsblog, @anticlarckwise, @esmetrees, @sn1perz, @littleheartbigbrain, @aldertree-g, @thebiggesthutaofanever, @lilac-sks, @amir8623, @freyao7, @mystic-alex, @myaaaajoy, @tartagliascummdumpp, @green-ginkgo, @lillyinfandoms, @charles-braindump, @samsamsam7, @leynita, @uuyuomi/@mwahkazu, @pwrson, @practicoi, @thatoneswordgirl

-names in bold mean i couldn't tag them

-dw that's just a one time acknowledgment to everyone who liked the original master post, you won't constantly be tagged like that, but if you want to be removed just tell me

-i'll totally understand <3

masterlist

<prev ll next>

✧Sticking to the Script✧

Pairing: Xingqiu x FEM! Reader

Genre: fake dating, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst (?), high school smau, modern smau

⋆｡°✩-Synopsis: Xingqiu just got entered into a special writing contest, the type that's invite only, the theme this year is love, the only problem is that he has zero romantic experience. but he really wants to prove himself as a writer. meanwhile, you just found out that your boyfriend cheated on you, and you need to show him that you're 100% over him, the only problem is that there's no way you can get an actual boyfriend that quickly. clearly, the solution to both of your issues is to fake date each other. it shouldn't be hard for an actor such as yourself, all you need to do is stick to the script.

(OPEN) Taglist: @freyao7, @thatoneswordgirl, @sn1perz, @latay7, @esmetrees, @nmriki0, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @httpsrenren, @cupid-spams, @aixaingela, @kaitfae, @luvkvni, @danhenglovebot

[triscribeaucollection]

Can’t Breathe In

(SO. What if, way back during Infinity War, the group on Titan fighting Thanos managed to get the gauntlet away from him? Say, for example, Peter yoinks just a tad harder at the right moment, pulling it and the four already-retrieved Stones off. There’s still the problem of keeping them away from the purple bastard, so Strange opens up a portal back to Earth, tosses the kid, the gauntlet, and the Eye of Agamotto through for good measure, before he and Tony and the Guardians do their level best to put Thanos down for good.

One thing leads to another, all roads converge in Wakanda, and there ends up being a knock-down drag-out free-for-all fight between the present Avengers and the remaining Children of Thanos for six Infinity Stones in one room (Shuri having just enough time to cut Vision free of the Mind Stone before shit hits the fan).

Stuff is exploding, containers are breaking, half a dozen all-powerful artifacts tied to the foundations of Existence are flying through the air, and a certain Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Doofus manages to grab two at once.

Things get... interesting, after that.)

---

Peter is so screwed.

Even if he survives, even if he manages to change enough things to save the day for everybody else, he is so screwed, because he did the one thing Doctor Strange explicitly said not to and at this point it’s definitely going to kill him.

Just. Slowly. Because that’s Parker Luck for you.

Panting through the pain, Peter manages to finish scrawling out the last of his future-notes, doubled up at the very bottom of the page. Then he promptly drops the pencil and grasps at his head, whining faintly.

Some of it’s definitely a residual after-effect of accidentally grabbing two Infinity Stones at once and super accidentally activating them. The rest is a miserable combination of adjusting to no longer having his powers, adjusting to once again having asthma, and of course the bout of bronchitis his thirteen year old body happened to be dealing with when Peter’s sixteen year old mind got dropped into it.

Zero out of five stars, do not recommend.

A hand knocks on his bedroom door, and Peter barely bites back an instinctive whimper. “Y-yeah?”

“You okay in there, kiddo?”

And there’s the other thing. Ben is still alive.

Ben is alive, May isn’t a widow, and Peter really needs to make sure they both stay that way.

But he also needs to warn Mister Stark about everything that’s coming.

“I- I guess,” Peter says miserably, and it’s enough to make his uncle open the door and step inside. The kid’s heart stutters just at the sight of him: familiar concerned expression, rumpled well-worn clothes, brown hair that’s only just started to turn gray around the ears.

“Well, you must be feeling a little better, at least,” Ben mutters, glancing between Peter at his desk and the abandoned bed. “I’m ducking out to run a couple errands, kiddo, shouldn’t be gone too long. Want anything?”

He takes as deep a breath as he can manage at the moment. “Actually- yeah. Could you drop off a letter for me?”

Ben raises an eyebrow, mouth quirking up a little at one corner. “A letter?”

“Mmhm.” Peter reorganizes his papers real quick, then folds the four sheets in half before taping them closed. On top goes a post-it note, and one final scribble: for FRIDAY or Happy Hogan, please.

...after a moment’s consideration, ‘please’ gets underlined an extra time.

Ben’s second eyebrow has risen as well by the time Peter turns back, holding out the makeshift envelope. “Where am I taking this, kiddo?”

“Manhattan. Stark Tower.” He can see the startled blink, and hurries to go on, “It’s really important, Ben, please. If I could take it my- myself-” His lungs choose that moment to induce a coughing fit, and Peter practically doubles over as his whole body shakes.

One of Ben’s large hands settles between his shoulder blades, rubbing up and down until Peter can breathe again. “Okay, buddy,” his uncle murmurs, gently tugging the papers free of his grasping fingers. “Okay. Stark Tower. I can do that. Might take me an extra hour, though- are you going to be okay by yourself?”

Rather than speak and irritate his poor throat, Peter raises a thumb’s up.

Ben grins, just slightly, and ruffles his hair. “Go on back to bed, then. I’ll top off your water cup and head out.” A+ plan. Truly phenomenal. Peter drags himself out of the wobbly desk chair and shuffles over, dragging the same blanket he’d brought along with him in the first place. Toppling over onto his old mattress is easy; so is making an unintelligible noise of gratitude when Ben sets down a refilled plastic cup. And from there, Peter slowly... drifts... off.......

...only to lurch back upright in a panic, mere minutes later, because he addressed the notes to Friday.

FRIDAY, the AI who doesn’t exist yet. Instead of JARVIS, the one who does.

Several curse words drop from his mouth, as Peter scrambles to try and find his- his phone. Which he does not have yet. Because it was a Congrats On Starting High School present after he turned fourteen. Because of course.

Nothing for it, then. As miserable as he feels, Peter needs to get dressed, go after Ben, and swap out the incorrect post-it for a properly addressed one.

When asked, he will very much blame his current fever and illness to explain why he didn’t go out into the living room, and use the landline they still possess at this point in time to call his uncle and fix the error. But that’s later, and this is now, and Peter fumbles for his jeans and a mostly clean t-shirt.

---

Ben Parker would like to claim he isn’t a terribly gullible person. Nor a distrusting one, either. But this feels like a delicate balance between the two, as he takes the subway to cross from Queens over to Manhattan, and then walks a couple blocks to a particular nigh-infamous building. ‘Stark Tower’, ‘Avengers Tower’, either way, the gleaming structure easily attracts attention, even when you aren’t a rubber-necking tourist.

The sheaf of papers crinkles in his back pocket.

If Peter weren’t so sick, Ben probably wouldn’t be humoring him like this. Then again, if Peter weren’t sick, he’d more than likely have found a way to sneak off to Stark Tower himself to deliver the mysterious letter. Taking a deep breath, Ben steps through glass doors, and does his best not to hunch his shoulders or otherwise look nervous around so many people in business attire.

Even so, his thrift store outfit and old leather boots draw at least a few stares.

The young woman at the desk he goes up to at least smiles welcomingly, and Ben does his best to return the expression. “Hi there. This is going to sound weird, and I apologize in advance, but my kid’s sick and begged me to drop off a letter for him.”

“A letter for whom, sir?”

“Ah-” Ben pulls the folded papers from his pocket, miraculously managing to avoid losing the post-it note on top. “-Friday or Happy Hogan? He wrote down both their names, but I’m afraid I don’t know who either is.”

The woman’s face does something complicated when she sees the taped letter, but thankfully doesn’t laugh or scoff. “Well... Mister Hogan is Mister Stark’s head of security, but I’m afraid I haven’t heard of anyone named Friday who works here.” Something chimes on her computer screen, and she glances away to tap a quick reply.

Ben can’t help but blink. “Security? Huh. I would’ve figured a scientist or something...” Well, to be completely honest, he figured a feverish Peter would write directly to Tony Stark, considering how many Iron Man posters occupy the kid’s bedroom walls. But a security man just makes no sense at all.

“Pardon me, but what was your name, sir?”

“Parker. Ben Parker. Uh, like I said, I’m really just humoring my kid while he isn’t feeling well - I understand if you can’t actually get this to Mister Hogan-”

“On the contrary, sir,” a British voice says out of nowhere, making Ben jump. “I have already taken the liberty of summoning the appropriate individual to meet with you.”

He stares at the young woman, who looks startled but not nearly as confused. “That was Jarvis,” she quickly explains, “Mister Stark’s AI. Jarvis runs most of the building’s automatic functions, but- he doesn’t usually speak to guests without prompting.”

An uneasy feeling creeps up the back of Ben’s neck.

‘Jarvis’ doesn’t talk again, and the young woman directs him to wait by the end of the welcome desk for whoever’s coming down to meet him. It’s awkward, to be sure, especially as more people idly glance in his direction.

But then an elevator dings, and Ben turns, and shock overwrites literally everything else.

“Mister Parker?” Tony Stark asks, walking briskly towards him. Behind his glasses, the man’s eyes dart to either side of where Ben is standing, and they flicker slightly with something he would almost call disappointment. “Hi, welcome, sorry to startle you, but we’d better have this conversation in private. Jarvis said you’ve got a letter?” Wordlessly, Ben holds it up. Stark huffs, quickly plucking it from his fingers, but doesn’t bother to do anything besides tucking it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Then he claps a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and steers him straight into the waiting elevator. “How’s Peter?”

The shock is still going strong. That’s the only explanation for why he blurts out the single word response, “Sick.”

Stark’s head snaps around. “Sick? With what? How bad is it?”

“Bronchitis,” Ben barely manages to say, most of his brain power currently occupied trying to reconcile the fact that Tony-Iron-Man-Stark apparently knows his nephew. “Not- not too bad, this time. How do you-?”

“J, you downloaded the kid’s medical files, right?” Stark asks the open air. 

“Yes, Sir,” the same disembodied voice as early rings out. “This would be Peter Parker’s fourth bout with bronchitis in the past three years. Records indicate he is taking appropriately prescribed medication and has been home from school for the past two days.”

“Good, that’s good.” Still, Stark’s expression is twisted unpleasantly, and Ben can only stare in a sort of detached fascination. “Double check that our pharmaceuticals division doesn’t have anything better for him, J.”

“Of course, Sir. I also need to inform you that we have received confirmation from Prince T’Challa of Wakanda, and reassurance that his family is taking the necessary precautions.”

“About time Pink Panther got back to us. Anything from Fury and our super-duper wonder spies?”

“They have yet to emerge from the secondary conference room. Mister Barton’s only communication at this point has been to request another round of takeout and coffee, as it looks to be, and I quote, ‘a long-ass day on top of a long-ass night’, Sir.”

Stark snorts. “Got it. Approve whatever he and Nat want. Anyone in the lounge?”

“Negative.”

“Right, take us there, then.” Sighing, the celebrity finally turns to actually face Ben. For a long moment, he only stares. “It’s different, seeing you in person. Good different. Peter actually say anything about the letter?”

“...no,” Ben manages to answer. “No, and I don’t- no offense intended, Mister Stark, but what the hell is going on?”

“Tony, please.” A flash of genuine pain crosses Stark’s face, before he returns to the bland observing expression. “And none taken. I’ve had a lot of people ask me that question since two this morning.”

The unease returns, this time in Ben’s stomach. At 2am, he and May were woken up by Peter shouting in his room - a fever dream turned nightmare, or so they assumed.

He doesn’t particularly care for the coincidence.

“So tell me, Ben Parker: do you believe in time travel?”

---

Peter is so, so screwed.

He left the apartment without his key. Without his shoes. And the longer he attempts to keep shuffling down the city sidewalk only in his socks, overwhelmed by noises and smells and the bright sun overhead, the more it becomes abundantly clear:

He messed up.

Majorly messed up. On top of his other major screw-up, and the more he tries to squint at street signs without the glasses he also forgot at the apartment, the more his head pounds and his nose runs and his chest hurts.

Eventually it’s just- too much. Peter coughs weakly into his elbow, and scoots into the first alley he can find.

---

Once, not so long ago, Ben didn’t think aliens or superheroes existed outside of books and movies. Time travel isn’t that far a leap in comparison.

But the more Stark keeps talking, the less Ben takes in, overwhelmed by a couple of things the celebrity breezed over, which stand out all the more for his lack of emphasis. First and foremost: Tony Stark cares about Peter. Knows him. Likes him. Invites him on weekend visits to work on personal projects. Illegally hacks medical databases to double check that the boy is getting appropriate medication for his current illness. Ben might actually laugh if it weren’t for the second thing:

He’s going to die.

Stark doesn’t outright say that, of course, but he tip-toes around the fact that he knows Peter well enough to care about him, and he knows May well enough to be wary of lying to her, but today is the first time he’s ever laid eyes on a living, breathing Ben.

Peter is going to be a superhero. May is going to be a widow. Peter caused some kind of magical accident that sent the Avengers back in time three years. May is going to be a widow. Peter apparently wrote out four pages of notes about incoming disasters for nothing, because Stark and his teammates have been scrambling for the past ten hours to prevent all of it and more.

May is going to be a widow.

Eventually, Stark must realize Ben’s only absorbing every fourth sentence or so, because he abruptly finds himself pushed down into a sleek leather chair, glass tumbler in hand. He doesn’t bother to check exactly what kind of alcohol he’s been given; it burns going down, and that’s good enough to restore some clarity to his overwhelmed mind.

First thing’s first. “Peter has superpowers?”

“He will. Probably. We know when and how he gets them, at this point it’s just a matter of making sure he’s in the right place at the right time. If he still wants- I mean, I’ll be honest, I’d probably sleep a little better knowing the kid isn’t swinging around Queens stopping muggers in the middle of the night, but I also know there’s only a point oh two chance he’ll willingly avoid becoming Spider-man again.”

Ben nods, swallowing down his initial reaction to that word-vomit. “Okay. Okay- next question.”

“Shoot.”

“How do I die?”

Stark promptly winces. “...alright, poor choice of words on my part. Look, Ben- can I call you Ben?” He nods. “Thanks- look. I don’t know all the details, but Peter definitely will, and between the two of us I can guarantee you won’t this time. Hell, I’ll get you a nano-tech bulletproof vest if I have to, but we’re going to make damn sure you live to a ripe old age no matter how many burned casseroles May tries to fix for dinner. Alright?”

Something in the back of Ben’s mind whispers that it can’t possibly be that simple, but he’s willing to take the other man’s words at face value for the moment. “Alright.”

“Sir? Captains Wilson and Rogers have returned, with two guests.”

“Hot damn. Okay, Ben- just hang tight for a minute, I need to say hi to Ruby Tuesday and her delinquent brother, and then we’ll see about getting Peter up here, yeah?” Ben doesn’t have a chance to respond before Stark is up and moving, heading for the elevator just as it slides open.

Captain Rogers is apparently that Captain Rogers, and Ben’s eyes widen so much he half-wonders if they might actually fall out of his face.

Steve-Captain-America-Rogers steps out of the elevator, face tired but triumphant, dressed in civilian clothes rather than his iconic uniform. That’s definitely The Shield slung across his back, though.

Behind him comes another man, dark-skinned with short hair, rolling his eyes as he finishes saying something to the people behind him. Both young, on the thin side - the girl’s hair is long and dark, the boy’s shifting from a similar color to silvery-white in a way that doesn’t look like a dye job. He’s nervous; she’s relaxed. Stark approaches them with stiff shoulders and a careful smile.

“Tony,” the girl says warmly, and half the tension drops away from Stark’s frame.

“Wanda,” he replies, stopping short of arm’s reach. “You’re okay?”

“I will be. I have Pietro again.” She reaches out, and catches the boy’s hand where he meets her halfway. “Ultron?”

“Shut down for good. Never even got the chance to wake up and cause trouble.”

The girl lets out a low, shaky sigh, squeezing her eyes shut as she nods. “Good. That is- very good. Vision?”

“We’ve got him. Sort of- no body for him to land in like the rest of us, obviously, but Cho’s putting one together, and there’s a copy of his consciousness tucked in with Jarvis right now.”

“One moment please, Miss Maximoff,” the AI says. A moment later, what sounds like the exact same voice speaks again, but with a great deal more emotion. “Hello, Wanda.”

“Viz,” she replies, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “You are alright?”

“I am much better, now that you’re here.”

Well didn’t that sound adorably sappy. Some small sound must escape Ben’s mouth, because a moment later the girl, Wanda, is looking right at him with a frown. “Who is this?”

“Ben Parker,” Stark promptly answers, shifting in place to make a sweeping gesture. “Better known as Spider-man’s uncle. He came to drop off some notes from the kid, who apparently didn’t realize we all got swept back in time thanks to his stunt with the Mind and Time Stones. Speaking of whom- Jarvis, have we got eyes on Underoos yet?”

“Yes, Sir. But I am afraid Peter Parker is not in his Queens apartment.”

Like a storm blowing out a candle, Stark’s face turns immediately grim. “Beg pardon?”

“Facial recognition picked him up eight blocks from his home building, moving slowly. Approximately nine minutes and thirty-four seconds ago, he entered an alleyway without any available security cameras. To my knowledge he has not yet emerged.”

Ben couldn’t say when exactly he got to his feet, but he suddenly finds himself standing next to Stark, hands clenched to keep from shaking. The other man meets his panicked gaze, and a flicker of understanding passes between them. “Show us, J.”

A holographic screen pops up. Footage plays. Ben barely pays any attention to Captain America stepping closer, too focused on the little figure helpfully highlighted by Jarvis.

(Peter isn’t even wearing shoes.)

“What, did he feel the need for a Delmar sandwich?” Stark grumbles, before the image zooms in. It becomes abruptly clear that Peter isn’t feeling suddenly better - his face is tight with desperation, mouth open to breathe, and every few steps he pauses to lean against a wall, eyes screwed shut. Ben feels a vice grip squeeze his heart, especially when his nephew staggers between two buildings, disappearing with his head down, arms tucked in close.

“Yeah, he’s not doing so hot,” the other man beside Captain America states.

“Understatement of the year, Wilson. Alright, everything else is on pause, I need to go get him-”

“I am faster.”

They all turn to stare at the boy still standing halfway behind Wanda. Even she looks surprised. “Pietro?”

He shrugs, a small nonchalant twitch, belied by the concern in his eyes. “I am faster. Show me a map from here to there, and I can pick him up without attracting attention.”

Ben glances at Stark. The celebrity offers back a flat smile, face carefully blank. “I mean, he’s not wrong. Speedy Gonzales here could probably run to the other end of Long Island and back in a couple of minutes.” There’s a moment’s hesitation, and then- “Your call, Mister Parker. He’s- your kid. First and foremost.”

...after a long, painful moment, Ben turns back towards Pietro. “Please.”

---

It feels like his life is just one big mistake after another.

Arguing with his uncle, distracting him at exactly the wrong moment, and paying for it with a funeral. Ignoring Mister Stark’s orders, almost causing all those people on the ferry to die. Not pushing harder to get a message through to Happy, almost allowing the plane to be stolen.

Grabbing the first two Infinity Stones to go flying past his face, in a room full of aliens trying to steal them and Avengers trying to protect them. Peter can still feel the burning in his hands, like catching a pair of electrified cables except dialed up to eleven, and every time he tries to take a deep breath it just gets worse. Not even the spider bite had caused him to hurt this much.

Wind whistles, short and sharp. A train going by- or maybe just a single car? No, wait, that didn’t make any sense-

“You are Peter, yes?”

Slowly, agonizingly, he manages to peel one eye partly open, and squints at the guy crouching in front of him. Familiar, but- not in the way that meant Peter had seen him somewhere before. “Y-yeah?”

“I am Pietro Maximoff,” the guy says. “Tony Stark and your uncle are upset you left home.”

Ah.

Well. On the one hand, Ben clearly made it to the Tower. On the other, Peter’s probably going to be in a lot of trouble for this. On the third- on a metaphorical third hand, Peter hurts. He can’t even bring himself to say so to this guy, Pietro- Maximoff, does that mean he’s related to Wanda- and instead whines, hands pressing tighter against his head.

“I am going to take you to them,” Pietro goes on. Peter lets his eye squeeze shut again, and jerks his head in a short, shallow nod. Hands carefully drag him out from his hiding place between two dumpsters, and then he’s being picked up, cradled close like a much younger kid. Normally he’d protest, insist that he’s sixteen- or thirteen- but honestly, Peter can’t bring himself to care.

There’s a distinct lurch, and a thousand sounds bombard his ears, horns and voices and wheels turning and doors opening and it’s way WAY too much too many too soon-

-and he checks out.

---

Ben doesn’t quite stare at his watch the entire time Pietro’s gone, but it’s a near thing. Steve Rogers takes a moment to introduce himself, along with Sam Wilson and Wanda Maximoff, but thankfully none of the Avengers try to force any strained small talk. Stark barely makes a sound at all - he keeps on staring at the blue-tinted holographic screens, eyes glued to the replaying clip of Peter stumbling into that alleyway.

It’s a relief when Pietro blurs back into existence in front of them, Ben’s actual physical nephew held securely in his arms.

But only for a split second.

Because Peter looks awful.

In the time since Ben left their family’s apartment, his kid has somehow managed to slide from pale to almost ghostly white, tremors wracking his entire body. He doesn’t react to Ben or Stark calling his name, eyes screwed shut and fists pressed hard against both ears, breathes coming short and shallow.

“Jarvis, vitals,” Stark orders, gesturing for Pietro to set his burden down on the nearest sofa. Peter whines when the young man lets go, but Ben slides right in, one hand carding through his nephew’s hair while the other presses flat against his scrawny chest. He doesn’t pay attention to whatever the AI relates to Stark; there’s just Peter, and his ragged breathing, and his pounding heart.

“Okay, kiddo,” Ben murmurs, soft but hopefully loud enough for the kid to hear. “We can make it through this, and you’re going to get better, if only so I can ground you until you’re eighteen.”

Peter’s next breath comes out more like a huff than a gasp, and one corner of his mouth turns up, just slightly.

“Only eighteen?” Stark leans a little over Ben’s shoulder, not quite intruding though it’s pretty clear he’d like to. “I’d make it twenty-five, at least.”

“M- Mis’er S’ark-”

“Hey, kid. Fancy seeing you here, when you should be tucked up at home in a nice warm bed. What’s the idea, huh, giving me and your poor uncle a matching pair of heart attacks?”

Peter coughs weakly, eyes still closed. “Wrote- wrong. Fuh-friday, not- Jarvis.”

Ben sees Stark stiffen in the corner of his eye, and holds back a sigh. “Friday’s the name of another AI?”

“Back-up for Jarvis,” Stark mutters. “I would’ve switched to her in a few days, if we were still following the original timeline.”

That manages to make Peter’s face scrunch up with confusion. “-what?”

“We all came back in time, kid. Whatever the hell you did with those Stones, they picked up every Avenger plus a few bonus people and tossed our minds back to the good old days before we’d even heard of Thanos. Possibly those Guardian idiots too, but we haven’t been able to make contact with them yet.”

“Oh,” Peter croaks, finally cracking his eyes open. “Good?”

Rather than answer, Stark sucks in a startled breath, and Ben feels his stomach swoop unpleasantly. From the abrupt silence behind them, where the others had been murmuring amongst themselves, he figures everybody’s equally stunned.

Peter’s eyes are glowing.

The kid just stares upward for a moment, obviously aware something’s wrong. “...Mister Stark? I don’t- feel so good.”

To Be Continued...