#bastard jargon

[fangomusic]

Nakhane, Bastard Jargon

New music Wednesday

This is an exploratory pop album that is also skillfully curated and has funky Afro-Caribbean accents for the sophisticated, inquisitive listener. Being gay, Nakhane, a performer, songwriter, actor, and activist now residing in London, had to flee South Africa to avoid violence. Guest performers include Perfume Genius, Moonchild Sanelly, and Nile Rodgers.

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Track of the day // Nakhane - You’ve Got Me (Living Again)

From the album Bastard Jargon, out Spring 2023.

[szappan]

got a translation gig and i have to translate terms like bakony művek járműtechnikai biszbasz főmérnökség why would you do this to me

[razzek]

Another little rant about a word I see way too much in fanfiction: peripherals.

This is not a real word. It is a bastardization of "peripheral vision" or "out of the corner of your eye". Unless you are an alien you do not have two visions. You have one vision and one peripheral vision that is the out of focus edges of your sight. People mangled this term because they assume you have two eyes and therefor peripheral vision must be in a pair also, but that is not how it works. This is up there with orbs in annoyance level for me, except it's even more literally wrong and if you know even a tiny thing about how sight works this is one of those words that will bitch slap you right out of a story every time.

[pan-matsuri]

"Cour" is not a real word, please stop.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Champion and King Pt1

(Since yall seemed to want this...)

Danny didn't know why he was doing this, didn't know why he agreed to try this for Clockwork...

He cursed the day he defeated Pariah Dark, that great petty bastard cursed him with something much worse than a missing limb or death.

Motherfucking paperwork

And centuries of it, sure there was some meager efforts done by the Ancients over the years but at some point they just stopped.

And now he was stuck behind a desk reading mind-numbing legal jargon trying to figure out what exactly the Observants wanted him to do, the most he was able to comprehend was they wanted support for an increase of dead from leprosy...from 800 BC.

He slapped it with his decline seal and moved onto the next, another plea for more funding by Walker, accepted and pushed to another bin.

Read, Stamp, put in Bin.

That was his life now.

He had become the lamest office worker whenever he wasn't at school or sleeping, he hadn't seen Sam or Tucker in what felt like years...

His eyes skipped over lines of text, sighing as he let the paper drop, his ink stained fingers rubbed at his eyes, yawning as he did.

Stretching back in his chair, Danny stared up at the ceiling of his office, feeling some calm come over his tired mind, his ceiling was covered with stars on pitch black, his eyes could pick out constellations known and unknown, one (and maybe only benefit) of being the Ghost King was that he had full access to all of the ghosts in the Realms, others who looked up to the stars and felt hope.

Watching the stars twinkle for another minute, Danny groaned before looking back to the piles and piles of paperwork, only pausing as there was a bright pink postit note stuck on the paper that he had recently tried to read.

It was both a welcome distraction and a troublesome thing, picking it up, Danny's eyes narrowed as he read.

'Dear King Daniel, I hope this note finds you well, a pressing matter has come to fruition that need your attention. Come to my tower, I wish to speak to you.'

Grumbling, the teen stood, wincing at the creak of his bones as he stretched, he is barely over 14! Why does he have a worse back then his father!

---

Floating through the purple door of the clock tower, Danny looked around for his supposed mentor.

Letting out a grunt as he was tackled from behind, the teen glared at the pint sized Clockwork grinning evilly up at him, "Sup Unc, took you long enough, were you in Ohio? That's totally not skibidi rizz my guy, never Ohio max Danny, it would destroy the time stream."

How is this the same person thst sent that flowery worded message from before? Simple, it was an older Clock Work, as his body cycles through ages, so does his words and how they are used...sadly.

Rolling the young Clock Work off himself, Danny glared for a moment before sighing, "if you brought me here just to sprout brain rot I am calling Technus and making him ban your accounts..."

The small Clock Work glared at Danny for a moment before shifting to a more mature form, "Truely if my excited form is too much for you I fear for the other citizens of the realm." Not letting Danny defend himself the now man steam rolled on, "But that matters not as of now, for I must instruct you on another Kingly duty that you have yet to do."

Danny sucked in a breath and tried to stop the growl that wanted to come out, he would save it for his office and his mountains of paperwork, "Another? I am already drowning in paperwork! I am this close to helping Vlad get my mom just so he teaches me the duplication trick he does!" Pacing the teen dragged his hands down his face, "I am barely in the 800s BC! Undergrowth doesn't need to help save a certain flower that can only be found on one island because it fucking sunk and became Atlantis! Did you know that's how I found out it was real? Fucking Atlantis is real and I found out through paperwork!"

As he ranted Danny gripped at his hair, tugging at it as he continued "I can't even process that because I have Walker up my ass, every second paper is him asking for more funding! Why does he need more ecto? He only has 5 inmates at a time?"

Clockwork o lyrics crossed his arms, watching as Danny raved onward, after he hit the five minute mark, Clock Work grabbed the teen by his shoulders and shook him lightly, "Daniel this will not be anything like the paper work, will you kindly cease speaking and let me tell you what it is?"

---

Billy yawned and decided that today would be a good day, it wasn't really anything that was about this morning that was unnormally good or nice, but Billy couldn't shake the feeling it was going to be great!

Stretching, as he shucked off his sleeping bag, the teen rolled off his sleeping pad and fumbled for his phone, a small rinky dink flip phone he had gotten with prepaid minutes.

Yawning again as he checked on the time, he nodded, he would be able to stop by the shelter in an hour to get breakfast, he could thr pop behind the general store to see if Mister Mathew had anything he needed help with/ was throwing out.

Shuffling around his makeshift area, Billy packed up his things, slotting them into an old military backpack he had been able to snag out of a dumpster, it only had a few holes! Practically brand new for a homeless kid.

Checking over his League communicator, he made sure that the world didn't end while he was sleeping, and set off for the day, humming a tune as he walked through the abandoned subways under his city.

Coming out to one of the less abandoned places, he waved at some of the kinder homeless population, he had been on the streets longer than most, but for some reason a lot of them still treated him like he was fresh out of a foster home.

Taking a deep breath as he came up into the light of day, Billy hummed, a smile on his face as he set to do his morning rounds.

---

Okay so it seemed like the day was purposely trying to make Billy get in a bad mood, the shelter denied him entry since they were full up, which is fine, he has protein bars in his backpack.

Then it seemed like Mister Mathew forgot to tell his new hire about their little deal so he got cussed out and chased off, which is again, is fine, he will try again later when he knows for sure that Mister Mathew is actually there.

No, what was the serious thing that was trying to make him have a bad day was the twenty story tall tentacles that were whipping around trying to destroy the better part of down town Fawcett city.

"Oh shiz...am heh." Shaking his head from his own little pun, the teen ran into a near by alley, did a once over to make sure there wasn't any unexpected viewers, and then called out the old wizards name, "Shizam!"

Lighting tore through the sky and slammed into his chest, in a flash of light Billy Batson, homeless 14 year old was gone, and where he stood was Captain Marvel, Champion of Magic.

---

He didn't do it on purpose, Danny swears mentally as he flew out of reach of the dark whip like tentacle, he still wasn't used to traveling by the Ring of Rage and well...his portaling wasn't as good as it probably should be...

Sending a blast of ecto at what he could only assume to be a being outside of his comprehension, Danny sneered at it "Oy grippy face! Leave the people alone! I brought you here dammit! Fight me you sad sack of calamari!"

Grinning as his taunts got him a feral grumbling and black ichor bubbling at what he could only assume a mouth was? He didn't really care as he focused on freezing the tentacle that missed him, stopping it before it could slam into a near by building.

But before Danny could attack the beast, he froze, his dead heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

After the portal accident, Danny instinctively had a sense about electricity, he could practically taste it when there was a high voltage.

And right now? His mouth was like an ozone ocean, his arm burned once again along the lines of his Lichtenberg scar, and with a boom that rattled Danny's core and left stars flying around his vision, a bolt of white lightning shot from a figure flying not to far away towards the great tentacle beast, making it squeal in pain.

But Danny was still frozen, eyes wide and hands shaking, as another bolt of brilliant white shot out from the being, a man in a scarlet suit, a snow white cape fluttering behind him, and a golden lightning built across his chest.

Danny was not going to have fun this fight isn't he?

[macbethsymphony]

CHARLOU!!!!! BB!!!! I'm so glad you're doing this! As you know it's my bday in 2 days! Can I request something small, a drabble or something with my boy? You know the one, the prettiest scientist out there, my beautiful gas giant! THE ONE AND ONLY CAESAR CLOWN!!! Pretty please~ (Again, so fucking proud bb ily)

-M✨

MILLIE!!!!! BB!!! Anything for you my love! I'm a day late but you already knew that! Happy birthday 💕 It... ahem... evolved into a full fic, cause I love you like that. I know you hate y/n so 'little one' it is for you! Barely proofread and finished it high on Nyquil, so forgive the mistakes. Hope you enjoy, you horndog!!!

Choke

Caesar Clown x Female Reader

wc: 3.4k

warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, pure smut, nonexistent plot, handjob, oral, face riding, choking, p in v intercourse, size difference, not proofread, no beta, just good old scientific brilliance and bad decisions

Summary: You knew your taste in men was questionable at best, downright bad most of the time. But Caesar fucking Clown, now that was an all-time low, even for you. Still, how could you resist the pretty scientist? It was truly an impossible task.

You knew your taste in men was questionable at best, downright bad most of the time. But Caesar fucking Clown, now that was an all-time low, even for you. You were willing to acknowledge your shoddy track record, unashamed of it really, but the unequivocal stares of disapproval Nami shot your way every time your eyes traveled to the scientist most definitely stung your ego.

You flipped a page of his research, trying your best to understand the complex jargon neatly written down. It surpassed your knowledge and not only by a small margin. The man was a genius, an overdramatic morally bankrupt asshole too, yes, but a genius nonetheless.

Scientist to scientist, you had to admit you understood the reasoning behind his actions, the incessant red tape of ethics was, after all, often a deterrent to progress. But still… those test subjects… children? You’d never stoop so low.

Or so you liked to think. Maybe you were putting yourself on a moral pedestal. Who knew, you guessed. After all, it was not like your research had ever been important enough for a warlord to hover over you. Who knew to what lengths you’d go to if that’d happen? Though you still hoped you would never go so far.

Your tired stare left the complex equations for a second, looking at the man in question, sitting on the floor next to you. You leaned back in your chair, gaze studying the bored expression on his face.

Despite your better judgment, you couldn’t help but notice how pretty he was in the afternoon sun. The softness of his features was an interesting contrast to his usual boastful condescending smile. It was a rare moment where you could look at him in the eyes. He usually neck-breakingly towered over you. Hell, even sitting at your feet he was still considerably taller than you.

With a sigh, you went back to the incomprehensible data. You didn’t understand shit.

“Caesar.” You swallowed down your pride. “Care to explain this part to me?” You surveyed the deck, noting the incessant activity. “Perhaps away from this circus.”

You watched as he processed your words, his gaze shifting from boredom to mild interest as he considered. Then his manic laughter hit your ears softly.

“What is it?” He asked, cocking his head to the side, condescension thick in his voice. “Too complicated for you, little one?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Skipped a fucking beat.

You suddenly stood. Fucking beautiful bastard. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at the sight. The way his hair flowed and framed his face, the easy smile on his lips, the amusement in his amber eyes. You quickly hit his head with the papers in your hands in reproach, an impulsive attempt to hide the pink plastering your face.

“You know damn well you’re smarter than I, Caesar Clown,” you shouted over your shoulder as you stomped to the privacy of the aquarium. “Are you coming or not?” You held open the door impatiently.

His laughter redoubled, but nonetheless, he stood up and followed. As he passed you, bending over to pass the doorframe, the floating fabric of his coat brushed against you, sending a shiver you desperately tried to suppress right to your core.

Caesar's towering frame dominated the small room as you headed to the hidden bar at its center. The soft ambient light from the aquarium’s large windows cast a serene glow over the glasses you retrieved, filling them with amber liquid. You downed the contents, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat, washing away the chaos of your thoughts temporarily. You filled it back up before settling yourself on the banquette.

You observed the scientist as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a smug grin, thinly veiling his excitement. "So, what part of my brilliant work is baffling you?" he asked, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed a hint of a smile. It was cute, how thrilled he was to talk about his research. "This section here," you said, pointing to the page filled with complex equations and chemical notations. "Your derivations seem to assume certain constants that I don't recognize. Care to enlighten me?"

Caesar's grin widened as he sauntered next to you, peering over at the page in your hands. You could sense the heat radiating from his body, he smelled like a laboratory, almost antiseptic. You liked it, it was somehow comforting and it took all your willpower to maintain your composure.

"Ah, I see," he murmured, his voice low and close. The seriousness of his tone surprised you. You’d expected condescending laughter, not an actual answer. It made your heart beat. Fast. You could feel his breath on your skin as he explained. "These constants are unique to the gas properties I've synthesized. They're not something you'd find in standard scientific literature."

You peered up at him, your gaze bright with a million questions. "And why is that? What makes them so special?"

Caesar's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Because, little one, they are the result of my own genius. A proprietary blend of compounds that I alone have perfected."

Despite yourself, you couldn't help but be drawn in by his passion for his work. It was clear that, beneath his arrogant exterior, Caesar was deeply committed to his research. And, in a way, you admired that.

Hours had dragged on, he was still speaking, lost in complex arrays of numbers that no longer meant anything to you. You were barely listening anymore. Hell, who were you kidding, you’d lost track of his explanations ages ago. He was so pretty, the excitement in his eyes made his whole face light up.

You downed the remnants of your glass, trying to come back to reality.

“Say, Caesar, do you like women?” The words left your mouth without your mind registering. Fucking liquid courage. Your heart sank as you awaited his teasing, the unsteady rhythm loud in your ears.

He froze.

Oh.

That was a nice expression on his face. Blushing and wide-eyed. You wondered if it would be the same if you made him cum. Would he whimper and beg as your fingers tightened around his cock? Gods, now you just HAD to know.

“M-me?” He stuttered instinctively slumping to the floor, the chains at his wrists rattling as he pointed to himself.

Your mouth curved into a sly smirk. You leaned forward, then stood up. For once you towered over him. You reached out to his jawline in a fleeting touch, tracing his chin, tilting his face so he looked at you. You stepped closer, feet between his legs, eyes blown by lust as you met his gaze, impulse taking over your very being. You knew this was a shitty idea, but who cared.

“I don’t see anyone else here, Caesar,” you were close now, your breath almost mingling with each other’s. “You can stop me if you want.” Your hand danced lower, his throat bobbing against cool fingers. “I won’t mind.”

But he didn’t stop you.

You placed a chaste kiss against his cheek, then his lips, giving him all the time in the world to oppose.

“What do you say, Caesar?” You cocked your head to the side, inviting him in.

His breath hitched, then his laughter started to nervously echo off the walls, gaining confidence with each chuckle. He leaned into you, his whispery laughter touching your mouth as the glint in his gaze slowly matched your hunger.

Your lips met his once again, silencing him with a yearning you hadn't realized was simmering beneath the surface. His laughter melted into a raspy moan as he responded eagerly, moving against you in a desperate dance of desire. Your tongue dragged along him, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his lower lip, begging for more.

Your tongues tangled. You lost yourself in the heat of the moment, the taste of him intoxicating, a heady blend of scientific brilliance and bad decisions. Everything about him was massive in comparison to you, he was filling your mouth in ways that were unknown to you. It was nearly overwhelming, and it would be were he not so hesitant.

Your fingers tangled in his hair almost roughly as you leaned into him. The chains at his wrists rattled as his hands went to your waist, gloved digits inching up your shirt. That wouldn’t do. You wanted, no, needed, to feel his skin against yours. You pulled away, lidded gaze tracking the strand of saliva that connected the both of you for a moment.

“So pretty,” you whispered, your hands leaving his hair, traveling down his chest, pushing aside fabric, his coat dropping off of his shoulders, catching at the crease of his elbows. Your hands went to his, still at your side, and brought them to your face. They were so fucking big, long fingers dwarfing your own. You placed a soft kiss to his palm before biting on the tip of his glove and tugging it off.

His gaze never strayed from yours, his pupils blowing larger with each passing moment. You tugged off the second glove and settled them back to where they’d been, flesh finally meeting flesh. It made you want to roll your eyes in satisfaction, melt into him. But gods, you needed more. So much more.

The tips of your fingers slowly teased the hem of your shirt up before discarding it in a quick motion, your bra unashamedly following suit.

You dropped to your knees. You silently cursed the sea stone shackles preventing you from stripping him fully. Your hand traveled up his thigh, fabric bunching as your nails dug in slightly. He gasped, eyes blown with lust as you roamed closer to the extremely obvious tightness in his jumpsuit. Your other hand settled on his heart for a fleeting moment, savoring the subtle beat beneath your palm. Ever so slowly your fingers wrapped against the zipper tab, dragging it down and revealing pale skin.

You looked up at him through your lashes as you traced along his v-line, relishing the shudder in his breath as you palmed his hard-on through his underwear.

“Already so hard?” You teased, inching the elastic of his boxers down, freeing his cock. The hand you had on his thigh went to his hand and guided it to your breast, urging him to pinch and squeeze. “Who knew you were so desperate, Caesar Clown?” You brushed a bead of precum over his tip before wrapping your fingers around him.

Fuck he was big. Your fingers couldn’t close around him. You brought your other hand to his cock, twisting in opposite directions as you worked him up and down tantalizingly slow.

“Fuck,” he moaned, arching his back and bucking his hips in a frantic attempt for more.

The blush on his cheeks, his parted lips, the way his body steadily unraveled beneath your touch, it all sent an intense desire between your legs. You smiled, squeezing a little harder as you traveled to his tip. A whimper escaped him and it tasted sweeter than honey to your ears. His hand dropped from your breast to your waist, then to your thigh and to your core. The tips of his fingers found your soaked underwear, pushing it to the side and meeting your slick.

You felt him trace your slit, the pad of his thumb circling your clit as he entered two fingers into you, pumping in and out slowly. For an instant your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, your breath catching in pleasure. They felt so different from yours, stretching you and reaching to places you couldn’t. Your hands stuttered in their movement.

His laughter touched your ears. “You’re quite desperate yourself, little one,” he stated between two grunts.

You smirked, your attention brought back to him. The cheeky bastard. You picked a faster pace, each stroke precise as you sought to make him eat his words.

He broke into a wanton moan, his fingers stopping inside of you at the overwhelming sensation. Your hips rolled in tandem, instinctively searching for your own release. It wasn’t enough to get you off but the way your clit grazed on his palm, smearing arousal all over his hand made your breath shudder along his.

“So good for me.” You brushed against his tip, gathering more precum still leaking from him, coating him, your palms slick as you continued with more fervor.

His hips thrust up, trying to match your pace, mewls and incomprehensible begs escaping his lips. His body convulsed as he came, thick ropes of cum spilling onto his abdomen. You didn’t stop, maintaining the strokes up and down his cock, prolonging his orgasm. One of your hands left him to rejoin his hand at your core, increasing the pressure of his palm against your clit as you rutted against him.

He was still in his high as you bent down, slowly licking the cum from his stomach, hips rolling against his hand, fucking yourself shamelessly. “You’re unusually silent, Caesar,” you said as you moved up, cleaning ever so thoroughly, cum salty on your tongue. “Who knew it was this easy to shut you up.”

It seemed to flip a switch in him as he finally came back to reality. His fingers picked up their work, his laughter strong as he rejoiced in the needy mewls escaping your lips. You didn’t mind, if it brought him the illusion of control, you’d let him indulge.

He was so big, and while you were already dripping you’d need to be wetter for this to work. You eyed the way his mouth twisted into a condescending smile, your walls twitching around his fingers at the sight. “Is that pretty mouth of yours good at something other than explaining your research?” You hinted none too subtly at what you wanted.

His laughter became manic at your suggestion. His tongue passed his lips and you mewled and bucked against him, desperately trying to chase your high. Two of your fingers joined his inside you, the stretch so divine that your other hand shot to his chest, nails digging into him looking for purchase.

“Why don’t you explain to me exactly what you want, little one.” He increased the pressure against your clit, fingers inside you working in a come-hither motion. You were so fucking close. You pushed against his chest, instructing him to lie down and he did, leaning back unto his elbow.

“I want your tongue, Caesar,” you panted, your vision feeling blown out from pleasure. “I want your face between my thighs as I ride that clever tongue of yours.”

The speed of his thumb against the bundle of nerves increased as he felt the rhythm of your hips stutter. “Is that all you want? How about you come on my fingers first, little one, then I’ll drink from that pretty cunt of yours.”

Oh gods, that sounded heavenly. You hadn’t expected such words out of him, his hesitation entirely gone. Your hand left his at your core, plastering itself on your mouth in an attempt to muffle the moans escaping you.

“Please,” you begged ever so close, hips stuttering. He laughed, the sound sending you over the edge. Your body went taut as you came, thighs closing tightly around his hand.

His fingers left your heat when it became too much. You looked at him as he picked you up by the waist, dragging you close to his face as he settled himself down on the wooden floor.

You took him on the invitation, quickly discarding your ruined panties to the side and straddling him, grip tangling in his hair as you eagerly awaited the feeling of his mouth. The metal of his cuffs was cold against your flushed skin as he wrapped his hands around your thighs, your skirt rising to your waist as he lowered you slowly to him.

His tongue circled your clit leisurely at first, the sensation slightly too sharp after your orgasm. Then his lips enveloped the bundle of nerves and he began to suck and the moan that you let out was so loud that you prayed that everyone on board was well and asleep in their bunks by now. Your hands shifted, looking for balance as your thighs trembled, fingers gripping the base of his horns.

The moan he let out at the sensation was just as loud and depraved as yours. You heard his hips buck into nothing as you started fucking his face brashly. His tongue darted in you and you felt so full. You hadn’t realized it was so long and thick. He was hitting all the right places, drinking you in desperately. His nose caught on your clit and your thighs instinctively sought to close at the overstimulation, but his hands held you steady and he redoubled his pace.

Everything seemed shaky and blurry around you, your breathing uneven and struggling between the mewls and begging flowing out of your lips.

“Caesar,” you chanted, your eyes rolling at the back of your head. Your toes curled as your high approached dangerously. “I’m going to come, please.”

And you came. Hard. He continued to lick and suck as your vision filled with white and you cried in ecstasy. As the movements of his tongue bordered into overstimulation you backed away, sitting on his heaving chest, his own pants matching yours.

Your gazes met and you smiled, satisfaction clear on your expression. “Are you going to be a good boy and let me fuck you, Caesar?” You asked, shifting down slowly. You grabbed his cock, lining yourself to him. His lips parted in a shaky exhale, thick with anticipation. “Caesar?” You demanded again when he didn’t answer.

“Gods, yes, little one,” he breathed out in a shaking voice.

You smirked, lowering yourself, the tip of his cock stretching you out. “So good,” you whimpered, your head rolling back, taking him further and further.

His hips twitched, and you pressed down on him, stopping the movement and giving him a warning look. “Be patient for me, Caesar,” you moaned as his hands found your thighs, nails digging into plush flesh in restraint.

He was so big, the stretch was almost painful but the ecstasy of having him sheathed inside you was addictive. “Fuck, Caesar,” you mewled as you rolled you hips. “I wish those shackles were off.” You found a steady rhythm, pace quickening in search of rapture. “I bet you could control so much, control the oxygen around,” you stuttered in pleasure. “Choke me just enough as you’d fuck me good, hm?”

He groaned at the idea, his moans matching yours, the heat in his gaze blazing hot at the words spilling out of your mouth. He brought his hands to your throat, answering your desperate pleas. He was speechless as he watched you fuck yourself on his cock, the sight divine as his fingers tightened perfectly around you.

You keened and mewled, lightheaded and oh so close to your release.

So good.

It was so fucking good.

“That’s right, little one,” you heard him encourage you through the curtains of pleasure dominating your mind. His hips met yours, chasing his own pleasure.

Your walls twitched around him and you sobbed out him name, tears staining your flushed cheeks as you came around him. The world was slowly disappearing, darkness on the edge of your vision as rapture took over your very being.

You distantly felt him come inside you, thick hot spurts against your womb. His thrusts became shallow and his hold on you slackened, letting you fall over his chest, damp skin meeting damp skin.

It took you a while to come back to reality, the steady rhythm of his heart almost bringing you to slumber. You slowly shifted, hot seed dripping down your thigh but his arms wrapped around you and brought you back against him.

You giggled, feeling giddy as his fingers gently traced the curve of your spine. His laughter mixed with yours and all seemed perfect in that moment.

Fuck that was good. You thanked the gods above that you had quite the voyage before you. There was no way you could ever get enough of this.

Masterlist

[intothedysphoria]

Steve managed to accidentally crush his headphones over the weekend, so he reluctantly turned to Billy Hargrove for help.

Steve and Billy hadn’t exactly gotten off to the best of starts, considering they beat the crap out of each other within the week. Billy has mellowed out significantly since Neil had left though, so Steve told himself to grow some balls and walked into the general repair shop Billy worked at.

The death metal blasting from the speakers was obnoxious but there was basically nobody there so Steve was able to swallow down the rising panic creeping up his throat. Billy was just some guy. He’d move back to California come the new year and Steve’s life would be exactly the same as it had always been. At least that’s what he told himself.

Billy raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Steve tripping over the step on his way up then stammering his way through an apology. His headphones lay sadly tucked under arm, limp and lifeless.

Actually getting the word autism out was harder than Steve anticipated. Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to telling other people or maybe it was because he found Billy very attractive and he knew what happened whenever anyone he liked found out.

The curl of the lip. The sneer. The asking if he was like mentally five or something.

He managed to stumble his way through explaining that they were his sensory aides and they really helped him not get overwhelmed in public and please don’t punch me again Hargrove.

Billy didn’t punch him, much to Steve’s great surprise. Instead he mumbled something about be right back Harrington and disappeared into the staff only area, only to return with a brand new pair which he thrust into Steve’s hands.

“I get it Harrington. Just take these, you busted yours pretty badly. On the house.”

Steve was pretty sure his brain malfunctioned briefly and then attempted to exit the shop after pushing on a pull door.

Billy had been pretty civil with him. So either it was all some great prank that was about to fall on his head or Steve may have misjudged him just a little.

He didn’t risk reaching out again until a month later when he’d really managed to fuck his oven up and gave himself a five minute mantra about being confident before dming Billy on Instagram asking for help.

A message came back in a minute asking what the fuck he’d managed to do. Steve insisted he had no idea then he just got a short, blunt “on my way princess.”

Billy’s tool box was extensive. As much as Steve would have wished, that wasn’t an innuendo. He just had a lot of kit, probably more than was needed for the actual state of the oven.

They hung out a bit while Billy tinkered, threw out jargon that Steve didn’t understand, then declared it was fixed. Steve resolutely tried not to stare at a peach ass in very tight denim. He may have failed.

A comfortable silence fell afterwards until Steve panicked and asked if he wanted a coffee. It only seemed polite. Billy had been working all afternoon pretty much.

How that ended in them snuggled onto the sofa, Steve couldn’t exactly remember. All he could really register was that Billy’s arms were warm and strong and Steve wished he could just stay there.

Then he snuggled in further and Billy stiffened up. Crap. He’d fucked up somehow.

Steve pulled himself back up into a sitting position, self consciously checking his hair. Billy looked slightly bewildered but more at himself than Steve.

“You…………you alright man? I didn’t push you too far right?”

He got a slow blink in response and being pulled back into a muscular chest. Steve just hoped he wasn’t doing his “simp face”, as Robin had named it.

“Steve”

Ok first name was not a good sign. Prepare for a fist.

“I fucking like you ok? Don’t laugh. I’ve liked you ever since I first set eyes on you, you beautiful oblivious bastard.”

And Steve. Steve had always kind of hated romcoms. They were dumb and clishe and the couples who got together by the end never really made sense.

But looking at Billy’s slightly flushed face and after hearing his confession, Steve thought the romcom route might be the best way to go.

Billy really was a very good kisser.

[timeslugarts]

Core Competency

Vox x Fem!Reader

(NSFW)

You and Vox have a little competition on if you can last all the way through your meeting. (Also known as you have a Voxtech vibrator in you during a mandatory meeting)

A/N - Based around @voxsremotec0ck post, I hope this is good. Also, if you want a part 2, I could maybe do that. Also the buisness jargon was making me laugh so much.

It was the weekly end of sales report meeting. You as well as other execs from different sectors had to report directly to the big boss himself. If your numbers were in the red he would probably kill you, but it did give you the chance to beg for your life at least. 

You always had the highest grossing sales amongst your peers so you weren't worried… about that at least. 

What no one else knew was you and the boss man had a secret arrangement. You and him would rendezvous regularly for some one on one, "interpersonal relationship" training. 

That's why when Vox called you in 5 minutes before the weekly report, you were a little confused. There was no way 5 minutes was enough time to "complete your tasks." Vox explained thoroughly that if you were a good girl and did what he said, then an extra special bonus could be in your future. You agreed eagerly, of course, not wanting to disappoint your boss. 

That's why you were now sitting in the boardroom, surrounded by your coworkers with a vibrator inside of you controlled by your boss, who was currently talking about sales. 

In the beginning the constant thrum of it was almost easy to ignore, you felt pretty confident about getting your after meeting bonus. All you had to do was make it the entire meeting without cumming. 

When it was your turn to proudly discuss your sector's income report Vox's grin grew malicious. No one noticed however because all eyes were on you, that's when he turned the tiny pill to max. 

You gasped, hunching over the table, papers scattering. The person next to you hopped up, putting their hand on your shoulder. You immediately shrugged it off. You couldn't bear the idea of anyone but him touching you right now.

"Are you ok?" They asked, voice laced with concern. 

"Y… yeah I'm fine, just a dizzy spell, I'll be ok." You felt the slick between your legs growing, heat climbing up your neck. 

"You sure doll?" Vox grinned leaning forward, claws crossed in front of him, "You're looking awfully flushed, maybe you should go home?" Red lines drooling from his teeth as he continued to stare at you, eyes shining with delight.

"No, I'm fine." You said through gritted teeth. Damn this man. 

Your knees were starting to wobble.

Vox kept asking you questions about new employees, if you needed anything for your shops, what the fucking weather was like. He was drawing out your presentation as long as he could. He was a bastard. Your pussy ached, needing contact so bad. Each word was a struggle, you were panting trying to get things out. 

If Vox took you here in front of all these people you don't think you'd care. You needed him to fuck you. The coil in your belly was so tight you thought you were going to faint. Saliva was pooling in your mouth and could feel the wet dripping down your thighs. 

Vox stared, he seemed almost genuinely interested in your presentation for the first time ever. You knew the glee in his eyes was for something entirely different though. The only hint that something was happening on his side came everytime he had to readjust himself, he was constantly shifting in his seat, or his hand would subtly sneak down to his pants to grab himself. He was enjoying this so much.

The thought of his hard cock was too much, your thighs clenched, trying so hard to keep yourself contained.

The meeting was over, finally, you were saying your goodbyes, lingering behind everyone else to have a private word with your boss. You were shaking your last coworker's hand when the vibrating became even more intense. 

You crunched their hand, moaning as your body instinctively curled in on itself. You saw stars.

When you finally regained a bit of composure you met the eyes of the person whose hand was still in yours. They were blushing wildly, avoiding all eye contact. You could've died on the spot. 

"Don't worry," Vox said coolly, slinging his arm around the other employee, "they're just not feeling well," he walked them over, pushing them out the door. "I'll make sure they get all the help they need."

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Little Star, Little Sun

Love Bites, Chapter 5 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: A long-awaited reunion that doesn't go quite as planned can lead to many things, especially when two manipulators both lay their traps for one another. Though is it really a trap when all you want to do is spare your lover from yet another night of torment?

Word Count: 5,068 words

Warnings: back to main timeline, angst, insecure Astarion, alcohol, switching between your perspective and Astarion's, Astarion opens up/trauma dumps, you're protective of Astarion, sex workers, direct & indirect mention of rape and sexual abuse, reunion, self-sacrifice

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

As soon as the door to the tavern opened the following night, a few hours into the night, somehow you knew it was Astarion before you even saw his head of silver hair. You were relieved that you didn’t have to wait a few days to see him again, but your relief shriveled up the moment you realized he was wearing the same doublet as last night. It was still slightly dirty and more than a little rumpled.

You waved him over to the bar before he could spot an empty table. Something akin to relief crossed his face and he came over.

“Someone’s eager to see me,” he teased as he took a seat on one of the bar stools.

You shrugged. “Just glad you’re not being a stranger,” you said. “That’s no life for an elf such as yourself.”

His eyes flashed. “I suppose not,” he said, almost too quietly. 

“Same as yesterday?” you asked, already reaching for the bottle you had put in ice in the hopes that he would come back today.

Astarion nodded. “What the hells, why not?”

You grinned and poured him a glass. You pushed it to him and watched him sip daintily. He turned slightly, passing his gaze over the filling tavern, and you caught a glimpse of his fangs through the glass. Even though you’d been expecting them, it still made your stomach turn. 

A vampire. Your beloved was a vampire and had been these past two hundred years. It hadn’t been the Gur who had desecrated his grave; it had been himself, hadn’t it? Him and the bastard that turned him, whoever it was. 

Was it painful? you wanted to ask. Did it hurt to claw your way out? Did you come up out of the ground and know I had been there only seconds before? Did you want me to be there still?

But you kept your mouth shut. Astarion hadn’t let on that he knew who you were, so you figured he probably didn’t remember you, as painful as that realization had been last night. Two hundred years and he was all you thought of every day and yet—

“Was she fun last night?” you asked, then cursed yourself. You weren’t sure you even wanted to know the answer to that question, so why were you asking?

Astarion flinched and turned back to you, shocked out of a reverie. “Hmm?”

“The elf you left with last night.” You wiped down your already clean bartop, reluctant to make eye contact with him. “Did you have fun?”

He pursed his lips in thought. The action was so familiar for a moment you were certain you had asked him to explain a new law he’d passed that he was finding difficult to put into common tongue instead of magistrate jargon. “Yes, I suppose she was,” he said after a long moment. A teasing grin slipped onto his face. “Jealous?”

“No,” you said, though you knew you were lying through your teeth; you would have given anything to be with him again. 

The smirk on his face suggested he didn’t quite believe you. You kept yourself from looking too long at that smirk and admitting everything you felt by refilling his glass. He thanked you quietly.

“She’s not here tonight,” you mused, looking out across the tavern and spotting her nowhere.

He tensed. “Should she be?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d never seen her before last night. I never caught her name.” You glanced up at him and he looked away quickly. It was your turn to smirk. “I take it you didn’t, either?”

If he weren’t undead, you figured he would be blushing. “I had other things on my mind,” he muttered into his wine glass. 

You giggled. “Of course you did.”

“But why don’t you know?” he asked. “I thought bartenders usually kept that information stored away in case customers come back?”

“I don’t press for information people don’t willingly give me,” you explained. “She didn’t give me her name, so I didn’t ask. Besides, she had the look of someone who was just passing through.”

Astarion raised one delicate brow. “You don’t press?” he scoffed. 

You gave him the same look. “I haven’t asked you anything personal yet, have I?” 

He sighed. “I supposed not.”

Biting back a smile, you leaned on your bar. “You almost sound disappointed that I haven’t asked anything.”

He shrugged idly. “Well…you haven’t even asked me my name,” he said and put a dramatic hand to his chest. “I’m hurt, darling.”

Darling. The nickname shot through you like an arrow or a hefty dosage of poison. You hadn’t heard that name from his lips in two hundred years, and the first time you heard it again, it was being used as a moniker for who he thought was a random bartender. How many other men and women had he called darling since he crawled out of his coffin?

You recovered as quickly as you could and he didn’t seem to notice. “Like I said, I don’t ask. Some people wish to remain anonymous until they become regulars—which, I might add, you seem to be doing.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a regular at every tavern I come across. I move between them all looking for the best wine there is and moving on when I grow tired of it.”

You hummed. “Ah, I see. You’re an alcoholic rather than a…a people-person, shall I say?” And yet you weren’t surprised. The Astarion of your memories had also had a taste for quality (and expensive) wines, including the vintage you had just poured into his glass. 

“It’s easy to get along with wine,” he said quietly and you weren’t sure if he intended for you to hear it. You decided not to comment on it and went back to cleaning up your bartop, taking two glasses that had been left by patrons earlier in the night and washing them. You counted the coins they left for their tab and smiled at the hefty tip they’d left you. 

You felt Astarion’s eyes on you as you dried the glasses and put them back on the shelf behind you. 

“Astarion,” he said and you almost didn’t catch it.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, turning back around. 

“My name’s Astarion,” he said.

Your chest felt suddenly very tight. You looked at him and for a moment he was alive in front of you, his skin flush with blood and life, his eyes honey colored. You blinked and the memory was gone. “Little star,” you translated. 

Astarion looked away, suddenly very shy. “Yes,” he admitted softly.

“It suits you,” you said. 

He looked up. “Does it?”

You nodded. “Silver hair like that, sharp cheekbones, nice jawline, pale skin… Yes. Yes, you are quite the star.” As you spoke, you leaned forward, propping your head up with one arm. The two of you locked eyes and there was something akin to desperation in his.

His eyelashes fluttered the way they once had when you flustered him. He cast his gaze down slightly, murmuring a soft, “Thank you.”

Tightness grew in your chest. Of course he’d changed, you had anticipated that; but for some reason, seeing the man you had complimented grow quiet and embarrassed under lesser praise instead of grinning and preening, seeking more like the Astarion you had been engaged to, hurt more than the fact that he didn’t remember you.

You let him sit with it for a few more moments before you teased, “You don’t get complimented much, do you?”

His charming smile and snark—a mask, you were sure of it—came back quickly. “Oh, every day, darling. But, ah… Rarely before I’ve taken my clothes off.”

Your heart sank. Some part of you wanted to be hurt that the love of your life had broken his vow of loyalty to you, but you saw the look in his eyes that he was trying to hide and knew it hadn’t been of his own accord—at least not entirely. 

So you refilled his glass and said, “Seems a shame. You strike me as the kind of man who deserves better than that.” You emptied the bottle and set it down, turning back to the wine rack behind you. You pulled a second bottle out and found Astarion gazing at you when you turned back around.

His expression was one you had seen plenty of times before, gazing lovingly at you before he left for work or when he watched you dress in the morning from the comfort of your shared bed. Pure, loving admiration—and this time it seemed almost instinctual, for he seemed puzzled when he realized what his face was doing when you mimicked the look.

Astarion lifted his glass to his lips and drank deeply before he said, “You know, you’re oddly, painfully familiar.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?”

“Like…like a face out of a dream,” he said. “Like I knew you once, but I just…can’t place you. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Not really, I get that a lot,” you said, brushing it off on instinct. “Though I must admit, you do strike me as the kind of person I’d want to know.”

He grinned, sitting up straighter in his stool. “Oh, really? Do you say this to all the devilishly handsome elves that sit at your bar, or just to me?”

“Just you,” you admitted, though it sounded more like a promise. “It’s been… Well, it’s been a few centuries since I really had interest in anyone. Not since…” You.

“Ahhh.” Astarion nodded sagely. “Your lover. Your…friend. Your best friend.”

You nodded. “Yes,” you said quietly. 

“What was his name?” he asked.

Shit. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t think of a name other than his fast enough. His name formed on your lips for a moment and you stopped yourself quickly. “It doesn’t matter.” Astarion raised his brows in a way you could only describe as judgemental. You sighed and backtracked. “It’s not that he doesn’t matter. He does. He’s all I think about, every day. Hells, I even see him out of the corner of my eye when I shouldn’t because he— He’s been gone for years. But…right now…my problems aren’t the ones that matter. Yours do.” 

Astarion scoffed and made to get out of the stool. Panicking, you grabbed his arm. He froze and looked at your hand on his wrist. You softened your touch.

“Please, don’t leave,” you said, your voice trembling a little. You had just gotten him back; you’d be damned if you were going to let him slink off so soon. “I mean it. I want to hear your story. You look like a man with plenty of interesting tales.”

After a moment, he relaxed. You let go of his wrist and he caught your hand before you could pull it away. He blinked again at the instinctual movement and let go of your hand. You didn’t move away. 

“Is this how you entertain yourself? Trading alcohol for stories?” he asked, attempting to tease, but his voice was shaking a little too much to be suave. 

You shrugged. “Not exactly. Only the best stories warrant a free bottle of alcohol, and only at the end of the night.”

He laughed sardonically. “I doubt my stories would fit that bill.”

“They might,” you prompted. You covered his hand briefly, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “Talk, I’ll listen.”

~❊~

So he talked. Over the course of the night, between other patrons and your busy hours, Astarion told you stories. Some of them, most of them, were lies and exaggerations of what had actually happened to him, which were stories he’d never tell anyone. He watched you make cocktails, pour wine and mead, and serve your customers with a smile; each drink, whether it was for him or not, got him to open up more. There was something about you, the way that you worked while also paying attention almost solely to him, that comforted him.

Halfway through the night, just after a midnight rush, he sat alone at the bar again. You served him yet another glass of wine with a smile and a hint of adoration in your eye and something in him cracked. 

“It’s been like this for two hundred years,” he said quietly. He could feel the liquor in his veins instead of blood; it felt like honesty. “Night after night in taverns, searching for people. Random people, mostly. Sometimes looking for…specific people. People he wanted me t…to bring back to him.” 

You paused midway through wiping down the bar, noticing his change of tone. “He? Who’s he?”

“My master,” he whispered. Slowly, he met your eyes. “Cazador. He…he’s a… A vampire.” He watched you, expecting your face to fall in fear as he added, “I’m one of his spawn.”

You just nodded and poured him more wine. He gulped it down. You refilled it just as quickly.

“You’re not afraid?” he whispered. “You’re not going to kick me out?”

You shook your head. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Astarion scoffed. “You don’t know that, you don’t know anything about—”

You put the bottle down a little harder than he had been expecting and he flinched. He looked up at you, silent.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you repeated, meeting his gaze. “Trust me on that.”

He wanted to protest. He wanted to argue that he was a dangerous creature of the night, that you were just a bartender, that you wouldn’t be so quick to trust him if you knew what he’d done to two of your patrons and would do to a third tonight, but for some reason, he couldn’t make himself say it. He looked you in the eye and suddenly felt very strongly like you were right. He wouldn’t hurt you. Something about you made it impossible to even consider hurting you.

The gears in his head began to turn.

“So,” you said. “Cazador, this master of yours… What does he make you do?”

“I…” His throat seemed to close up, his mouth dry. “I bring back…food. People for him to drink from. Sometimes it’s random people I deem…worthy enough of my time that also meet his standards. Other times he sends me after specific people. And if I don’t bring them back, he—” Astarion looked down at the bartop as another patron walked in and took a seat at the far end, eyeing him conspicuously. “It’s not a pleasant thing he does to me.”

You pushed yourself off the bar. “I would think not.” You glanced at your new customer. “Let me handle him, and I’ll be right back.”

Astarion nodded and slowly sipped from his glass. He watched you closely as you took the other man’s order with a smile and got to work on what looked like a complicated cocktail. 

You weren’t afraid of him. Why? Why didn’t you kick him out? Why didn’t you see his red eyes and his fangs and realize that he was a danger to you and everyone else in this establishment? Why didn’t you fear the things he could do to you?

Why did he look at you and know with absolute certainty that he would never hurt you, that he couldn’t hurt you even if he tried? 

While you worked on his drink, the other man turned to Astarion, leaning on the bar in a way that made Astarion stifle a scoff. This man was a caricature of the sultry grace Astarion oozed—and he was faking it most of the time. 

“So,” the man drawled to Astarion, “what brings you here?”

You looked up from the cocktail, frowning at the man, who somehow didn’t notice your glower. You glanced at Astarion.

“Sorrow,” Astarion said dryly. 

“Oh, really? Perhaps I could…help you with that,” he said, his tone lacking subtlety. 

You cleared your throat, getting the man’s attention. “Not at my bar,” you said waspishly. “If you’re going to continue to accost other customers, you can pay for the drink and get out.”

The man sneered at you, and for some reason it started a fire in Astarion’s gut. “Look here, little miss, I’m a paying customer looking for paying customers of my own and I will not be—”

So quick Astarion could barely keep track of it, you grabbed the man’s wrist, flipped his hand, and pushed back his sleeve. There was a tattoo there. You scoffed. “Just as I thought, you’re one of Niess’s harlots? I’ve told your master that none of his workers are allowed on the premises. Get out before I force you into another line of work by removing your anatomy.”

The man’s face drained of blood. Astarion could hear his pulse quicken and a tense hunger curled through him. “You wouldn’t dare—”

“Out,” you ordered. You held out your palm.

Grumbling, he slapped what he owed into your hand, threw back the drink, and sashayed out the door. Into Astarion’s ear, he whispered, “Catch you outside, handsome.” He trailed a finger over Astarion’s shoulders and he shuddered with disgust. 

“I’m sorry about him,” you said, taking away the empty glass and cleaning it. “If I’d known what he does, I wouldn’t have let him sit in the first place.”

“Not a fan of prostitutes then, huh?” Astarion asked, voice grim and dry. His skin was still crawling from the man’s touch—and, he realized, from the prospect that you might order him out once you found out exactly what it was he did.

“Just those kinds,” you said. “You know—the ones who won’t take no for an answer? Niess has always been a problem. His flophouse is just down the street and he’s constantly sending his workers out to taverns and on the streets. It wouldn’t bother me so much if they weren’t known to— Well, there’s no delicate way to phrase this, actually. If they weren’t known to rape patrons who tried to say no. Niess himself does it more often than his workers, but…I won’t take that chance here.” 

Astarion shuddered violently. He felt like he might be sick, which he wasn’t even sure was possible.

Your shoulders slumped and understanding dawned on your face. “That’s what Cazador has you doing, isn’t it?”

Hands trembling, Astarion nodded slowly. “Y…yes.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t got much choice in the matter?” you asked gently. You reached over and offered your hand. Astarion took it and immediately felt comforted when you squeezed gently. 

“No,” he said. “I… I seduce the people he wants me to bring back. Seduce them, sleep with them, promise them wonderful luxuries and…deliver them to his fangs. That’s only when he wants me to bring people back. Sometimes my siblings bring back enough so he…he hosts a party where I am the entertainment.”

He could see your heartbreak on your face. “Oh, Astarion… Honey, I’m so sorry.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. Gods, he could still cry? He thought he’d shed the last of his tears over this ages ago. At least, the tears that weren’t coaxed out of him during the rougher parties where he was used until there wasn’t anything left and he was aching and numb at the same time, or when a whip split open his skin in the same spot just one too many times. 

You reached up and wiped his tears away. He sniffled and looked up at you through his watery gaze. “Thank you,” he muttered. 

For a few moments, it was just the two of you in your own little world. Astarion felt strangely…comforted. He wanted to collapse into your arms and stay there for a fortnight or longer and tell you absolutely everything. The thought of it, of finally feeling arms around him that didn’t want anything from him, made his whole body shudder with a sob. You cooed softly, cupping his cheek and catching his tears with your thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “The wine’s making me emotional, I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “Please don’t apologize. Not for this. You’ve been through so much and…you don’t deserve any of it.”

“You don’t know that,” he said.

“I do,” you said with such certainty that he paused in his protest, the list of his wrongdoings on his tongue fading into nothing. He looked at you and found sympathy in your eyes. Sympathy and love, genuine love, not the manufactured version he so often found in his victims’ eyes. If he had possessed a working heart, it would have stopped beating at that moment.

“I know you,” he whispered. Hope washed over your features. “Who are you to me?”

You opened your mouth but were interrupted by a server calling your name. You let go of his hand after one final squeeze and went over to her, taking a list of drink orders from her. You made them in your corner and Astarion watched, taking in your familiarity. 

He could see himself running his hands through your hair, taking the braids out and scratching your scalp with his nails. He could picture you laying in a soft bed with him, your bodies tangled together and with damp sheets. He could imagine you sitting across from him at a dinner table, two other shadowy figures in his mind between you both. He could feel your hand clasped in his as you sat next to each other, both dressed in matching finery, your face turned away from him but your thumb stroking his skin reassuringly. 

You were a part of his life. Or you had been, once. He was sure of it now. You had to have been someone special. Perhaps…

His stomach seemed to lurch. Oh, gods. Here he had been, flirting with your patrons, talking about his nightly sexual conquests, while you had been gazing at him so lovingly because he…

No, it couldn’t be! He’d remember you, wouldn’t he? If he’d had a best friend, a lover, he would remember them. 

You don’t remember your own parents, he reminded himself. 

Astarion looked at you while you worked, keeping your eyes down and trying very hard not to meet his gaze but sneaking little glances at his figure whenever you could.

His body tingled at the remembrance of lips on his neck, gentle and loving and wanted, kissing all the way down his stomach. It was you. It was you.

~❊~

He knew. He’d figured it out, you were certain of it. You could see him out of the corner of your eye and you watched the realization take over his face and body. 

How much does he remember? you wondered as you worked, slammed with yet another rush hour and too busy to even stop and think, much less talk to your undead lover. 

A tiny, unbearable flame of hope had started in your chest. He was here, sitting right in front of you, and he remembered you now. You were so close to having him back for good—and yet it was impossible. He was a vampire, cursed to the shadows and owned by a master worse than Niess. Even if you spent the rest of your long life working the night shift, Astarion would always have to return to his master with a victim in tow. How could you keep him at your side like that?

A thousand ideas popped into your head over the course of the night: kill his master. Run away from Baldur’s Gate. Continue as you were and let him leave you every night and every day to serve Cazador. No. You couldn’t do any of those things, and you certainly would not let Astarion keep slaving for a man who quite clearly abused him, even if Astarion hadn’t said it himself. 

You kept track of time as best you could. It was nearly closing time when the flow of drink orders stopped, accompanied by groups of people leaving the tavern, calling their drunken goodbyes to you as they swayed toward the door. 

Eventually, you returned to Astarion, who was still looking at you with that expression of dumbfounded realization as he had been the whole night. His last question was still bouncing around in your head: Who are you to me? 

You folded your arms and leaned on the bar. You met his gaze, looking into eyes that had once been a beautiful honeyed gold, and said, “I was your fiancée, once.”

A choked sob came from his throat. He reached out and you let him take your hand. “I know,” he whispered. “I… I remembered you.” He kissed your hand and you sucked in a sharp breath. “My darling. My love. My wife, oh gods, you were going to be my wife.”

You squeezed his hand. “Honey… I missed you. I missed you so much. I saw you everywhere, I thought you were just a figment of my imagination but maybe—maybe sometimes it was you.”

“Two hundred years,” he whispered. “Two hundred years without you. How did I… How did we manage it?”

“I didn’t,” you answered honestly. “I kept going only because I had to. I pretended I was fine so your parents could take the time to grieve and I mourned only when I was alone. Everyone was always telling me how strong I was but all the while I…I was shattering like glass every night because you weren’t there to hold me together.” 

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. A few tears leaked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I forgot you. I’m so sorry I didn’t try to escape him before I…before I forgot everything.”

“I’m sure you did try, Asty, you just don’t remember it,” you said quietly. “Or at least, I’d like to think you tried.”

“Asty,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten you called me that.” 

The last of the tavern’s patrons shuffled out, watching you out of the corner of their eyes. You were certain they thought you were trying to coax a very drunk and emotional patron out the door, if they even had a thought behind those eyes made glassy with liquor. 

The last server of the night began cleaning up. You squeezed Astarion’s hand.

“We’ve just closed, darling,” you said quietly.

“Closed?” he asked, a flash of panic in his eyes. “But I—I don’t have anyone to bring back to him! He— He’ll be furious.” The fear in his entire body made your heart break into two pieces. 

“Astarion, honey, I need you to calm down for a second—”

“You don’t understand,” Astarion moaned lowly. “You don’t understand the things he’ll do to me!”

“Darling—”

“You don’t understand,” he gasped again. 

“So help me understand,” you said quietly. “Come on, hun, talk to me. What will he do if you don’t go back?”

Astarion took several big gulps of air. While he calmed down, you told the last server to go home and began cleaning up yourself. You were nearly done when he began talking again from the bar, suddenly strangely calm, his voice dry and devoid of all emotion.

“He’ll starve me. He already does, but…he’ll take away all of it. The rats, the bugs… And he’ll beat me. No, no, he’ll watch while he has Godey beat me. Or he—” His voice caught in his throat. “Or he’ll…use me.”

You stopped and immediately went over to him. You opened your arms before you even got to his stool and enveloped him in a warm hug, holding his head close to your chest. Like a dam, everything broke. He sobbed into you.

“Hells, I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he whispered.

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly. “We’ll leave. We’ll run as fast as we can and never come back.”

He was shaking his head before you even finished your sentence. “No, no, we can’t, he’ll send someone after me.”

“Surely he has other spawn to torment—”

“I’m his favorite,” Astarion bit out, voice trembling. “He…he likes my screams, my suffering, the best.”

You fought down bile. “Oh, gods…” You hugged him tighter. “I wish I could—” 

You had a terrible idea that stopped you cold. An idea that would save him from his master and keep you together for the rest of your very long lives. 

“Come home with me,” you whispered. He began to protest, but you continued, “Come home with me and we can spend one last night together as we are. And then when the time comes…take me to him.”

Astarion went stiff in your arms. He pushed away from you enough to stare into your eyes. “What?” He sounded as horrified as he looked. “You want me to give you to him? No, absolutely not. I can’t! I can’t subject you to the same torture I go through night after night, I can’t do that to you! I love you, gods damn it all, even if I didn’t remember it for so long. The man I was when you loved me would never have brought you to Cazador.”

You cupped his cheek. “I still love you, Asty, I’ve loved you every day since you died. You might be changed, but deep down you are still my Astarion.” You showed him your hand, on which there was still a ring—delicate and beautiful and oh so lonely on your finger. “You are still the man I dreamed of marrying.” 

“You kept it,” he whispered, touching the ring. “All these years even though— What, you never wanted to start over with someone new?”

You shook your head. “Never. It was always you, Astarion. And it always will be. So just take me to him. Give him to me, keep yourself safe for the night. And I can stay with you this way. I will always be there to soothe your suffering if you bring me to him.”

He shook his head. “No. No, I can’t, darling, I—” His voice broke. 

“Please, Asty,” you whispered. “I cannot bear the thought of you being hurt because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he protested.

But you shook your head. “I kept you talking all night, love. I kept you at my bartop when you had a job to do. Please, darling.” You brushed his hair behind his ear. “Let’s go home.”

For several long moments, Astarion just stared at you. Then, in the quietest whisper you had ever heard, he said, “Alright.”

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[scrubbinn]

Mimic HRT: 20 months “Broken patients”

“Ah Ms.Mulberry… I, er, didn’t expect to see you. This early I mean. Making use of that outside privilege we worked so hard to get you. Of course you would. We managed to set the standard that all of your kind will keep their citizenship status until their crossroads, rather than at the start of their treatment. But, we’ll need to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Why don’t you- Ah, already taking a seat I see. So then… How are we feeling today? You seem… yourself.”

“...”

“Well, let’s see, what we can expect now is a few more days in court just to settle things, make sure the government is satisfied with the arrangements we all agreed upon. We’ll also need a few weeks to determine if this therian support group is actually reputable enough that this will count towards your psychological evaluation. Recently there have been some rumors about the manager being a bit unsavory, so that will cause a delay, if not entirely set you back some time. Really now, you must have realized finding a professional therapist would have been a much safer move… Excuse me, Ms.Mulberry, can I inquire why-

“You will not. Now keep talking.”

“Ms.Mulberry you seem rather upset, perhaps-

“You’re wondering why I decided to not use my mimicry to disguise a face for myself today. Oh believe me, I would have loved to walk in here a mass of sludge with eyes and teeth all over but it turns out human society doesn’t really like that too much. Having a head with no eyes to look at is a courtesy I am giving you. It’s more than you deserve. What the fuck is all this talk of we? You weren’t even at the last fucking meeting. Our lawyer wasn’t even at the last fucking meeting!”

“You’re clearly distressed, you should leave the premises immed-

“SHUT UP! YOU DON’T GET TO TALK!... Just shut up and listen. There is no we. As far as I am aware, this bullshit lawsuit against your clinic is the most roundabout way to specifically get me into a criminal court considering this incident didn’t even take place in hyper city. The lawyer I was given is somehow less competent than you are! Do you know how much time I’ve spent these past two months learning, specifically, Hyper city legal jargon? How overly complex a nexus point’s laws have to be to account for literally anything! And you left us to sink or swim! I could pass the fucking bar exam here if I wanted to at this point! And the worst part, oh my god the worst part. It cost me everything. I can’t so much as afford a hot dog on the way back home now. Because you’re some blinding asshole who thinks I should have to pay for everything! Well you know what? Perhaps you should be the one paying now! I am going to drag you down into the mud with me. Do you really think I don’t know why you never showed up, why I had to do everything? Because what's one experiment to you? Scape-goat, lab-rat, guinea pig, a mimicry of something human no longer. The second your clinic was in the clear, you left me to fend for myself. I can't believe I had an ounce of pity for you. When you comforted my decision to stop at my crossroad I actually thought you cared about me. That there was someone that could understand my fears!”

“Mayday that was what I was doing! I saw someone in pain and I did my best! I-

“Your best?! Oh my. Ha. Hahahaha. You don't even get it yourself do you? No you idiot! You comforted us because you saw the last shred of our humanity and told us to never let go of it. You're not clever Theodore. Inside that mind of yours whether you admit it or not, the second we start this treatment, you see all of us as inferior and beneath you. You self-righteous bastard. You know what, how about I let you talk. Won't cut you off this time. I want you to explain to me what your goal is. Why do you help us when you could simply refuse? Why put yourself through this? 

“And if I don’t feel the need to justify my actions to someone threatening me? What if I were to call security to drag out a crazed patient? What would you do then?”

“What would I do? I'll know the second you push that panic button, and we both know what we can do to a human body. Don’t make me go through that again.”

“Right then, I suppose I'll have to give you a truth that will satisfy you in this clear state of psychosis brought about by a clear lack of sleep and several stressors.” 

“We both know you're nowhere near trained to be a psychiatrist. Stick to working with hormone levels Mr. endocrinologist.”

“You want the truth? Fine, How's about this? Some witch had weird friends and made a promise of a lot of money if I sold her magic as a medicine. Happy? No? Of course not! That's not what you're asking you frea- No. I won't let you get the better of me. You want to know why I stuck around. Why after all these years I haven't retired… I really could, couldn't I. There are other doctors, for over a year I haven't been the only one supplying this stuff. I've had my fair share of attacks both verbally and physically from both sides of this city. I'm not sticking around because I have to, I've made enough breakthroughs and connections to create my own hormonal formulas without the need of the witch who dragged me in this business in the first place. There are so many reasons to retire and let my legacy live on in the scientific textbooks of all worlds. But no. The truest reason I fight for this clinic is to see people who walk through these doors happy! I see dozens of brilliant and kind souls walk through this door, ones who had the unfortunate fate of being born in the wrong body! I am giving my time, life, reputation, and money to help people because that is its own rewar- Stop growling! You said no interruptions!”

“Well you're clearly lying to yourself if you actually think seeing us happy is your end goal. Or were you not paying attention when I had to remind you that you abandoned me in a court case that shouldn't have even legally happened. They spent half their time trying to get the victim, my god damn girlfriend, to indict me as a crazed lunatic. If their goal was to crush me mentally and physically then they succeeded. Otherwise it was just a waste of time. I can’t even fathom how much time they must have if spending it going after an otherkin that slightly bothered them is possible! There is one thing that I got out of it though. There is one glimmer of light in this forsaken tunnel. Because that useless lawyer let me get a look at all the documentation of this clinic. Maybe the reason for this case was just for them to get a look at it. Find something to pin you with. Either way I guess everything you do is legal since they never went after you about it. But still, getting to read everything you’ve ever done has been quite the eye opener. Every experiment and procedure you’ve ever done.”

“And? As you already said, everything I’ve done is above the board and… Wait, you couldn’t possibly think of leaking those to the general public? You shouldn't even have them anymore. Making copies like that is illegal! If you leak those documents then you’ll go down with me. This is all a bluff to you.”

“Erian, you should know better than anyone how well we can disappear. Or how well we could make you disappear. Besides, for the record, I never said I made copies, but perhaps I might have. I just want you to know exactly where we stand. You hurt me, but I’m not so petty as to hurt you back. Instead you’re going to give me a job here. As an assistant.”

“This might be the worst job interview I’ve ever held. You do realize blackmail makes an awful resume don’t you? But I can’t exactly decline now can I. Tell me Mayday. What happened to the young woman who came here scared yet excited for a better life? You once said you wanted to work here before, but resort to this kind of behavior. Why even take a job here? It would make your bargaining chip even worse for you than for me?”

“Look, despite everything. What you’ve done to us, what you’ve done to others. Everything I learned. I, don't hate you. It’s not in my nature. I am quite literally doing this because it is my only option to not starve. And despite my attempts to hate you this whole confrontation I can't hold onto it for long. I get that what you think you're doing is some greater good for therians. But you're not the misunderstood hero you think you are. You're just seeking attention. Doesn't matter if it's good or bad you just end up making awful problems for everyone in the name of research that at best, will only ever appear in a science textbook, and you know that. Look, it's ok, I get what it’s like to seek that sort of validation. I could help you. Please, just give me the job.”

“You are wrong about me Mayday, you consider me obsessed with my image of a hero but perhaps your delusions about me are simply your obsession. I don't have a choice in giving you a job. I suppose I'll find something for you that's out of the way. I can’t say I'm excited to work with you. But perhaps you'll make a good legal advisor for now if you're as well versed in law as you say you are. No, trusting you with that would be a mistake, we’ll start you off as a janitor perhaps, I’m sure your body’s makeup should help you in that field. Besides, janitors are already basically invisible to everyone else, I’m sure your mimic mind would prefer that.”

“Oh no, we are not ending this conversation like that. Legal advisor? Janitor? Are you trying to make us angry again? No, I'm staying as far away from those kinds of positions as possible! You'll be paying for my degree and I'm working directly as an assistant. This isn't something you can negotiate!”

“I think you’ll find that it is! Because as far as I’m concerned, you’ll settle for any job. You don’t have the power to demand what position I find for you. The second you have this job, it becomes too valuable to destroy. You will accept this role or you will sink us both. Do I make myself clear?”

“I- I could attack you. You know a bite from me could kill you! I’ll do it!”

“You’ve already played your hand Mayday, I know most of this conversation was just a bluff from you anyways. Be thankful that, if I feel generous enough, I’ll forget this little incident when the time comes that I can secure this clinic’s future without fear of your threats. I do see many brilliant souls walk through this door. It’s a shame you weren’t one of them. But, I’m someone who cares about my patients despite your attacks on my character. I’ll give you one last chance to convince me why I shouldn’t give you the worst possible job I could find.”

“I- You’re right. This is just a bluff. I can’t even call it a roar, this is just my last whimper before I lose everything. I don’t. There’s nothing left after today. Abi can’t afford to take care of me. Going back home is what caused this mess in the first place. Theo, I’m here because you are my last lifeline. You can decline my employment if you want. I never actually copied the evidence I saw. I’m just a mimic of empty threats. My last echo before I disappear. I’m just scared. We lost.”

“Mayday… You are certainly good at trying my patience as well as heartstrings. Fine then, I’ll overlook these threats of yours as brought about by desperation. You will never state to the public what rumors they might have claimed as evidence, and you will be worked down to the bone- er, tooth, as an assistant. Do I make myself clear?”

“Oh my stars thank you!”

“Please do not mention it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[baldval]

ART DECO PART 3!₊˚⊹♡

characters: valentino x gn!reader

wc: 2.2k

warnings: cursing, allusions to smut, mentions of drug use, sligthly ooc val.

a/n: decided to give you guys a whole lot of fluff as an apology for last chapter, hope you like this!!!!

series masterlist!

"-and I mean, I know it's a fuckin' tough challenge to make her look good in blue, but I think we can do it. I don't know what's Vox obsession with that colour, like- our whoole campaign doesn NOT have to be all fucking blue. I don't even know why we need a campaign. We've got enough people on our side, and I got a call from Zeezi this morning - I'm gonna see if I can convince her. So, we definitely need you in that fuckin' meeting."

Silence.

"Are you even fucking listening to me? Hello?"

"... What?"

"I said, we need you at the meeting this afternoon. Vox made me promise I'd show up with you."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Velvette looks you up and down carefully, brows quirked in curiosity.

"The fuck is going on with you? You've been super weird these last couple of weeks."

That confirms your suspicions that Vox hasn't told anyone about that day at Valentino's apartment. You were wondering if he had.

"I'm just... tired. I'm fine. Don't worry about me, okay?"

Velvette doesn't look convinced, but nods anyway.

"Come on," she says, jumping from his chair. "We better get to that meeting early, Vox wants to talk strategy."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You're sitting silently, curled up in an expensive leather chair. Vox and Velvette are talking business, the complex jargon going straight over your head. You're in a world of your own, completely detached from your current reality, when you hear it.

Velvette says it off hand, not thinking anything of it. You watch as Vox flinches ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. Your throat tightens, your heart kicks up in your chest. Then, she says it again.

His name.

Valentino.

"I know if you push him the right way, Valentino could do anything you want him to do, you just need to make it look like it's his idea."

Valentino.

Valentino, Valentino, Valentino.

The word plays on repeat in your mind, like a broken record. Vox's eyes flick to you, as if to gauge your reaction, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. You haven't spoken since your argument, which makes most work things hard, considering he is your boss. You worried Velvette was starting to suspect something, seeing as how she always had to deliver messages from Vox to you.

"Yeah, yeah, I know we can use him, I just think, maybe, he's a bit... how can i say this? an impulsive bastard?" He glances at you before he says. "I know he's been doing some things I know he's regretting."

Velvette is oblivious to Vox's reluctance to speak on the subject, clearly.

"Well it's Valentino, when is he not impulsive? can you fuckin' talk to him or something? You know, I think you're like the only person he'll actually listen to."

Vox's eyes are darting between you and Velvette frantically.

"Yeah, sure. I'll talk to him."

You scoff under your breath, but he hears it.

"You got something to fuckin' say, Princess? Huh?"

Princess. You haven't heard that one in a while. It was a nickname given to you by the rest of your coworkers, seeing as you were pretty much Vox's favourite employee. At least you used to be. He wants to get under your skin, throwing the term in your face.

"Nothing you haven't said already," you say, biting your tongue, Vox knows you're lying.

He's about to make another sarcastic remark when Vox's assistant enters the room, cutting the moment short. You're not sure if you're grateful or spiteful.

One by one, your coworkers file in, taking their seats at the table. You're holding your breath, sitting at the edge of your chair, waiting for the inevitable. You can predict it now, the way you're going to feel when he walks in - chest tight, lungs knotted, fists clenched.

Valentino walks in, and the opposite happens.

You exhale your held breath, and relax slightly. The tension leaves your shoulders for a moment, your lip gets released from in between your teeth. It's like seeing him has cured you, even temporarily. As if he's your own brand of medicine, your personalised prescription.

His eyes catch yours, and you have a silent conversation. So much is said in such a short time.

Hi. Hi. Are you okay? No, are you? No. Not at all.

The room is oblivious to this emotional exchange - except for your boss. Vox watches Val's every move like a hawk. He's trying to figure out if the two of you are still together, still sneaking around behind his back. Val hadn't spoken to him since he stormed out of his apartment, meaning he has no idea about the events that occurred after his departure.

The meeting goes off as usual, full of tension and sniped remarks. You don't listen to a word anyone says, too focused on keeping your attention away from Valentino across the table. You're determined not to look at him. You know that if you do, he'll see right through you. He'll know how you really feel. And that is something you're not at all prepared for.

"Okay, well, if no one else has anything they'd like to cover, I think we're done here. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone rises from their places, shaking hands and having quick discussions before leaving through the tall glass doors. You stay put, in no rush to exit. Vox approaches Valentino, and you watch the exchange with a clenched jaw.

"Hey, uh... yeah, we need to talk. I think we should talk."

Val takes a long, hard look at Vox, before chuckling humourlessly.

"Hmm... Not sure if I've got something to day to you though."

Your boss stays stuck in his place, staring at the floor beneath him. As Val leaves, he can't resist running his fingers across your shoulders gently. You look back at him, but he's already gone.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Home doesn't feel like home anymore.

Everywhere you look, you're reminded of Valentino.

You're in the kitchen, and all you can think about is the time the two of you slow danced in the middle of the night, slipping and sliding on the tiled floor. There's a half finished bottle of wine on the counter, abandoned in favour of gliding around the room in your socks. Val clicks on some low, jazzy music, and pulls you into his arms. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the bathroom, and you can't stop thinking about when the two of you took a bubble bath together, lavender scented steam filling the air. Your back is pressed to Val's chest, sitting in between his legs as he massages the shampoo into your hair. He's humming softly, a song his Mother used to sing when he was a child. There's not an ounce of tension in either of your bodies. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the living room, and you can't avoid the memories of curling up with Val on the couch. He always lets you pick the movie - sarcastically rolling his eyes at your choices, but never protesting. You sit there for hours, bodies tangled together like two pieces of the same puzzle. You feel like you finally belong somewhere.

You're in the bedroom, and you can't stop picturing the way that Val would take you apart and put you back together again. Before him, all of the sex you had was quick, transactional, impersonal. But it was different with Val. He genuinely cared about your pleasure - learning your body inch by inch, memorising it like a sculptor. You allowed yourself, for the first time ever, to let go. You put your soul in his hands with full faith. Lying there, limbs intertwined beneath the soft sheets, there was no doubt in your mind. You belonged somewhere.

And now that safe place is gone.

Home doesn't feel like home anymore, and it's all because of him. You could move at the drop of a hat, find a new apartment tomorrow if you wanted. But you can't. You can't leave all of these memories behind. As painful as they are, they're all you have.

You turn on the TV, and flick through the channels, you stop at a commercial that seemed to be promoting a free hotel that worked as a rehab for sinner. What a stupid idea. Yet you sat and watched the whole thing, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen. When it ends, you turn it off, and sit in silence.

You sit there for hours, in the quiet, just thinking. About everything. You found the whole thing stupid, of course, but there was something that stuck with you.

Sinners wanting to change.

It seemed as if the minute anyone got into hell they had 2 options: kill or be killed. Hell felt more like an extension of life rather than a punishment itself, maybe that was the punishment.

All of a sudden, you're sick of waiting. Sick of being told how to do everything. Sick of trying to conform to these ideals that people are placing on you. Fuck them. You are already in hell, you have to keep living for you.

You're pulling on your shoes and grabbing your keys before you can even process it. You call the number for a car, but no one answers. Fuck it, you'll run if you have to. If it means you get to hold the man you love in your arms again.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The knocking on the door is so loud, Valentino's half convinced he's about to be murdered. He swings open the heavy oak to be met with the sight of you, looking like you just ran a marathon.

You stand still for a moment, staring at each other, as if you can't believe what you're seeing. You're here, in each others vicinity again. It'd be so easy to reach out and touch him.

So, you do.

You barrel into him, jumping into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. He catches you easily, holding onto you as tight as he possibly can. You wrap your legs around his waist and press yourself even closer, as if to merge both of your bodies into one being.

You breathe him in, and it's the first time you've taken a full breath in weeks. He smells the same as he always did, floral and woody and expensive and yours. He still smells like he's yours.

You don't realise you're crying until you pull away from him slightly, and see the wet spot on his t shirt. He puts you down and closes the door, locking it behind you. He grabs your hand and leads you into the kitchen, parting from you to pour two glasses of wine.

You jump up onto the counter and part your legs, Val coming to stand between them instinctively. He places a hand on each of your thighs, warmth seeping through his palms. You're face to face, unsure where to start.

"Darling," he breathes. "What are you doing here?"

He sounds unsure, almost scared. If only you knew how frantically his heart is beating in his chest.

"I'm already dead," you reply quickly. "I'm literally in Hell. It can't really get that much worse. And if it does, I'd rather have that if it means I got to choose that path."

Valentino looks at you carefully, brow quirked in confusion.

"Honey, are you on drugs? Because they're really not good for you, you know."

"Says the man who did coke off my ass last month," you tease defiantly.

He fights back a smile, but it curls at the corner of his mouth. You grin at him, hands moving towards his neck.

"I'm not on drugs," you reassure. "I was just watching tv, and it kinda put everything into perspective. We should get to choose what we do in our deaths. We should get to try to change our path. Why am I so stuck to an eternity trying to appease stupid concepts of success?"

He smiles at you softly, nodding as you continue.

"I just - this is hell. We get to do whatever the fuck we want, we're fucking dead. I make a choice for myself, and all of a sudden everything I've worked for is gone? How is that fair?"

"It isn't," he agrees, squeezing your thighs in reassurance. "Vox's a hypocrite. Do you know how many stupid decisions I've watched him make over the years? He thinks he knows everything, but he doesn't."

You lean forward and press your forehead to Val's, exhaling the tension from your shoulders.

"I'm really sorry," you whisper. "For everything. I treated you horribly, and none of it was your fault."

"It wasn't your fault, either. You know that, right?"

"I don't know. It's so hard to get a view on things when they're happening. But when I took a step back, it gave me a clearer look. And it made me realise something."

"And what's that?" he murmurs.

"I realised that I cannot live a day without you, Valentino. I don't want to."

"Thank God," he breathes in a laugh. "I've been going fucking crazy here without you."

You beam a grin at him, so bright it's a wonder that the lights don't shatter.

"I love you, and I won't apologise for it," you confess. "Whatever the consequences are, I'll accept them. Nothing can touch me when I'm loved by you. You're like my own personal armour."

Val leans forward and captures your lips with his, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You get completely lost in each other, revelling in the feeling of being back together. You feel like you can finally breathe again. The other half of your heart has returned.

[cakerybakery]

Hell had the best lawyers, really a benefit to being in hell. Lucifer like lawyers, they were as meticulous about contracts as he was. Tricky too, which he also liked. They were in hell, not heaven.

Not all lawyers went to hell, obviously. Most weren’t even in hell because they were bastards that used their profession to sin. Lucifer’s personal lawyer, James, was in hell because he kept cheating on his wives and drank and ate to excess, which is what killed him.

When wife number seven burst into the room as he was finishing up inside the sixth person he’d cheated on her with that month, waving a gun, screaming and crying hysterically because she just found out he’s been cheating since before they got married three months ago. He didn’t stand a chance as the gun went off and he dropped dead, from a heart attack.

The bastard still ran around chasing anything in a skirt and drank and ate until his guts ruptured each night. But he went to work stone cold sober and did his job during the day. He was a professional and Lucifer liked that about him.

Lucifer still double checked the contract before signing and sliding it over to Adam.

Adam was struggling to get through all the legal jargon. He learned to read in heaven, not even any of the human languages either. Angelic texts. Satan’s English was newer for him.

It was weird how the language invented by Wrath leaked up to Earth, then Heaven. Lucifer was pretty sure Satan did it on purpose to fuck with Heaven after the whole tower of babble thing.

Adam could certainly speak the language, even if it wasn’t his first language it seemed to be his preferred now. Lucifer couldn’t fault him there. He himself only spoke the language of the angels if he had to now. The language taught first to Adam.

James raised an eyebrow at Lucifer as Adam struggled, silently asking the question everyone asked. “What do you see in him?”

Lucifer couldn’t explain it. Adam was often rude, crude, and cruel. But that cruel streaked turned into an insatiable lust as they physically came to blows one day. The crudeness was a turn on as it was turned onto him to describe everything Adam wanted them to do. They both got a thrill out of Lucifer trying to tame Adam’s rude tongue. With Lucifer in the bedroom as a focal point for Adam’s worst traits, his best started to shine through.

He sung like an angel, a fallen angel, but no matter how hard and harsh the song was, Lucifer loved listening to that sweet voice singing it. Adam’s hands were rough with him, but gentle with the plants and dirt. He had no devil given talent for it. Just centuries of knowledge. Children were a weakness of his. And it made Lucifer weak in the knees to watch Adam being so gentle with Lucifer’s grandchild.

Soon to be officially their grandchild. It was just the first set of documents they were signing today. Some prenup stuff, in case of a divorce. They were both divorced men known for their tempers, if something did happen, they both wanted to make sure they had each other over a barrel to make their parting as easy as possible. Later it would be the marriage certificate. But right now, they were adding Adam’s name to a bunch of the assets. If someone offed Lucifer it just made inheritance easier. More likely they would need Adam to be able to sign off on things when Lucifer hit a depressive low and couldn’t be roused to do paperwork.

A reason Lucifer retained such a great lawyer. Charlie certainly needed the help when he had hit the worst of a slump after Lilith left. Acting as the ruler of hell for a few years while he couldn’t get out of bed.

James started to clarify some of the things Adam was reading. “These fifty pages are all the assets Lucifer holds in this city. This stack is the rest of the ring, and these ones are for the other rings. You can read over everything if you like or just sign at the end to acknowledge that it’s all there.”

Adam signed, trusting neither of them were trying to screw with him. Which they weren’t, but he really needed to teach Adam to stop being so damnably trusting. That’s how he ended up damned.

“And this is acknowledgment that you’ll pay the listed price to be added to the assets.” James tapped the next set of documents.

“What’s the listed price?”

James grinned, “a kiss. To be paid to Mr Morningstar.”

Adam rolled his eyes at Lucifer’s cheeky smirk and leaned over. They exchanged a kiss and Adam signed, followed by Lucifer and James to attest the Adam had indeed made payment in full.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

here are some more miscellaneous post-ts headcanons but this time we're not going pro teams we're taking a walk on the side of your average working adult let's go!!

okay let's be real do we REALLY think lev is in charge of his own social media accounts bc i feel like that's a dumpster fire waiting to happen

i'm going to say yes because it's funny as hell

he tweets things like "lol i worked with [insert older veteran actor here] today i had no idea he was such an asshole" and gets frantic phone calls from the pr team like three seconds after posting

his instagram is also full of like. really blurry casual pics and just doesn't look professionally curated at all but the fans love him for it

i'm actually super curious as to whether he gets typecasted a lot and if so i'd love to know what it is

i want to say goofy comic relief side character?? so when he gets selected for a serious drama role nobody is expecting him to blow it out of the water but he does!!!!!!

also another thing lev does that gives his pr team a heart attack is when he posts anything vaguely related to his love life. which funnily enough are the only quality non-shitposts he does himself

like you've got the aesthetic silhouettes against a wall, the hands intertwined on a candlelit table, the vague tweets of "so lucky to wake up next to you. wish it would never end <3" and everyone's going WILD trying to figure out who it is

(and, well, nobody is going to notice shibayama yuuki liking the posts amidst all the other pro volleyball players who do, right?)

shirabu's got a rep in med school for having the worst fucking bedside manner of all time

well not really i think he's like. the kind where fellow/older colleagues and such judge him for it and they think that he could stand to be a LITTLE bit nicer but if he works with kids or whatever i bet the kids would actually really like him.

he's dry and straightforward and calm and takes them seriously and treats them like adults. the only thing he does to baby them is dumb down the medical jargon into an explanation they can actually understand

ugh shirabu actually makes me really soft for what an asshole he is

oh but if you're a bitch ass bastard for no reason he'll try to be as snarky as he can be without like. getting reported to hr or whatever

sorry i know this probably isn't how medical professionalism works irl once again i just think it'd be really funny

also can i just say that i think it's the funniest fucking thing that komi became an actor. like where the hell did THAT come from

i feel like he got thrust into doing a role for a class play during cultural festival season and got hooked on it probably? because literally when else would he have the time to get into/practice that kind of shit

that's probably a fun fact he drops during a magazine interview or something LMAAAAO

"yeah volleyball practice took up most of my time, and i never really thought about doing anything else. but then things changed in my third year of high school when i got cast for cinderella . . ."

speaking of fukurodani. yukie and kaori my beloveds

i skipped out on them during my managers post which i regret deeply and dearly so here they are!!

full disclaimer i don't know how sports promoters actually work i'm assuming they promote whatever sports games they are assigned instead of just sticking to one sport only? which means that whenever kaorie gets her hands on something that isn't volleyball she gets a dozen texts from bokuto moaning about betrayal and treason and all that

when kaori gets with someone she meets through work (so someone on a pro sports team) the rest of fukurodani are like "okay but he's a BASEBALL PLAYER" as if being a baseball player is the most atrocious thing a person could be

kaori's like "guys come ON i told him all of you were cool!" and everyone's like "now why in the world would you tell him that"

yukie has a decently popular cooking channel that is loved not for her yummy recipes or her aesthetic filming but because none of her kitchenware matches

she just collects whatever she likes + a bunch of shit that's been gifted to her and while it should make her kitchen look cluttered it's all just very cozy and lived-in

like. all her pots and pans are different colors and themes. no pair of chopsticks are the same. she has a ladle shaped like a dinosaur and a teapot glazed with magnolias on the side

her recipes DO slap tho she and osamu collab a lot

UGH i love them living nice fulfilling adult lives i wish that were me

[byanyan]

SPEECH PATTERNS

complexity of vocabulary : ◼◼◻◻◻ emotion : ◼◼◼◼◼ sentence structure : ◼◼◻◻◻ profanity frequency : ◼◼◼◼◼ creativity : ◼◼◼◼◻ watchfulness : ◼◼◻◻◻

( bold all that apply ) ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. fuckshit. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. chicken shit. son of a bitch. son of a whore. twat. wanker. ( given proper religious context ) christ on a bike. christ on a cracker. damn. goddamn. godsdamn. hell. holy shit. jesus. jesus christ. jesus, mary and joseph. sweet jesus.

( this or that )

contractions or enunciation? straightforward or cryptic? jargon or toned? complexity or simplicity? finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind? masculinity, neutrality, or femininity? formalities or abrasiveness? insult or injury? praise or equivocation? frankness or lies? excessive or minimal hand gestures? name-calling or magnanimity? friendly or blunt nicknames?

( important questions )

do people have a hard time understanding or hearing your character ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never does your character’s point come across easily when they speak ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never would your character initiate conversations ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never would your character be the one to end conversations ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never would your character use ‘whom’ in a sentence ? yes / no / only ironically your character wants to make a counterpoint. what word do they use ? but / though / although / however / perhaps / mayhaps how would your character pick up the phone ? hello / hey / hi / yellow / yo / yeah / [name]. / what’s up / who is this / what do you want / can i help you? how does your character end conversations ? walk away / ask if that’s everything / say that that’s everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they’re done here / remain quiet / they don’t how does your character address others ? titles / first names / surnames / full names / nicknames what social class would others assume your character belongs to, hearing them speak ? upper / middle / lower in what ways does the way your character speak stand out to others ? accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn’t

[taradiddled]

Ada: Do you know how many building code violations this place has? There’s no point in doing the repair work, when not even the PILLARS are going to hold it up past ten more years.

Charlie: I guess that’s why I get such a good deal on it from the last owner…

Lucifer: What did you end up paying for the hotel, sweetie?

Charlie: Uh… *writes number down on a post-it note and slides it across the table to Lucifer and Ada*

Ada, snatching up the note: It can’t be that—.

Lucifer, peeking at the number: …I think you might have gotten ripped off, sweetie.

Ada: If Charlie didn’t know there were this many violations when she signed the paperwork for this place, then, legally, we can fry the bastard.

Charlie; No! It was my fault for not doing my research and…not knowing better.

Ada: But you’re the PRINCESS OF HELL. Swindling you is an offense against Hell’s Royal Family, not to mention, if the contract you signed does not include, in any way, how badly off this place was BEFORE you bought it, then he’s legally culpable.

Vaggie: …how do you know all this legal jargon?

Ada: Vagatha, you end up learning A LOT of legal bullshit when you’re saddled with the paperwork of the Higher Choirs. How do you think I got them to approve of all our Squad Retreats after they first said ‘no’?

Vaggie: I thought those were actual rewards for doing a good job.

Ada: Nope. Some good old loop-hole work and blackmail had a hand in it.

Vaggie: You blackmailed the Higher Choirs?

Ada: Just the ones I fucked.