#both so convinced that they’ve irrevocably fucked up

[coruscantrhapsody]

Avar Kriss is so Padme Amidala coded and it just HURTS. MY FEELINGS

[hismercytomyjustice]

Caught sight of an open tab I had on how to speak English with an Italian accent and I am just…

I am 24k now into this Hazbin Crack fic I wanted to write and I desperately need someone to take my phone away.

(・ω・｀)………..

BUT. Omfg. I got my husband to start watching Hazbin and he doesn’t hate it??? Obvs no shade to the show, but he is NOT big on musicals. Which is WILDLY unfortunate for him having married me.

POTO featured in both of our secret wedding vows lol. Me promising to try and subject him to it less and him promising to watch it more hahaha. I had a thing with the 25th Anniversary recording. In addition to having seen POTO live…fuck…4 times now? I think it’s 4?

The only thing keeping me from seeking it out again is…I’m sorry but I’m not a huge fan of the updated US touring show.

(ಥ﹏ಥ)

Don’t get me wrong, the new stage setup and all is *chef’s kiss*. Truly a feat of engineering! I just really don’t care for the changes they’ve made to the interactions between the Phantom and Christine.

Yes, bruh is an unhinged serial killer. But it just kinda rubs me the wrong way seeing him openly throw Christine around on stage? Irrevocably mentally/emotionally torture her and attempt to kill Raoul in front of her? Abso-fucking-lutely! 5 stars! Sign me up! But I just feel like they’ve lost the plot a little with how physically violent they’ve made him toward her?

Like yeah, bruh was ready to blow them both up in a heartbeat to try to make her choose him. But idk. I think he’s plenty horrible without adding straight up physical violence against her to his repertoire?

Idk maybe I’ve lost the plot? It just feels weirdly…excessive? The irony of me saying that about an obsessive stalker serial killer is not lost on me. But idk it just doesn’t feel right to me. It throws me hard out of the story and makes it difficult for me to enjoy the new staging. I’ve always felt like his twisted fucked up love for her is his true redeeming quality and it makes it feel…idk.

Like obvs he’s the bad guy. But it just doesn’t feel right. As horrible of a person as he is, his love for Christine is ultimately what pulls him back from becoming the full blown monster he’s always believed himself to be. She sees the humanity in him and brings it back to the surface. Makes him realize loving someone isn’t possessing them. It’s a HUGE moment of growth for both him and Christine.

Up to that point, the story is happening to Christine. But the moment she accepts Erik for who he is? That’s when she fully gains her agency. She’s the only one who can save herself and Raoul (etc). But most importantly, she’s the only one who can save Erik from himself.

I have no doubt he would’ve blown them all to smithereens if she turned him down in that moment. It would’ve just been the final nail in the coffin of him becoming a monster.

But he wasn’t a monster to Christine. He was her angel. For the first time in his life he could pretend he wasn’t a monster. She reawakened his humanity and his belief he could be something more than the awfulness that had been thrust on him his whole life because of his deformity.

Also I really don’t like how they do the unmasking scene in the new version. Like, bruh, you took that shit off yourself with your situationship in the other room. How are you gonna be upset she just happens to wake up and sees you already sans mask??? That’s on YOU.

I feel like Christine unmasking him is too important of a moment to just take out. It’s the turning point from potential romance to utter horror. She breaks the spell they’re both under and Erik is convinced she can only see the monster now, so why not be the monster.

IDK. I just have A LOT of feelings and I am so grateful the 25th anniversary was filmed with the original version/staging. Also I fucking adore Ramiro Karimloo as the Phantom. He brings such an earnestness to his portrayal. He really makes you feel for Erik even as you acknowledge that yeah Christine you need to get the FUCK out of there ASAP.

UGH. I really need to rewatch the 25th anniversary version for the millionth time, huh?

[we-are-inevitable]

until forever // javid

Until Forever

some things about this fic: -davey being salty about his grades -Oblivious Jack !!! -drunk confessionsssss -jack splurges on good tequila and you Cannot tell me otherwise -they’re in university so, like, it’s automatically good

i hope u guys like this oneee !!

The front door opens to reveal a frazzled David Jacobs with a single black coffee, one bag of groceries, and an overstuffed satchel crossed over his torso.

The groceries are the first to drop to the floor. Jack knows that nothing in the bag is damaged; if something inside was fragile, then David surely would have brought the bag to the apartment’s small kitchen rather than discarding it onto the floor. As he watches the taller man set his coffee on the small table next to the front door, Jack can’t help but smile.

“Rough day, Davey?”

“You. Have. No. Idea,” David crosses the room and inelegantly drops his school bag into the chair against the wall, heading straight for the kitchen. “I’m convinced that Professor Snyder is incompetent. There is no fucking way I got less than a 90 on my midterm report, Jack, there’s no way! But no! Apparently he gave me a goddamn 86 on the paper--”

“I’m sorry, but is there somethin’ wrong with an 86? Seems pretty good to me,” Jack says as he stands up off of the couch, following David to the kitchen. “Don’t stress about it. You have, like, two months until the end of the semester, you’re gonna bring your grade up.”

“Oh, no, I have a high A in the class,” David says nonchalantly as he reaches up to grab a bottle from on top of the fridge-- tequila. Oh. David is in one of those moods. “It’s just-- He has the audacity to give me an 86, yet he gives Morris fucking Delancey a 98? There’s no way his paper was better than mine! I just--”

“Davey, I love ya, man, and I feel for ya, but if you get any more pissed you’re gonna break the bottle and you’re gonna owe me, like, $40. That’s my good tequila.”

“Get the shot glasses, Kelly.”

“On it.”

Jack has a painting he could have been doing. Not classwork, he was pretty much caught up with everything so far, but he has a commission that needs to be sent off by the end of the next week and he's still in the sketching phase. But, really, what's the point of working on a commission when he can get drunk with his best friend instead?

After all of these years, it is still weird to call David a ‘friend.’ They had met in the 8th grade, when Jack was adopted by Medda, who happened to teach drama at the school David attended. On the first day, David had told Jack to "shut the hell up" in their science class, and the two had been inseparable ever since. They had been 13 when they met.

Now, they're both nearing 23, living in an apartment together, both in their last year of college.

And Jack still hasn’t told David that he is completely, totally, irrevocably in love with him.

Jack brings the shot glasses to the living room, while David brings the bottle and a container of orange juice to chase it. They both sit on the couch for the next thirty minutes, ranting about their days and the horrible people they've dealt with in town or at work or in class or wherever they had over the course of that week.

Thirty minutes turn into an hour, and an hour turns into two. By that time, the sun is setting, casting a glow straight into the window of the apartment. Jack tilts his head and looks over at David with a chuckle at something he had said, but all laughter was lost as he caught David’s gaze.

God, those blue eyes make him weak. And with the way that the light was directly on them… Jack can’t take the silence.

He turns his body to face David, leaning his head against the back of the couch as his arms cross over his torso. “You ever been in love, Davey?” He asks with that signature Kelly grin. There’s no doubt in his mind that he looks like an idiot. Big smile, scrunched-up nose, squinty eyes- he had been told by plenty of girls that that look was 'something out of a romcom,' and he had never wanted that to be truer than right now.

The question seems to sober David up a little bit. He gulps and glances away, cheeks flushed- though Jack can’t tell if he’s blushing, or if it’s the alcohol. “I-... Jackie, c’mon. You’ve known me for ten years, you would know--”

“Ah, ah, ah, I think you have a bunch of shit you ain’t tellin’ me,” Jack says with a smirk, though his eyes soften up a bit. All he wants is for David to say yes. If David tells him, then Jack will be able to move on. If David is in love with someone else, then Jack can finally muster up the courage to finally stop telling himself he has a chance. “What about that boy you was with last year? What was his name? Lance?”

“Luke,” David corrects him with a grimace, “And no. I didn’t love him. I… I figured out a few months into it that I… loved someone else,” He admits with a shrug, then scratches the back of his neck. “...Love. Present tense. I love someone else.”

What a kick in the teeth.

Jack sits up a little straighter, then raises a brow. “Damn, you must’a had feelings for this fella for a while. It’s been, what, near a year since you and Luke broke it off?”

“I’ve liked this guy way longer than I’ve even known Luke,” David says simply, shooting Jack a smile that made his stomach flip.

“What’s he like?”

“Well,” David thinks for a moment, then grins. “He’s really sweet. Stupid, but in a good way,” He chuckles, and Jack can’t help but let out a little laugh as well. “He’s been through a lot, but he’s the most caring guy I’ve ever met. He’d give the shirt off his back for any one of his friends, and trust me, he has a lot.”

“Lots’a friends? Is he a frat guy?”

“Oh, hell no. Far from it. He’s just… really charismatic. He’s… He’s great,” David says with a melancholy grin, avoiding Jack’s gaze as he takes a slow sip of tequila straight from the bottle.

Something about the way that David is acting has Jack on edge. He seems so close to saying something, but Jack has no idea what it is, and, against his better judgment, Jack presses on. “Tell me more. Does he go here?”

“Mhm. He’s an art student,” David admits nonchalantly, and Jack’s heart feels like it rips in two. An art student… No. There’s no way David is talking about him, but the fact that he’s into another art student who isn’t Jack makes him regret ever asking in the first place. “He’s good, too. Really good. Seriously, Jack, his art... It’s the best I've ever seen. He likes music, too, and he’s a great singer, even though he doesn’t think so. He’s a horrible driver, but he can navigate the subway system in his sleep. He’s a pretty good--...”

David hesitates. Jack watches, holding his breath.

The silence between them is so heavy that Jack feels like he’s being crushed. Suffocated. “David...”

David takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. “He’s a pretty good roommate, too. Even if he cares more about a $40 bottle of tequila than he cares about me.”

Jack is silent for a few long moments. He’s frozen in place, trying desperately to connect the dots, and deep down he knows what David is saying, but he can’t do this and he doesn’t want to assume and what if he's wrong? What if David is just playing a cruel joke on him? What if-- “Davey, what- what are you sayin’? I-- Dave, you need to- to spell it out, I don't understand--"

"Jackie," David cuts him off as he turns to face him, a sad smile on his face. The look makes Jack’s breath catch in his throat. “I love you. Jack Kelly, I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack responds instantly, his eyes widening just slightly. “No, because- because I-- Fuck, I’ve loved you for so long, but you- you don’t love me. You- you can't love me, Davey, you deserve so- so much better than me, I'm so-- Is this real? Are you-- Are you real?”

The smile that breaks out onto David’s face stuns Jack into silence. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” David whispers, before letting out a laugh. “I just-- Jack, how could I not love you? You're everything to me, Jackie... Everything. All I've ever wanted. I know you don’t see it, but... You're the best thing to ever happen to me."

There's a long, long pause as Jack takes in the information. He's confused, and overwhelmed, but as the gears finally stop turning and the pieces fit into place, Jack lets out a giddy laugh. “I-- Davey, Davey, oh my God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect. You’re smart, and nice, and stubborn as a mule in the best way possible, and I- I ain’t good with words, you know that, but you--... All of my best paintings, all of my best sketches, are all because you were my muse. You were… Perfect. You’ve always been perfect… David?”

“Yeah, Jack?” David answers, breathless, and he's truly a sight to behold.

“Kiss me.”

The feeling of David frantically dragging him into his lap would forever be one of the best Jack has ever experienced. He straddles David’s thighs, wraps his arms around David’s neck, and melts as soon as David pulls him into the best kiss he had ever had.

It's just this side of rough, of passionate, of needy and wanton and Jack can feel ten years worth of wanting, waiting, wishing for this moment fuel the kiss even more.

David’s hand is in his hair. Caressing him. Grounding him.

They kiss for what feels like hours, but Jack eventually pulls back for breath, forehead gently pressed against David’s. Something tells him they should have done this a long time ago, but at least they had the rest of forever.

[mrsgreenworld]

Son Yaz Season 2, Episode 22

"Adaletin Bu Mu Dünya" ("Is This the World of Justice?") aka Barren Land

So a new season came in like a wrecking ball. I've missed watching something that gets this level of emotional response from me. That's the beauty of this show - it played on my emotional strings from the very start. It is a different type of show now, however. In season 1 Son Yaz was pretty much a show about family, with all the mafia stuff being just a background noise. It may have seemed that it was Akgün's story and his found family. And in a way it was. But it was never just Akgün's story. It's the story of the Kara family as much as it was Akgün's. This estranged family comes together when this hurt and abandoned kid lands in their lives. The gift of family and love was something that Akgün not only got but also gave in return. That's why in season 1 intro we saw the blurry image of the Kara family, all four of them, and Akgün who was standing a bit to the side, like an outsider. And he was, at the beginning. Throughout the season we saw him close this distance, both literally and figuratively.

If we look at season 2 intro, it is something else entirely. The intro music theme is still the same but it's a reworked version, it sounds lower and more intense. The blurry image of this new intro is of Selim and Akgün, just the two of them, standing next to each other, at the dusk of the day. And I feel that's what this season is going to be about - the story of these two men and either their redemption or their further downfall.

But there is another pillar the story lies upon - Yağmur. These three are going to be the focus of this review. Let's get down to it.

Yağmur

I've decided to discuss Yağmur first because she's the first one we see three years later. I also believe that she's the one who had the strongest connection with Canan. Sure Canan was loved just as much by Altay, she was and always will be the love of Selim's life. But there's usually one person among our loved ones who we share a very special connection with. And I believe that for Canan that person was Yağmur and vice versa. That's why Yağmur is the one keeping Canan's memory alive. She dresses similarly, she keeps the key to the restaurant (that's named after Canan) under a flower pot which looks remarkably similar to the one in Çeşme. I even suspect it's the same pot. Yağmur has flowers in the restaurant that she takes care of first thing in the morning. In season 1 there were scenes of Canan watering the flowers.

It might look as if Yağmur has everything under control. She seems put together, almost like her old self. But it is the calm before the storm. It only lasts as long as she doesn't stop. Yağmur said it herself: if she stops, she'll start thinking about what happened, she'll have to face it and just the possibility is making her lose her mind. But this madness won't just go away, it's brewing just beneath the surface and it showed its face in the scene where Yağmur finally saw Akgün. She was absolutely unhinged. It's like after having been in denial for three years she was catapulted into anger within the first seconds of seeing him. That's the sort of maddening rage that stems from denying yourself a chance to grieve and truly experience loss. Yağmur's drawn-out denial is going to take its toll. She's clearly suffering from PTSD and from a glimpse of her in episode 23 fragman it's clear that it's starting to affect her physically.

I don't know what the writers have in store for Yağmur but right now it seems to me that she will have to go through all of the stages of grief and in the end find acceptance and peace.

Selim

And next we see Selim who lives alone in a secluded house in Rize. He walked away from his children and his old life. He left behind his vocation. He's no longer a prosecutor. I find it interesting that Selim repeated it several times throughout the episode: "I'm not a prosecutor". We saw in season 1 how much Selim's job meant to him, how something that he had initially pursued just to be closer to Canan had become his calling and a part of him. And now with Canan gone it's like that part of Selim is gone too. Or maybe he just killed that part of himself when he took his revenge on Halil Sadi. And the way it happened is the reason why Selim decided to stay away from his children. It was gruesome and savage and Selim understood clearly how that would taint a person. That's why he tried to convince Akgün to leave him alone to take care of it and that's exactly why he kept his distance from Yağmur and Altay so as not to taint them with his darkness. Selim owns his darkness and his sins. Selim Kara is not a good man. And he knows it. Now that I think about it, he was never a good person. Back in season 1 we saw what a shitty husband and father he was. Yes, they tried to redeem him and give him a second chance. He took this chance and, I think, he really tried to be the kind of a man who deserved his family. But the bitter truth is that he never deserved Canan or his children. And I think that Selim is painfully aware of this. That's why I'm not angry with him for leaving Yağmur and Altay. I don't love or even like him but I understand him. I'm also not angry that he involved Akgün into that nightmare. Selim gave Akgün an out, in the end it was Akgün's choice to stay. I'm definitely not gonna blame Selim for the choices Akgün made.

I've already mentioned that this season can turn into either a redemption story or even further downfall for both Selim and Akgün. But I feel that no matter which way Selim chooses to go - up or down - we won't see a happy ending waiting for him. It's clear now what's waiting for him. I believe that if we don't see Selim pulling that trigger again, it will be someone else's bullet that sends him to Canan.

Akgün

Or my sweet, sweet boy... He is a boy no more 😢

Killing his own brother, going to prison, giving up the love of his life, living on the run for three years - all of that took its toll and changed Akgün irrevocably. But most of all it was that horrid night and the choice he made that turned his hopeful and blossoming future into a barren land.

He's always been hot-headed, doing-first-thinking-never. Always ready to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. And the way he loves is fierce and maybe even a bit suffocating. And all of that hasn't changed. But now Akgün seems torn between being resigned and suicidal. He's resigned when it comes to Yağmur and the future he wanted to have with her. He's suicidal when it comes to saving his father and helping Selim.

I know that it's been pointed out in the show a number of times that Selim and Akgün are very much alike. And it may seem that what they did to Halil Sadi brought them closer together and made them even more similar. While that night definitely tied them together in a very special way that only the two of them will ever be able to comprehend, I also saw how in fact different Selim and Akgün are. And the ultimate difference lies here: Akgün is a good person. I just hope that he'll get a chance to become a good husband and a good father. The kind of a husband and father Selim never was and I don't think could ever be.

A few honourable mentions

🖤 Eray is the sweetest, most precious cupcake on this planet and he makes my heart burst with love and gratitude. He was so loving and affectionate with Akgün. From the way he hugged him and he called him "Canım benim" to the way he sent Akgün updates on Yağmur and how he comforted Akgün after the disastrous reunion.

🖤 I already said while I was live blogging that I really like the siblings role reversal they've got going on. Give me all the bitter moody teenage Altay who also has a picture of himself and Akgün from Canan and Selim's wedding.

🖤 Soner and Naz are cute and all but they're also incredibly dumb. Especially Soner who comes from a mafia family and has to marry a girl from another mafia clan. Her father is a mafia boss who's giving away his only daughter. And to make things even worse Soner had to drop the ILY at the dinner. For fucks sake... Where's your only brain cell? On the run with Akgün?🤦

And... That's pretty much it. I have to stop before it gets completely out of hand. Until next episode. I'm sure we're in for a wild ride.

[somedrunkpirate]

in the dark we travel (geraskier scifi au part III)

Ao3 | Tumblr: part 1, part 2 | WIP | No Major Warnings | Rating: M |

The first night is always sleepless. 

Be it the rambunctious nature of a group of people having made it out from whatever they’re running from— you do not use these kinds of ships if you’re not running from something— or getting used to the movement of the ship, the rumble of the engines and the thrum of ventilators. 

Geralt doesn’t even bother laying down. He sits on the far edge of his grate, one leg dangling over the edge and his back leaning against the wall. He hadn’t had much time to pack for the travel; he’d had to leave his larger case behind, but he isn’t bothered by the cold. 

As such, he takes off his jacket and sits on top of it, a measure more comfortable than the iron on its own. But after a while, he takes it, folds it, and puts it behind his head, one loose sleeve over his nose. That way he can at least pretend it’s filtering out some of the stench. 

By some miracle, the passengers down below start to quiet down in earnest three hours into the journey. Maybe the rush has left them all more exhausted than usual. It’s been barely three days since the Magistrate let Enforcers into Erilisis Boulevard. The riots are still going, as far as Geralt knows. 

The Sovereign Wastes have not been all that Sovereign lately, at least not the planets and cities that border with the UNC. A new fervour of anti-augmentation has come out of Novigrad, led by their most fearsome priests on the pulpit. Raving on and on about their beliefs, inexplicably convinced that anyone else should give a fuck about them as well. The everlasting fire will purify the masses, and so on and so forth.

Geralt’s fingers curl into his palm of his own accord. The cool lines of crystal and metal weave between patches of labour-hardened flesh. He breathes, makes a subtle sign in the air. Igni. 

It’s only a flash of flame, ignited by the mechanisms in his fingertips, the fuel stored in a divet between his wrists. At least, that’s the story. It’s mostly true. 

But if the priests already wish to tear out the technological, Geralt can’t even imagine the way their eyes would bug out of their heads when they discover that even without it, he’d be able to produce flame. Not as much, not as controlled. But still. 

For all Ancienthunters are called, hypocritical isn’t one of them. They’ve worked hard to keep it that way. 

Geralt produces another flash of light— for warmth, for something to do, when movement catches his attention. 

A figure, at the mouth of the space between the containers. 

He was distracted, and the figure has already stepped into the dark. 

Well, it's no matter. Roach will handle it. 

He sends her a quiet warning and feels her stand at attention, ready for anything. She’ll start with intimidation, but she’ll be prepared for anything if there is a threat, if someone dares to come to close to her—

She sees the target, recognizes him, and relaxes at once. 

Geralt has to pull himself out of it, tumbling into the sensation helplessly, muscles slacking and breath coming too easy. A warmth of delight. He pushes it all away and grabs his blade. He shifts, leans over the edge,  trying to see below, when he hears—

“Good girl, Roach. Now, can I go up that ladder?” 

Roach huffs. 

“Thank you.” 

Geralt stills and closes his eyes for a moment. He sighs through his nose. 

Jaskier clambers up the ladder with anything but subtlety. His movements make the steel clank and groan under his weight. 

Geralt doesn’t need light to know that he’s grinning, the moment his head peeks over the edge. 

“Jaskier.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t push me off just yet. I’m not here to bother you.” 

Geralt can’t help but huff at that. 

Jaskier throws something at him. It’s soft, heavy— a thick padded blanket. 

“Figured that is better than nothing,” he says, and begins to climb down again. 

Geralt stares at the fabric in his hands. Questions rise up in his mind but none of them find their way into his throat, and he’s left there, stunned, rendered mute, at the sheer inexplicable action of giving something— something of actual use — without demanding anything in return. 

Jaskier is half way down the stairway when he calls out. “Geralt?”

Geralt tenses— here it comes. 

“If you change your mind torturing yourself for no reason I can discern, I’ve a cot with your name on it— well, technically, one with my stuff on it, but I suppose it will survive lying on the floor. You can even drag it away from mine, if the illusion of privacy means so much to you.” 

Sideswiped by the lack of— expectation, pressure; Geralt blurts out his surprise before he can stop himself. 

“You’re not in a bunk?” 

“No? Why should I? I don’t need one. Not as much as Skosa, or you.” 

Since when has anything been about necessity, in places like this. 

Jaskier reaches the ground. Geralt can hear him stumbling in the dark. 

Roach sends him a vague thought impression— snout pressing against a back. Gently. Leading. 

Geralt sighs. 

Jaskier laughs softly the whole way, as Roach softly pushes him back to the light. 

He thanks her, and wishes both of them a good night. 

Roach sends him another thought— a young Amaureen, the newest one in the stall. Brash, confident, but uncertain. Out of place. It had to be taught how to belong. 

Geralt isn’t sure if she’s right. Jaskier is out of place, yes. If there is any honesty to his disposition, he shouldn’t be able to survive. He shouldn’t have made it to this point at all. But he does belong, in a strange way. Or rather, he seems to trick others in believing that this is a place of belonging. That everyone does. 

It’s a fantasy. A false belief that will shatter the moment the darkness comes. No group of strangers can be held together by one man, no matter how bright he pretends to shine. He’ll burn himself out trying. 

And yet, Geralt finds himself hoping that he doesn’t learn. That he doesn’t have to grow bitter, after this. He lies down on the blanket, watches Jaskier return to a group of eclectic species, circled in the gentle glow of an emergency light. 

Geralt doesn’t dream— doesn’t sleep at all, but he dozes, a little, wondering despite himself what it would have been like to follow him down. To enter that circle and be welcomed. 

Stupid, of course. 

It wouldn’t do to break Jaskier’s carefully constructed illusion of sociability so quickly. 

For all his mastery of the ways of people, he seems to be blissfully unaware that even the presence of Geralt in his circle would scatter it into pieces.

Ironic, really, that refusing him could be considered a kindness. 

Not that Geralt has any intention— any need, to join him regardless. 

There is no space for him there, but he also never expected there to be one. Never desired to have one. 

He had his place in Ka’er Mor. He has his place now, with Roach, anywhere he wishes to go. Anywhere he can be useful. 

He doesn’t need anything else. 

He doesn’t want the responsibility of keeping it, once he finds it— to deal with the irrevocable consequence of losing it, the unerring awareness that if there is a mistake to make, a misstep to take, he will find it and have no hope of preventing himself from doing it. He’s proven that much. 

He doesn’t want to deal with any of it. 

Geralt is free. He won’t be if he’s holding on to something. 

Or someone is holding on to him. 

And he’s become very good at making sure no one wishes to keep him. 

It is only a matter of time before Jaskier learns that too. 

Geralt doesn’t sleep, but he makes himself stop watching. 

He tries to think of nothing at all. 

The following two days are almost normal. 

Normal, in the sense that they’re excruciating. Geralt does not, in fact, get used to the smell. There is something about the specifics of this batch that clings onto every surface and every fabric. The air dews onto the walls, sparkling droplets of utter disgust, and seeps into his blanket, his jacket, his clothing, until they’d be better suited for the containers than on his body. 

Geralt spends the time curled up and shivering— fleeting memories of before the Trial of Glass encompass his mind, ones he’d forgotten entirely after the change. His mother, a vague image, pressing cooling packs against his forehead. Gentle words of encouragement. Music— lullabies at first, and then longer songs, some lasting hours and hours. Lyrics in shards and pieces, half remembered, half imagined. 

And she stood on the way side, swaying in line

The stars of infinity before her

Sunlight shines brightly, a traitorous friend

Her home, her childhood, she doesn’t look back

Forced to flee her planet’s end. 

Her voice, curling around the words. Her laugh— no, that isn’t right. She wouldn’t have laughed. She was worried, then. Back when he could still get sick— when he could still die from it. 

This is normal. Geralt knows the burden of his senses, shakes and sweats but knows he will live through it. It’s only a matter of time.

In the dark, no one can see him. 

Only Roach knows. 

Her pacing is like a rhythm. Her unrest is only tempered by Geralt’s acceptance. By the familiarity of it all. 

Geralt breathes, and listens to the music down below. He’s annoyed to find that it helps, a little— the kind of stimulation that has a measure of sense to it. A pattern he can follow. 

But singing is not all Jaskier does. 

On the evening of the third day, two nights without sleep, Geralt senses a change in Roach’s footsteps. A line, instead of a circle. 

Geralt groans and sits himself upright. By the time Jaskier crests the edge of the grate, he’s regained control of himself— no trembling, no shaking. His fists are clenched. 

“Jaskier.” 

“Ah, you’re still alive, I started to wonder.” 

He climbs on top of the grate, sitting down with his legs crossed. 

Geralt is too tired to argue— too hungry, too desperate, for anything to distract him. His senses have gone haywire, so sensitive that he can feel the creaking of fabric when he breathes— that he can feel Jaskier’s breath, hear his heartbeat. 

He almost closes his eyes to it. 

Every night, Jaskier has come here. Sometimes to bring water, or food. Sometimes for an attempt on conversation. Every time Geralt managed to get him to leave within ten minutes. But he already knows that this time will be different. 

“Corron, you know, the Decalon, makes a mean stew from those dehydration packs. No clue what he puts into it, but I traded him some in exchange for a few song requests, so if you’ve been wanting to carve out my eyes because of those ballads, hold off for a moment and tell me if it wasn’t worth it.” 

With that declaration, he pushes a bowl into Geralt’s hands, lid open. 

For a single moment everything melts away as Geralt’s focus is entirely enveloped by the scent of actual, edible, warm food. But Geralt would have to put his face in it for the smell to linger, and he hasn’t lost that modicum of dignity, yet. Instead, he begins to eat it, trying desperately to block out all his senses except taste. 

Jaskier, of course, doesn’t let him and continues speaking. 

“Oh and Skosa has been working on these things.” 

Even with Geralt’s darkvision, he can’t make out enough details to discern what objects Jaskier is digging out of his bag. 

“You shouldn’t be near her,” he says, low. A sentence that has somehow become well worn in only a few days. 

“Yes because she’s really going to turn around and shoot me while fixing these—“ 

Suddenly there is a flash of light. Geralt almost drops the bowl at the shock of it and closes his eyes. His head throbs. 

“Shit, sorry, should have warned you. There is a setting somewhere—“ 

The light flashes again, but then dims a little. When Geralt opens his eyes again, he sees Jaskier grinning at him, electropulse-torch in his hands. 

“Karoline found them in the Piles looking for more shot glasses. They were completely busted but Skosa knows her way around broken tech. That T-1 Blaster of hers was also… a project, lets say.” 

Geralt closes his eyes again but this time less from the light and more out of the sheer force of stupidity that the universe manages to confront him with. “The Sketh has a recently repaired T-1 Blaster on her person.” 

“She’s tested it extensively, she says—“ Jaskier begins, sounding slightly defensive, but then he suddenly cuts off. “Oh fuck, Geralt.” 

Geralt snaps his eyes open, hand to his blade, looking for the treat. “What?” 

“Why didn’t you say you were sick?” 

Jaskier is staring at him, mouth agape, and that is when Geralt realises that the torches have more dangers to them than being allegedly fixed by a trigger-happy mercenary. 

Geralt has lost the shroud of darkness. 

“Geralt.” 

“Get out.” 

“The hell I will. What the fuck—“ Jaskier is shaking his head, pulling himself forward, his eyes searching Geralt’s face. “What is wrong with you? Were you already sick when you got here?” 

“Witchers don’t get sick.” 

“We have already established that you’re a special case.” 

Jaskier reaches out a hand— it's going— going to his forehead. The intention of a gentle touch— checking temperature. Worried. 

Geralt responds as if it’s an attack. He can’t help it. He snatches Jaskier’s hand away and growls, “Don’t.” 

Jaskier’s breath catches and he drops the light. It tumbles over the edge of the grate and shatters on the floor. 

Roach gives an affronted noise. 

“Geralt.” 

For the first time, Jaskier sounds uncertain. Not scared— not yet, but on his way to be. His fingers go slack in Geralt’s grip. He’s— he’s holding Jaskier’s wrist too tightly. Geralt can sense the blood being unable to push through, a persistent throb against his palm. 

He lets go as if he’s been burned. 

Jaskier yanks his arm back, his other hand curling around where Geralt had held him. 

Geralt imagines the skin— red, bruising — and his jaw locks together. It takes a mountain of effort to pry them back open and say, “It will be better, once I get some sleep.” 

Jaskier doesn’t respond for a moment. He’s sat back, leaning a way a little, eyes still wide. 

It makes Geralt a little sick, in a different way this time. He should’ve— he should’ve never let Jaskier up here. He’d known this would happen. He’d known and— indulged himself anyway. 

“Is there anything I can—“ 

Still. Still. 

Geralt wants to grab him by the collar and shake him— wants to yell, “Why do you do this? Why, after I hurt you, do you still insist on helping. Don’t you see this is why, this is why I can’t?” 

He’s so tired that he isn’t sure if he’s done it. The image is so vivid in his head. But when he blinks, the world reorientates around him, and Jaskier is talking, still worrying the skin of his wrist like no time has passed. 

“— the problem. Every time I’ve been here, you’ve been awake. I mean, have you even slept at all?” 

Geralt does not say anything. It’s an answer regardless. 

“Wait, really?” 

“I can handle it.” 

“Oh yeah, it really looks like you’re handling it. My wrist agrees with that assessment.” 

Geralt can’t suppress a flinch. He lets his head fall back against the wall, hard. It's so much easier to be miserable when there is no one to see it. He just wants to be alone. 

“I’ll leave you, now, because I can see you’re one wrong word away from pushing me off—“ 

Geralt imagines it— one movement, one snap decision and then Jaskier would fall, scatter, break. Just like the light. Bile gathers up his throat. 

“--so I’m going now. But if you haven’t slept by tomorrow night, you’re gonna fucking get in that bunk, you hear?” 

Geralt suddenly feels a strange kinship with the Sketh— Skosa. This is how she must have felt, overwhelmed with wild emotion, dangerously close to enacting some measure of pain, and then confronted by this strange creature that seems unable to prioritise his own safety above his stubborn fucking sense of what is right. 

“Fine,” Geralt grates out. He doesn’t mean it. He’d say anything to get Jaskier out of here— to be able to fall apart, finally, without a witness. 

But then Jaskier says, “Thank you,” with such naked relief and gratitude, that Geralt already knows he won’t be able to go back on it. He’s excruciatingly aware that it must be the mod— he feels the pull of it, the delicious warmth of genuine care that cannot be anything more than a nicely flavoured lie. Jaskier is kind; he is even kind in using his abilities to convince Geralt, but he can’t truly care like this. Not in this short amount of time. 

Geralt feels himself being persuaded and hates himself for it, but he’s going to let it happen anyway. 

Except if he is able to sleep. He doesn’t have to listen, if he sleeps. That’s the deal. 

By whatever fucking power in the universe, Geralt will convert to any if he just can fucking fall asleep. 

He lies back down and shakes and shakes and shakes. 

He doesn’t sleep at all. 

His vision begins to blur and shift. There are strange shapes in every corner. Figures, sometimes. Roach stops pacing and starts twitching erratically, trying to find the enemies that Geralt’s mind is carving out of a thick cloth made from pure exhaustion. He tries to show her, to calm her down. There is nothing there. It’s all false. 

Her breath comes more rapidly when one figure, a tall elongated humanoid rises up in the shadows, looming over Geralt. It’s fingers are long and thin. His torso is all bones-- too many of them, dozens of ribs, protruding out of paper thin skin. Geralt almost laughs at it. It’s a good impression of something terrifying. Vaguely familiar, even. Dragged out of nightmares, past memories, or even his teachings at Ka’er Mor.

But it remains funny to see a creature so imposing, completely without a head. It reminds Geralt of a butchery-- chickens walking on their last legs. A horrific comedy. 

The creature reaches out, and when its finger is about to touch Geralt’s forehead, it disappears. 

See, Geralt tells Roach. Not real. 

Roach huffs, sceptical, but for the rest of the night the visions stay away. 

Sleep does too, but what's new. 

[bisexualgendryas]

gendrya + jonsa au: bastard lords and hidden ladies (part 1)

so, this is very much not the whoooole concept as I practically just switch from Cat!Arya to Alayne!Sansa (this post is basically just Gendrya + Alayne!Sansa, sorry, not even written Jonsa, but I promise the full concept includes happy married!Jonsa (two versions, too, lol)), but I am tired af whilst simultaneously being really pumped that ppl wanted to see this idea so here’s (much of) the longass outline of the thing I posted about earlier:

au wip, a legitimized-boys, secret-identity-sisters canon divergence piece, where: Stannis becomes king (and keeps Gendry alive), Arya accepts Jaqen’s offer to work for a courtesan and Gendry finds her while on business for the Crown, Jon gets legitimized after taking Ramsay down, and Baelish makes a betrothal for Alayne to Gendry that she later basically manipulates Stannis into changing into one with Jon after Gendry and his true love ditched the whole ass crownlands. It’s got a lot of book plot overlap too but I have no true concept of the timeline in terms of when different canon events happened. If you want more of this or have ideas or anything, feel free to share them!

Instead of Gendry having to escape from Stannis, Shireen finds out that her father’s found a cousin of hers - a true one, not one of Cersei’s bastards but one of her uncle’s - and especially with pressure from both her and Davos, Stannis ultimately decides he’ll keep Gendry alive, have him taught to behave properly, how to manage lordly duties, and so on.

Jaqen realizes that Arya may not be perfectly cut out for being Faceless, and makes her an offer - that he could find her employment of a different sort. As he’s noted, she’s taken by the allure of the courtesans, whose jobs include far more than just the sexual duties shared by those who work in brothels.

At first, Arya insists she can get better, but then Mercy!Arya ends up becoming friends with a girl who works on one courtesan’s ship, and after hearing many stories about how the women play instruments and tell stories and sing songs, she decides that perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing to try out. She talks to Jaqen, tucks Needle in a belt, and makes friends with Mercy’s friend with her own face, as Cat, and then the friend convinces the courtesan that Cat’s a charming young woman who should come work with them.

Stannis first loses at the Blackwater, but then with assistance from the Iron Bank and much of Westeros, as well as some more magic, he later manages to topple Tommen and take the Throne.

Needing to be sure of where the Crown stood with their Essosi allies, Stannis sends Gendry and Davos to Braavos to speak with the Iron Bank. As the Starks were always so keen to remind everyone, winter was coming.

And, ahem, the men sent with Gendry and Davos certainly intend to as well. And, only naturally, after a couple nights of well-enjoyed brothel trips, some of them decide they all ought to take advantage of their being in Essos and seek out some renowned courtesan as well - they had Westerosi lords and knights, after all, one of whom was in line for the bloody Iron Throne! Surely someone would love to host them!

Spoiler: yes, someone absolutely would. (Especially considering that Robert had quite the reputation - not as a particularly fun partner, but definitely as a man who’d finance the purchasing of a week’s worth of alcohol in two nights and come back to bed every pretty girl an establishment had afterwards.) How many Braavosi courtesans or whores can say they were bedded or courted in any manner by the son of a Westerosi king? Not many.

Contrary to expectations, Cat ends up being one of them, though not so much while they’re in Braavos. And as sweet and reassuring as it is that her friends, her companions in training, are certain that this lord immediately realizes how pretty she is, she knows the moment that Lord Baratheon meets her eyes he can see Arya, buried deep beneath Cat, and when she speaks in response to the courtesan he and his men are visiting, he hears her as well, though she’s glad to see he’s smart enough not to have his shock blatantly on display.

After a couple visits, his men return to the brothels, the enchantment of listening to old songs more lost on them than the enjoyment of fucking - but Gendry keeps coming to the barge, even though it’s only him and his uncle’s Hand at that point, and after a couple nights of only them, trading stories with the women and listening to songs in languages that have barely been heard since Westeros’ common became, well, common, he actually asks to have time with only Cat.

And of course, the parts of them that are closest to the Arya and Gendry they once were have an awkward but heartfelt reunion - but the parts of them that have grown up are acutely aware of how different they are, how different their places are. Still, he’s not surprised she became an assassin, and she’s not surprised he doesn’t enjoy the vast majority of what’s involved in being at court. They don’t share everything, but they share quite a bit, almost falling back into the sort of friendship they’d thrived off having. On following nights they talk more about things - about Shireen, about the Hound, about the Red Woman, even a bit about King’s Landing girls and Braavosi dockworkers.

It takes a couple more nights, but after a while she decides to remind him that, while it’s not something guaranteed simply by seeking out a courtesan, he is allowed to bed her. (With permission from her employer, of course, as payment and whatnot would be arranged, but…it’s him, her friend, grown and handsome, so Arya doesn’t mind giving the suggestion.)

He asks, though, what would be the cost just to kiss her. For all the time she’s spent learning people, especially men, it’s embarrassing to be caught off guard as she is, but she manages to gather herself and say that it would depend on who he intends to be telling. She doesn’t really let him consider that, though, not the first night, because she simply does kiss him.

They don’t explicitly tell people they’ve started kissing, but they’re terrible enough at hiding their affections that they’re quickly the talk of their respective social groups. Everyone among them, and probably others who view the barge consistently, knows that he keeps coming back, after all…until their few weeks in Braavos are coming to an end, at least, Iron Bank negotiations and all other necessary business of the Crown having been handled.

But then, before Arya’s really made to think about the fact that he found her on the other side of the world and inched closer and closer to becoming a lover only to have to leave her again, Gendry asks her to leave with him. He can’t give her back her home or her family, but if nothing else they can live safely, together - and more than that, he simply wants not to leave her, ever. From what he’s said of his own family, she doesn’t imagine she’ll get a warm welcome, but she can’t stand the idea of him leaving her either, so she packs up what few belongings Cat has and says farewell to her friends, and to Braavos.

Other than the scandal of her coming with, none of the men seem to think much of her taking a place in his cabin. It’s there that he ultimately decides he’s free enough to bed her for the first time. They’ve not yet made it to King’s Landing by the time he realizes he’s completely and irrevocably in love with her.

Arya’s mainly right to think she won’t get a warm welcome; both Stannis and Selyse almost immediately denigrate Gendry for following his father’s path, the path of foolish men, for what kind of lord openly brought a whore to their castle? She’s not actually a whore, he cares to remind them, even though it stokes the fire of the fury. He has his own to match Stannis, though, and it’s clear and it’s spectacular in its own way. So, too, does Shireen - lovely, kind Shireen who’s so happy for the prospect of a friend that she again begs her father on Gendry’s behalf, and reluctantly, Stannis allows Cat to remain, with some strict guidelines, many of which Arya has no complaints about meeting.

Up North, though, Jon has heard about Arya’s marriage to Ramsay, and decides to reach out to Stannis for help on the matter, help of some sort, any sort. It’s not immediately granted, especially as Jon is already asking for Other help, but ultimately, Stannis starts to consider it. Ramsay was only ruling in the North because of a series of betrayals against those who would rightfully rule it - if the last known living child of Ned Stark, a man who died for speaking the truth of Stannis’ claim and denouncing Cersei’s bastards, was asking for help, to save his family, was it not Stannis’ duty to give it?

He does decide that having Jon as an ally is his best move, and begrudgingly he sends some troops North with Davos and Melisandre, to assist Jon’s wildlings in taking back Winterfell. The Night’s Watch doesn’t all take kindly to the Lord Commander’s priorities, but by the time mutiny drags down Jon Snow, Melisandre is in residence at Castle Black and she brings him back, having seen him at battle at Winterfell in her flames, knowing it needs to follow.

He takes Stannis’ sent men and his wildlings and begins to march south, only for a broken Theon to bring to him Sansa’s friend Jeyne, whose identity Theon had hid so that she could be believed to be Arya. The battle is hard-won, but they win it still, and Stannis gives him his father’s name for the victory, but it’s hollow.

Hollow, too, is the love promised to sweet Alayne, whose false father seeks out his best excuses to wed her to the highest bidder, a title claimed all too soon by the king and queen, part of their plan to change the behavior of the king’s nephew and part of Petyr’s plan to return to power in King’s Landing. A bastard lord for a bastard lady - to Stannis that’s like to sound fair, but to Sansa, it’s everything but. She’s learned to pay attention to whispers and rumors, and with this…Petyr intends to mold her into Cersei, it nearly seems. A Baratheon with a temper and a love, and he’d have Alayne marry him, if only to return to seeking the power of the crown. She knows he’d been speaking with Lord Bolton, which still boils her blood even now that she knows it wasn’t her sister who had been made to be his poor wife - she’d doubted it always, especially with the recollection of how Arya had once raised her own sword even to Joffrey - but he still will drag her back to residence in King’s Landing rather than let her go home…unless she can work something out with her betrothed, and perhaps she can.

Not that he intends to give her the chance, though - the moment that Stannis informs him of the betrothal is a bigger, louder fight than they’ve ever had. Stannis might be king, but he owns Gendry no more than he ever could his brothers, and Cat even less, and he won’t be allowed to forget it. There’s a ship bound for Braavos in the bay, and soldiers intended to take her to it, soldiers who are meant to grab her from Gendry’s chambers while she’s alone there and escort her so that he doesn’t get a say.

Stannis, though, doesn’t know that only some parts of any woman are soft, and Gendry’s the only man with rights to ask for any of her softness. Even without real context she knows the soldiers are only obeying their king, so Arya focuses on injury and little more, rushing down underneath the castle, down where she’d ran when Syrio had told her to do so. And, as if by magic - perhaps, actually, by magic, for she wouldn’t know - Ser Davos finds her. He takes her to a dusty corner, hands her a wine skin and one of Cat’s other dresses, and tells her to wait for him to come back…and so she does.

She waits until the entire area is getting dark, only the trail of the sun and no lanterns or sconces to show her the possible way out, and holds tight to Needle until after the sun is set and he scurries back to her, Gendry at his side, rushing to her like never before. Davos has given him clothes that once had belonged to a son of his, and grabbed them some food.

They make it out of the city on a ship manned by one of Davos’ other sons, a trade ship headed for the Riverlands - straight for Hot Pie, as far as they’re concerned. Arya might cry, in part from feeling terribly anxious and in better part because he’s so terribly kind.

Alayne and her father arrive in their carriage a few days later, to a very apologetic royal party, and Alayne spends much of her first days back in the city thinking how horribly fed up she is with men for all their machinations. Princess Shireen, though, is very clear that while it’s a pity someone was hurt by it, her cousin is deeply in love, and in their private company she calls her father foolish for thinking he could ever sway him. It’s so very Sansa of her, that Sansa herself is easily swayed to their side, though she knows Petyr is having much more difficulty accepting the rejection.

It’s all very much a lovely love story to Sansa, though, as it is to Shireen, and Alayne bonds with the princess easily. She even enjoys Shireen’s stories about this woman Cat, and finds herself wanting to know more and more, especially as she realizes that in a way she has taken the other woman’s place, just in Shireen’s life as a friend as opposed to in her cousin’s. Stannis and Selyse, though, really do stew in their displeasure. Petyr does a better job of hiding his, but she knows that’s only because his intentions are about power and not family, let alone love.

Then, one day, about a fortnight after their arrival, Stannis mentions a part of the plan she’d been unaware of, one she might be able to use.

He wanted to secure the Vale support so that he could support Jon - Jon Stark, now, newly legitimized Lord Stark, warden of the north, the man who had beaten down House Bolton but needed more of his king’s support to fight a larger, more pressing battle, one against the dead, one for the living. As Petyr says, the details make it sound like madman’s words, but King Stannis has magic on his council and more importantly, this was Jon, and Jon was…Jon. Surely if he declared that the dead could be raised by some unnatural force and made to fight the living, he was speaking the truth of it.

She confronts Petyr in private - had the Vale not already been sworn to House Stark? He disagrees, cautiously - House Arryn had been truly bound by House Tully, and Jon had no Tully to speak of.

“Jon Arryn, my uncle, fostered my father, Jon’s father. He called his banners against House Targaryen in defense of Rickard Stark and his children, and Jon is as much Ned Stark’s son as Robb or Bran or Rickon, no matter where your loyalties lie.”

“Your cousin -”

“My cousin trusts his beloved stepfather not to mislead him,” she finishes, proud that she can see in his eyes how the remark wounds him, and then she takes a walk to the godswood to get her head around her situation.

She wounds Petyr again the next day, by bringing to court a proposal of a marriage between her and Jon - she prefaces by saying that she and her father had spoken of it, just gently enough that no one would doubt her, for Lord Baelish keeps his expression so very static, his surprise just barely visible to even an educated viewer. It’s a good offer, to Stannis, and on the surface it’s good for Petyr as well, though no one would say it’s better than putting his future grandchild in the line of succession for the Iron Throne.

Stannis, though, is perhaps realizing he’s glad to have removed a contender from his line, and he’s quick enough to agree to write to Lord Stark with little more than Petyr’s confirmation that the Vale would give its strength in this war of Jon’s.

Petyr makes his displeasure known, but Sansa is sure enough that Jon will side with her that he agrees not to raise a fuss. She knows she’s made the potential error of keeping either of them from an heir, but if it allowed her to go home with her brother, she’d manage what she had to manage.

Jon, too, agrees, surprised for an offer but happy for it all the same, writing back to Stannis days before he’s actually set to leave for Dragonstone to mine dragonglass on the island, another part of their deal. Jon would remain the ever-vigilant guard of the realm, and Stannis would provide him what he needed to hold such a position well - that was how Ser Davos had said it.

They could figure out heritage when this great war was won.

[padfootagain]

Dark Things In Our Souls

One more imagine for my 500 followers celebration (you really sent too many of them, guys, I can't see the end of it, that'll teach me a lesson...)

Thank you for your request @marvel-is-my-job. The following prompts were asked for Sirius:

37. "Fine, then leave me alone and go. Breaking everything you touch is the only thing you can do anyway."

50. "Perhaps I never speak about myself because there's nothing to tell. Or perhaps I'm just trying to protect you... or myself... or both of us."

51. "There is too much darkness in me. I don't want dark things to conquer your soul like they've conquered mine."

I am allowing myself to simultaneously answer the request made by anon for some Sirius as an Animagus because that was the idea I got for the prompts, and I honestly can't find any other idea for the Animagus thing for now, so... Hopefully, nailing two requests instead of one here ;)

Despite what it may sound like, it's not that sad... I hope you will all like it.

Gif not mine.

Word Count : 2769

Sirius was staring at you, his grey eyes fixed upon your back. He kept himself hidden by the trees of the Forbidden Forest, remaining under their safe shelter and out of your sight. He knew that you would kill him if you knew that he was spying on you.

What else could he do though? You were dating that stupid Ravenclaw...

Sirius thanked his sharpened senses as his dog form was allowing him to listen to your conversation while staying at a pretty safe distance from you.

He could hear everything...

"And so we went to Cardiff for the holidays," Jeremy said.

"How was it?" you asked, tilting your head in interest.

"Great! We had lots of fun..."

Despite the fact that Sirius was currently under the form of a dog, he rolled his eyes. The conversation was so boring...

He lied down on the ground, resting his head upon his paws, his eyes still fixed upon you. Under his Animagus form, feelings and thoughts worked differently. They were kind of... shushed. If his senses were sharper, his thoughts were often slower to form in his mind, impulses and instinct dominating his logic. His feelings were simpler as well, and often less intense than when he was a boy. It didn't make them disappear though, and as his grey eyes kept on studying your soft features, your beaming smile, your delicate frame, his heart was still melting.

Merlin, he didn't even know before meeting you that it was possible to love someone so much...

He grunt shortly, shaking his head to clear his mind. It wasn't the kind of thoughts that he was supposed to have. He had made this promise to himself a long time ago. He wasn't good enough for you. You were light and happiness and kindness all mixed up in perfect balance with optimism and humour... when he... was just a broken soul fighting against a darkness he knew kept on creeping and creeping up inside him, slowly but irrevocably conquering his soul bits by bits. You deserved better than a boy who would make your light disappear with his own darkness...

He listened to the conversation again, and during the few minutes when he had not been paying attention to you and your date, things had dramatically evolved.

"Are you sure?" Jeremy asked, leaning closer to you.

"Yeah... I don't know..." you breathed, your cheeks reddening.

"Is it because it's our first date?" he asked. "Or is it because it would be your first kiss?"

Sirius's blood froze into his veins, his ears dressing up upon his head.

"It wouldn't be my first kiss, but I don't feel comfortable with the idea of kissing a boy on our first date."

"It's just a kiss."

Sirius slowly stood up, his jaw clenched and teeth already visible.

"Look... really, you're making me feel uncomfortable..."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do."

"I didn't mean to."

"Stop leaning towards me then..."

Both you and Jeremy jumped at the sound of a loud bark, but you couldn't see anything through the tall trees behind you... You could have sworn to have recognized that bark but you couldn't see the dark dog you were looking for anywhere...

"It must just be a branch cracking," Jeremy tried to bring your attention back to him.

You shook yourself, focusing on the Ravenclaw again.

"Jeremy, I like you, okay... but it's just not me."

"Are you sure?"

He leaned even closer, but before you could push him away the barking resumed, much louder and more aggressive this time. And when you turned around, you recognized Sirius's Animagus form running away from the Forbidden Forest, rushing towards Jeremy. Before you could make a single movement, he had jumped upon the poor Ravenclaw, making him fall backwards onto the grass.

The boy was shouting, trying to push Sirius away, who was still furiously grunting and roaring at him, his sharp teeth glimmering in the light of May.

"Si..." you caught yourself despite your anger to avoid revealing your friend's secret. "Stop!"

You pushed him away from Jeremy, and if he looked at you with anger for a second, as soon as his brain understood that it was you who were pushing him away from the terrified Ravenclaw, Sirius calmed down.

He let you push him away without fighting back, his ears now falling down, a sheepish expression on his face.

"WHAT FOR MERLIN'S SAKE IS THAT THING?!" Jeremy cried.

"It's just a dog," you calmed him down.

"I'll call for Hagrid... he'll take this beast away."

Sirius grunted again, a menacing expression twisting his face, but you glared at him, and he slowly calmed down again, falling silent one more time.

"No need," you told the Ravenclaw boy next to you. "I'm sure he'll go away."

Sirius lowered his head, crying softly, the high pitched sound breaking your heart.

"You know... I think we should go back now," Jeremy said, clearly not reassured yet.

But your eyes were still fixed upon the Sirius's sad form, and you exhaled loudly.

"I'll stay here for a bit longer though," you breathed, and Sirius's eyes met yours once more.

"Are you sure... this dog seems... dangerous."

"I'm sure, you should go," you told Jeremy, and the boy didn't insist again, walking back towards the Castle.

You waited to be sure that both you and Sirius were out of sight to turn towards your friend, glowering at him.

"I really do hope that you have an excellent explanation to all this..." you whispered through gritted teeth.

Sirius looked up at you with sheepish eyes.

"Oh... don't give me that look!" you warned him waving your finger at him. "You're not getting away with this, Sirius. Turn. Back."

The next second, it was a boy who was staring at you.

"Y/N... I can explain..." he started.

"Oh, I hope for you that you can come up with something good enough to convince me not to blow your balls off!"

"Now... that would be very cruel of you... and we both know that you're not cruel, sweetheart."

"Don't call me like that!"

"Is babe better?"

"SIRIUS!"

He instantly fell silent...

He had never heard you shout at him before. He wasn't used to this wild side of you...

"What the hell was that?!" you shouted. "What were you doing as a dog here... Were you spying on me?!"

"Now...spying is a strong word... Let's say that I was keeping an eye on you."

"Sirius!"

"What?!"

You heaved a frustrated sigh.

"I can't believe you've just done that..." you whispered, aghast and infuriated at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"No, you're not! I know that you're not really sorry, Sirius! That's the problem!"

You took a step closer to him.

"Why would you do that anyway?" you asked, pain passing through your eyes, and Sirius clenched his jaw at the sight.

But he didn't answer, and you narrowed your eyes at him, taking one more step, your two chests now very close, so close that they were almost touching.

"Sirius... why did you do that?"

He swallowed hard, his brain working at full speed, looking for an explanation, a fake excuse, a lie, anything to throw at you to feed your curiosity...

"Are you jealous?" you asked slowly.

He bit down the inside of cheek.

Shit...

"Why would I be jealous?" he replied, faking a smile.

"You look like it. And you almost bit the guy who was about to kiss me..."

"I didn't bite him, I jumped onto him to avoid him to... do something you didn't want him to do."

"Sirius..."

"You clearly told him that you didn't want him to kiss you!" he protested. "And he tried to do it anyway, the fucking cockroach!"

"You shouldn't even have been here, Sirius! This is insane... I hope you realize that at least."

He clenched his jaw even more tightly.

"Now, answer me. Answer me, Sirius. Were you jealous?"

He looked down at his feet, but remained silent.

"I know that... we're flirting from time to time..." you said, but he interrupted you, his voice sounding cold but you could hear that it was shaking.

"I'm not expecting anything more from you than us being friends, Y/N."

"And yet here you are..."

He looked at you again.

"I don't... I didn't mean it that way..."

"Don't lie to me," you warned him.

He closed his mouth again, building walls made of silence all around him once more.

"Sirius..." you whispered, your voice soft again, and you reached up to rest a soothing hand on his arm.

He was closing himself to you, and you didn't want to lose him. You didn't want him to be locked behind walls he was building for himself...

But he stepped back, and without a word, he strode away.

"Oh, really?!" you cried, hurrying after him. "So that's how you think you're going to make things better, huh? Running away from me?"

He didn't reply, merely quickening his already fast pace.

"Fine, then leave me alone and go! Breaking everything you touch is the only thing you can do anyway!" you shouted after him, and he could hear that you were crying now.

He froze, stopping dead in his track. It was both because of your words that echoed through him in a way that you could have never imagined, and your tone... that sound of pain in your voice....

He didn't turn around though, he kept his back to you. He didn't have the strength to see your expression.

"What are you doing?" you asked, angrily sweeping the tears away from your eyes. "I don't get it..."

You walked to him, forcing him to turn towards you.

"Sirius... are you jealous?"

"We can't be together... we will never be. So I don't see why knowing this would change anything?" he snapped.

"It changes everything... And why? Why do you say that? That we could never be together...?"

"Because we can never be together. It's a fact."

"A fact? Where does that come from?"

"From me."

"So you don't feel anything for me, you don't care about me at all, you don't see anything more than a friend in me but you turn into a dog to spy on me while I'm on a date? You'll have to admit that this sounds pretty fucked up."

He clenched his jaw, not answering again.

"Sirius... it... it makes no sense," you breathed.

He looked down at his feet, crossing his arms before his chest.

"Could we just... forget it all happened?" he proposed.

"No, we can't."

"I thought that you wouldn't agree..."

He heaved a sigh, running a hand through his long dark hair in frustration, looking up at you again.

He shrugged, a hurt look on his face.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked.

"Just tell me why? Why can't we be together? Why have you done this? Why are you saying all these things...?"

"I'm not good enough for you."

You fell silent, staring at him with a puzzled expression that he couldn't help but find cute.

"I'm not good enough for you, Y/N," he repeated. "I will never be."

"Why would you say that... you're my friend."

"I've never wanted to be your friend though."

Your eyes widened with shock, but his own body was shaking. He was letting out things he knew he was supposed to keep for himself. But he had kept all this buried in the deepest parts of his heart for so long... he just couldn't keep them for himself anymore. It felt so liberating to finally confess everything...

"I've always seen much more than a friend in you," he breathed. "But you... you're so kind... and beautiful and pure and you're just..."

He shook his head, withheld tears shining in his eyes.

"You're so kind to me," he whispered. "And I knew that... I know that if I try to be more than a friend then I will spoil everything we have..."

"Why?"

"Because you're so much better than me!" he answered. "You're so much better and you... you deserve better. I'm just... a broken boy."

"Of course not," you shook your head, reaching for him and resting your hands upon his crossed arms. "Sirius, you're not like that at all..."

"I won't let you get hurt because of me," he replied firmly. "I won't let you suffer because of who I am. I'm not... I'm not even sure that I'm... good."

"Of course you're a good man, Sirius," you shook your head.

"Not after all I've been through," he replied, and it was his turn to shake his head. "I've been through hell. No one can get out of something like that without being bruised. Without... having... to the very soul..."

His voice broke.

"Sirius, you're wrong. You're so brave."

" There is too much darkness in me. I don't want dark things to conquer your soul like they've conquered mine."

You smiled.

"But there is darkness everywhere, Sirius, and in me as well already. Without darkness, how could you know that there's light as well."

His lips parted slightly, but he couldn't answer. His throat was too tight for any noise to pass his lips.

"If you saw more than a friend in me, you could have just told me," you smiled, an amused glint shining in your eyes. "You didn't have to turn into a dog and do all this show."

He smiled.

"You should have told me, Sirius," you sighed. "You should have told me everything and actually... actually you should tell me everything now."

He shrugged, not protesting as you uncrossed his arms and took his calloused hands in yours.

"Perhaps I never speak about myself because there's nothing to tell," he whispered. "Or perhaps I'm just trying to protect you... or myself... or both of us."

"I know that you would never hurt me, though," you smiled.

"It wouldn't be safe... or reasonable for you to be with someone like me. You should have much better..."

"I reckon that it's my choice to make, not yours."

"I'm not good enough for you."

"I think you are though," you replied, smiling at him again.

He smiled back at you this time.

"It was... kinda stupid, right?" he winced.

"It was completely stupid. You could have just asked me on a date."

He bit down his lips, before tightening his hold on your hands.

"That would be a bad idea," he warned you.

"I love bad ideas."

"You shouldn't do that..."

"Why don't you shut up and let me give you an answer?"

He bit down on his lip again, before taking a sharp intake of breath, and letting the question slip out of his mouth in a trembling whisper.

"Would you go on a date with me?" he asked softly.

You smiled, shrugging.

"I don't know... what are your arguments?" you teased.

In the blink of an eye, he turned into a dog again, and he looked up at you with the cutest puppy eyes imaginable.

"Now... that's such a cheap move!" you laughed.

He started to cry softly, and you covered your face with your hands, blushing hard.

"Alright, alright... stop it!" you laughed. "I'll go on a date with you, you can stop now."

He barked happily, jumping upon you, trying to lick your face but only managing to make you fall backwards onto the grass, made warm by the bright sun of spring.

"Sirius!" you doubled with laughter as he licked your face. "Stop!"

He nuzzled his snout against your cheek.

"I said yes, stop it!" you giggled.

He finally turned into a boy again, letting out a loud wave of laughter.

"You're such a moron," you admonished.

You finally noticed that he was lying upon you.

"You're heavy," you breathed.

But he shook his head, a mischievous smile curving up his lips.

"No, I'm not."

He rested his brow against yours, and you ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't kiss boys after the first date. And I'm definitely not kissing a boy before our first date."

He smiled.

"Deal."

"Sirius... if we're doing this. If we're going this way... you need to promise me something. Promise me that you'll tell me everything about you. No more secrets. I know that there are dark things lurking in your past, probably in your present as well, perhaps even in your future. I don't care. I want to face those demons with you. Do you promise?"

He gave you a tender smile, before nodding slowly.

"That's a deal, Y/N."

*************************************

Tag list : @geeksareunique, @giggleberts, @justanothermaraudersblog, @sad-orange-thoughts, @aylinnmaslow, @haritini2000, @ladyblablabla, @joelynnp, @riacollins

[hayjeon]

You Who... [M] (ft. Jeongguk)

Drabble Game Prompt 96. “Here, let me.” with badboy/jock!jeongguk

→ badboy football jk (warning: overstimulation, cumplay, fluff, and fuckingjeonjungkook) → 1.4k words prequel part 01 | 02

A/N: i have no idea where this came from, my hand sort of slipped, jfc what have i done 

UPDATE: added the highly-requested prequel as a thank you for 1k+ notes :) make sure to check out Give and Take! It’s a similar AU to this one! 

“There you go, yes, you can do it babe,” Jeongguk encourages, as you bite down on your lip.  

He grins up at you as you move your hips slowly against his, finding the way you squeeze your eyes shut tightly the cutest thing ever. 

“J-jeongguk I-I can’t–” you stutter, arms clutching at his bare shoulders as your movements stutter and begin to slow down. But you whimper instead at the loss of friction between your legs and begin to cry tears of frustration as you don’t know whether to continue grinding against him and chase after another orgasm or to stop completely. 

He just laughs huskily from beneath you, and wipes a tear from your cheek and presses a quick peck to your chin as you make up your mind and your movements continue. His head dips down to press open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, painting the skin there in blossoms of red and pink. “Shh,” he grates against your neck, a gentle hand coming up to stroke down your spine and settling on the curve of your hip to firmly help guide you up and down his cock. “you got this.” 

He’s in awe as he watches you desperately move against him, your soft breasts and nipples brushing up against his hard chest and melting him on the spot. It’s been years since he’s met you and only a few months since the both of you finally started having sex, but he’s secretly delighted at how sensitive you are and how desperate you are to pleasure the both of you. He wants to spread you out and fuck you with his fingers and tongue and make you cum over and over until you’re screaming hoarsely or tie you down onto the bed and tease you for hours until you’re begging for him, but he smiles as he relishes in actually convincing you to top him for once. 

Cause this time he’s being a little selfish and pushing the boundaries on how far he can take you because he’s currently coaxing your through your third orgasm and is harder than he’s ever been in his life as he watches you in tears because you’re desperate to reach the peak once again. 

You muffle your cries in in his neck and thread your fingers in his hair as you feel the wave approaching again. “Jeongguk, ‘m gonna come,” you murmur breathlessly, making his dick clench at how fucking submissive you sound to him right now. He whispers sooth encouragements into your ear and moves his hips up to meet yours just right and grazes the spot inside of you that has you cringing and sighing into his neck as he grunts when you clamp down on him and bite gently into his shoulder to muffle your cries. 

The orgasm is stronger than the last two he brought you to with his fingers and his mouth, respectively, as the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips and the sheer rawness of his length brushing your walls makes you clamp down on his girth harder than you’ve ever come before. You cry out and clench your teeth and you’re going through your third intense wave of your orgasm when suddenly he flips the both of you over and pins your hips to his bed and begins to pound into you desperately.

His voice is strained and his hairline slick with sweat as he props himself up above you and glares determinedly into your face thats scrunched up in pleasure, moving his hips against you until he reaches his own peak. You feel his dick twitch once before he’s letting out a loud groan and a strangled cry of your name before his chest pulses for a moment and then he slumps down onto you. 

The both of you are spent and you’re still crying from the overwhelming feeling of being coaxed through three orgasms, with the third being the most intense you’ve ever felt in your life, and your chest heaves from the effort it took. Jeongguk is no better, as he pulls out of you with a groan and kneels between your legs. 

Taking advantage of your slumped and exhausted state, he pushes up a thigh and leans down a bit to see how his cum leaks out of your slit and grasps his cock that hasn’t softened yet with a groan. He gently holds the base of his sensitive member and collects the cum that’s already oozed out onto your thigh with his tip before pushing it back into you. 

You let out a strangled cry, a hand coming up to your mouth so you can muffle your cries, and another desperately clutching onto the wrist holding onto your thigh. He pauses, glancing up at your expression and waiting for you to push him away, but a slight movement of your wrist draws your thigh higher up and his hips a bit closer to you. Grinning, he grasps his softening cock once again and drags his tip from your upper thigh back into your slit, massaging his own cum into your center. 

When he’s completely limp and cringing himself from the overstimulation of pushing himself back into your pussy, he drops your thigh and climbs back up, whispering sweet things into your ear. 

“Baby, you were so good,” he coos, smoothing back your hair and wiping leftover tears. “You deserved that, you were so hot. Here, let me,” he gets a warm towel from the restroom and wipes down your thighs and core before dressing you in his t-shirt (a sight which he’ll never admit he absolutely loves) and pulling on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed with you and pulling you into his chest.

“I loved it.” 

You hiccup, breath short from the sensitivity but also from your tears. “You did?” 

And he thinks its the damned cutest thing ever, how even if you were an innocent girl he’d never thought he’d date, you suddenly turned into a sex starved shyer version of yourself because of him, and then returned back to the sweet blushing one he’d fallen in love with even after hours of rough sex and the dirtiest things. It absolutely fucking thrills him and makes his dick so hard whenever he brings you to too many orgasms, when you reach the point where you dont know whether to stop or continue, or to cry or kiss him. He’s had his fair share of flings and sexcapades, but he knows that the only girl who’s ever made him so whipped, the only girl who’s gotten Jeon Jeongguk wrapped around her tiny little finger, is you. 

You who he began to tease and flirt with as a joke, but ended up falling so damn hard for you after just a partner project where you ended up sympathizing with him and treating him like a real fucking human being, and not the football athlete that everyone worshipped and expected so much out of. You who always looked at him, past his body and face and extracurriculars, and into his soul and really truly understood who he was at the core. You who drunkenly kissed him one night underneath the stars and you who’s cheeks went furiously red when he kissed you again in front of the entire school. You who weren’t afraid of telling him when he was being too cocky or just a dick, and made sure to keep him in check, to the point that his teammates were commenting on what a kind softie he was becoming. 

And finally, you who he found himself hopelessly irrevocably in love with. 

And he looks down at you, with your bare face that’s not really anything special. Eyes, nose, and lips that are average, hair that’s common, and a body that others will say they’ve seen better. But its the way you look at him with your eyes that makes him love you. The way you press your nose against his neck when you cuddle with him and the way you shyly move your soft lips against him when you kiss him goodbye. It’s the way your hair feels like absolute silk underneath his fingers when he runs his hands through them when you’re asleep, and the way your entire body literally lights up and bends at his will and his only. 

Those are the things, amongst many, that made the high and mighty bad boy Jeon Jeongguk fall in love with you. 

So he cups your face and smiles as he pecks against your lips, peppering your face with them until you giggle and shriek against his attack. Laughing, he draws you close. 

“I did, because I fucking love you.”

Prequel: 01 & 02 [fin], Give and Take[M]

[velteris]

Something I still don't get: why is Ange's hair grey? She was blonde as a kid. Did she dye it? Is she just really stressed?

hm! i havent rly settled on an explanation myself either but theres a lil bit of evidence for everything really… just building on what u’ve already said:

1. she went grey from stressi mean… i think scientifically this has been p much debunked as an actual possible thing? but also that angst potential is. mmmhm !!!

2. she dyed itit would certainly b part of her effort to keep herself incognito while over in the royalty-hating commonwealth, but also speaking as someone who has purble hair? dyeing your hair is a Pain In The Ass. if she’s dyeing it, she must be really really good at touching up her roots (tho there’s some lovely fanfic material right there). 

there’s also the problem with her living in the spy dorms at the Farm, like they must be aware that she’s dyeing her hair, you can’t possibly keep it to yourself. i guess there’s some advantage to being able to cut it and grow your hair back out for a new Look if you need to lie low for some months. that said, it leaves a lot of traces - dyed hair over time kinda gets that chemically-meddled-with texture, the dye often leaves scent, every time you wash your hair it stains your shower/bath/towels, heck even when you’re in the act of dyeing it you often leave traces on yourself especially if you’re doing it close to the scalp. none of these r very conducive to keeping a low cover on some cases.

lastly: if she were dyeing it, she should have stopped for Operation Changeling, as part of the effort to convince her superiors that she rly could replace Princess - look how similar their hair colours are! sort of thing. 

imma still write an ange dyeing her hair tho, imma still do it

3. her hair was always meant to be grey, she was just a blonde kidi have friends who went from very blonde to brownish-blonde, and from reddish-blonde to brown, so it’s possible? anime being anime ofc no one bats an eye at a teenage girl with grey hair so it could just be Genetics™

some quic pics of the royal family; the first one is from Way Back When, n we can see that family members range between Ange/Princess-level light hair (the boy, the lady to the left) and dark hair; notably, both the Queen and the Duke seem to have lightened hair in the present. the Queen’s especially interesting bc she went from brown to blonde, not brown to grey, whereas u could say the Duke just went grey from age. but that grey’s also the exact same shade of grey Ange has.

(current Princess left, current Ange right) - u can see that Ange had hair that was slightly less… warm? so maybe, maybe, it’s part of why her hair greyed over time.

4. my improbable but angsty theory: cavorite poisoning

ok i admit im pulling this one out of my ass a bit but just think abt the Potential!! the Angst!!! the fact that they’ve explained basically nothing about the cavorite means i can do whatever i want with it!!!!!

i’ve already forgotten his name, is it eric? im just gonna use eric. eric and his sister have different hair colours. now we can b boring and just say thats genes for ya, orrr we can b extra and say that cavorite poisoning fucked up the girl’s hair too!! and i feel like, yknow, changing hair colour is probably an earlier symptom than changing eyes to glowy green, so maybe? maybe???? we can claim ange went grey from preliminary use of the handheld cavorite before they fine tuned it? zelda obvs got the final product

i know its weak but im just partial to the idea of ange being irrevocably changed by her spywork, not only in mind but also in body

[truempathy]

what does will feel for hannibal

RMMBER HOW I SAID I’D GO TO BED …. i saw this ask and dragged my tired trash ass outta bed

it’s … complicated. will, for hannibal, feels … a lot. he feels wariness – rightfully so – because he knows what hannibal is, what he does. he feels irritation for how hannibal always plants himself in will’s life, tries to take everything will has away from him so that only hannibal and hannibal alone remains. fostering codependency, he called it once. he feels a connection. a deep one, from knowing how hannibal works on the inside, from understanding what hannibal is and who he is in ways literally no one else does. he knows that hannibal bared himself for will, that it’s not something hannibal does to anyone, and that, fucked up as they were, hannibal gave will gifts. gifts that will usually didn’t want — gifts that, usually, involved the lovely experience of taking someone’s life — but gifts nonetheless because will, deep down, appreciated it. wanted it. will understands hannibal like hannibal understands him. 

hannibal understands him better than he understands himself, actually, in some regards. he “helped” will realize what he wanted to do in season 2, helped him “come into himself” so to speak. it wasn’t something will was necessarily comfortable with, or something he’s comfortable with still even now, but it was the truth and will appreciated it, fucked up as it is. he’d probably never admit it, because he’d feel guilty about it, feel disgusted at himself for it, but hannibal in his own fucked up way was trying to help will. just not in a positive, selfless, caring way.

he doesn’t trust hannibal. will’s not stupid enough to. he knows hannibal cares for him, he knows hannibal loves him, but will doesn’t trust hannibal. and, despite the finale – in LIGHT of the finale – will doesn’t trust that hannibal won’t try to manipulate him, persuade him into killing more people. because will knows hannibal will try to make him. will knows that if he’s around hannibal he’s going to. hannibal brings out the worst in him. it’s hard to trust someone who used you, manipulated you, killed people you cared about, tried to kill others you cared about, and just kills in general with little regard or care for the people around him. will’s under no illusions that hannibal is a good man, or a good person. 

more than likely, will’s always going to be on his guard with hannibal. he’s always going to be torn between turning hannibal in, killing hannibal himself, or giving in to what hannibal wants for them both. will is always going to be at war with his own morality, and he’s never going to be comfortable with hannibal’s cannibalism, or how he manipulates others just because he can. will’s always going to know that hannibal might try something to push will, force him to kill again, that will might end up trying to kill hannibal sometime down the line in response. but he’s also going to always, deep down, think and dream about what he wants, and how hannibal can offer that to him. 

funnily enough though, will isn’t scared of hannibal. he knows how the man works, and knows how to manipulate the man if he has to. he’s used to playing a really dangerous game of cat-and-mouse with hannibal, and honestly, it kind of excites will as much as it disgusts him. he’s kind of adopted some of hannibal’s curiosity as his own, the dark kind, the kind where will does stuff to influence actions and see what people’s responses will be. not to the point that hannibal does it, nowhere close to that, and not very often, but it’s happened enough that it’s not something will can deny about himself or pretend doesn’t exist inside of him anymore.

but will still feels drawn to hannibal. dangerously so. he has to force himself away from his old life, away from his old house, his old friends, away from hannibal himself, so he’s not tempted to see hannibal again, to speak to him. he knows what he and hannibal have going on is unhealthy, toxic, dangerous. literally dangerous. people’s lives have been ruined, people have died because of how they were around each other, because of how they goaded each other into becoming more extreme, more confident. 

but despite will’s reservations and his lack of proclivity for cold blooded murder or cannibalism, will still wants to be with hannibal. he wants to learn more about himself from hannibal, wants to see what else he can do. he knows that hannibal accepts who he is — all parts of him, including (especially) the parts of him that will himself hates — and the knowledge of being understood by someone like that so intimately and completely is a tempting one. 

it’s literally making a deal with the devil in will’s mind, except it feels more like there’s no way out of it, and regardless of whether or not will accepts or denies the offer, he’s damned either way. hannibal has changed will, irrevocably, irreparably, forever. the will of now is not the same will that existed back before he knew hannibal. he kind of hates hannibal for that, but he also really doesn’t, because he knows he’s changed hannibal too. and that’s just kind of the gist of it isn’t it? they’ve kind of twisted themselves around each other to the point where it’s hard to tell where one of them starts and the other ends. they’re both such big influences on each other. it’s a waltz that only the two of them really know how to dance. he feels love for hannibal, too, in his own way. it’s not necessarily sexual or romantic, but it’s definitely not platonic or familial either. it’s not really explainable in any proper words. a love for hannibal exists within will, but i don’t think it’s the kind of love that hannibal has for will, simply because hannibal accepts who he is, and accepts who will is and what he could be, whereas will refuses to be completely comfortable with what they are together, what he is around hannibal. he didn’t really consider the idea that hannibal could be in love with him either up until , well , he found out hannibal was, lol. i think will would think about that quite a lot afterwards.

will doesn’t want to be a killer, a murderer, someone who kills people just for fun. he also doesn’t want to be the man who sleeps with the devil, who lets him kill and doesn’t stop him. the blood on hannibal’s hands might as well be blood on his hands because of the part that he’s had to play in all of it. but it’s also hard to imagine not being with hannibal. i mean, he tries, oh does he try, and he tries to convince himself he can break whatever it is between them. will found happiness away from hannibal – he had a family, and a life, and he was happy. but i think will knows that as happy and comfortable as he is away from hannibal, he’ll never really feel … satisfied? or whole. hannibal gives him that satisfaction.

hannibal has given will a lot. he’s taken a lot away from him too. a lot more than he’s giving. it feels sometimes like what hannibal has given him outweighs what he’s taken, though. i mean, listen, the fact that even after hannibal : manipulated him, made him question his sanity and reality, landed him in a mental hospital for the criminally insane, pinned his multiple murders on him, made him believed he killed abigail and ate her ear, made will kill other people, had will’s unborn baby killed, tried to have will’s FAMILY killed, killed beverly, tried to kill will’s other friends …. and will STILL feels connected to hannibal and drawn to him, of his own free will … kind of shows that will is kind of just as much fucked up as hannibal. not in the same ways, not to the same extent, but still. it’s not stockholm syndrome, or quiet manipulation, or gaslighting. not at this point. will knows EXACTLY what hannibal is, what he does, what he’s like. will knows this, and understands it, to an almost personal level. will can’t stand it, but he also can’t stand to be away from it.

so, will is just basically in an endless teeter-totter of wanting to be around hannibal, to continue this unhealthy thing they have with one another, and ripping himself away and locking hannibal up for the good of himself and everyone else.