#but I think there's enough there that a potential sequel could work

[t-n-c]

A Comprehensive List of my Thoughts on Elemental (STILL WITH SPOILERS!)

So here's the rundown I promised of my feelings toward Elemental

SPOILERS BELOW PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

The Good

The music--I found it memorable and unique; the main theme had soft vocalizations that felt almost ethereal, like it was an ancient hymn. I also found the song that played during the montage of Ember and Wade's dates catchy and fun. It was pretty great soundtrack imho.

The design of the world--I really loved how they creators took into account how all these different elements would move and interact in the city. It made the setting feel, for lack of a better term, more "real" to me. It also set up some of Ember's conflict as a Fire element living in a city that wasn't made with her people in mind.

The designs of (most of*) the characters--for the most part, the characters looked unique and, even better, they looked like average people (for lack of a better term) to me; call me a sap or whatever, but I've always preferred characters that have all the "flaws" of average folks than the ones that look like some iteration of "perfect," they just feel more relatable to me I guess. I also found it fun to see how design features such as "hair" were incorporated in the characters and how those same features varied between the elements. If there's one thing I can consistantly praise Pixar for it's for not being afraid to play around with design.

The animation---I loved how the characters moved and interacted in the world. The felt like living things and I appreciated that.

Wade and Ember are adults implied to be in their mid-to-late 20s--This is probably just a me thing, but I find it nice when I see shows where the protagonists aren't adolescents or barely-18 young adults going through some sort of coming-of-age scenario; there's nothing wrong with those kinds of stories of course, I just find them a bit boring and over-done myself. That and whenever I see films like that it always feels like they're insinuating that people over XYZ age can't be protagonists, so I tend to avoid them these days. On a related note, here are some other reasons why I like that Ember and Wade are adults: a) They both still live with their parents but neither of them is shamed or mocked for it--I've seen waaaay too many "comedies" that pick fun at the "25-year-old-living-in-their-mom's-basement" so I found it nice to not have to sit through that kind of "joke" again, b) Neither of them have got their lives "figured out" yet--Wade's gone through multiple jobs, and Ember's just begun to understand what she actually wants for her life--as someone who's gone through multiple jobs, earned 2 bachelor's degrees and is in the process of getting a master’s, and is still trying to make sense of their life, I found their struggles extremely relatable; it's nice to see adult protagonists be allowed to struggle with figuring out who they are and what they want to be, c) They're allowed to have fun and goof off--in a lot of films I've seen, the adult characters are always depicted as being so serious and "boring" it's nice to see adult characters actually have fun and enjoy life.

Ember' relationship with her parents, specifically her father--I found the interactions they had very sweet and moving; it made Ember's conflict between choosing to take over her father's shop or pursue her romance with Wade all the more relatable, imo.

How Ember and Wade's romance developed--it wasn't a love-at-first-sight kind of thing; they actually had to spend time interacting and getting to know each other before they fell in love--and most importantly, they showed us on the actual screen how/when they started to fall for each other. They went on dates, opened up to each other, fought with each other, etc--all the things that normal relationships have; while sure, there's still an aspect of "forbidden romance" to their relationship, it's more subtle and in the background than the trailers implied it would be. It also doesn't end with marriage and kids--they leave together for Ember’s internship and it’s implied that they’ve moved in together but that’s all; idk I thought it was nice that they could just be a couple.

The Bad

1. The blink-and-miss representation LGBTQ+ representation--I've gotten reeeeeeaaaally tired of how LGBTQ+ characters are treated in films; to clarify, there's a scene where Wade introduces Ember to his family and he introduces her to his youngest sibling, Lake (who is described as being nonbinary in supplemental materials) and her/them girlfriend, Ghibli. Lake's identity as nonbinary is a bit ambiguous in the film (Wade does refer to them as his youngest sibling, but that's all we get--without the tie-in material it's to mistake them for being WLW). Further, between them Lake and Ghibli have at most 2-3 lines in the entire movie--like I appreciate that us LGBTQ+ are being recognized and put in films, but I'm tired of all our rep always being the side characters that hold no weight in the story; I think they can start making shows with LGBTQ+ leads now, thank you.

2. Wade's fake death--I'm not a fan of having characters (and the audience) go through huge, life-changing events only to have the events "fixed" and everything be all hunky-dory again--imo, it's a cheap trick to manipulate the audiences' emotions at best, and at worst, it's a disrespectful act that not-to subtly implies that the audience "can't handle" seeing the characters go through heavy stuff. I'm a firm believer that if you're going to have your characters go through something as serious as having one die on screen you need to commit to it--you need to take it seriously, pulling a 180 and undoing all that development is cliche to the point of annoyance. Now, I'm not saying I wanted Wade to die, I'm not even saying that I think he should have stayed dead--what I'm saying is that I don't think there should have ever been a "death" scene in the film at all--there are plenty of other ways they could have had Ember realize her feelings for Wade/be honest with her father.

Mixed Feelings Section

1. Ember and Wade's designs*--it's not that they're terrible or anything, but they are a bit generic imo. In comparison to their family members and the background characters, they both have that "typical protagonist" look that I find a bit cliche

2. Wade's family being 'good' rich people who don't mind that Wade's in love with Ember vs Ember's father who spends most of the film being aggressively anti-water--I'm kind on the fence with this tbh; on the one hand, if both sides had been against Ember and Wade's relationship, I feel it would have put too much emphasis on the romance and taken away Ember's story as the child of immigrants, and it's not like Wade's family weren't bigoted at all--they threw plenty of micro-aggressions at Ember when she first met them; that being said I do have to side-eye how they made the ones more accepting of fire people Wade's rich, probably-descendents-of-the-founders-of-Element-City family and made the one most aggressively against water people Ember's immigrant-built-his-family-a-home-and-business-from-scratch father. Idk, it feels iffy to me.

3. Most of the Wade and Ember's interactions takes place within a week--As much as I felt that their romance was pretty well-paced, I can't deny that they still fell for each other very quickly--I get that the main plot point had set it up that they only had a week to fix the broken water-spill doors, but I don't know why it had to be a week; why couldn't it have been a couple of weeks or a month? It would have made a lot more sense both for the romance and the main plot, but I digress, I still found their relationship adorable.

4. The experiences of immigrants is homogenized--The culture of the fire people draws on a lot of different types of immigrants, the Irish, different Asiatic groups, maybe some Middle Eastern groups, etc--and while I appreciate that the story was about immigrants and experiences they share in common I also felt a bit iffy about taking all these different cultures and merging them together. I feel it would have been better they made the fire people's culture more of a unique entity than a combination of cultures.

Like I said before, I highly recommend this movie; it's cute and tugs at your heart-strings.

[thats-my-passion-right-there]

I finally saw the mean girls musical (the movie one) I have so many fucking thoughts oh my god

[isakvaltersnake]

things from the 2001 television programme band of brothers that haunt me to this day:

- we’re paratroopers lieutenant, we’re supposed to be surrounded. not to be your 60 year old military obsessed uncle about it but that line goes hard

- nix’s little giggle he does sometimes

- I’ll never forgive them for leaving gene’s medic training out of their training montage. in fact you know what? go back in time, film a parallel sequel of the other 9 eps from gene’s pov

- popeye’s “they called you guys too?” and the way his accent specifically scratches my brain

- they gave me moose heyliger and his massachusetts accent for like 20 minutes then the narrative snatched him away from me and i still miss him

- the way meehan looks at winters after he tells him to close the flap, in fact let’s talk about how every single one of winters’ commanders are obsessed with him in one way or another he truly is the it girl

- the chaos and fear that precedes gene and the calm and comfort that follows him

- I know everyone thinks “we’ll go to chicago, I’ll take you there” is the insane line but the one that actually makes me lose sleep is “what, and give up all this?” THAT MAN SAID I WOULD RATHER LIVE THROUGH THE HORRORS OF WAR THAN HAVE LIVED MY LIFE WITHOUT YOU

- alley is So Beautiful and I don’t think we collectively talk about it enough

- babe being some rando replacement in episode three and whilst his other replacement friends are being absolutely roasted he is immediately adopted by bill and then gets gene fucking roe of all people to connect to him?? he’s too powerful I need to study him

- speirs being this ghoulish terrifying boogeyman until lip is anywhere near him then he’s suddenly dimples and kicking his feet and giggling

- speaking of lip and speirs their little sarcastic in jokes, lip finishing speirs’ sentences fml it’s giving married

- you been working out? IN FRONT OF EVERYONE?? LIEB YOU SLUT?? THEN YOURE GONNA LAY IN HIS BED WAITING FOR HIM??? insane behaviour

- the unexplored but high potential friendships and the way I wanted like 16 more episodes for shifty and lip, nix and luz, nix and web, sisk and perconte, winters and gene, grant and tab, lieb and alley, speirs and harry, etc

- the more haggard and bitchy nix gets the hotter he gets. he also must be studied.

- “you should pack up those ears and go home” ok sobel kinda ate with that one ngl

- speaking of sobel the little confused/bewildered/piss-pants faces he makes david schwimmer the actor you are

- the silly little wide stance pennywise ass run hall does before he gets murked RIP king

- klepto speirs ilysm

- joe toye and his brass knuckles are v sexy

- sink letting nix give winters his oak leaves was very shipper girl of him

- lip harry nix speirs winters in the eagle’s nest dream blunt rotation

- the unsustainable amount of cunt served by nix, frank, babe, and luz at all times is truly a marvel

- tab really checked lip’s dick and balls mid battle and honestly that’s friendship

- bit parts for simon pegg, tom hardy, andrew scott, james mcavoy, michael fassbender, jimmy fallon ?? bob casting director you will always be famous

- peacock is so fine if he was even a little good at his job I’d be obsessed with him (special shout out to the scene of him getting sent home on furlough)

- I could list out every one of their meaningful little moments together but really it’s babe and gene just tethering and grounding each other and how they seem to gravitate to each other out of blind instinct? that’s some Brontë whatever our souls are made of bullshit I’m afraid

- ok I know I said I wasn’t talking about little meaningful moments but gene staring across the convent at where babe is sitting, lost in the peace

-bull in replacements getting imprinted on by a bunch of baby ducks and being SO PLEASED ABOUT IT he’s not the stepfather, he’s the father that stepped up

- speaking of, the underutilization of bull in the back half is such an out of character bad call

- you are officers, you are grown ups, you oughta know. HE’S RIGHT AND HE SHOULD SAY IT AND THAT’S ON GENE BEING THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO TELL OFF WINTERS

- I know nix and winters are married and whatever but the real married couple behaviour is luz constantly pissing off joe and joe immediately letting it go

- lip and speirs and their mutual competency kink

- I’M REAL SORRY FRANK skinny ilysm

[zepskies]

Sample the Menu

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

AN: Happy New Year, everyone! 🌟 This was requested by a lovely anon. It’s sort of a sequel to the imagine below. ⤵️

See this imagine for context: Repaying him for a job well done.

Word Count: 550 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only — spiciness and innuendo.

Imagine: Interrupting Ben while he’s cooking.

The cringeworthy sound of metal clanging on metal woke you up early on a Saturday morning. Though your irritation was soon waylaid by the glorious smell wafting up from the kitchen.

Bacon. It had to be. Mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

You slid out of bed, pulled on one of the shirts discarded on the bedroom floor (likely Ben’s, for how big it was), and freshened up before heading downstairs.

You were greeted to a mouthwatering sight.

An over six-foot tower of a man was taking up your kitchen, all broad shoulders and lean muscle and bed-tousled hair.  

In short, Ben was cooking.

But because he didn’t have to worry about the potential sting of sparked bacon grease, he only wore a pair of sweatpants while scrambling the eggs. Slowly you crept closer, not wanting to disturb his concentration just yet.

He actually seemed to be doing well. Or at least, nothing seemed to be on fire. (A vast improvement from previous attempts.)

Besides the pans of eggs and bacon, there were four slices of bread locked and loaded in the double-decker toaster, a side of butter, and two plates on the counter. The coffee was already done percolating.

Once again, your boyfriend managed to delight and surprise. He’d never cooked for you before. And you could dare to say, not for anyone before. You'd just recently managed to get him to do the dishes without being asked, to say nothing of breaking out the cookware...

There was an enormous mess of bowls, plates, and even a whisk in the sink, but you could deal with that if this was your reward.

A bubbly feeling rose up into your chest, making you smile. You went to him on light feet, sneaking up behind him.

Looping your arms through his and embracing him from behind, you leaned up on your toes and nipped at his bare shoulder. To him, it felt like a mere graze of your teeth.

“Mmm, I love a man at work,” you said.  

“Was wondering how long you were gonna fucking stand there,” Ben said, finally glancing at you over his shoulder. His lips twitched upward at the sight of your grin.

You hugged him tight from behind and pressed a lingering kiss into his neck.

“Breakfast looks good, babe. Thank you,” you said, though your hands drifted down his chest, down his sternum, down to thumb at the stretchy waistband of his pants. “It all looks good.”

A smirk pulled at his lips, though you couldn’t see it.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Want to sample the menu?”

He felt your smile grow against his skin. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Just as you might’ve started inching that waistband down his hips, and lowering yourself along with it, Ben set down the metal salad spoon he’d been using to mix the eggs and turned in your arms.

He grabbed you by the hips and hauled you up on the counter beside him, hard enough to make the plates clatter. You gasped at the suddenness of it and clung to his arms.

“Ben—”

“Be a good girl and sit pretty for me,” he said. His eyes glinted with a familiar edge of cockiness before they roamed over your bare thighs. His grip brought you right to the edge of the counter, where he spread your legs apart. You allowed it, a tremor of arousal coiling in your belly.

His hand ventured up the inside of your thigh, and his smirk deepened.

It seemed you’d forgone panties entirely this morning. He liked that, along with the blushing smile you now wore, just for him.

“On second thought,” he said, as his fingers brushed the bare seam between your legs. “I think I want a taste.”  

AN: Hopefully the real food doesn't get cold. 😅

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List (Part 1):

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk

@midnightmadwoman @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken

@deanfreakingwinchester @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester

@tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @dope-trope-105 @liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @tmb510 @iamsapphine @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @lacilou

[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 9/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, fluff, hurt/angst

Word Count: 7118

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 9 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The next two weeks, Ben and you spent most of your time either at the tower or at home together, finding a new rhythm in your relationship. The days were filled with a comforting routine of work and shared moments, allowing you both to heal and grow closer again.

Your parents hadn’t reached out to you since the night they came over, and you were beginning to wonder if the confrontation had left a lasting rift. But then, today, you received a text from your mom, inviting you both over for dinner on Sunday. The fact that she included Ben in the invitation surprised you, but it also gave you hope that they were willing to try to accept your relationship.

Right now, you walked into Ben’s office to tell him the news. He was sitting at his desk, engrossed in some paperwork, but he looked up as soon as you entered.

“Hey”, he greeted, leaning back in his chair. “What’s up?”.

You took a seat across from him, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. “I just got a text from my mom. She invited us over for dinner on Sunday”.

Ben’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Us? As in both of us?”.

You nodded, unable to hide your own surprise. “Yeah, both of us. I think they’re trying to make an effort”.

“That’s… unexpected”.

You took a deep breath, wanting to be sensitive to Ben’s feelings. “So, what do you think? Are you okay with going?”.

Ben’s lips curled into a playful smirk. “Are you asking me if I’m okay with having dinner with my girlfriend’s parents who might just be trying to accept me? Hmm, let me think…”.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Ben, seriously. I know it might be a bit awkward, and I don’t want to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with”.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. “Well, I’m not going to lie and say I’m fucking thrilled. But if this is a chance to mend things and make them see how happy we are together, then I’m in”.

You chuckled at Ben's straightforward response, appreciating his honesty. "Alright, fair enough. Thank you".

Ben grinned mischievously, his eyes gleaming with playful intent. "Since I'm agreeing to potentially survive a dinner with your folks, can I ask for something else in return?".

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Depends on what you're asking for".

Ben leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Well”, he started, his tone lowering, “you know, all week you’ve been too tired to even let me touch you”.

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks as he continued, his voice turning even more suggestive. “I think now would be the perfect time to… well, you know, make it up to me”.

Your blush deepened at his bold words, and you could hardly meet his gaze. “Ben”, you stammered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement. “That’s… quite the request”.

He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Just think of it as a little motivation for me to get through dinner. What do you say?”.

You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts. Part of you wanted to tease him right back, but another part was genuinely flustered by his boldness.

"Alright", you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flutter in your stomach. "But you better behave yourself during dinner".

Ben's grin widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He leaned back in his chair, patting his lap playfully. "C'mere", he murmured.

Your cheeks burned even hotter at his audacity, but you couldn't deny the thrill that shot through you. You walked over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

As you straddled his lap, Ben wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "You know, you drive me crazy sometimes".

You chuckled softly, feeling his warmth against you. "I guess that's why you put up with me".

Ben’s eyes darkened with desire as he pulled away slightly, his hands deftly unbuttoning your blouse. He took his time, savoring each moment as he revealed the smooth skin of your chest. When he had your blouse open, he gently tugged your bra down, just enough to expose your nipples.

You shivered at the sensation of the cool air on your skin, combined with the heat of his gaze. Ben leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck. His breath was warm against your skin as he took his time, his lips brushing over your collarbone and then lower, leaving a trail of soft kisses. You felt your breath hitch as he hovered just above one of your nipples, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Look at you”, he murmured. “You get all worked up so easily. Just a touch, and you’re already trembling”.

You bit your lip, again feeling a blush spread across your cheeks.

He finally took one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself. Ben sucked gently, then harder, drawing a moan from your lips.

“That’s right”, he murmured against your skin. “Let me hear you. You’re mine, and I want to know just how much you need this”.

His words were rough, but the pleasure he was giving you was undeniable. You arched your back, pressing closer to him, feeling the heat between your bodies.

Ben didn’t lose much time. He knew that sucking on your nipples was more than enough to make you wet, so without hesitation, he opened the pants of his suit, pulling out his already hard dick. He held you up with one arm, his strength making it easy, while his other hand grabbed his dick.

Without the need for his words, you quickly pulled up your skirt and pushed your panties aside, a shiver running through you at the anticipation. The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance, and you gasped at the sensation.

“You’re so ready for me”, he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Just can’t wait to have me inside you, can you?”.

You nodded, biting your lip to stifle a moan as he began to push inside, stretching and filling you in a way that made you feel complete. His grip on your waist tightened, guiding you down onto him inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed within you.

The feeling was intense, the mix of pleasure and the sheer physicality of it taking your breath away. Ben’s eyes never left yours, his gaze fierce and possessive. “That’s it”, he growled softly. “Take all of me”.

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as you began to gently move your hips, adjusting to the feel of him inside you. Ben tried his best to give you the time you needed, his grip on your waist steadying you as you found your rhythm.

“Just like that”, he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.

You moved slowly at first, savoring the sensation of being so intimately connected. Each shift of your hips brought a new wave of pleasure, the friction sending sparks through your body. Ben’s eyes were locked onto yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of desire and adoration.

Encouraged by his steadying presence, you gradually increased your pace, your movements becoming more confident. Ben’s breath hitched as you rode him, his hands guiding you but allowing you to take control.

“You’re doing so well”, he murmured.

You missed feeling him like this so much. The intimacy, the connection, the way he made you feel—everything about being with Ben was perfect. You’d always heard horror stories about how Supes could hurt or even kill people during sex, but with Ben, it was pure pleasure. He was always careful with his strength, and although sometimes he underestimated it, the most you ever experienced were some soreness and a few bruises.

You couldn’t imagine ever sleeping with someone else. Ben just knew how to push every single one of your buttons.

As you moved on top of him, finding a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through both of you, his hands guided you, his touch grounding and reassuring.

The connection between you was palpable, a silent understanding that transcended words. You felt safe with him, cherished. Each thrust, each touch, brought you closer together, both physically and emotionally.

Ben’s hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing, his breath coming in short, heated bursts. “You feel so good”, he murmured. “I’ve missed this, missed you”.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I’ve missed you too, Ben. So much”.

Your words seemed to ignite something in him, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust up into you, meeting your movements with a newfound intensity. You gasped, the pleasure almost too much to bear, but you didn’t want it to stop. You wanted to hold on to this moment, to the feeling of being so completely connected to him.

As the pleasure built to a crescendo, you felt yourself teetering on the edge. “Ben”, you moaned, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m so close”.

His eyes locked onto yours. “Come for me”, he urged, his voice a rough whisper.

With a final, deep thrust, you felt the wave of your orgasm crash over you. Ben followed right behind, his release mingling with yours as he groaned your name, his hands holding you close.

For a moment, you stayed like that, bodies entwined, hearts pounding in unison.

After a while, Ben gently lifted you up, his strength effortless and tender. As he pulled your panties back in place, his softening dick fell against his stomach. He grinned mischievously, whispering, “Keep it inside”, a playful glint in his eyes, referring to his cum.

You blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal at his boldness. Just then, the door to Ben’s office swung open, and MM stepped in. “Ah man, fuck that!”, he exclaimed, quickly covering his eyes with his hand. “Seriously? You guys can’t even keep it in the bedroom?”.

Ben grumbled under his breath as MM stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hand still covering his eyes. “Can’t you fucking knock or something?”, Ben said, his tone half amused, half annoyed.

MM dropped his hand from his eyes, shooting Ben a playful glare. “You’re lucky I walked in and not someone else. You two really need to learn some damn boundaries”.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh as you straightened your clothes. “Sorry about that, MM”, you said, feeling a bit flustered.

MM grumbled, shaking his head in exasperation. “This is the third time now I’ve walked in on you two. Apparently, some people need to learn to keep it in their pants”.

Ben chuckled. “Maybe you just enjoy the show. Learning anything new each time?”.

MM shot him a deadpan look. “Yeah, I’ve learned that you have zero boundaries”.

Just then, the door opened again, and Annie and Butcher walked in. By now, you were fully dressed, but your flushed face told exactly what you had been up to.

Annie took one look at your face and raised an eyebrow. “Did we miss something?”.

Butcher, always direct, smirked. “Blimey, don’t tell me you two were at it again”.

You raised your hand, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment evident in your voice. “Does anyone here fucking knock?”.

Annie chuckled, shaking her head. “Clearly not”.

Butcher shot back with a smirk, “Well love, you wouldn’t need to worry if Ben could keep his dick inside his pants for more than two minutes”.

Ben rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Butcher”.

Butcher snorted. “Hardly. Just trying to keep this team somewhat professional”.

MM sighed, stepping in to redirect the conversation. “Alright, enough. Can we please focus on the task at hand?”.

Ben looked up, his eyes hopeful as he asked, “What task? Please tell me it’s something more exciting than paperwork. I’m about to lose my fucking shit with all these reports”.

Annie smirked, knowing how much Ben despised paperwork. “Don’t worry. We might have something that’ll get you out from behind that desk”.

MM nodded, pointing to the folders on the table. “We’ve got intel on one of Vought’s key labs. It’s heavily guarded, but if we hit it, we might get the leverage we need”.

Ben’s eyes lit up at the prospect of action. “Finally, something worth doing”. He glanced at you with a grin. “No offense to you and your love for that shit”.

You laughed, shaking your head. “None taken. Someone has to keep this team organized”.

Ben turned to MM, his excitement barely contained. “Kimiko, A-Train and that french fuck. Tell them to meet us in the meeting room. I’ll be there in a few minutes”.

MM nodded, already moving towards the door. “Got it”, he said, leaving the room to gather the rest of the team.

With the others gone, Ben looked back at you, leaning against his desk with a smile. "You okay?”.

You chuckled. “Besides the fact that I can feel your cum soaking my fucking panties?”.

Ben’s grin widened, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Well, you did promise to keep it inside”, he replied, his tone equally teasing.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress your own smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”.

“I aim to please”, he said, his voice low and affectionate. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a quick, comforting embrace. As he held you, he murmured into your ear, “I won’t be gone long. Maybe a few hours. You look out for yourself, okay?”.

You rolled your eyes playfully, mumbling, “Of course”. As you said it, Ben’s fingers found their way to the necklace around your neck—the one he had given you for your birthday. He gently played with the pendant, his touch a reminder of his affection and the bond you shared.

“You still like it?”, he asked.

“Of course I do”, you replied, your voice tender. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips and whispered, “It reminds me who I belong to”, you teased, your eyes sparkling with affection.

Ben’s grin widened, a flicker of pride and warmth in his eyes. “Good”, he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “And don’t you forget it”.

He gave you one last squeeze before reluctantly pulling away. “Time to get to work”, he said, his tone shifting to a more serious note. “I’ll see you soon”.

You nodded, watching as he turned and headed towards the meeting room. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task ahead and feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

Inside the meeting room, the team was already gathered around the table, reviewing the intel. MM had spread out the maps and documents, and Frenchie was studying them intently, pointing out key areas to Kimiko and A-Train.

“Alright pussys”, Ben said, taking charge. “We’ve got a solid plan, but we need to execute it perfectly. Frenchie, you and your chick will handle the infiltration. A-Train, you’re on distraction duty with me. We need to keep their attention away from the lab as long as possible”.

Frenchie nodded, his eyes sharp with focus. “Understood. We’ll disable their security systems and get in and out quickly”.

Kimiko gave a silent nod of agreement, her expression determined.

A-Train crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. “Chaos is my middle name. They won’t know what hit them”.

As Sunday arrived, you found yourself standing in front of your parents’ house, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation. Ben stood beside you, grumbling under his breath.

“Why couldn’t I just wear simple jeans?”, he muttered, adjusting the collar of his beige dress shirt. You had convinced him to wear beige slacks and a matching dress shirt, a more formal look than he usually preferred.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his discomfort. “Because we’re trying to make a good impression, Ben. Besides, you look really handsome”.

He huffed, shifting uncomfortably. “These pants are squeezing my fucking dick”.

“Well, maybe that’s because your dick is just too big”, you said with a playful smile.

Ben raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, so now my dick is a problem? I don’t remember you complaining last night”, he teased back, leaning in closer.

You felt your cheeks flush but managed to keep your composure. “I didn’t say it was a problem. Just an observation”, you replied, giving him a sly grin.

Ben leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Well, if my size is such a concern, maybe we should give it another go tonight, just to make sure it’s not too much for you".

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a giggle. “Oh, really? And what makes you think I’d want to endure that kind of ‘torment’ again?”.

Ben's grin widened. “Because I remember how you were begging me for more, while I was balls deep inside you, fucking you stupid”.

Your cheeks flamed with heat, and you quickly placed a hand over his mouth, your eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “Ben!”, you hissed, trying to keep your voice low. “We’re about to go inside! Can you please behave for just a little while?”.

He laughed softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he gently pulled your hand away. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. But don’t think this conversation is over”, he whispered.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “We’ll see. Now, let’s go make a good impression”.

With a final shared grin, you turned to the door and rang the bell. Moments later, your mother opened it, her face lighting up with a warm smile.

“Hello, sweetheart”, she said, pulling you into a hug. “Ben, it’s good to see you”.

Ben smiled politely, shaking her hand. “Good to see you too, Mary".

With that, you stepped inside, the familiar scent of your childhood home enveloping you. Your dad emerged from the living room with a beer in his hand. He hugged you warmly, and then turned to Ben. Taking a deep breath, your dad held out his hand. “Ben”, he mumbled as a greeting.

Ben accepted the handshake firmly, meeting your dad’s eyes with a respectful nod. “Frank. Thanks for having me”.

Your dad gave a curt nod, releasing Ben’s hand. “Dinner’s almost ready”.

The atmosphere felt a bit tense, but you were determined to make the evening go smoothly. “Let’s go to the living room”, you suggested, leading Ben through the familiar layout of your home.

In the living room, your mom had already set out some appetizers on the coffee table. “Help yourselves”, she said, gesturing to the array of snacks. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes”.

As you all settled into the living room, you could see Ben making an effort to be polite and engaging. He started a conversation with your dad about sports, quickly finding common ground in their shared interest.

“So, who do you think is going to take the championship this year?”, Ben asked, genuinely interested.

Your dad relaxed a bit, appreciating the familiar topic. “Hard to say. The league’s pretty competitive this season. What do you think?”.

They continued chatting, the tension in the room gradually easing. You caught your mother’s eye and she gave you a small, encouraging smile.

After a while, you stood up and held out a hand for Ben. “Come on, I’ll show you my old room”, you grinned.

Ben took your hand and got up, following you with a curious grin. As you led him upstairs, he couldn’t resist pinching your ass roughly with one of his big palms. You jumped slightly, shooting him a playful glare.

“Behave”, you whispered, trying to suppress your smile.

Ben chuckled softly. “No promises”, he whispered back, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you led Ben down the hallway to your old room. You opened the door and stepped inside, memories flooding back as you looked around. The room was much the same as you had left it, with posters on the walls and a few personal items still on the shelves.

Ben looked around, taking in the details of your old room. His eyes landed on a picture of you in your cheerleader uniform, and he grinned. “Oh, so you were one of those girls?”, he teased, picking up the photo to get a closer look.

You blushed slightly, rolling your eyes. “Yes, I was a cheerleader. Got a problem with that?”.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. Just didn’t picture you as the cheerleader type. You look cute in that uniform, though”.

You snatched the photo from his hand, laughing. “Oh, stop it. That was ages ago”.

Ben’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he took a step closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Actually, I should have known”, he murmured, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “It explains your… flexibility”.

You blushed even deeper, giving him a playful shove. “Ben!”.

He laughed softly, pulling you closer. “What? I’m just stating the facts”, he said, his voice low and full of mischief. “You can’t deny it”.

You tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible”.

Ben leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you still have that little uniform?”, he whispered.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you serious?”.

His grin widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Absolutely. I think it could make for an interesting evening”.

You laughed, shaking your head. You started to turn away, but Ben’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you back against him. “I’m serious”, he said, his tone playful yet insistent.

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what exactly do you have in mind for this ‘interesting evening’?”.

“I have a few ideas. But let’s just say it involves you, me, and that uniform”.

You nodded with reddened cheeks towards your closet. Ben’s eyes sparkled with anticipation as he made his way over to the closet. He opened the door, rifling through the clothes until he found the uniform. A big smirk appeared on his face as he held it up, examining it with a playful glint in his eye.

“I knew you’d still have it”, he said, his voice a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement. “I can’t believe you’re actually making me do this”.

Ben walked back over to you, the uniform still in his hand. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun”, he teased, leaning down to kiss you gently. “And besides, I think you’ll look amazing in it”.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Ben handed you the uniform, then turned back to the closet with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Anything else interesting in here?”, he asked, grinning over his shoulder as he opened the top drawer.

“Ben!”, you protested, feeling your cheeks flush even more. “Stop snooping around!”.

But he ignored you, his grin widening as he rummaged through the drawer. “What do we have here?”, he murmured, pulling out an old diary and a few trinkets from your high school days. He flipped through the diary playfully, pretending to read. “Dear diary, today I—”.

You snatched the diary from his hands, laughing despite yourself. “Alright, that’s enough. Get out of there!”.

Ben chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop”.

He looked around the room again, his eyes landing on a photo of you at your prom. He picked it up, studying it for a moment before grinning. “Alright, we got everything”, he said, handing you the photo to take along with your uniform.

You rolled your eyes but took the photo and placed it, along with the uniform, in a small bag. “Happy now?”, you asked with a playful sigh.

“Very”, he replied, his grin widening as he took your hand.

You both walked out of the room, making your way back downstairs. As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you could hear your parents talking softly in the dining room. You and Ben exchanged a quick, reassuring glance before entering the room.

Your parents looked up as you entered, smiles on their faces. “Everything alright?”, your mom asked.

“Yeah, just showing Ben around a bit”, you replied, taking your seat at the table.

As you began to eat, your mom and dad tried their best to engage with Ben, wanting to get to know him better. Your mom hesitated for a moment before asking, “So, Ben, what was it like in Russia?”.

You saw a flicker of discomfort cross Ben’s face, but you gently placed your hand on his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He took a deep breath and began to speak. “Well, it wasn’t easy”, he started, his voice steady but filled with underlying tension. “I spent decades there, subjected to all kinds of torture”.

Your parents listened intently, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Ben continued, “They were trying to break me, control me. But instead, I became stronger. They conducted experiments on me that enhanced my abilities”.

Your dad leaned forward, clearly interested. “Enhanced how?”.

Ben glanced at you briefly. “They upgraded my powers, made me more resilient. My strength and durability were significantly increased. It was hell, but in the end, I came out of it stronger than ever”.

Your dad leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting from Ben to you, a protective glint in his eyes. “Do you know how to control those powers and, even more, that strength?”, he asked, his tone cautious.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he tried his best not to roll his eyes. “I’m America’s first superhero”, he grumbled. “Of course I know how to control my powers”.

Your dad didn’t back down, his eyes fixed on Ben. “Can you blame me for asking? She’s my daughter, and I’ve worked with supes long enough to know how they treat humans, especially the male supes. And I know firsthand about your short temper, Ben”.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. You tightened your grip on Ben’s thigh, silently urging him to stay calm.

Ben took a deep breath, his eyes softening slightly as he looked at your dad. “I understand your concern”, he said, his voice more measured. “But you have my word that I would never hurt her. I care about her more than anything".

Your dad nodded slowly, seeming to weigh Ben’s words. “I appreciate that, Ben. But you have to understand, as a father, it’s my job to worry. I’ve seen too much to simply ignore the risks”.

Ben nodded, his expression serious. “I get it. And I respect that. But I want you to know that I would do anything to protect her. She’s my world”.

Your dad’s gaze softened a bit, and he seemed to accept Ben’s sincerity. “Alright”, he said, finally. “That’s all I needed to hear”.

Your mom, sensing the tension easing, quickly shifted the conversation to a lighter topic. “So, Ben, do you have any hobbies or interests outside of being a supe?”.

Ben glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, I enjoy spending time with her”.

Your mom couldn’t help but roll her eyes with a soft grin. “Well, and besides clearly charming my daughter?”.

Ben shrugged playfully. “Nah, that’s it. She’s a full-time job”.

Your dad chuckled at that, and the tension in the room eased even further. Your mom laughed too, shaking her head. “Come on, there has to be something else. Hobbies? Interests?”.

Ben leaned back, considering. “I like working out and staying in top shape”.

You looked at Ben, biting your lip with a small smile. “He also likes whiskey”, you mumbled, glancing towards your dad, knowing it was one of his interests too.

Your dad’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. “Whiskey, huh? What’s your favorite?”.

Ben grinned. “I’m a fan of a good single malt scotch. Lagavulin 16, if I had to pick”.

Your dad nodded appreciatively.

Your dad nodded appreciatively. With that, he stood up. “Come on”, he said, gesturing for Ben to follow him into the living room where his bar was set up.

Ben glanced at you, a mix of curiosity and eagerness in his eyes. You smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead. I’ll help Mom clean up”.

Ben gave you a quick squeeze of your hand before following your dad. You turned to your mom, who was already starting to clear the table. “Need some help?”, you asked.

Your mom smiled warmly. “Always. Thank you”.

As you collected plates and carried them to the kitchen, you couldn’t help but overhear snippets of the conversation between your dad and Ben in the living room. The clinking of glasses and the low murmur of voices reassured you that they were kinda getting along well.

In the kitchen, your mom handed you a dish towel. As you began to dry the dishes, you hesitated for a moment, then decided to broach the topic that had been on your mind all evening.

“Mom”, you said carefully, “have some of your reservations about Ben eased tonight?”.

She sighed softly, pausing as she washed a plate. “I won’t lie, I still have some concerns. It’s not easy to just set aside everything about supes and their history. But…”.

You looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

She glanced at you, a small smile forming on her lips. “But I can see that he genuinely cares about you. And he’s been respectful and open with us tonight. That counts for a lot”.

You nodded, feeling a bit of relief. “He really does care about me, Mom. And he’s trying hard to make things work”.

Your mom dried her hands and turned to face you, her expression softening. “I can see that. And I can see how happy he makes you. That’s what’s most important to me and your father”.

You smiled, feeling a swell of gratitude. “Thank you, Mom. It means a lot to hear you say that”.

She pulled you into a hug. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? Love can make us do crazy things sometimes, and I want you to stay safe”.

“I promise”, you replied, hugging her tightly. “I’ll be careful”.

After a while, she looked at you again, a hesitant expression on her face. She took a deep breath before speaking. “Stop me if the topic is too sensitive, considering, well, you know. But… does Ben really want kids?”.

You swallowed, your gaze drifting to the living room. Ben, as if sensing your eyes on him, looked over and gave you a quick wink. You smiled back before turning to your mom.

“He does, Mom. He really does. Having kids has always been his dream. Before we found out I was pregnant, he never thought he’d get the chance to have a family of his own”.

Your mom’s eyes softened with understanding. “I see. That must have been difficult for him”.

You nodded. “It was. But now, he’s so excited. If it were up to him, we’d have a whole kindergarten”, you joked.

Your mom chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I hope you won’t say yes to a whole kindergarten. One or two grandkids at a time would be just fine”.

You laughed, feeling the tension ease. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll start with one and see how it goes”.

Your mom looked at you, her expression thoughtful. “Do you know if the baby would be a supe too?”, she asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, thinking back to the conversations you had with the doctors at Vought while you were pregnant. “The doctors at Vought explained that there’s a high likelihood the baby would inherit some of Ben’s abilities”, you said slowly. “They couldn’t guarantee exactly which powers or how strong they’d be, but they said it was almost certain the baby would be a supe”.

Your mom nodded, absorbing the information. “How do you feel about that?”.

You paused, considering your feelings. “It’s a bit scary, to be honest”, you admitted. “The idea of raising a child with powers is daunting. But Ben has been incredibly supportive, and he’s confident that we can handle it together. Plus, having him as a guide and role model would make a huge difference”.

Your mom looked at you with concern. “Do the doctors think your body can handle nine months of a pregnancy, considering everything?”.

You sighed. “It’s definitely challenging”, you admitted. “There were some complications early on, but the doctors developed a special medication to help. They call it V-Med. It’s designed to strengthen my body and help it cope with the demands of carrying a supe baby”.

Your mom’s eyes widened slightly. “V-Med? Is it safe?”.

You mumbled, “Since I’m the first and likely last woman who’ll carry a supe baby, there’s no way to tell for sure. We just have to try”.

Your mom gave you an unsure look, her worry evident. “But you’re okay with this?”.

You tried to reassure her, your voice steady. “The doctors did a very good job taking care of me in the first place. They were thorough and cautious”.

She sighed deeply, shaking her head. “Clearly, not good enough”.

You bit your lip, tears filling your eyes. The pain of the past was still raw, and you struggled to find the right words. “Mom”, you began, your voice trembling, “I didn’t lose the baby because of any medical issues”.

She looked at you, confusion and concern etched on her face. “Then what happened?”.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Homelander attacked me. That’s why he’s dead. Ben killed him right after, he’s not retired like the media says. And Ben still blames himself for not protecting me enough, even though he did all he could, always”.

Your mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, sweetheart”, she whispered, pulling you into a tight hug. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry you went through that”.

Ben tensed beside your father as his supe hearing caught the conversation between you and your mom in the kitchen. His grip tightened slightly on his glass, the painful memories flooding back. Your dad noticed the shift in Ben’s demeanor, his brows furrowing in concern.

“What are they talking about?”, your dad asked quietly, sensing something was wrong and knowing full well that Ben could hear every word being spoken in the kitchen.

Ben had to bite back his own emotions, the pain and guilt threatening to surface. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “They’re talking about what happened with Homelander”, he said, his voice controlled but strained.

Your dad’s eyes widened in understanding and concern. “I heard the official story, but…”, he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

“The official story was a cover-up”, Ben said, his jaw tightening. “Homelander didn’t retire. He attacked her while she was pregnant”.

Your dad swallowed hard, digesting the heavy information. After a few moments of silence, marked by the soft clinking of ice in their glasses, he ventured another question, his voice cautious but firm. “Did you have him locked away?”.

Ben turned to face him directly, his expression grim and his eyes haunted. “I killed him”, he stated monotonously. The words hung in the air, stark and cold. He paused, then added quietly, “He nearly killed her and—”. His voice broke off, choked by the weight of what he was about to say next. The reality of the situation seemed to press down on him, making it impossible to voice the deepest part of his pain, that Homelander had killed his baby.

Your dad reached out, placing a hand on Ben’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly as a gesture of support. “You did what you had to do”, he said solemnly, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t even begin to imagine the choice you faced. But you acted to protect your family. That’s what any father would do”.

Ben looked down, nodding slowly, the acknowledgment from your father seeming to offer a small comfort amidst the torment of his memories. “It never feels like enough”, Ben admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… Never mind”, Ben grumbled, emptying his glass. “I’ll just check on her”, he said, before walking towards the kitchen, followed closely by your dad.

As Ben entered the kitchen, he carefully placed a hand on your lower back, a gesture of comfort while you faced your mother. “Are you okay?”, he asked gently.

You looked up at him as he stood beside you, nodding, quickly wiping away a few tears. Trying to ease your momentary pain, Ben attempted a joke. “Oh no, you told her about the fucking iPads, didn’t you?”.

You chuckled, your eyes still wet. “No, I didn’t”, you replied, feeling a bit lighter.

Your mother looked puzzled, so you continued with the story. “Ben bought me three new iPads in one week. Every time the battery went low, he thought he had broken it and would go out and buy a new one”, you said, laughing at the memory.

Ben grinned sheepishly. “In my defense, I had never used an iPad before. I didn’t know the battery could be charged separately”.

Your mother joined in the laughter, her earlier worry momentarily forgotten. “That’s quite the learning curve”, she said, shaking her head in amusement.

Your dad, who had been standing quietly, finally spoke up, a smile tugging at his lips. “So, Ben, I guess technology isn’t your superpower?”.

Ben laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Definitely not. But I’m getting better at it. Now I know what those little lightning bolts on the screen mean”.

The shared laughter and light-hearted banter helped to lift the heavy atmosphere. Ben, with a gentle squeeze on your hip, said, “She taught me well, in more than one way”.

You didn’t just teach him about technology and all the stuff of the ‘new world’, but also in showing feelings, controlling feelings, and most importantly, learning to fall in love and accepting to be loved.

Again you looked up at him, smiling softly, knowing exactly what he meant. Ben cleared his throat, breaking the moment with a hint of playfulness. “Anyway, thanks for having us. Hopefully, you don’t think that poorly of me anymore. Like I said, your little firecracker here means the world to me, and even if she’s robbing me of every fucking last nerve, I will do everything to protect her”.

Your parents both chuckled at Ben’s remark, the tension easing further. Your mother stepped forward, her expression warm. “We don’t think poorly of you, Ben. It’s clear how much you care for our daughter, and that’s what matters most to us”.

Your dad nodded in agreement. “You’ve got our respect, Ben. Just keep taking care of each other”.

Ben smiled, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and relief. “Thank you”.

After a few more minutes of light conversation and farewells, you and Ben finally made your way to the car. As you settled into the passenger seat, you felt a sense of contentment and hope. The evening had turned out better than you had hoped, and it seemed like your parents were beginning to see Ben for who he truly was.

As Ben started the car and began to drive away, he glanced over at you. You were grinning widely, your eyes sparkling with joy. "They like you, Ben. I know my parents, and they really like you".

Ben chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Of course they do. What's not to like? I'm charming, good-looking, and I happen to have excellent taste in women".

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, really? You think so highly of yourself, huh?".

He smirked, his confidence evident. "Well, I managed to win you over, didn't I?".

You shook your head, still smiling. "You're impossible". He just winked at you.

"Thank you for tonight, Ben. For everything. You handled everything so well… I love you", you said softly, looking at him with all the love you felt.

Ben glanced at you, his eyes warm and filled with emotion. "Love you too".

The rest of the drive was filled with comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from being with someone who truly understands you. As you pulled into the driveway of your home, you couldn't help but feel excited for the future.

Once inside, you both settled into the living room, the weight of the evening lifting from your shoulders. Ben pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you securely.

"So", he said with a playful grin, "about that teasing offer…".

You laughed, leaning into him. "I think we both deserve a little relaxation after tonight".

He nuzzled your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "I couldn't agree more".

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

-

Part 10

-

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom

[persevereforahappyending]

He Hung Up (2)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “I took that phone call for you.” You turned to Sam, once again offended. So much for her warming up to you after that, now she suspected you of being a serial killer.

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 4.2k+

Note: I tried doing a one shot, but I've never been good at those so here's a part 2. Third and final part is also planned.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

“Suspects!” Mindy shouted, causing all of you to look up at her as she stood before everyone as if she was on center stage.

Everyone gathered together on campus before their classes and before Sam had to go to work. Quinn, Anika, and Sam all sat on a bench together while Chad, you, Tara, and Ethan sat on the other bench.

Chad had a pen and notebook out ready to jot down notes as soon as Mindy started talking. Tara was leaning into your side with your arm wrapped around her shoulder. Ethan was sitting next to you looking up at Mindy like a clueless puppy.

You had started out listening to Mindy, but she kept mentioning sequels and requels and eventually you just tuned her out. You got into your head when she mentioned being in a franchise, you couldn’t help but think about all the potential ways Ghostface was totally going to kill you. You didn’t zone back in until she mentioned Tara and Sam being on the potential chopping block.

You didn’t want to die but there was no way in hell you were ever letting someone hurt Tara again. You’d seen her scars; she told you what happened. It had taken a while for her to get comfortable enough, but you woke up one night to her thrashing around in bed. When you got her to calm down, you just held her, and she told you all about Amber.

“Y/N,” Mindy said, clapping her hands together as she looked at you. Your eyes snapped to Mindy, thoroughly being pulled out of your worrying thoughts for Tara at the accusation you could be the killer.

“Hey!” you said, raising both your hands in offense. Tara smiled up at you, laying her head on your shoulder.

“Good! Never trust the love interest,” Sam said, nodding along with what Mindy said.

“I took that phone call for you.” You turned to Sam, once again offended. So much for her warming up to you after that, now she suspected you of being a serial killer.

“Oh please, it could have all been an act. Who would be stupid enough to antagonize Ghostface?” Sam raised a brow, waiting to hear what excuse you could possibly have.

“Me!” You leaned forward, jostling Tara enough to lift her head off your shoulder.

“Babe-” Tara started, leaning away from you just enough to look at you.

“I would certainly be stupid enough!” You continued, ignoring whatever Tara was about to say.

Everyone fell silent after that. Sam raised her eyebrows at you. You stared at her for a second before furrowing your brow, you glanced down at the ground, finally realizing what you just said. Tara patted your leg, giving it a comforting rub.

You sat there pouting, vaguely aware of Mindy going on and on about Quinn, Ethan, and her own girlfriend Anika being suspects as well. The others tried making an argument in their defense, none more than Ethan who tried deflecting suspicions on to the core four, specifically Sam.

You didn’t think any of the core four were the killers. It didn’t make sense. Despite all the stuff that was being said online about Sam there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that she was innocent. Tara fought with her sister all the time, but she adored her. Even the previous night while they were arguing Tara didn’t hesitate to jump in and defend her sister, ready to attack that girl who threw her drink on Sam.

When you and Tara first started hanging out anytime someone would question her about Sam or anytime, she’d see something negative online she’d get all angry and defensive. She would rant for several minutes about how those random ass people didn’t know what they were talking about. You would just sit and listen to her. It wasn’t your place to judge, you weren’t there, you didn’t see how everything went down. The only things you knew for sure was that everyone who was there agreed on what happened, Amber and Richie were psycho and Sam was a fucking hero.

Despite her not liking you, you had also gotten to know Sam since you started dating Tara. Sam didn’t share anything with you but based on the way Mindy and Chad admired her you knew she was cool. Then based on the way Tara would come over to your place for a break from her sister and just rant nonstop for over an hour, told you that though she was incredibly overprotective, she loved her sister more than anything, she loved all her friends, she just wanted them to be safe. After what happened to all of them you couldn’t blame her for being a tad overprotective.

“Should you really be telling us your suspects with us here?” you asked, interrupting whatever Mindy was still ranting about. Everyone fell silent, turning to look at you. “If you think one of us,” you pointed to yourself and Ethan then Quinn and Anika, “is the killer then why are you tell us you suspect us?”

Mindy didn’t say anything, opting to narrow her eyes at you. You leaned back against the bench, your arm still draped over Tara. You gave a small shrug, trying not to disturb Tara again. “I’m just sayin. If I’m the killer, then me knowing you suspect me would only help me.” You squinted your eyes, thinking to yourself to make sure that made sense. Sometimes you started speaking before your brain had time to process what you wanted to say.

“She’s got a point,” Chad said, nodding along and pointing his pen at you.

Everyone seemed to reluctantly nod, even Sam.

“I don’t think it’s Y/N,” Tara said. She lifted her head, leaning back, turning to give you a quick kiss. “She’d never hurt me.”

Sam scoffed. Tara threw a glare at her on your behalf. Sam quickly turned her scoff into a cough, clearing her throat.

“That’s what you thought about Amber,” Mindy pointed out. “And look how that turned out.”

Sam tilted her head glaring at Mindy. Chad looked up at his sister, his eyes wide as he shook his head. There was a lot you didn’t know but you knew what Mindy just said crossed one of their unspoken lines. Mindy at least had the audacity to look a little guilty when you flicked a glare at her.

Tara remained quiet. You felt her tense next to you the second Mindy had said the name Amber. You looked down at her concerned, you couldn’t help the hurt the flashed in your eyes when Tara just barely leaned away from you.

You couldn’t even blame Tara. You knew you’d never hurt her, that you’d do anything to keep her safe, but she couldn’t know that. Even after all you’d been through there was a part of her that would probably always doubt you because of what happened. You hated that. You hated that someone she trusted hurt her and betrayed her so bad she now had to question ever new relationship in her life, she had to worry if the next person she met would do the same thing.

You tried to hide the hurt, going back to listening to Mindy conclude her final suspects and franchise thoughts. Tara noticed though. You caught the same sadness in her eyes as she realized she had subconsciously leaned away from you. She slowly leaned back into you. You wanted to tighten your grip on her, comfort her in any way you could, but you didn’t, you weren’t sure if any sort of movement would cause her to pull away again.

When Mindy finally finished, everyone went their separate ways, leaving you, Tara, and Sam. You took a step back, suddenly finding the trees around you very interesting while Tara said goodbye to her sister.

“I’ll see you when I get home from work,” Sam said.

Tara nodded. “Yeah, we’ll all make our way over right after classes end,” Tara said, repeating the plan Sam had all made them agree to.

Sam flicked her gaze up to you for a second then back to Tara. “Be safe.” Sam pulled Tara into a hug who seemed reluctant at first but quickly reciprocated. When she pulled away, she looked at you one more time before finally running off to work.

“Soooo,” you drew out. Your hands were in your pockets, and you kept your eyes on the concrete. “What-”

“I’m sorry,” Tara cut you off.

You scrunched up your brow, lifting your head to look at her. “For what?”

“For how I reacted when Mindy mentioned,” it was Tara’s turn to suddenly find the concrete interesting. “You know who.”

“Don’t apologize for that.” Your eyes softened, taking a cautious step forward. “You can’t help how it makes you feel and your feelings on it are fully warranted.”

“I know. I just…” Tara took a deep breath, letting out a long exhale as she rubbed her temple. “I know you aren’t her.”

“Obviously, I mean I am one of a kind,” you joked, giving her a little smirk.

Your plan worked, Tara giggled, lightly pushing your shoulder. “Shut up.”

“So, what do you want to do for the day?” You finally got finish asking what you intended. “Since our professor’s untimely demise last night our class is cancelled today. Your sister is at work, your friends are all in class, and our next class isn’t until this afternoon.” You gave her a mischievous smile.

Tara returned the same smile. “Whatever will we do with this rare freedom?” she asked, taking your hand in her own as she began leading you down the stone path.

“Was thinking we could go back to my dorm.” You smiled innocently at her, “My roommate isn’t there.”

Tara didn’t say yes right away. She opened her mouth but then quickly closed it. She got that adorable crinkle in her brow when she thought hard about something. You were smiling at how cute she looked until you realized why she was giving it so much though then you frowned.

“Shit, I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea,” you quickly said. “I’m literally one of your guy’s suspects and even if you don’t fully believe I’m the killer, me asking you back to my dorm alone is a stupid idea.” You were mentally kicking yourself for thinking that was a good idea. “We can go to the library or the cafeteria or chill in the quad, I’ll be happy with whatever.” You smiled, then quickly frowned again. “Unless you don’t want to be alone with me. Which I can understand, I guess,” you pouted. “I’m not the killer but I get that you don’t know that and can’t know that for sure and-”

Tara grabbed the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss. Your previous rambling dying as you happily returned the kiss. You smiled into the kiss, it was simple, soft, and you could feel all of Tara’s love for you in it. It was your favorite type of kisses from her. When she finally pulled away you were left smiling at her like a lovestruck idiot even after months of dating.

“I would love to go back to your dorm,” Tara said softly. She was already pulling you in the direction of your dorm.

“Are you sure?” You asked again. You needed her to be sure, you wanted to make sure she was actually comfortable enough with being alone with you.

“Yes,” Tara said confidently. “I don’t think you’re the killer. I trust you.”

You smiled softly at Tara and pulled her in for another kiss. This girl who had been hurt and betrayed by her best friend, her girlfriend, the person she should have been able to trust the most, believed you weren’t going to hurt her. You couldn’t believe it. Sure, you weren’t the killer, but you couldn’t believe that Tara trusted you so much that she didn’t doubt you, that she knew you would never hurt her.

“Let’s go,” she whispered against your lips when you guys finally pulled away again.

You nodded and let her drag you to your dorm room. When you got there you happily unlocked it, tossing your keys on the kitchen counter. You weren’t necessarily rich, but your family was like Tara’s, your parents made decent enough money. Which is how you ended up in one of the nicer dorm rooms, with a small kitchen, living room, full bath, and two bedrooms. Your parents were great, not always around but they were okay, which is why they tried to compensate by making sure you were comfortable wherever you were.

“So, did you want to watch a movie or…” you trailed off, looking to Tara for suggestions.

“I didn’t really have a movie in mind,” she said.

Before you could ask what, she wanted to do she was marching up to you, pushing you so you fell down onto the couch. You were leaned back in a sitting position when she kneeled on the couch, straddling your lap. She wasted no time and gave you no room to say anything else before her lips were on yours again.

“Okay, this works for me too,” you whispered when you guys finally broke apart for a breath. She shook her head smiling at you before kissing you again. You ran your hands up her back, sliding them underneath her shirt. She lifted her arms, getting ready for you to slide her shirt off when your phone rang.

“Ignore it,” she said in between kisses.

She was kissing down your neck as you shifted, trying to disturb her placement on top of you as little as possible. She turned your head towards her, kissing you again, trying her best to distract you from whoever was calling you. When she trailed her kisses down your neck again you looked at your phone, furrowing your brow at the caller ID.

“What? Who is it?” Tara asked, sitting up straighter but refusing to remove herself from your lap. You turned the screen towards her. Her name was on the screen. She shot off your lap, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the phone. “Don’t answer it.” Her voice shaking, her previous confidence thrown out the window.

You cleared your throat before hitting the green button and bringing the phone up to your ear. “Hello, this is Y/N, how may I be of assistance,” you said in the best customer service voice you could muster up.

“Hello, Y/N,” the crackling of someone using a voice changer came through the phone. “You wanted my attention so bad last night I decided to give it to you.”

“That is so sweet, I do have a desperate need for attention.” You started to pace back and forth, making sure to keep your eyes on Tara, needing to know she was okay. “I’ll never ask for attention cause I don’t want to be inconvenient and come off as needy but oh do I so crave attention.”

“I’ve gathered. Based on your constant need of approval even when doing the simplest things, such as cooking dinner.”

You pouted. “Fuck you.”

“Do you think it has something to do with your parents never being there for sporting events or award shows?”

“Doctor Carter?” you asked. Tara tilted her head at your confused expression.

“No this isn’t your therapist,” Ghostface sighed. “Your abandonment issues and constant need to be validated that you’re good enough are just so textbook.”

“You’re being quite hurtful this morning. I had much more fun with our conversation last night.”

“Aww, I’m sorry.” You could hear Ghostface’s fake sympathy through the voice changer. “Let me make it up to you. Let’s play a game.”

“How about Monopoly?” You smiled brightly at the idea of getting to play your favorite game. You looked at your girlfriend who rolled her eyes despite the terror she was clearly feeling. You frowned, she never wanted to play Monopoly with you.

“Nobody likes Monopoly.” You could feel the annoyed deadpanned look in through the phone. “It’s to long, no one has time for that.”

“The only people who don’t like Monopoly are the ones who lose. Also,” you spun around on your heel. “You’re literally planning murders and dressing up like a serial killer and setting up what you refer to as a game, that usually takes months if not years to plan and then is executed over a couple days. Talk about excessive.

“I hate Monopoly,” he said, ignoring the rest of your statement. You took his silence on the matter to mean you were right and he had nothing to argue against it.

“Sounds like something a loser would say,” you continued to taunt Ghostface, regaining some of that confidence from the previous night. “Is that why you’re doing this?” you looked up in thought, as if you just had a revelation. “You decided to copy someone else’s game in the hopes you could finally win something?”

“Shut up!” Ghost face growled. You smirked; you knew you were getting to him. “This is my game! I am the mastermind here!”

“I’m pretty sure that was Billy Loomis,” you interrupted. “No, wait,” you paused thinking for a second. “Roman Bridger was technically the original mastermind behind it all, you all are just cheap knockoffs of his game.”

“They could never comprehend the level of complexity of my game!”

You snorted, not able to hold in your laugh. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Jill Roberts?” you asked through your laughter. “Who is my favorite Ghostface by the way.” You got lost in thought thinking about Jill. “Man, who doesn’t love a manipulative psychopath.” You shook your head, still thinking about her when you noticed Tara somehow glaring at you and giving you a concerned look. “What?” you shrugged.

“Listen here you bitch!” your attention snapped back to the phone; you had forgotten Ghostface was trying to threaten you. “Billy, Roman, Stu, whatever! None of them matter! They will all be forgotten when I’m through.”

“Oof,” you let out a sigh. “Someone clearly has daddy issues. Is that it? Daddy didn’t love you enough?”

“You wanted a brutal death, I promise you I will deliver,” Ghost face said, you could hear him taking calming breaths though they sounded crackly with the voice changer. “Now, back to our original scheduled program, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

You rolled your eyes, these guys always had the same script, couldn’t they each come up with something new and different? You had seen the Stab movies and you read all the articles about the real-life events, but they always played out the same. You just wanted someone to surprise you for once, shake things up a bit.

“Ready or Not,” you said without hesitation. Since he was so insistent you figured you might as well play along. You still would’ve rather played Monopoly, no one ever wanted to play Monopoly with you.

“Really?” he snorted.

“Okay judgy,” you held up your hand in offense. “First, it’s a great movie. Second, Samara Weaving in a wedding dress with a shotgun. What’s not to love?” You turned to Tara for support. She seemed reluctant but she shrugged, nodding in agreement with you.

“I see why Samantha hates you,” Ghostface changed the subject.

“Sam doesn’t hate me,” you tried defending. Looked at Tara who kind of scrunched up her face and shrugged her shoulders slightly. Your mouth fell open, you knew Sam didn’t necessarily like you, but you didn’t think she hated you.

“After all, you got her sister killed.” Your face fell, your eyes widened as you looked at Tara. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to kill you first. She can watch as I carve you up, ripping out your organs. Do you still want me to carve out your heart and deliver it to her?”

“I’ll kill you myself before you ever get close enough to hurt her,” your said through gritted teeth.

“One more question,” his voice was deadly calm. “Do you think you can make it to the door before my blade pierces your gut?”

A chill shot down your spine, you stopped breathing. You subconsciously reached for Tara, grabbing her hand, and running towards the door. You caught a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye, you yanked Tara, pulling her in front of you and pushing her towards the door, turning just in time to catch Ghostface’s hand as he tried to stab you.

You heard Tara scream. Your eyes darted toward her, cowering in the corner by the door. You had to focus on the cloaked figure in front of you trying to stab you in the heart though. “Go!” you shouted towards Tara, pushing against the hand that held the knife with as much strength as you could. “Go!”

Something slammed into Ghostface’s head, shattering on impact. Ghostface’s hand slipped, you used the distraction to push him off of you. His knife still managing to slice your bicep.

You stood looking down at Ghostface, seeing your blender shattered on the ground next to him. “My blender?” you turned to Tara.

“Let’s go!” she ignored your question, grabbing your hand to pull you to the door.

Ghostface kicked out his feet, tripping you. You caught yourself against the wall, pushing off just as Ghostface brought down his knife, impaling it in the wall where your head had just been.

He pulled on the knife a few times trying to unstick it from the wall. You grabbed the back of his head, slamming it against the wall before delivering a sift to his stomach.

You didn’t get the chance to beat him even more because Tara gripped your hand tight, throwing open the door and yanking you out. She practically dragged you down the steps, not releasing her grip on you even when you were outside.

Tara called Sam as you were ushered off to the hospital. You hated hospitals but Tara insisted, she wouldn’t stop fussing over the cut on your arm. You tried to tell her it was just a scratch, but the continuous bleeding made it hard to argue your defense.

You were sitting on one of the beds in the ER as a nurse finished stitching up the cut. Tara hadn’t left your side, holding onto your hand the entire ride to the hospital and through the entire process of the stitches. You kept giving her a reassuring smile, wanting her to relax slightly, you loved her, but you were starting to lose feeling in your fingers.

The nurse had just finished wrapping your stitches when Sam swung open the curtain. She didn’t say anything, in one motion she stepped forward, engulfing Tara in a hug who instantly returned it. You took the opportunity to flex your fingers of your now free hand, watching as the color slowly returned to them.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Sam questioned, pulling away from the hug to look over Tara, making sure there were no new injuries. “What were you doing there? Why did you go somewhere alone? Why weren’t you in class? I should have never left you. We should have never left our apartment.”

“Sam. Sam. Sam!” Tara tried getting her sister’s attention. After the third time Sam finally stopped rambling. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she reassured her sister. “I’m sorry, we thought we’d be safe together.”

“Look how well that turned out.” Sam shot a glare at you.

You flinched at her stare. You didn’t usually get bothered by Sam’s jabs at you or her glares or her general dislike of you. This time was different though. This time she was right. It was all your fault. You antagonized Ghostface the night before, then you went off to be alone with her sister, where you once again antagonized Ghostface. Tara would have been safe if it wasn’t for you.

“Hey!” Tara snapped; she moved in front of you as if she was defending you from her own sister. “It’s not her fault. She saved me.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, running her hand through her hair. She clenched her jaw, flicking a look from Tara to glaring at you. You kept your head down, looking anywhere but at Sam. You tried making yourself as small as you could as you hid behind Tara.

“Let’s go home,” Tara said, leaving no room for argument.

Without looking, Tara reached back, interlocking her fingers with yours. She pulled you to your feet and led you past Sam. You smiled softly at how protective Tara got against Sam when it came to you. You were happy Sam didn’t try to stop Tara; you weren’t sure what you would do if you weren’t allowed to go back to their place with them. You didn’t want to be alone, and you certainly had no desire to leave Tara after the attack.

When you got back to their apartment Tara didn’t say hi to anyone else. Everyone was seated in the living room, ready to greet you guys but quickly fell silent as Tara brushed past them, dragging you to her room. You got comfortable in her bed, Tara instantly curling into you, resting her head on your chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere.” You kissed the top of her head. “I promise.” She tightened her hold around you as you two quietly drifted off to sleep.

[bbjobo]

Hello hi it’s me, your resident entertainment PR enthusiast. I simply need to talk about the sequel announcement. This is all speculation, but I work in entertainment-adjacent communications and once convinced a household name celebrity to stay at my event to do select press interviews when his wife was going to go into labor at literally any minute, so I like to think I've got a pretty good sense of all of this.

So buckle in, because I'm about how actually fantastic this rollout was, because I’d wager they’ve been planning this since the premiere. 

RWRB came out truly smack-dab in the middle of the actors' strike. We all know just how much press we must have missed out on, because the strike started before promo would have kicked off in earnest. And when it was finally over in November, the actors are potentially out of contract for promotion, and that’s not even taking into consideration that the holidays are coming up and the six weeks from American Thanksgiving to New Year’s is truly a black hole of press. So this little movie has to rely almost entirely on fan reaction and word of mouth to hit because they’re so limited in what they can do for promo. And it IS a hit! Records are broken! Comments for an extended version (which, ok Matthew we get it, does not exist) and a sequel start almost immediately.

The marketing team makes the most of what they’ve got: they’re keeping up the official character accounts, they’re dropping deleted scenes and BTS. We get cornettos! The fireside scene! Bloopers! Notably absent? Brownstone Thanksgiving. We’ve seen BTS photos of it, we know it exists. Thanksgiving 2023 would have been a great time to drop it, but they don’t. This is the approximate point at which my own personal sequel speculation began. After the strike ends, the posting pace slows considerably but it’s still consistent. It’s just enough to keep it in your mind but not enough to be like “why are you still posting this much about it?” And this continues into 2024.

On the contracting side, conversations were likely actively happening at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised if negotiations picked up literally as soon as the strike ended. The producers would have had that time to get Matthew and Casey back on board and be fully prepped and ready to move on to contracting actors the minute they could. It’d be a shot in the dark to try to guess when these were finalized, but at some point between November 9 and May 9, yeah, they’re in.

But whew, Nicholas is booked and BUSY. Mary & George drops internationally March 5, The Idea of You closes SXSW on March 17, two weeks later M&G starts airing in the US and Canada, and a month after that, TIOY is available for streaming (and limited theatrical release, which is another whole post), and in between all those premieres, he’s everywhere. He’s criss-crossing the country (and tbh the Atlantic Ocean) for all of these appearances, truly going non-stop. The pacing of the premieres makes it nearly impossible to squeeze in another project announcement, and if they had, it would have been a bigger part of every interview he did after, which is something his own team would be working to balance. Plus between TIOY and RWRB, Prime would have been pitching stories against themselves. Better to let him finish out his other promotional appearances and then switch over.

At the same time, we’ve got awards and red carpet season starting. At nearly every red carpet appearance not for their own projects, both Taylor and Nick are asked about a sequel. If an interviewer is given enough time, they ask about a sequel. Sure, fans comment about a sequel on every vaguely rwrb social post from an official account, but the press asking about a sequel felt like a lot to me. Everyone always gave the same vague answer, that they’d be up for it if the story is right, that they don’t know but would be happy to. (Except one time, Nick does slip up and give an answer that feels a little more definitive here where he says “conversations are being had” all the way back in late February/early March). Press are asking the question so consistently that it felt like if it wasn’t happening, PR teams would have put the sequel on the do not ask list.

Then Prime starts actually ramping up on a FYC campaign for the movie. I'm gonna be honest, I was so surprised. It's a rom com, the odds of a rom com getting any sort of awards recognition is so slim, but I thought, "ok, sure, use FYC as a way to get the promo boost they need for an announcement of whatever's coming next." And then I looked up and Variety has picked it as the winner in the best television movie category, which is blowing my mind. The other categories they're submitting in are stacked and I think a nomination beyond television movie will be a long shot, but again, it's big for it to even be considered. And if they're being talked about, that means Prime's gotta put out a great showing for their FYC campaign.

Which brings us to this week. We start off on Monday with Nick at the Met Gala referring to Uma as his mother-in-law. Incredible. Love it. Wednesday and Thursday are a one-two punch of a FYC event and fan event, and the gang’s all here. At the FYC, we get the industry side of things: new portraits and interviews with Deadline, process talk, etc. Because this little rom com is actually doing pretty well and beating the odds? Knowing what we know now, the PR teams spent this week pre-briefing the press on the sequel announcement. Notable (at least to my knowledge) the sequel question doesn't get asked at the FYC event. Because the press already knows it's coming.

Now, on to yesterday. They do a fan screening and Q&A, and they literally roll out the red carpet. Nine months after the premiere and exactly six months after the strike ended, they get the gang back together with fans of the movie, who they relied on so heavily during the strike to help make the movie a success. The tagline on the screen’s giant promo image has been updated to specifically thank fans for “making history with us.” The moderator for the Q&A is the same person who interviewed Taylor and Nick at the beginning of FYC campaign season, their first joint interview since GQ (right? pretty sure. it's all a blur tbh). And at the end of the Q&A, minutes before 12 AM ET, when the embargo on the press release would have lifted, they make the announcement not to press, but to the fans. The fans who loved the book, who watched it over and over, who spread the word about the movie to help make it one of Prime’s top three rom coms OF ALL TIME.

It’s just… an absolute masterclass in how to execute a major announcement that embraces the fans in a time where fandom and interaction between creators and fans can be an absolute minefield. Prime saw the opportunity to lean into the fannishness of it all and they took it and it was a slam dunk.

So where do we go from here? IDK but here’s some unconnected thoughts in list form like Alex would want.

The book’s 5th anniversary is next Wednesday, the 14th.

Casey’s been posting about working on [redacted] for months at this point, which is almost certainly the screenplay

Nick mentioned needing to be back in the UK for filming soon

They would probably like to release this in US election off-cycle years, so that means 2025 or 2027 (and 2027 is too far away). 2026 would be less bad since it’s a midterm election, but still.

Filming could reasonably start sooner rather than later, and even without an unfinished script

I guess we’re back on content watch for blond hair and BTS pictures

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending: A Chaconne Story (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Five years after leaving your heart in New York to chase your dreams in Vienna, you're finally a rising star in the classical music world. After scoring your biggest gig yet- a soloist job for a summer concert series in LA- you discover that the past isn’t as distant as you’d thought.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Hello friends, welcome to the Chaconne sequel, The Lark Ascending! This story is very near and dear to my heart and I’m so excited to be posting it. The inspiration for this fic is from one of my favorite pieces of the same name, The Lark Ascending. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to let me know what you think!

Being a musician was all about sacrifice; you had to be willing to get to the top by any means necessary. You couldn’t just give it your all, it had to be more than that. But what happens when that wasn’t enough? What happens when you have it all just within reach, but no matter how hard you try you can’t quite get there? Those were the questions you had asked yourself when you first moved to Vienna. It seemed like no matter what you tried, how many hours you practiced, it wasn’t right. There was something missing. You did everything you should have, you moved to Vienna (although that wasn’t entirely your idea to begin with), you performed night after night with your blood, sweat, and tears, all while healing a broken heart.

It felt like you had all of the pieces to the puzzle in front of you, but they didn’t fit together. Or rather, you didn’t fit. There was something missing, and no amount of practicing could fix that. There was a small voice in the back of your mind whispering that there was a reason you didn’t make it into the Manhattan Symphony. Agatha would always say how much progress you were making, how much potential you had, that there was promise, but you wondered just how true that was; how much of it she really meant. You had been doing a lot of thinking on your relationship with Agatha lately.

The first few months after you moved to Vienna, you couldn’t even say her name without crying. There were reminders of her everywhere you turned. The coffee shop near your apartment, the rehearsal hall where you spent most of your time, every park you strolled through. You’d stumble upon small things, like a review for a new play, or interesting theories on post-modern music, and subconsciously want to share them with her. A beautiful sunny day, the flowers blooming in the ground, the wind whistling in the distance, the way the dew sparkled on the grass after a thunderstorm, everything was Agatha. You knew they called Vienna “The City of Dreams”, but you never anticipated all of your fantasies to revolve around the same woman. How were you supposed to get closure when she was thousands of miles away?

Your solace came, unsurprisingly, in the form of music. Vienna was the birthplace of some of classical music’s great forefathers, and there was inspiration all around you. Performing with Natasha and her chamber orchestra was like a breath of fresh air, and with every performance you slowly found yourself again. It wasn’t entirely true when they said time heals all wounds, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heal from the scar of leaving Agatha, but with every month that passed you found it hurt less and less. You often thought you would always love her, but this was for the best, you knew it was.

Eventually, it felt like everything was falling into place. Performing with a prestigious group that featured world renowned soloists like Wanda Maximoff meant you were able to make the right connections. You worked harder than you ever thought possible, and channeled your grief into your music to push you forward. It paid off in the end, and with Natasha and Wanda’s help you eventually entered a rising soloist contest.

Getting over your fears of inadequacy was another story. You knew that the one thing that was missing was your ability to believe that you were good enough; that you had always been good enough. No amount of practicing could convince you of that either, it had to come within yourself.

In the days leading up to the competition, you had a breakdown in front of Wanda that changed the way you saw yourself.

You set your violin down on the piano, ignoring Wanda’s concerned glance in your direction. “I think I need to drop out of this competition. I’m nowhere near ready.”

Wanda frowned, looking over the sheet music you had handed her earlier. “What are you talking about? You have everything memorized. You sound really good.”

“I don’t feel ready,” you argued, staring at the floor, trying to ignore the tightening of your chest at the thought of competing that weekend.

“No one ever feels ready for these sorts of things,” Wanda pointed out, and you knew she was trying to help, but you weren’t in the mood to hear it.

“I’ve never had the best luck with these sorts of things,” you reminded her. “I think I need to accept that this kind of dream isn’t feasible for me.”

“Why do you keep getting in your own way?” Wanda questioned, moving the sheet music to the side, her tone curious.

“I’m not getting in my own way,” you politely informed her. “I’m being realistic.”

“Nothing about this, about what we do is realistic,” Wanda corrected you, standing up from her seat. “I never thought I’d make it as a soloist, but I had to believe in myself enough to try. If you can’t even give yourself that, then you’re right; this isn’t feasible for you.”

Her words sat with you for a moment, and as you took it in, you felt the tightening in your chest begin to break until you could breathe again. She was right, you knew it deep down. As silly as it sounded, you had to give yourself a chance.

That ended up being the first competition you ever won, much to your surprise and Wanda’s delight.

Things began to look up after that. You slowly entered more competitions, and eventually you made enough of a name for yourself to begin soloing with various orchestras. It was nothing you could have ever imagined in your wildest dreams, but it was real. You did it. In spite of the heartache and pain, you did it all.

The past year proved to be your busiest yet. You had been booked solid with performances across the U.S. with a wide variety of orchestras, and your schedule wasn’t slowing down just yet. You would be spending your summer in Los Angeles, and you were still in disbelief.

If you had told yourself five years ago that you would be the featured artist in residence of the Los Angeles Symphony’s summer season, you would have thought it was a joke. Being the premiere performing symphony on the entire west coast, they had a stellar reputation and drew in huge crowds. Stephen Strange was a legendary conductor who you had always dreamed of getting to work with. It almost felt too good to be true.

You made it to the symphony center a little earlier than you planned, but with the unpredictability of LA traffic you didn’t want to risk being late. All that was on your agenda for the day was a meeting with the CFO of the board, Tony Stark, and a short rehearsal. But, you were hoping to get a quick peak of the concert hall while it was still empty. There weren't many people around this early in the day, but you had little trouble navigating yourself around until you found the backstage door.

The concert hall was pitch black, and you fumbled with the switches backstage before managing to flip on a single stage light. You wouldn’t need anything more than that, surely. Stepping on the stage you looked out at the vast concert hall, which seemed to hold hundreds of empty seats, and you pictured what it would be like to step out to thunderous applause. None of your previous experiences performing as a soloist had ever been for an audience of this size, and you silently came to the realization that the crowd at the Hollywood Bowl would be even larger. A familiar tingle of nerves coursed through your system as tiny thoughts of doubt twirled around your brain. Were you ready for this?

Absentmindedly tapping your fingers against the music stand at the podium, your eyes swept across the room. A quick glance at the schedule confirmed that no one from the orchestra would be here until later in the evening, so you’d have the place entirely to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you unpacked your violin and began to tune, taking note of how the sound bounced all around the walls, and gradually felt yourself relax. It was funny, you mused as you lowered your violin, how easy it was for you to discredit how much you had accomplished over the past few years. You weren’t just some conductor’s assistant anymore, you were a professional violinist, and a good one at that. It was unclear if your hesitation to accept your success came from the fear of being considered overly cocky, or if it derived from years of low self esteem and an inferiority complex.

Taking another long, calming breath, you swept those thoughts aside. Raising your violin, you rolled your shoulders back, turning so you were facing the front of the hall. It would be foolish to play the entire piece hours before rehearsal, as you would be wasting energy that you would desperately need. Performing was a lot like running a marathon, you couldn’t blow through everything you had in the first few miles and be left with nothing for the end. No, you needed to be intentional with every movement of your bow and shift of your fingers up and down the fingerboard.

The Lark Ascending was a majestic sixteen minute piece that was filled with swooping melodies as the violin sang higher and higher with every measure. Vaughan Williams was a composer during the late Romantic Era, crossing over into the Contemporary, and he had been inspired by a poem of the same name written by English author George Meredith. Vaughan Williams was able to create such stirring imagery with the notes on the page, that it was easy to get lost as you were playing and get transported to this dreamy, astral realm. Filled with a gorgeous blend of vivid colors and clouds, you felt like the lark Vaughan Williams was depicting, soaring through the clear skies.

The piece was filled with vulnerable cadences where you played without the orchestra’s accompaniment acting as a safety net in case you fell. You had to be completely sure of yourself, a hint of hesitation of your fingers or incomplete bow changes would ruin this picturesque painting. Rolling your bow to the frog, you internalized what you wanted your first note to sound like, settling on working on your opening phrase. Placing your fingers on the string, you closed your eyes and began. Your introduction was a stunning cadenza, with the tempo gradually increasing as you began your opening runs, your fingers gliding across the strings.

There was freedom with the tempo, allowing you to take your time and savor each note, your vibrato ringing through the hall. As you climbed higher and higher into the stratosphere it almost felt like you were the lark, ascending into the open air. Performing like this had unlocked a new sense of freedom you always yearned for; the countless hours of practicing turned into an almost effortless sight to any audience. It was as natural as breathing, and each exhale you took matched the strokes of your bow. Nearing the end of the phrase, you tried a new stylistic technique as you shifted your fingers gradually down the fingerboard, making note to try it again later at rehearsal.

As your bow stopped moving you made a few other mental notes of where you could add more vibrato, or improve your dynamics, when all of the lights in the hall turned on, snapping you out of your inner thoughts. The abrupt sound of loud clapping is what startled you the most, as you thought no one else would be using the stage until tonight. You turned around to find the stage door was still ajar, just as you left it, but you noticed a figure lingering in the shadows, and you nearly jumped at the sight. The building was secure enough that you weren’t going to be murdered, right?

“Can I help you?” You asked as politely as possible, setting your violin in its case.

“I have to say, dear, you certainly know how to leave a girl wanting more,” A familiar voice rang out, amusement clear from their tone as they stepped into the light. “You must have had an excellent teacher.”

Agatha Harkness leaned against the door frame, hands folded across her chest. Her dark hair was splayed against her shoulders in their usual messy curls, and you were surprised to find her in more casual attire consisting of a pair of black jeans and a lightweight button-up sheer white shirt. She arched an eyebrow at your shocked expression

You felt your heart stop as you stared into a familiar pair of blue eyes. “Agatha?”

Her lips twisted upwards, smirking, a familiar glint in her eyes. “Surprised to see me?”

Time stood still as you were frozen in place, millions of thoughts dancing around your brain. You were unsure if it had been five seconds or five hours, all you could do was try to remember to breathe. Agatha was here, but how was she here? Were you imagining it? It wouldn’t have been the first time, as you’d lost track of the number of appearances she had made in your dreams over the years. They were all of slightly different variations, but would all end in the same heartbreaking fashion of reconciling with the conductor and feeling a sense of happiness you’d long forgotten…until you inevitably woke up alone.

Blinking, you took a timid step towards her, your hands uncomfortably folding behind your back. “Agatha, what are you doing here?”

Ignoring your question, she walked over to your violin case, and, despite your protests, she picked up your violin, examining it. “I see someone got a new instrument.” Gently turning it, you watched her trace the scroll, her fingers dancing around the pegs. “A shame, really, I was quite fond of your old one. But this is nice too, I suppose. What is it? Italian? German?“

“Swiss, actually,” you lightly corrected her, holding out your hands, signaling for her to hand it over.

As she disregarded your wishes for a second time, you felt a familiar pang of annoyance at how stubborn she could be. Picking up your bow, she raised your violin, setting the bow on the string, before releasing and producing a G-major chord. As the chord echoed throughout the hall you relished in the sound. Agatha had rarely used your violin before. She had always insisted that her talents remained with conducting and the piano, but you recalled a few memories of convincing her to play a scale or two on your violin.

You were normally extremely protective over your instrument, often refusing to allow anyone else to even hold her. However, you recollected, it had never been like that with Agatha. There had been some deep, unspoken level of trust that you had never felt with anyone else.

“Impressive,” Agatha remarked, appearing to admire the sound quality, before finally handing it back to you. Her hands briefly brushed against yours as you wrapped your hands around the neck of your violin, and it was as if you had been zapped by lightning.

But as quickly as the sensation overcame you, it was gone. Agatha retracted her hands, deep blue eyes boring into yours with the same intensity she always seemed to carry.

Clearing your throat, you broke eye contact, feeling the weight of her gaze still on you. “You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”

The conductor released a thoughtful hum, as you watched her move towards the edge of the stage. “Now is that any way to greet the Los Angeles Symphony’s guest conductor, dear?”

Guest conductor? Your face scrunched up, surprise coloring your features. None of your recent internet searches of the conductor revealed she would be in Los Angeles for any upcoming performances. Now, you weren’t exactly stalking Agatha, that would be creepy. You just liked to occasionally see what she was up to. That was normal, right?

“Tony never mentioned a guest conductor when I spoke with him earlier,” you pointed out, leaving out your internal ramblings as you were sure Agatha would get far too much pleasure from hearing you had looked her up.

“Well, it appears that Stephen contracted a rather nasty stomach bug, and I just happened to be in the area.” Agatha explained, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Now, you weren’t claiming to be an expert geographer, but something in your gut told you that she was lying. “So you just happened to be in California when you live on the East Coast?”

“Something like that,” Agatha tossed out, teasing you ever so slightly, and you scoffed.

She had always been elusive; that had been part of her charm. You never entirely knew what to expect when you were dealing with Agatha Harkness, and that used to excite you. She often reminded you of a raging hurricane, with her occasional fits of anger and passion all mingling together like the waves crashing against the shore. There had been a gentler side to her, of course, located in the eye of the storm. That had been the Agatha you were most familiar with, underneath all of the sarcastic quips and horrible temper was the woman you had once fallen in love with.

Nothing about her had ever been direct, which nearly drove you mad. But the subtlety of how she offered her affection more than made up for it. Nearly every night she insisted on driving you home, and you had quickly learned she detested the subway. She had been horrified when you had revealed you almost never cooked, so she made a point to teach you her favorite recipes (while only gently mocking your lack of skill in the kitchen in the process). It was clear she hadn’t been used to expressing her emotions, but then again you had never been an expert in that field either. Still, she loved you in her own way, and deep down a small part of you knew she loved you enough to let you go all those years ago.

But standing here now, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was really doing here. Did she know you were set to premiere with the orchestra? There was a fleeting thought where you dared to wonder if she came here for you, but you knew that was too foolish to even imagine. It had been so long without any word from her, why would she come to you now? You had performed with a few other orchestras in the States over the past year, and there had been a few brief moments where you hoped she would show, but she never did.

She was looking pleased, far too pleased for your liking. A rather dark thought crossed your mind, and you shot her an incredulous look. “Oh my god, did you do something to Stephen?”

Agatha let out a loud cackle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m a conductor, dear, not a homicidal witch. What exactly do you think I could have done, beat him up with my baton?”

That painted a rather interesting image in your head, but you frowned at her, unamused. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing here, are you?”

“You always were a fast learner, darling,” Agatha quietly remarked as she took a step towards you, the once familiar pet name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I must say, I was surprised to learn you had selected Vaughan Williams.”

“Why?” You questioned, noting how she slowly inched her way closer to you.

“I suppose I assumed you’d pick something with more flare. Tchaikovsky perhaps, or Sibelius.”

Shrugging, you vaguely called to mind one of the first things Agatha had ever said to you. “I don’t know, I guess I always preferred something more subdued, you know?”

You watched her eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint, and it was clear she knew what you were doing. “Something more subdued, hm? Not a fan of the dramatics?”

“I think that’s much more your genre of choice than mine,” You retorted, feeling the air in the room begin to thin as she circled you like a shark.

Agatha stepped in even closer, and her fingers reached up, playing with the loose strands of hair that fell around your shoulders. You felt your body react to her touch, a sensation you’d long forgotten. “You cut your hair,” she murmured, so low you could barely hear her.

“You haven’t seen me in over five years,” you pointed out, feeling a wave of nerves hit you over having her so close. “I’m sure my hair’s changed a lot since then.”

“It looked longer in Chicago,” she mused, still twirling the strands around, and you were stunned. Chicago? Your most recent performance was with the Chicago Philharmonic last month, and that would mean that…was she there?

“How would you know that?” You pressed, and her fingers ceased their movements, as you searched her eyes for a glimpse into what she was implying.

You could feel millions of unanswered questions dancing between the two of you, the tension thick in the air. Agatha’s hands abruptly dropped your hair as if she had been burned, and you briefly yearned for her touch again.

“My assistant showed me a recording of the performance on their phone,” Agatha explained, folding her hands against her chest. “Your stage presence certainly has improved, but you were late coming out of your cadenza.”

Ignoring the slight dig, your brain honed in on what she said prior to that. Her assistant. You couldn’t help but ask yourself if she had kept the same assistant since you left. A brief, but intrusive, thought made you wonder if the dynamic between Agatha and this new assistant was similar to the one you once shared. Did she call them the same terms of endearments she had bestowed upon you? Did she introduce them to her favorite old movies that you used to beg her to turn on? Did she go out of her way to fluster them, as she once took pleasure in doing to you?

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t as if you were together anymore, Agatha was free to do what she liked and to see who she pleased. You had a few short-lived, meaningless flings while living abroad, so it would be hypocritical to judge her. But, there was a voice screaming deep inside you, questioning how special your time together truly was if she could have replaced you so easily?

“Right, your assistant.” You tried your best to keep the bitterness from seeping through, but could practically taste the venom in your mouth.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, but refrained from commenting on your change in tone. Instead, she turned to walk down the stairs of the stage, leading to the aisle. “I only heard the last few bars of your cadenza, and it isn’t terrible, but it could certainly be better. Now, I don’t have my score on me, but it sounds like you’re losing too much momentum as you come down the fingerboard.” She sat a few rows back from the stage, crossing her legs together. “Could you take it again from your last run, and try to make your decrescendo last longer? We want to elongate these phrases to draw the audience in.”

There had been a time when you would have done anything Agatha had asked of you without question. Your daily practice sessions with the conductor had been grueling at times, as she was incredibly nitpicky, and had an impeccably well-trained ear. Any missed entrance or a note that was even just a hair flat she would pick up on. You had worked with a lot of gifted musicians in the past, but none of them could dream of coming close to Agatha Harkness. She wasn’t just a conductor, she possessed the rare ability to take the notes off the page and transform them into these brilliant, colorful works of art.

You used to live for her praise, and would often go out of your way to receive it. It had been your worst fear to disappoint her somehow, even if it meant sacrificing your own dreams to please her. But things were different now, you weren’t her assistant anymore. The burning desire to gain her approval still lingered somewhere within you, but it wasn’t as strong anymore. You knew that you would be okay without it, as you had to learn to live without her.

Giving her a pointed look, you decided to test the waters. “You do realize you’re not my boss anymore, right? I don’t have to just do whatever you say.”

Agatha looked momentarily stunned, and you could practically watch the gears turning in her head. “If I recall correctly, you used to enjoy having me tell you what to do.”

Looking down, you forced yourself to not remember just how much you used to enjoy that. Clearing your throat, you thought of something to fire back with. “Well, they do say memory is the first thing to go.”

“Funny, dear.” Agatha deadpanned, but as you lifted your head you were able to see the corners of her lips were turned upwards. “But I’m not paying you to just stand there and look pretty.”

“You’re actually not paying me at all, the orchestra is.”

“Technicalities,” Agatha said dismissively, waving her hand to signal you to hurry up. “And as you just so kindly pointed out, I’m not getting any younger. Any day now.”

It was clear Agatha wasn’t going to let up, and you weren’t in the mood to keep arguing with her. Grabbing your violin, you gently rested it under your arm. “Should I start at my last entrance?”

Agatha had a thoughtful expression on her face, and you couldn’t help but focus on her fingers tapping out indecipherable rhythms on the top of the seats in front of her. “Hmmm, let’s take it from the top. Do you need your sheet music?”

Shaking your head, you raised your violin. Placing your bow on the string, you tried to rid yourself of the nerves you could feel start to overtake you. Your first few notes rang through the hall as you tried to perfectly time each shift of your fingers and vibrato. Everything had to be fluid; any jerky bow changes or careless finger placements would risk destroying the exquisite illusion you were painting. Some violinists would claim the most challenging pieces to perform were the ones with incredibly fast passages that were often impossible to master. Your brain had to be a few steps ahead of your nimble fingers so you could anticipate what the next notes would be, and one small slip up would send you tumbling down.

While you agreed that exuberant pieces were extremely difficult, you would argue that the hardest pieces to perform as a soloist were the more melodic ones. The pieces filled with stunning melodies, warmed up by gorgeous vibrato. They weren’t packed with thrilling runs up and down the fingerboard, instead they were notated with sweet, heartbreakingly beautiful lines that required you to pour your heart out. Yes, it was scary to have to nail a few hundred notes coming out one after another, but the hardest feat to master on the violin was the ability to play achingly slow, glorious passages. It was to fully captivate an audience with every elegant swish of your bow and dance of your fingers on the strings.

You were so swept up in the notes you had memorized in your brain, you barely heard the soft creaking of the stairs leading up to the stage. There was a particularly bare section halfway through your cadenza, where you were so high up the fingerboard that you needed to extend your elbow to allow your fingers to reach. It wasn’t good enough to merely play the right notes; you had to be confident your left hand was pressing down on the correct spot on the string, while your right hand held the bow but didn’t press too hard down. If you applied too much pressure when you released the bow, it would produce a screeching noise on the string.

Continuing on, you kept your fingers on your bow relaxed, but you could gradually feel your shoulders begin to tighten. This happened on occasions when you were feeling particularly nervous or antsy, and it was usually difficult for you to relax them. As you tried to refocus your breathing and attempt to get your body to calm down, you could feel a familiar presence lurking in the background. Even though you could not see her, you knew she was right behind you. You had found yourself in this exact scenario with the conductor too many times to count. She would always promise to stay in her seat while you were playing for her, but would almost always end up on the stage within mere moments.

As if she could sense you about to stop playing, you heard her voice ring out. “Don’t stop now, dear. I’m just observing something.”

You wanted to turn around and ask if she was observing your ass, but you knew she would merely retort with something to make you blush furiously in response. So you kept going, trying not to picture what she was doing.

As the line slowly started to take you down the fingerboard with every new phrase, you put all of your attention into your intonation. You could hear her take yet another small step towards you, to the point where she was nearly pressed up against you.

“You need to relax.” Agatha uttered, so close to whispering in your ear that you reflexively shivered. She put one hand on your shoulder, rubbing gentle circles. “Your posture is giving me horrible flashbacks.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to remember the correct notes when she was closer to you than she had been in so long. Her other hand rested on your hip, the sensation almost causing you to drop your violin. It had been so long since you last felt her touch, and you could just barely hold onto the melody in your memory. A small voice in the back of your brain begged for more, but you ignored it.

“Relax.” Agatha repeated, her voice firmer this time, and you felt your body obey her command. Your shoulders finally went down to their correct position, but her hands stayed on you. “There we go, good girl.”

Your brain buzzed at her words, feeling your cheeks burn and you were thankful she couldn’t see the effect she still had on you. As you reached the end of the cadenza, you slowly lowered your instrument, trying your best not to fall over from the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “So, what did you think?”

Using the hand situated on your hip, Agatha swiftly twisted you around to face her, moving the hand she had on your shoulder down to help secure your violin. You stumbled just ever so slightly, but she steadied you, her grip tightening on your waist.

“Easy there,” Agatha lightly teased, and you thought you saw her eyes hungrily rake up and down your body. “Have you always been this jumpy, or are you just excited to see me?”

There was so much you wanted to say, but there was a lump in your throat that grew bigger with every tug on your waist, drawing you impossibly closer to the woman your brain refused to let go of. She was infuriatingly high-handed, extremely egotistical, and was single-handedly the most stubborn individual you had ever encountered. She was obsessive, and aggressive, and had her eyes always been so blue?

“Agatha…” you managed to breathe out, desperately trying to clear your head and regain some sense of self control, but your brain felt slippery.

The combination of the heat from the bright stage lights and the intensely burning gaze from the conductor had you feeling more unsteady on your feet as the seconds slowly ticked by. You’d spent the past year performing in sold out concert halls, yet you were never more nervous than you currently felt being face to face with Agatha Harkness.

It was unclear how long you stood there, staring at each other. You knew Agatha well enough to know she had something to say, it was written all over her face. But she remained silent, one hand situated on your waist and the other gently holding your violin in place. There was something about the way she was looking at you, as if she thought she’d never see you again.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something, a loud buzzing noise began to ring through the hall. The moment was broken as she released you, sighing as she reached to her back pocket, revealing her cell phone.

Squinting at the screen, and you suddenly remembered the difficulty she had of reading off her phone without her glasses, she frowned. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s my assistant.”

You took a step backwards, feeling burned. “Right. Your assistant. Best not keep them waiting.”

Agatha gave you a brief, perplexed glance before answering her phone. “What do you want now?” Loudly sighing, you watched as she closed her eyes, clearly vexed. “I already told you, for the millionth time, it’s the box in my study.” Pausing, as she listened to her assistant reply, she held up a finger to you, signaling for you to wait for her. “For the last time, no, nothing else. Just the box in my study, the singular box. Make sure Scratchy is ready to go as well.”

It appeared the assistant had more questions, as you watched Agatha pinch the bridge of her nose in agitation. “No, no, no, stop,” she then paused, and looked at you again. “I have to deal with this, I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

She stormed away without another word, squawking orders over the phone, and you were left in the aftershock of the earthquake that was Agatha Harkness.

Next Chapter

[purple-plum-petals]

⊱ TWST Dorm Leaders’ Reactions to Overhearing Yuu call them “Hot” ⊰ || Multiple Character Scenario

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮      Character(s): Riddle Rosehearts, Trey Clover (mentioned), Cater Diamond (mentioned), Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper (mentioned), Vil Schoeinheit, Idia Shroud, Ortho Shroud (mentioned), Malleus Draconia      Reader Type: Human, Ramshackle Prefect (Gender-Neutral Pronouns)      Warning(s): Nothing! I also always use the Japanese TWST Terms (Dorm Leader instead of Housewarden, Madols instead of Thaumarks, etc.) in my writing.      Genre: Scenario, Fluff, Slight Angst (?), Mutual Pining (Romantic Relationship)      Word Count: ~850 words      Scenario: When you had asked your companion out loud, “Man, why does your dorm leader have to be so hot?”, you had no idea that said dorm leader was nearby and overheard everything you just said.      Author’s Note: This is a small sequel piece to my TWST Characters’ Reactions to Yuu Calling Their Dorm Leader “Hot” simply because I thought it would be cute to do a follow-up on how each of the dorm leaders would react to Yuu admitting they found them attractive. I decided to keep this fluffy and make it so the dorm leaders in turn also found you attractive just to keep things fairly simple. I hope you all like it – thank you so much for your support! 🥰

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Becomes a flustered mess at your words, deciding against walking into the room and interrupting your conversation with the person they had been looking for. Their face is red and they feel as though they’re going to implode as their mind replays what you said over and over again. You… really think they’re that attractive? Well, at least they know the feeling is mutual.

·       Riddle, Azul, Idia

Well, now isn’t that interesting… He smirks slightly when he overhears the conversation you were having with the dorm mate he had been looking for. He was in a bad mood before, unhappy he had to painstakingly walk around campus to find the person he was looking for, but your words help with boosting his mood (and his ego). Waits for a moment before making himself known, acting as though he didn’t just overhear you call him hot.

·       Leona

Immediately starts smiling when he overhears your conversation and, with no hesitation and absolutely no shame, rushes into the room and gives you the biggest hug you’ve gotten in quite some time. Was it rude to eavesdrop and interrupt your conversation? Maybe… but he just couldn��t wait to tell you how much he likes you, too!

·       Kalim

Is fully aware of how good-looking he is and wishes you would have said so with a bit more tact, but still finds his heart skipping a beat slightly at your words despite himself. Takes a moment to compose himself before making himself known, acting as though he hadn’t overheard everything you had said. He’d certainly bring up what you said in the future when you two are able to have a… private discussion together. He’s not one to bring up such things in public since he knows that the pressure of other people involved could ruin what would usually be a nice moment.

·       Vil

Oh? He doesn’t quite understand what “hot” means in this context but, from your tone alone, he believes that it is most likely a compliment. He’ll need to ask someone later about what exactly that word refers to when referencing someone. Perhaps you were talking about his iconic green-flamed magic? That would be what made the most sense, at least in his eyes.

·       Malleus

Even despite knowing how you feel about him and that you at least find him visually appealing, he still doesn’t try to ask you out. He doesn’t feel as though he’s enough for you; his problems with his self-worth put a slight hindrance on your potential relationship with one another. You’ll definitely have to be the one to make the first move; that or Ortho might have to step in which probably isn’t what either of you two want.

·       Idia

Doesn’t make a move, not because of self-worth issues, but rather because he has no clue what to do. He’s never really experienced having a crush on someone, let alone someone having a crush on him in return. Tries to discreetly gather information on what to do from Cater and Trey, but they very quickly catch on (poor guy lmao). Thankfully, they give him pretty good advice on what to do; you’ll probably be invited to a private tea party soon so you two can talk about potentially changing your relationship with one another.

·       Riddle

Doesn’t make a move because making the first move would leave him in a vulnerable position and, well... he doesn’t like the thought of that possibility. What if you just thought he was attractive and that was it? Plenty of people have complimented his appearance while not necessarily finding his company enjoyable (not that he entirely blamed them). He’ll just step up his flirting game and hope you eventually break and ask him out to which he, after some of his usual teasing, would agree to give the relationship a shot.

·       Leona

Easily makes the first move knowing his feelings will be reciprocated. Why wait around when he knows how you feel about him? They would ask you out on a date, each with varying levels of formality. Azul would have an entire three-course, candle-lit dinner prepared for the two of you at Monstro Lounge, being his usual gentlemanly self. Kalim would try his hand at cooking dinner for the both of you (only to be kicked out of the kitchen by Jamil) before taking you for a ride on his magic carpet. Vil would do something a bit low-key and private considering his career as a model and actor, most likely deciding to have dinner and a nice little self-care date at Pomfiore.

·       Azul, Kalim, Vil

Instead of asking someone else about the meaning of your words, he would decide to ask you directly what you meant when you said he was “hot” as well as apologize for unintentionally eavesdropping on your conversation. Oh, so you weren’t referring to his fire magic but rather his appearance? He can’t help but smirk at your bold declaration and tell you that he, too, finds you to be quite attractive. He’ll definitely start properly courting you now that he knows your feelings toward each other are mutual.

Malleus

[xoxoavenger]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! 🎁🎈🎂🎉🎊 I loved Try Me (Matt Murdock x Reader), I was wondering if maybe you could write a sequel? I could see an intimate moment where she’s feeding him the soup she made and taking care of him, potentially with the hilarity of Foggy finding out he’s got two super powered friends

thanks! hopefully this is what you were looking for, I had fun writing it!

Ask Me

pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

word count: 1099

warnings: none

part 1

birthday masterlist main masterlist

"I can't believe you're Daredevil." She mutters as she ladles the soup into a bowl. She made a broth more than a soup because she didn't have time to cut the vegetables, but it'll do the trick. She also didn't know the extent of Matt's injures, and she didn't want him to have trouble eating anything. "Does Foggy know?" She asks as she brings the bowl over to the couch.

"Yes," Matt chuckles, but his teeth are clenched in pain. She kneels next to the couch and she is still shocked by his injuries, even though she's already seen them. He has a large cut across his chest, and resists the urge to touch it.

She watches Matt try to sit up, but he's clearly in too much pain. She puts the soup on the ground in favor of helping him up. She tries not to let her pulse rush as she touches his bare back and bicep, pulling him up gently until he is sitting up enough to eat.

"Here, let's get you some food." She tells him, spooning some broth and then carefully helping him eat some. It's so quiet in the apartment that she swears she can feel her own heart race as she feeds Matt. They're close, and her brain is reeling with the thought of how Matt, and blind man, can be a vigilante.

"I think that's good." Matt groans when they're about three fourths of the way though the bowl. She gets up to put the bowl away and grab a warm, wet cloth.

"How are you Daredevil?" She asks, sinking down to her knees again and beginning to wipe off the blood around his wounds.

"Are you asking if I'm actually blind?" He questions, but he's smiling, so she can tell he's joking. 

"I know you're blind, Matt." She says with a small sigh. She's seen his unfocused eyes too many times to think he was just preteneding. 

"All my other senses are heightened." He tells her, tensing as she begins to wipe a big, deep cut. She hopes that soon her healing food will kick in; she's never seen it help on this level, and she's worried it won't work as well as Matt is hoping it will.

"So, you can hear really good?" She asks, wondering what exactly that means. He shrugs, smiling a little bit.

"And smell, and taste. And feel. I have to have specific sheets because of how sensitive my skin is." He's feeling better, she can tell, and it makes her smile.

"How did figure it out?" She asks quietly. She's had these powers ever since she can remember, but she'd never told anyone and no one ever figured it out either. This is a first, sharing a gift, and she can't help but feel a little scared.

"That your food could heal people?" He clarifies. She almost nods, but then catches herself.

"Yeah," She confirms.

"You asked me what happened again the day after you first gave me the croissant, as if you knew it should have gone away. And I usually have accelerated healing anyway, but not that fast. You wouldn't have known that." He's starting to relax more, and she knows he needs to get some sleep soon.

"You wanna move to the bed?" She asks, putting the cloth down and preparing to move him. Before he can answer, Foggy comes stomping back in.

"So both of my best friends are super heroes?" He yells, throwing the drugstore bag in their general direction. Y/N's eyes widen as Foggy walks to them.

"I am not a super hero." Y/N clarifies.

"I wouldn't classify myself as one either." Matt interjects, a hand out to stop Foggy's rant. It does nothing, and Foggy soldiers on.

"You can feel, hear, and smell things no human should be able to feel, hear, and smell." He points at Matt, who raises an eyebrow. "And you can heal people with your food, that you've been feeding me for months!" Foggy moves to Y/N, and she just shakes her head.

"Have you ever wondered why you haven't gotten sick in months?" She asks, and he just scoffs.

"That proves my point!" He screams. Y/N and Matt shake their heads, Matt smirking.

"Foggy, neither of us are superheroes. You don't need to freak out." Matt tries to calm him down, but Foggy just gets more worked up.

"Are you kidding me? You could be Avengers for all I know!" Foggy grabs the bag that he had thrown and begins to get some of the bandages and Neosporin out to help Matt.

"Oh my God," Y/N groans, rolling her eyes and putting her head in her hands. Honestly, Foggy freaking out was kinda funny, but she isn't sure if he's being serious now or not.

"We're not Avengers, Foggy." Matt chuckles, and Y/N begins to put bandages over Matt's injuries.

"Well I just don't know that, do I?" Foggy looks over at the pot on the stove, walking over there quickly. "What did you make?"

"Just a quick broth. I wanted to get Matt something quick." She tells Foggy as she begins to focus on the task at hand.

"Is this why I haven't gotten paper cuts?" Foggy asks as he ladles a little soup out for himself.

"It doesn't make you skin extra strong, Fog." Matt tells him as she continues bandaging him up. Her hands brushing his skin make Matt want to crawl out of his skin in a good way, which didn't make sense until this very moment.

"Did I hurt you?" Y/N asks softly when he tenses.

"No," He mutters, putting a hand on her wrist to stop her. "It's okay, I think the big ones are taken care of." He just wants to lay down and sleep it off now, but he wants to ask her one more thing.

"Let me help you to your room." She offers, and together, with him leaning on her, they make it to Matt's room.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asks as they sit down. He can feel the heat begin to flush her cheeks, her heart beginning to race. He's worried still that maybe she feels uncomfortable until she responds.

"Working." She thinks she's funny, and Matt chuckles.

"Do you want to go to Josie's with me tomorrow night?" He asks, and she ducks her head and smiles.

"As long as my boss lets me off on time." She says, nudging him with her shoulder.

"I'll talk to him." He tells her, both of them smiling hard enough that their cheeks hurt.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace  @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

[tsaomengde]

The Ones Who Found The City

Ursula K. LeGuin's "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" is a classic short story, and obviously I knew of it, but I'd never actually read it until recently. Well, I finally got around to it, and as many timeless classics do, it got stuck in my brain. This story is my - response? homage? sequel? pale imitation? - to it. I suggest you go and read "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" if you haven't. Not because it's actually required reading for this story - I think it stands on its own more or less okay - but because it is a classic for a reason.

---

Initially, no one is quite certain of what they’ve found when the Animus breaches the next manifold layer.  This is in and of itself expected, of course.  Exploring psychspace is by its very nature an unpredictable venture.  Each of the various infinite layers is unique and bizarre in its own way, reflecting the archetypal underpinnings of an entire species present, past, or future across an infinitude of possible realities.  The crew of the Animus, therefore, has seen things so utterly alien and inexplicable that only the rigors of their training and the care put into their psychic warding saved them from insanity.

It is somewhat disappointing, then, to find that this sub-domain is just a city.  Definitely not Terranic, certainly not, but still following the Terranic modality, with no more than a seven-degree quantum drift.

“Towers,” Thromby says into the recorder as they sit at their post at the nose of the Animus’s command center.  “Following the standard skyscrape pattern.  Unclear if they’re domiciles or business centers or both.  Coastal city, bay appears to be oceanic rather than lake.  Pleasing blend of urbanization with natural setting.”  They glance at Vigil.  “Anything on the lifescope?”

Vigil shakes his head.  “Nothing.  It’s empty.  Totally empty.”

“That’s odd,” Katrina speaks up from the helm.  “The city doesn’t show signs of decay or reclamation by nature.”

“Entropy may not work in the usual way in this sub-domain,” Teasha reminds her.  “The city itself could be the natural growth, reclaiming the artificial countryside.  We’ve seen things like that before.”

Thromby feels Katrina’s unconscious bristling at the subtle reminder that she is the newest member of the crew and thus less experienced in the vagaries of psychspace than everyone else.  Next to Vigil, who is only nineteen, she is also the youngest.  “I would expect,” Katrina says, her voice cool, “that in a sub-domain so obviously based on human archetypes, entropy and nature-versus-civilization tropes would function more or less as usual.”

“I’m certain you would,” Teasha replies, her voice equally cool.  “When you’ve been at this as long as me and Thromby, you’ll learn better.”

“Enough of that,” Thromby says before Katrina can reply.  They love Teasha, but she tends to be too harsh on new crewmembers.  A defense mechanism, they know, to insulate her from the all-too-common pain of losing them.  But Katrina has too much to prove.  The clash is natural and to be expected, and even useful at times, but now is not one of them.  “Vigil, get me readings on atmosphere, microbiome, and psychic radiation, if any.  Katrina, pick a spot on the coast and bring us down there.  I want to see if the ocean is actually an ocean or a liminality representation.  Teasha, get the Animus tuning to this sub-domain’s resonance frequency.  I don’t want any dissociation issues.”

The orders are mostly unnecessary, since everyone already knows what they’re about, but they serve their intended purpose, which is to re-focus everyone on the task at hand and redirect their nervous energies, particularly Katrina’s.  Thromby still isn’t sure she’s going to make the cut after this expedition is over, but there’s potential there.  They would be foolish to ignore someone with Katrina’s strength of identity grounding. 

There are plenty of sub-domains out there where it’s useful to be entirely certain of who you are, and not everyone can be.

---

The first day’s worth of exploration yields more questions than answers, which is normal and expected.  Thromby is indeed certain that Katrina’s initial assumption that this is a human-archetypal sub-domain is correct.  Human atmosphere, human shadow- and ontological concepts, Terranic fish in the very-real ocean.  But the iconography is sparse and mostly nonsensical.  It’s clear that the city was able to actually function as a city, but it feels purposeful, designed, in a way that actual cities outside psychspace rarely do.

“It’s a metaphor,” Vigil says as they sit around a campfire on the beach after the first day.

“Well, obviously,” Katrina agrees, and Vigil lights up – both visibly and psychically – at her concordance.  Thromby knows Vigil has been nursing burgeoning feelings for Katrina since she joined them, and has so far seen no need to make anything of it.  “But a metaphor for what?”

“We don’t have enough data,” Vigil replies.  “But I’m certain of it.  We just need to keep exploring.”

Thromby takes a bite of the fish they’ve been roasting over the fire.  It’s a pleasant change of pace to be able to eat something real, instead of the platonic nourishment suggestions dispensed by the Animus.  “Agreed.  I’m curious to see what the point of this place was.  We have five more days before we have to resurface and the expedition has been quite successful already.  I think we can spare the time.  Teasha?”

Taking a bite of her own fish, Teasha purses her lips as she chews.  “I concur, but I’m uneasy.”

Teasha is their psychometry specialist, so this makes all of them sit up a little straighter.  “Are we in danger?” Katrina asks.

“Of course we’re in danger, we’re in psychspace.  But in this particular sub-domain?  Metaphorical danger, as Vigil says.  Ideological or memetic patterning rather than physical.”

Thromby nods.  “I suspected that might be the axis of it, here.  We will need to split up to cover the necessary ground in the time we have left, so everyone stays in contact while exploring.  Mechanical and psychic.  No exceptions.”

None of them are particularly happy with this pronouncement, but they see the wisdom of it.  It’s distracting and somewhat draining to keep a four-way psychic connection going, especially over distance, but their implanted transceivers sometimes don’t function properly, depending on the sub-domain.  Electromagnetism and causality both seem to be standard here, but such things have been known to change in an instant depending on whether the sub-domain is actively malicious or not.

Thromby doesn’t feel any such malice here, though.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t present; such things are often quite good at hiding themselves.  But they’ve been exploring psychspace for seventy-eight years subjective.  They’ve learned to trust their instincts.

---

Two more days of exploration are frustratingly unrevealing.  The city is the size of a proper metropolis, and they know it will be impossible to actually explore any significant percentage of it in only a few days, but Thromby is still irritated by their lack of progress.  They find evidence of cultural signifiers, rituals, and traditions, but again, the iconography is vague and appears opaque to standard Jungian-Jingweian analysis.

Teasha spends the two days on a different investigative track than the rest of them.  “Psychometrically speaking the city is remarkably healthy,” she said on the morning of their second day.  “Most locations, metaphorical or otherwise, bear the echoes of trauma or strife, but this place seems to have been almost entirely peaceful.  Totally voluntary anarcho-communism or ordnung-socialism, perhaps, without the usual markers of systemic violence inherent to capitalistic or fascistic systems.  But there’s a thread somewhere that I keep detecting the edges of.”

“A thread of what?” Thromby asked.

“Pain, of course.”

It is on the evening of their third day in the city that Teasha calls them to her.  She uses their transceiver link rather than a psychic summons.  “To avoid contamination,” she explains.  “I’ve found the source of the thread.  Double your usual wardings and enter seclusive patterning before you come inside.”

Thromby does so, of course, though they dislike cutting themselves off from their extrasensory perception.  It feels like trying to see with only one eye.  When they arrive at Teasha’s location, however, they immediately understand why she insisted on it.  The possibility of psychic contamination here is very high.

“What is this?” Katrina asks, holding her nose in disgust.

“The point of the metaphor, of course,” Teasha replies.  She indicates the filthy cellar in which they’ve found themselves, the only part of the city so far that has seemed actively decrepit.  “I guarantee you that even if we spent the rest of our lives exploring this city we would find only this one place showing any signs of entropy.”

The cellar stinks of excrement, a combination of ammonia and fetid shit, despite the physical processes creating such smells having terminated long ago.  The floor is dirt.  There are no windows.  In one corner there are two mops, their heads stiff with drying waste, and a bucket, the metal bands around its circumference orange with rust.

“They concentrated all of the city’s entropy into a single space?” Vigil asks.

“Not entropy,” Teasha tells him.  “Cruelty.”

Katrina gapes, her hand falling away from her nose for a moment.  “Come again?”

“Something lived here,” Teasha explains to her.  “Or, more precisely, was forced to live here.  It functioned as a psychic magnet, of sorts.  The functioning of the city relied entirely upon its imprisonment and use as a scapegoat.”

“What was it?” Vigil asks.

“One of the innocence-sacrifice archetypes.  An animal or a child.  I suspect a child; an animal can feel pain and misery, certainly, but it doesn’t conceive of injustice in the same way a child does.”

Thromby feels their stomach turn a little.  “Ah.  I see.”

“See what?” Katrina demands.

“The point of the metaphor indeed,” Thromby replies.  “This entire city and all its inhabitants, predicated on the suffering on a child.  It’s a morality construct, and a good one, too.”

“A good one?” Vigil asks.  “It’s grotesque.”

“Your deontological leanings are showing,” Katrina tells him.  “From a utilitarian perspective it’s perfect.  Nothing exists without imposing an energy burden on the system in which it exists.  Even the nourishment suggestions the Animus feeds us in liminal space between manifolds is distilled from universal krill.  But this?  The concentration of all of a society’s utility burden onto a single individual.  The ultimate maximization principle.”

“And your teleological leanings are showing,” Teasha sniffs.  “You’re missing the point of the metaphor entirely, Katrina.  It isn’t about utility.  It’s about cruelty.  The cruelty is the point.”

Katrina’s nostrils flare and Thromby cuts in before she can start really arguing.  “Enough,” they say.  “A conflict here in this space could be dangerous.  We’re at the focus of the sub-domain and things have a way of rippling.  We’ve discovered the point of the metaphor, so we can go back to the Animus and leave in the morning.”

Both Katrina and Teasha look ready to argue the point with them, but then they master themselves and both nod.

“Do we have to wait until morning?” Vigil asks, looking around the cellar in transparent disgust.  “I would prefer to leave sooner rather than later.”

“You know the rules,” Thromby replies.  “We don’t transit without everyone being rested.  A tired mind is a vulnerable mind.”

Reluctantly, Vigil nods, too.  The four of them walk away from the cellar, their thoughts opaque to one another.

---

Thromby is jolted out of sleep by Teasha screaming.

They sit bolt upright and look down at Teasha in the bed next to them.  She is clutching at her head, shaking, writhing beneath the sheets.  “Teasha!” Thromby snaps.  “Focus!  Center yourself!”  They grab her by the wrists and pry her hands from her face; her nails are leaving bloody marks in her skin.

“Too much, it’s too much!” she shrieks.  “I’m lost!”

Thromby forces their way into her mind.  She previously gave them her consent for this, knowing that it might be necessary in a moment like this one.  What they see there –

“Aquinas,” they say aloud.  The implants in Teasha’s cochlear nerves pick up on the trigger word and activate, sending the kill-signal to other implants deeper within her brain.  She stops screaming and slumps, unconscious, temporarily brain-dead.  When Thromby says the word again she will be switched back on, but for the moment she is safe from the psychic contamination that was attacking her along her psychometric vector.

Which, of course, means that Thromby has to deal with this issue alone.

They dress quickly and exit the Animus into a beautiful summer day.  Pennants and banners wave atop the rigging of ships in the harbor, bells sound from the city, and people, so many people, cavort and revel on the beach, in the waves, in the streets.  There is laughter, merriment, the intoxicating psychic swell of happiness and excitement.  Thromby threads their way through the crowds in the streets – mothers carrying their infants, children running through the streets in elaborate games of some variation of Terran tag, huge parades of horse-drawn carts with animalistic balloon totems floating in the air above them.  Vendors call out to Thromby, offering delicious food, intricately made jewelry, amazing clockwork-mechanical toys, sensory-enhancing drugs, and a thousand other variegated temptations.  Street musicians play upon cunningly crafted instruments – strings, pipes, percussion, keys – and revelers cavort to the tunes.

Thromby can feel the bright sparks of all of these people in their mind.  These are real, thinking, feeling beings.  They belong to the metaphor, certainly, but Thromby could speak to them, touch them, verify their self-consciousness and interiority, even invite them to come and join them onboard the Animus and explore psychspace.  They could bring them up into the real, return home with them, have a life with them.  That is how it has to be, of course.  Thromby knows they themself may belong to a different metaphor of a different order, after all.  The real is only real because enough people agree it is.

But they do none of these things.  They just walk, stolidly, back to where they know they have to go.

Katrina is waiting for them outside the cellar, barring the way in.  Thromby has their wards up at triple strength and has been in seclusive patterning since before leaving the Animus, but they don’t need to be psychic to read her mind.  Everything she is feeling and thinking is there in plain sight – the proud and defiant way her chin is thrust out, the blaze in her eyes, the way she has her arms crossed and feet at shoulder width.  She is ready to fight.

“Let me through,” Thromby says without preamble.

“No.”

Well, that’s their respective positions, Thromby thinks, articulated clearly and easily enough.  “Why not?” they ask.

“Vigil consented.”

“Vigil is in love with you and you know as well as I do that consent is a matter of framing,” Thromby snaps.  “Move.”

“No.  I explained everything to him and he consented.  It has nothing to do with whatever feelings he might have for me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, but fine.  For the sake of argument, tell me how you explained it.”

Katrina hesitates, and Thromby can tell she wasn’t expecting them to actually offer her a chance to proselytize.  “The point of the metaphor is that no matter how great and beautiful the society, if it’s predicated on cruelty, it’s unjust,” she says.  “Deontological thinking, obviously, but cruelty is by definition nonconsensual.  I explained to Vigil that if he allowed it, we could collaboratively put blocks in his mind, purposefully regress him to a childlike mental state, and put him in the cellar to suffer for a specific length of time.  Then we can pull him back out, remove the blocks, and even erase the memories of the trauma.  The child-Vigil won’t, can’t, consent, but it also won’t exist for more than a day, and pragmatically speaking never will have.”

Thromby massages their temples.  “Congratulations.  Once again, you have missed the point of the metaphor.”

“Damnit, Thromby, I’m not a child!  I have the same training and grounding in theory that you and Teasha do.  Everything I’m doing is teleologically sound, and Vigil agreed that with the steps we’re taking –”

“You’re trying to outsmart it,” Thromby cuts her off.  “That’s how I know you’ve missed the point.  You can’t outsmart this, Katrina.  There is no perfect set of circumstances you can construct to get around the simple fact that this city functions, exists, because of deliberate and terrible cruelty.  That’s the entire point of it, just like Teasha said.  Teasha, who, by the way, is currently in a coma.  I had to put her into it to keep Vigil’s misery from damaging her.”

“It’s a thought experiment,” she argues, obviously not addressing the point about Teasha because she knows she won’t win that argument.  “There’s always a correct answer for them.  The trolley, the Gettier, the –”

“It’s about fucking sin,” Thromby sighs.

“Are you joking right now?  You’re going back to the religious well?”

“Yes, because that’s what’s happening right now.  The city is a sin, Katrina.  The excesses of its beauty, its wonder, its perfection, are obscene precisely because of how and why they function.  It’s rooted in the ideology of disgust and taint.  Utility, teleology, all of these justifications and rationalizations exist and have their use, but at the end of the day, answer me one question: will you trade places with Vigil?”

Katrina hesitates.

It’s only a bare moment, less than a second, even, but it’s there.  And Thromby sees it, and Katrina sees it.

“Yes,” she says, finally.

“I knew that would be your answer.  But you know that the answer doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Katrina lowers her head.  “No.”

“You know why you hesitated.”

“Yes.”  She looks back up at them.  “But – there’s no such thing as absolute morality, any more than there’s a single objective reality.”

“Of course there isn’t.  And yet, you hesitated.”

They just lock eyes for a few seconds.  Then she lowers her gaze again.  “And yet, I did.”

Thromby steps past her and opens the cellar.

[impactrueno]

[i removed the image because it was too large but it was a screenshot of my "board" beetlejuice doodle from a while back] I legit thought this was like a Beetlejuice version of Plank from Ed, Edd, and Eddie.

you have no idea how many "BEETLEPLANK" comments i've gotten on that HAHA i actually didn't even realize when i drew it, somehow

Also, what did you think to Beetlejuice Beetlejuice? I liked it enough, but there was something missing from it, heart, maybe? I loved the idea that Beetlejuice legit thought his plan of using Bob as a decoy to face Delores would work, which to me suggests that he's either too lazy to think of a proper plan or he believes Delores would be stupid enough to fall for it, both of which are in character for him.

hmm of all the flaws the movie had, i wouldn't say beetlejuice beetlejuice lacked heart. in fact, i'd argue it was running on heart alone. i suppose that only makes sense if you've seen the interviews and are familiar with tim burton's career and what he's about, but this was a very personal project to him; i could go on about this but i don't want to ramble too much lol. i remember him and michael saying that they didn't really care if people ended up thinking the movie was garbage, because they absolutely LOVED making it. everyone was so genuinely into it, having so much fun filming, idk the behind the scenes stuff really stands out to me because of how much everyone is smiling and laughing. it almost feels as if the movie was just a cast reunion that they filmed just having fun with it and then deciding to share it with the world afterwards. it feels intimate, idk.

beetlejuice is very special to tim, michael and winona, they've always been protective of it and had a lot of conditions for a potential sequel because they wanted it to be just right. i'm actually surprised whenever i see people call it soulless because it was literally anything but. flawed? absolutely, but i can't find myself to care about those flaws because the fact that it was exactly the way tim wanted it to be is a already interesting enough and worth watching to me. i'm not sure people realize how rare that is with mainstream movies.

Also with Delores, I didn't get why she was made to be a threat? She's a six foot woman who pins people against a wall, chokes them and sucks their souls out. That's not a threat, that's my idea of a good time!

LMAO *beetlejuice voice* y'can say that again 😩😏

[transhoverfish]

OK TRAILER TIME

SO PRETTY!! now, because everything in this is cinematic (and it's only a teaser), i would take basically this entire thing with a grain of salt for how accurate it will be to actual environments and gameplay. the cinematic trailers/teasers for the first two games are full of things that didn't make it in. still looks VERY GOOD and im so excited!!!!!!

onto a few specific things, this specific area ^^ shows up in a steam screenshot (which i will get to later), and considering the high amount of light and coral, this is potentially this game's version of the safe shallows! that pink fish that swims by is also the youtube channel's current pfp, and as such is probably replacing the peeper, which was the old 'mascot' fish. this character is also using alterra tech, which i think is very interesting! are we still working for alterra, or are they just such a mega corporation that they make basically all water/space gear? the diving suit looks a bit like the stillsuit with its colors! the design itself reminds me of the cold suit,,, :o

now, the thing about this scene is that it goes by pretty quick, and is supposed to draw attention to the water vortex (and won't it be fun if THAT is an actual mechanic!!! god i would be so so scared), but upon a few pauses and look arounds... there's a building! that is so clearly some old ruins!! it doesn't look anything like the usual ruins/bases we've seen before, so i would guess that these are NOT built by the architects, and instead a new alien race. the assumption is that this planet is also very much abandoned,,, which begs the question, why? not the kharra again, surely? or is it just these surface-level ruins that have been left? and if they went deeper, why? this appears to be the only screenshot/sequence that shows any of these ruins. how many more are there?? I DEMAND ANSWERS!!

also, entirely possible im wrong, but this new character bears some resemblance to ryley, imo. the earlier scenes of him doesn't match too closely, and their hair is entirely different, but this shot specially depicts a very similar face structure, eyebrows, lips, and nose! now, this could be (and probably is) a new guy that just kinda looks like him, but if it IS ryley,,,,, what's he doin here? is he working with alterra still? is he just off exploring various ocean planets? even if this isnt him, i want to know these things. wheres my guy :(

another thing pointing at this being ryley is that this game is intended to be a direct sequel (as opposed to bz being a spin off), and if its in an entirely different environment, then it stands to reason there's a chance theres returning characters. otherwise,, this game would just also be a spin-off!

(also, would absolutely love if that oxygen warning is an actual popup ingame!)

and here's the second character that pops up! the steam screenshots also only show two people in co-op so far, and i do wonder if these are two of the playable characters and not just random models/characters used for the teaser (similar to how bart is a trailer for sub1 despite not being playable, and fred in bz's trailer). this person doesn't seem to be anyone from either game (she looks a tinyyy bit like lillian, but not enough that i can say it could be her), and she's in a new vehicle! everything still looks very atlerra, though, and the two characters seem to know each other, so once again i wonder if this is a lore reason, if these ARE alterra workers, or if this is just to fit in with the aesthetic of the other games.

BIG FISH!!!!! BIG FISH!!!!!!! this thing looks VERY new and introduced in the teaser in a similar fashion that the sea emperor was shown in the first sub1 trailer, so im wondering if this might be THE Big Fish (or simply just one that they've finished the design for). with brightness turned way up, it appears to have a nose and mouth on level with the two humans, much below the light on its head. a similar hunting tactic to anglerfish, maybe? and so many tentacles!! and pincers! BIG FISH!!!!

no exact date for early access, which makes me think we won't get it until spring at the earliest. however, the first two games came out in winter (december for sub1, january for bz), so its possible it will keep with that trend and be out before march. don't take my word for that, though, this is purely speculation.

with this teaser (or potentially before, i was not actively checking this LOL), there's also now a steam page up with additional ingame screenshots and description of the game with a lot of new information!! because tumblr has a screenshot limit, im going to rb this post later with all of the steampage info.

but there is a LOT of new stuff we've learned now!!! pair all of this with this article showing screenshots the devs have dropped in sub1 time capsules (which i will also talk about in the rb), and oughhhh it is a GOOD DAY to be a subnautica fan!!!!!! are we all ready to get dragged back into this fandom?? i hope ur all ready. we're gonna get water vortexed. help.

[lilyginnyblackv2]

Some More Potential Storylines for Future BD Sequels:

- Kazuki and Rei having to deal with the conflict of feeling “content” and “happy” with where things are vs. falling into the trap of not wanting to change because of that. We see a bit of this potentially in the 10 year time skip, with Rei questioning why he would need to expand his cooking repertoire.

- Kazuki and Rei dealing with “re-connecting” as partners. I think this is a common thing that happens with parents. Especially once they regain back some of their freedom as their kids get older and more independent. A lot of parents will devote so much of themselves to their kids that other aspects of themselves or other bonds made get less attention. If there was a S2, this is definitely something they could explore with Kazuki and Rei, since the 10 years later time skip can be read and interpreted with a bit of a distant feeling to Kazuki and Rei as well.

- The teen years are the years where Kazuki will struggle a lot and have to grow more as a person and parent, as opposed to the toddler years, which was where Rei struggled. Something I noticed with a lot of parents, especially older ones who have experienced all the different stages of a child’s growth, is that they tend to have preferences for certain ages and years. Usually parents that prefer the younger years (infant, toddler,child) and parents that prefer the older years (pre-teen, teen, adult). I feel Kazuki and Rei would be similar, with Rei probably striving and adapting better to Miri’s later years. So seeing a sort of journey of growth that Rei got in Buddy Daddies for Kazuki in a S2 would be wonderful!

- Kazuki’s family actually showing up. All we know from Kazuki is that he was abandoned. Couples having a child young or when they are in a position where they cannot financially support them, but then going on to have children later in life that they keep is something that is common enough and does happen. As does one of the later children finding out about the earlier adoption or abandonment. and wanting to seek out that missing family member. 

- If something like that were to happen, then Kazuki would be confronted with blood family for the first time. It would be a way to introduce new characters, conflicts, and moral questions. It could also work as a way for Kazuki to confront his emotional trauma from being abandoned in a similar way Buddy Daddies allowed Rei to confront his emotional trauma from his father’s emotional abuse and neglect. 

- Another 10 year time skip, where Miri is around 24 - 25 years old and is starting a family of her own (Kazuki and Rei would be around their mid-to-late 40s, nearly 50 in Kazuki’s case). The episode would be called Grandpa Daddies.

- Kazuki, Rei, Miri, and her significant other would all have to struggle with raising a baby, because Kazuki and Rei have zero experience with that age range. But Kazuki taking to it quite well while Rei struggles more with it again. Potential for highjinks.

- Kazuki and Rei struggling with being both parents and grandparents at the same time and what that entails. What advice is overstepping boundaries? How much support should you provide? What’s too much? Respecting the rules that your child puts in place for raising their own child. etc.

- Kazuki and Rei (more so Kazuki, let’s be honest) spoiling their grandkid(s). 

- Dealing with in-laws, Miri’s significant other, overprotectiveness. Keeping their past as assassins as secret from the in-laws as well. Could lean either into the dramatic or comedic or both.

- Potential health issues, needing to change lifestyle habits, etc. Health scare of some kind. This could cause conflict and issues and bring back the struggles that can come with changing old habits. It could also be used to restrengthen their bond as partners.

- Kazuki and Rei being faced with the same issue that Rei’s father was faced with: setting up a successor to the family business in the future. This is actually an issue for a lot of family run businesses in Japan right now.

- Conflict with Miri not wanting to be a diner owner at all in her future and having different career goals.

- Kazuki and Rei going to the adult adoption route as a means to resolve it. Maybe there could be a person in the community or one of Miri’s friends that really loves the business instead.

- The final episode ends with another 10 year time skip with Kazuki and Rei in their mid-to-late 50s and retiring early. They have handed down the business to someone else. They’re going to go a nice, long vacation and going to get to enjoy a “normal happiness” old age. 

---

And then I won’t think any further than that, lol. But yeah, Buddy Daddies has so much potential for future stories and plotlines, my goodness!! Also, if anyone wants to use these ideas in any fanfics or anything, feel free! :D

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 10: Yes.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Once in a while, right in the middle of a (not so) ordinary (un)life, love gives us a fairy tale.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Commissioned from my dear friend Leira Art <3

Astarion’s thigh was starting to get numb. Ban was on her stomach, stretched out beside him, her hands cradling her face. The unfortunate fact that her elbows were digging into his thigh was something she missed entirely.

He’d arranged for a small moonlit dinner in the gardens, just bedding laid over the grass and nothing but the moon and the stars to keep them company. It had seemed like the perfect idea after a long day of trying to broker some sort of arrangement between Shadowheart and the city about the now-abandoned Sharran cloister. Ban had gone to see Shadowheart for this purpose when she’d first come back to Baldur’s Gate; that had been the day the mirror had been delivered. The two had been coordinating in anticipation of today’s meeting ever since.

He sighed and flexed his leg in an attempt to get Ban to notice his discomfort. She shifted along with the muscle, but merely looked at him, smiling.

“You’ll have to move soon, else your poor husband loses his leg,” he remarked.

She lifted from his leg, smirking. “Nonsense. You’re undead. Regardless, bodies don’t work that way; all you’d get is a… spasm, of sorts, which I’m sure you can handle.” She gave him a soft pat on his beleaguered limb, playfully dismissive.

“As enlightening as you think that is, I actually do know what cramps are. Being undead doesn’t save you from that particular torture, as I’m sure you know.”

“Just teasing you,” she said amiably, lying down to rest her head on his thigh instead.

He looked down at her, admiring the way her hair fanned out in a halo around her head.

“Cramps, spasms… you’re all too familiar with such things, aren’t you?” He wrapped his fingers around her bicep, squeezing. “You’ve probably had more than your fair share, flailing about with that frankly ridiculous weapon of yours.”

“Says you.” Ban huffed, glaring good-naturedly at him. “You couldn’t even swing it, Astarion. You and your little crossbows and daggers…”

He laughed, sliding his hand over her shoulder. “You’ll have to tell me how you became so… forgive me, brawny.” Astarion watched her consider the question, eyes glazing over as she brought forth memories.

“After I ran away from my family, I found my way into the employ of an innkeeper, as a barmaid. Not a horrible place to earn your keep; they were kind enough to allow me to live in one of the rooms of the inn. But as in all such establishments, you occasionally get… unpleasant clientele.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course. “And so this was a way to protect yourself.”

“It was,” she agreed, “One day, a customer managed to get their hands on me; before anyone could intervene, I broke his nose. It was mostly a lucky shot, but the innkeeper saw potential in it. They had been a skilled fighter, and decided to pass their skills along to me. Over time, I built a small reputation keeping the peace in the tavern, took a shine to… all that, and eventually received offers from merchants and the like, to help out or provide protection.”

“With a greatsword?” he said, a little incredulous.

“No, although I wish I had. Merely a longsword; easier to handle, but a lot less impressive.” Her hands mimed swinging one, the movement quick and efficient, if inelegant.

His hands covered hers. “You’ll have to teach me how to wield a greatsword one day.”

Her answer was quick. “Not a chance you’ll have the patience for such a slow weapon, Astarion.”

He chuckled. “Truer words have never been spoken. Besides, finesse and dexterity are all you ever need, really.” He twirled their entwined hands, flipping an invisible dagger in the air. She giggled, and he watched their hands against the night sky, dancing amongst the stars.

“This was a brilliant idea. I’m impressed you came up with it.” He peered down at her as she spoke; he’d thought she’d passed into sleep - her eyes had been closed for some time.

“I’m far more capable than you give me credit for,” he scoffed. Since she was not asleep after all, he gave in to his lingering urge and wrapped his hands around her wrists, tugging her off his much-abused leg and up. Spreading his legs, he guided her to sit between them. She leaned against his chest, closing her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Far more romantic is what I would have said,” she corrected, “not that I’m complaining. But this is something that… I don’t know, Gale would have done.”

“Gale?” Astarion scoffed in mock offense, “I can do better than anything he could conjure up. Had you said Wyll, I’d have to admit I’d have a slight challenge on my hands.”

“A slight challenge?” Ban laughed, “It would be quite a bit more than a slight challenge for you to outdo Wyll in romantic gestures, Astarion.”

“Tell me, then. What would you consider the most romantic,” he rolled his eyes, “thing he’s done?”

Ban was silent for a moment, then raised a finger in an aha! gesture. “He gave up his life in Faerûn and followed Karlach to the hells.”

His stomach turned, the comment stinging as it hit sensitive spots. She said it in jest, but there was an underlying truth behind her playful words.

“You truly think I wouldn’t do the same for you?” He was a little piqued, the offense not entirely feigned anymore.

Ban shrugged, failing to sense the change in his mood. “And give up everything you have? Every bit of luxury? Your palace, your art, your suits… the sun? Why would you?” she quipped airily.

A soft hiss escaped him. “I would do anything for you; have already done so, to be frank. I’ve fought everything we’ve had to overcome, have I not? Everything we’ve ever faced. I fought for you, for us - fought our enemies, our companions, the Absolute, my master, myself…” he took a sharp, pained breath, “I have clawed my way through everything for the privilege of being the one by your side. Nothing would part me from you.” He clenched his jaw, his scowl deepening. “If anything, I should ask the same of you. Would you go to the hells for me?”

He watched her face. She barely considered the question and answered quickly - too quickly for his liking.

“I would, of course,” she replied, her tone still light and conversational, as if she didn’t take his statement or his question seriously. She smiled at him, but it did nothing but agitate him further.

Why would she take him seriously? It was hypothetical, nothing serious, even though his words had been from the heart. They’d even been to the hells before, however brief, although that was for thievery and to save the godsdamned world. For a moment his mind flashed to Haarlep, his daggers sinking into that cursed incubus’ flesh, for her, always for her-

“Forgive me for asking such an inane question, then,” he snipped, all mirth gone, “For the longest time I’ve felt… unsure. Of how much you love me.”

He’d always felt it, he realized. From their days on the road - wondering when she’d come to her senses and he’d be left to rot, to the early days of his ascension - wondering where she had gone though her body had still been there, to their eventual reconciliation - wondering if he’d ever be enough for her to love him as he did her. Always doubting, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was exhausted.

She blinked, surprised. “Don’t I tell you enough? I love you so, so much. Endlessly so.” He felt her body stiffen in his arms; it merely served to irritate him even more.

“You do say it more as of late, which I find gratifying. Thank you.” The bitterness bled into his voice; not that he’d tried very hard to mask it. “Whether you truly mean it or not remains in question, especially with how you’ve…” he tilted his head in that cold, arrogant way of his, a defense mechanism she hadn’t seen in awhile, “treated me, since we reconciled.”

She finally realized the extent of his pique, that it ran deep, and that her flippancy had reopened the wound. She lifted herself up to meet his gaze.

“Astarion, I… I am sorry. I-”

“Do not apologize, at least not yet.” He took a moment to clear his head; the Ascendant could never be allowed free rein in conversations like this. Never again. “I refuse to hear mere platitudes in an attempt to placate me. I wish for you to hear what I have to say, and should you feel it appropriate, you may do so then.” He was stern but holding the vitriol back. This needed to be said, but it need not be an argument.

“Alright.”

He watched as she pulled away from him. There was a sudden spike of fear there, one that dissipated when Ban stayed within the circle of his arms. She’d shifted just far enough so that she could meet his gaze.

“I’m listening. Say everything you need to say,” she said gently, offering him a nervous smile. She rested a hand on his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

I’m here. Her mind touched his, something she’d been doing more and more often these days. He let her in, lowered the walls he’d been hiding behind for so long.

“I am aware you love me. How can I not be, when you have shown me so time and again?” A small, rather sad smile graced his face as he spoke. “What concerns me is the intensity of it - rather, the strength and longevity of it, compared to mine.”

“Strength?” Her lips tugged downwards as she considered his words.

“But I… I did tell you. You’re enough. You’re all I want,” she sighed, “But I also know it’s probably not enough - they’re merely words.”

“I am enough, for now,” he corrected.

A small series of thoughts were passed to her: a memory of their argument after her discovery of the contract, moments when he’d expected her to commune with him but instead she retreated, times he’d hoped she’d feed from him and nourish herself with his blood in moments of intimacy, only for her to turn to their stores instead.

“Would I still be enough, were I to displease you again? We’ve discussed this, but I must confess that I haven’t been completely forthright with my feelings on the matter.”

He wanted to tell her how painful it had been; how reminiscent of being punished by his master it was - to a lesser degree, of course, but it opened the same wounds in him nonetheless. He found his heart failing him, unwilling to inflict pain. He wished he could say it but he couldn’t allow it, wouldn’t willingly hurt her, wouldn’t let her even see-

And what of it, if she treats me that way? I can handle it, have handled it for centuries. I’m not worth better; they’ve all drilled it into me - Cazador and his patrons, our companions, even her. She turned away from me when I was lost, shut me out when I tried to understand her, withheld her heart from me until I begged, wielded silence like a weapon when I didn’t behave. Yes, most of that was my own fault, but that merely serves to prove I’m unworthy of it all. Of her.

Just shut up, Astarion. Let whatever needs to happen happen. You don’t-

He felt the air in his lungs escape him as her arms crashed around him and held him tightly, so tightly it felt like it could bruise. He found himself pressed against her chest, realizing she was murmuring into his hair.

“No, no, don’t hide, please,” she whimpered, barely coherent, “You- I didn’t know, I didn’t see, and I know you’ve tried to tell me before but it felt like barbs you were throwing mid-argument. I didn’t want to see there was truth behind them. I’m them, aren’t I? I’m so sorry, Astarion, please.”

He let her hold him, allowed her to cry into his hair, fingers digging into his back with a desperation he hadn't seen in her before. His hands rubbed her back, but he didn’t speak. His thoughts had slipped into her mind as they’d flitted through his, he realized, but he didn’t regret it.

“I love you. I love you so godsdamned much and I realize I’ve been doing it wrong, not loving you the way you deserve. I’ve been neglecting your needs in favor of my own. I’ve been… all of them. Cazador, everyone who ever used you, even my wretched parents. I’m like them - I’ve been being everything I hated in them all and I’m just like them and I should just-”

Her frantic words cut off in a sharp intake of breath and she tried to pull away, her face stricken with horror. Astarion held on, refusing to let her go.

“Don’t go,” he crooned softly, as if calming a skittish animal, “because that would only serve to hurt me more. If you do love me so much then tell me. Show me. I need both in equal measure, my love.”

“I thought I was,” she choked out, “I thought I had been trying. And I’m not sure I’ve succeeded at all-”

She bit back a sob, refusing to allow her words to dissolve into tears. Not right now, when he deserved to hear more than sad blathering, knowing that his first instinct would be to backtrack. The tears came anyway, pooling in her eyes. She took several deep breaths to collect herself before continuing.

“There’s trying, and there’s not trying hard enough. I’ve been the latter; I see your pain and I make attempts in the moment, but then you seem better and I let myself carry on. I slip into old habits and behind walls that are all too easy to hide behind - and I let myself ignore what’s outside those walls.” She laughed, the bitterness evident. “Ironic, I think, that I’ve been doing what you did after the rite. I’ve been hiding myself from you, the way you hid yourself from me. You’ve tried so hard to heal my pain, attended to my needs, at the expense of your own… worked tirelessly at undoing the damage of those early months, and you’ve succeeded… but it was so easy for me to keep letting you do that, to be neglectful attending to you and your needs. To your heart. I will try to be better - No. I will be better. I swear it.”

And there were truths, painful ones, that needed to be said. She steeled herself; there wouldn’t be a better time.

“It has been better,” he assured, “These past weeks have been wonderful; they’ve soothed a lot of the ache. I suppose I merely wanted you to know, and even then I wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk of dredging up.”

“Oh, but it is. There’s something I should have told you, something I should have talked to you about the moment we reconciled, or any one of a hundred times since. I should have told you that although I never stopped loving you, and wanted to be with you again, I didn’t forgive you. That I resented what you’d done to me, resented it enough to keep holding it against you, to measure every good thing you did against the past - and I found it lacking.”

“Ban-” he tried to interrupt, his face a mask of worry, but she shook her head; her eyes begged him to allow her to do what he’d done for her barely more than a month ago. He quietened once more, tightening his grip on her, grounding them both.

“I withdrew at every sign of discomfort; I didn't even really try to trust you more, not outside of our bedroom, anyway… Even as I promised to work on us... I used affection as currency - I saw it as… justified retribution, at times. Not consciously, not deliberately, I don’t think, but neither did I deliberately try to move past those feelings. Even as I speak now I’m only now finding the words for it. All I know is I should have told you this, should have realized earlier what it was I was doing to you. I should’ve been fighting to improve myself, and our relationship, like you were, instead of putting all the burden and responsibility for my feelings and our happiness onto you alone.” She finally let him go enough to cup his cheek.

“We desperately need to learn how to talk, Astarion, as laughably simple as that sounds. Let’s both do what you promised to do for me - if we find ourselves unable to talk it out, we’ll use the connection to think it out, together.” He nodded in agreement and she sighed, calmer now, but no less agonized over these personal revelations.

“I wish I… hadn’t done any of that, or that we had found our way to talking about it earlier, but I also know how… recalcitrant I can be. And of course you feared yet another retreat, or worse, had you tried and it escalated. I didn’t make any attempt to talk about it, and you didn’t feel safe enough to try. We've both spent too long afraid to talk, me fearing compulsion and now you fearing abandonment.”

He chuckled. “On that I cannot refute you, and thus can provide no comfort. On the other hand, not all of my concerns are because of your transgressions, or mine. Some of it is concern about your… former mortality.”

Ban froze for a moment, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“It isn’t a fundamental issue, but if we are to talk about love, and its relative… longevity, even though such a concept is nebulous at best,” Astarion’s eyes flicked away, gathering the strands of the thought he was trying to piece together. “I suppose this is worth bringing into the discussion.”

She saw the way his eyes darted away, locking onto some distant spot; the way his shoulders squared, the bated breath. Even now he tries to diminish his own feelings to avoid upsetting me further. Now that she was watching for it, she couldn't believe she hadn’t seen it all this time - rather, that she had seen, but had refused to acknowledge it, so much so that it had stopped registering in her conscious mind. Never again, she vowed silently.

“What ‘this’?” She was confused, but allowed him the space to think.

He stayed unmoving for a few moments, then finally reached for her mind.

What flowed into her was immense - seemingly boundless stretches of time, of days flowing into months flowing into years, decades, centuries. The moon rising and setting, interminable nights of untold suffering and the rare, quiet moments in between, stretching seemingly endlessly. To her, it felt an eternity - although she knew this was a mere grain of sand in the infinity of time.

Fragments of memories, the earliest of which were mere wisps, lost to the weight of the centuries; then his time with Cazador, bathed in cruelty, a parade of bodies and the scents of rot and sex and filth, blood-red and tinged with pain and fear and anger and self-loathing, all blending together in one massive wave of anguish - then silence.

His year alone, she realized, a small gasp escaping her as he allowed her to see a fraction of how it had felt. The maddening isolation, the despairing, desperate prayers to every god ever named, his fingers bleeding throat raw stomach hollow every muscle aching mind racing and this is it forevermore the four corners of this cold tomb please let me die please-

“Astarion,” she cried out, gripping his shoulder, trying to stop him from spiraling. Those beautiful eyes locked onto hers and to her surprise he was calm. He took her hand, squeezing it.

The memories shifted. The colors became more vivid, the smells became warm and heavenly in comparison to everything else before. The chirping of birds. The smell of grass and earth. Sunlight. Blood from a boar, warm and so, so much of it, and his stomach had never felt so full…

Footsteps, a blade held to someone’s throat. Cautious, hesitant trust. The smell of thinking blood, so close he could lean in and taste it. Laughter. Voices. Her voice. His teeth, sinking in, that first taste forever dooming him to crave it, crave her. Their first nights together, the push-pull of his heart and mind, warring between thinking her a gullible fool and the flickering ember of warmth and affection in his chest.

I want us to be something real.

But not merely real; thiramin - passionate, true, eternal. Nights under the stars. Fighting back to back, daggers and sword flowing seamlessly. Banter by the campfire. Frustration as he regarded her hands, trying to teach her how to pick locks, only for her to give up and smash the chest with one swing of her sword. Those same hands, touching him with an aching tenderness. Uneasiness slowly morphing into trust and then into comfort and then longing, into home. Touch me love me see me be with me, forever and longer than that. I love you, I love you and I will say it, soon, every single day, when I am free.

His eyes left hers, downcast as the memories continued to flow.

Power, as it flowed into him, exhilaration drowned by the look on her face and the disgust in her heart until all he felt was loss and anger, that the thing he loved most would slip through his fingers when freedom was finally his. Regret, still stabbing even to this day. Visions of her face, cold and angry and at times frightened. His voice, commanding, demanding her subservience - on your knees, a finger pointing downwards. The denial of any vulnerability - rebuffing her when she reached for him, admonishment for the attempt. The slow corruption of what was between them.

Astarion didn’t shy from it, his hand merely tightened on hers. The stream of recollections didn’t stop, but his eyes flicked back to hers.

The agony of losing her, the hopelessness, the emptiness. The slow process of prying open his heart once more, at first nearly impossible and then increasingly easy. The sheer joy of seeing her smile at him again, her face emblazoned into his mind. Memories of more recent, happier times. Elation mixed with spikes of anxiety whenever she retreated from him - confusion, worry, fear. And finally, the slow ebbing of those feelings, contentment suffusing more and more of the final visions, the doubt ever-smaller, more easily brushed away.

And then she was seeing through his eyes, he through hers, here in the garden with no other soul, only the stars in the sky. One last feeling - love - and he retracted from her mind, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Ban snapped back to reality, to her own mind, reeling. In front of her Astarion looked fond, his hand still cradling hers, waiting for her to settle before he continued.

“A long time to live, and I am still young for an elf,” he began, “I would assume the weight of it infinitely more burdensome for someone as young as you, from a short-lived race.”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t contest that. Were I not turned, I would have died within the century.”

“But you will not,” Astarion reminded, “I am merely concerned about your capability of loving steadfastly, long past the normal span of your lifetime. The constancy required for a love that spans millennia, that follows us through reincarnations… It is something elves are born with. It is not so for humans. I simply… wanted to bring it to light.”

“Astarion,” she said, voice tinged with hurt, “Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I will fall out of love with you in a century or two. No one can know the future, but I swear to you - I will love you for however long this-” she gestured between them, “-undeath lasts, love you the best that I am able. Eternity, if it comes to that.”

Ban weighed her words, weighed the visions he’d allowed her to see. “I know I can’t prove anything today. The future is never set, and I’ve hurt you. I have no idea how to measure our love, to even consider if they are things to be compared against each other-”

“They are not,” he assured her, “But I appreciate that they have now been spoken out loud. That I am understood, seen, and that you do not disagree.”

“If that’s the case, I can promise to continue comprehending. To… see you, fully, even when it’s uncomfortable for me. To understand, to do better. To listen and care, and love. To work toward your happiness as much as my own. To fight for us, always. I can’t prove it today, but I will prove it. From today, until forever.” She made this vow without hesitation or reservation, and with utter sincerity.

Astarion smiled at her, a soft, almost hesitant smile, one that told her she’d soothed a lot of his heartache, before leaning his forehead to touch hers. They sat, quietly, absorbing one another’s feelings through their bond.

“Astarion…” She lifted his hand and placed it over her heart as she spoke; his brows raised in surprise. They had spent a long time in heavy but comfortable silence, basking in the closeness of their shared emotions. Hearing her speak aloud nearly startled him, but he was eager to hear what she may have to say.

She waited until his eyes met hers, until that slight surprise passed into curiosity. He held her gaze, lips parted as if to speak.

“Let me get this out,” she interjected before he could respond. His lip quirked, eyes narrowing, his brows shifting into an expression of wry, if fond, amusement.

Ban locked her gaze onto those beloved crimson irises, ignoring everything else. If she considered any more of his beautiful face, she was sure her courage would fail her. She’d been thinking about this, had been considering it for a long while before the mirror, before her family came back into their lives. She had lain awake thinking of it as she was cradled in his arms, had almost spoken it into being numerous times in post-coital bliss or in quiet, happy moments. It had never been quite the right time - something had always come up - whether it be some small quarrel they had, some playful remark that derailed her line of thought, or simple cowardice. She’d let her lingering doubts serve as excuses, but the idea never went away for long. This finally felt like the right time, to finally fully open herself to him, to let her faith and love and trust shine through in actions, as well as words.

She felt her hand shake, tears threatening to blur her vision, and swallowed hard.

“I figured I would say this sooner or later, or if I’d kept letting my cowardice win then later than sooner, to be frank. It’s been on my mind for…. Well, I’m not even sure how long, but it’s been a long time. It first crossed my mind that it would make sense, politically - legally it would make sense as well: properties, assets, all that - and no one would question the legitimacy of our union, would solidify alliances and our good standing, and-”

Her words were cut off by a soft laugh. He leaned in, keeping his hand over her unusually fast heart, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Keep going,” he urged, his tremulous voice filled with a hunger she barely recognized, and although he was smiling, his eyes were misty and intensely focused, as if not a single other thing existed in the world besides her, and him, and this moment. “I think I’d rather like to hear what else you have to say.”

She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, so she gave up trying. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I love you.”

“I’m aware,” Astarion responded, the picture of patience. “And you’re well aware of how much I adore you in turn.”

“This isn’t… politically it does make sense,” she said again, knowing full well she was repeating herself. “But I don’t want you to think that, I- I’m not doing this because it makes sense. It- that’s not it, and I’ve just been thinking it and it’s not that, do you un-”

This time it was his lips on hers that interrupted her, a soft caress that was unhurried and filled with nothing but reassurance. He held the back of her head, keeping her close. She allowed herself to melt against his parted lips, allowed his tongue to slip in and explore her, but he barely dipped in before retreating. He didn’t speak, merely gave her a small nod, thumb wiping away a falling tear.

She took several deep breaths, collecting her thoughts as best she could; she was appalled how much she had fumbled it thus far. “I’ve thought about saying it so many times, and in just as many ways. When I was lying in your arms, when I’d made you laugh, over meals, when we talked about our plans, even when we argued…” She shook her head. “Gods, even before that. I fantasized about it that first night in the clearing - stupid and naive, I know, but there it is. It just kept popping into my head, ever-present, always a wonderful daydream that I daren’t speak into existence. I was afraid I’d ruin it.. I knew… I knew it would seem cold, calculated, because there is so much benefit to our goals in it, and I didn’t want it to be for that. I didn’t want to say it when you might think it was only about that, because it isn’t, not at all. And then the time never felt quite right, and I was so scared of making you feel it was cheapened by politics…” She sighed, pausing again to gather her courage.

The words finally managed to leave her mouth. “I want… forever. I want what you wanted, all this time. To be real.” Another shaky breath, and she saw the smile on his face fade, replaced by an eagerness framed with such tenderness it almost broke her. “I was your first. I want to be your last. I want you to marry me. Say yes, please.”

“Ban,” Astarion chuckled. It was a soft, wet sound, his sniffling ruining the intended effect. “You merely had to say ‘will you marry me’ and it would have sufficed.” He flapped a hand dramatically. “You could have gone with some quip, like ‘if you turned me into your bride, why don’t we make it real’ or some comment about how I already call you my wife…” He trailed off as he realized she’d begun to sob, shoulders shaking.

“Love… yes. Of course yes!” He shook his head at the utter idiocy of this moment, of how she’d assumed, even for a moment, that he’d refuse, as if all that babble wasn’t just his own nervousness coming to the fore, the old theatrics a way to defuse strong emotions. He pulled her to him tightly, pressing her to him, his joy overwhelming him as he felt her return the hug with just as much strength.

Yes. Of course, yes. Astarion recognized it for what it was - a large step - and felt joy suffuse him. I am seen, chosen, cherished, loved… I am enough! Everything he’d wanted and had ever needed, condensed into the being of this magnificent person he held in his arms. He pulled away to peer at her face and she shied away, cuddling deeper against him, as if she could stay there forever to avoid his prying eyes.

“Darling, your tears will stain my shirt,” he chided, as if he wasn't crying himself, tears streaking all over his own face. There was a muffled sorry and she let him go, her hands moving to cover her face; he was quick enough, however, and caught her wrists.

“There’s no need to hide, nor cry for that matter,” he murmured, blinking his own tears away. “This is a happy moment. We’re to be wedded, for real this time - not that it matters, really,” he scoffed. “I’ve considered us husband and wife for, gods, I don’t even know how long.” That made her smile, at least, and she finally opened her eyes, although she hadn’t looked him in the face yet.

“Do indulge your to-be-husband, Ban. First, don’t enlist a cleric to officiate the ceremony. I won’t stand for religious prattle. And second, I want to be wed quickly. No more than a month.”

“A month we can do. As for the other, I was thinking Ulder might help us,” she finally said. He blinked in surprise, impressed.

“So you have planned this,” he mused. “You figured you could pull favors from dear Wyll’s old man, get a wonderful ceremony, and consolidate political influence, all in one fell swoop.” He clapped his hands in amusement. “I’m impressed.”

“Well there was also the fact that I get to marry you,” she quipped, eyes still pointedly staring at his chin instead of his face.

Astarion placed a hand under her chin, tilting her face up. “I know,” he murmured. “I know all too well.”

He leaned in close, slotting his lips against hers. This time he didn’t pull away, allowing the kiss to intensify. He waited for her to part her lips then pushed his tongue in, tasting and devouring. Finding a fang, he pressed his tongue against it, longing for her to taste him.

When they parted he was breathless, eyes locked onto her face. “How long have you been considering this?”

“A while,” came the answer, spoken hurriedly as he pulled her on top of him, lying back onto the dewy grass. “After the clearing, it was a daydream - a silly, romantic wish. I first thought of it as more than a fantasy, in terms of the political benefits, shortly after we reconciled, but of course didn’t really think seriously on it then. In terms of when it became something I definitely wanted, for myself - for us… When we had the ball to celebrate our first year. I could see us doing that, but instead of celebrating an anniversary, it would be our wedding.”

“Then why not ask me earlier? That was months ago.” He shivered at the feeling of her lips pressing against the base of his ear; Ban was obviously seeking to correct previous shortcomings. He felt her trail a small path of kisses across his jaw, and then the underside and down his throat. He sat up a bit, propping himself up on his elbows, baring his neck to her, a plea for her to continue. “Did you think I would be so foolish as to decline forever with you, when that’s all I’ve longed for?”

“I thought you would find the ceremony involved trite; like you said, you already obviously considered us wedded,” Ban said. “I also didn’t want you to think it was merely a political move. I didn’t know how to make it romantic and not… pragmatic.” There was a quick pause and then her lips were replaced by fangs, cautiously scraping against his skin, far more hesitant than he would have been. The sensation sent a wave of delight straight to his groin, regardless. “I apologize that I haven’t been feeding from you. It’s not you. I- it’s taken a long time to be comfortable with what I am now.”

“Forgiven.” Astarion purred as her hand wrapped around his nape, guiding his head to the angle she desired. Fingers caressed the curls at the base of his neck, sending more shivers racing along his body. He’d known of her issues coming to terms with her undeath - he’d been hoping learning how to use her powers would help finally ease her into it. That being why she rarely sank her fangs into him was a significant relief, chasing even more of his concerns away. “It is trite,” he admitted, a small sigh escaping his lips as he pressed his hips against hers. “As much as I do agree - doing so will solidify your legitimacy as my partner, afford you more respect, provide a wondrous opportunity to host a grand ball, provide ample chance for mingling, and bind us together in a new way, one that I want very much. I am no fool; I am not incapable of knowing both can be true at the same time.”

“I know you’re not. I just didn’t want you to-”

“To be hurt,” he agreed, placing a hand over his chest dramatically, the effect significantly lessened by the fact that he was painfully hard. The comfort at her openness, in the acknowledgment of his hurts, the balm of her promises, the all-encompassing joy of their engagement, the pleasant weight of her straddling him, grinding against him, the press of her fangs against his neck… It all blended, forming an irresistible cocktail of desire. “Darling. I’m touched. A little insulted you’d think me that incognizant,” he chuckled as she huffed at him, “but very, very glad you have thought of me - worried for me.”

“That being sa-'' he began to say, but the words were aborted in favor of a low, undignified whine as her fangs finally found their mark, sinking into his neck. Pain and icy coldness spread from the pinprick wounds as she drank - rather clumsily in his opinion - the pain quickly followed by pleasure. His hips bucked as her fingers gently traced the edge of his ear. “You- ah- might want to suck and then swallow, instead of… whatever it is you’re attempting to do.” He shifted to center his cock against her, allowing her to feel all of him with every grind of her hips.

Ban opened her mouth to snap out a retort, forgetting to lick the wounds to stem the flow beforehand. Blood gushed and she swore, tongue immediately latching onto his neck to seal them shut.

Astarion snorted. “Messy, Ban. Whatsoever would you do if you actually did have to drink someone dry? You’d have half of it spill.” He took a look at his shirt and sighed. “There’s also the fact that you ruined my sh…”

He cut off with a groan, her wicked tongue lapping harder at his neck, sliding down to his collarbone, licking the blood that had pooled there. A soft snap heralded his shirt being torn open, buttons flying off in every direction, baring his chest. There was another sharp flash of painful pleasure as she nipped at the hard planes of his chest, nicking him slightly above a nipple; he opened his eyes to see her licking at the small rivulets of blood.

“Fuck the shirt,” she said, eyes glinting mischievously. “I want you to forget everything but my name.”

He swallowed, his skin feeling a little too tight, and his cock gave a long throb at her words. He was rather taken aback, surprised by the uncommon forwardness; he delighted in it, in fact. “You’ll have to try harder than that.” Not that he thought she’d have a hard time of it - Ban knew him as well as he her, and all she had to do was place her finger-

But that wasn’t a finger, was it?

She’d slid up his body again, pressed a kiss against his lips - quick and hurried - and before he knew it she’d taken his ear into her mouth, sucking it once. Hard.

The sensation was gone as soon as it came - wet and hot and tingling all around his ear, almost overwhelmingly intense for that split second. He whined at its loss, hips violently jerking up against hers, cock straining against his trousers.

There was want, there was need, but there was also desperation.

“You utter…” He shook his head. “Where did you learn that from?” More, he thought, I need more.

Ban laughed, pulling away to shoot him a wry grin. “A couple of suggestions from friends, here and there…”

He groaned. “Shadowheart?”

“Perhaps.”

He felt her hand snake down, wrapping around his clothed length; his hips canted upwards of their own accord to meet her, seeking friction. The other hand traced an ear, tongue swirling around a nipple and gods he refused to come like this, at least not tonight…

“That’s quite enough.” There was no bite in his tone - he thought it impossible at the moment - but she paused long enough for him to lean her back until she was underneath him. One long, hard thrust - pressing his cock against her, fabric the only thing between them and oh gods he could feel how wet she was - and he pulled away enough to flip her over.

“Was it too much?” She propped herself up, looking at him over her shoulder with careful, slightly concerned eyes. Astarion shook his head.

“On the contrary; I want more of it, much more - but later, else this won’t be a long enough nor a worthy enough encounter for our engagement night.” He considered her, laid out in front of him, eyes and body beckoning to him. “On your stomach, darling,” he whispered, pleased at how quickly she obeyed, lying flat and resting her head on her hands, the muscled expanse of her back and ass presented to him. He ran his hands up the back of her legs, slipping under her dress, fingers digging into each ass cheek before rucking the garment up and off, tossing it to the side.

She turned to look at him, amused. This he matched with a wry grin of his own as he sat up and made a show of stripping off his trousers - slowly undoing the laces, hooking his fingers under the waistband and tugging them down inch by painstaking inch to reveal pale, perfect hipbones, running a hand over the tented outline of his cock, causing her to bite back a moan. She knew Astarion was fully aware of how he looked: bloody shirt torn open, wounds already closing, grass in his hair, cockhead finally slipping out of his trousers. He stroked himself again, eyes locked onto her.

“Hurry up, you tease,” she admonished, rolling her hips to briefly lift her ass up in the air.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Trousers and underwear were roughly tugged down and kicked off. He crawled towards her and she began to spread her legs in anticipation, but he stopped her with a gentle touch. Guiding her thighs back together, he slid his legs on either side of hers. He grasped himself as he shoved her underwear to the side, sliding across her folds, rubbing himself against her.

She watched him throughout all this, her look of amusement changing into one of lust. He gave her one last smug smirk, then slowly sank inside her; the position made the fit deliciously tight, but she was so wet he slipped in without difficulty, burying himself to the hilt. They both groaned when his balls pressed against her.

He leaned forwards, palms gripping the small of her back, thrusting into her. Utterly perfect, that tight, wet, heat that was taking him so well, the feeling of being home. His thrusts gradually lost their slow pace as his self control dissipated. With every stroke he could hear her moan, feel her clenching all around him in an exquisite rhythm that was only her, could only ever be her-

He wrapped his hands around her waist, urging her to sit up. He sent an image over their connection, showing her what he wanted, and she had to bite back a moan of anticipation. He knelt as her legs slipped out from under him, watched hungrily as she straddled him, her back arching against his chest as she slid down onto his length once more. Her ass was pressed wonderfully against him and she began to ride him slowly, gliding her hips languorously, keeping him deep inside her. He rolled his hips up into her, working with the rhythm of her movements, slipping a hand lower to part her folds and find her clit, tracing circles in a slow but insistent pattern.

“Astarion, I love you,” she groaned out. “I’ve always loved you. Have always wanted you, longed for you, needed you. You… you deserve everything - love, happiness, the world. I haven’t been the best at giving it to you, but I swear I will. I’ll love you and cherish you and choose you, over and over again, in every lifetime and beyond. My life didn’t really even start until you. You were my real beginning, my future… you’ll be with me at the end, and for every step in between. You’re the part I’ve always been missing, the half that makes me whole, the other half of my soul. There’s only ever been you, there will only ever be you.” She was babbling, words spilling freely, words she had kept behind walls for so long.

Words he had always needed to hear. Words that only fueled his desire and joy, that brought tears to his eyes and drew a whimper from his lips, hips thrusting faster in response. What he had hoped she’d be to him for so long, finally reciprocated. In her own words, yes, but very much the same. He breathed the words out into their bond, hoping she understood.

My thiramin. Finally. My very own. I’ve waited for you for so long.

They both sighed, both overwhelmed by the headiness of the moment, their bodies moving in unison. Their grinding gradually began losing rhythm as they both approached their peak, the quiet gasps and groans becoming more urgent. His hand snaked up her body to her neck, fingers wrapping below her chin to pull her head back; she felt him press his lips against her pulse, then replace them with fangs.

“I should show you how it’s done,” he purred. “How to bite perfectly, to suck, to swallow, to lick.” Each word was accompanied by the action itself. A small nip, enough to break skin and draw blood, then pleasant suction, and then loud, exaggerated swallows, accompanied by moans of satisfaction breathed right beside her ear. In conjunction with those talented fingers on her clit and the unhurried rhythm of their lovemaking, it was almost too much, but she never wanted to stop.

She leaned into his touch, arching her back and neck to give him even more access. Tangling her fingers in his curls, she tugged, urging his head forward. He followed her lead, eyes closed. She could tell he was close, possibly even closer than she was - his short, rapid panting, the now-frantic rolling of his hips, the fingers on her clit losing their tempo - she saw it all, saw her husband lost in her, lost in his pleasure and joy, and she intended to give him more.

He was pressed tightly against her, jaw digging into her shoulder as he drank from her neck, his eyes roved down her body, watching everything. He was so focused, so lost, he didn’t even register her movement as she shifted to wrap her lips around his ear again. She took it in and gave a long, firm lick and then a sudden suck, swallowing as she did.

She felt him come before she heard it - the sharp, hard jerk of his hips, the sudden, violent slam of his cock so deep inside her it bordered on pain, and the fingers on her neck tightened, overwhelming her with sensation. His loud, whimpered gasp followed a half a heartbeat later, quickly chased by his low, guttural moan as he spilled inside her. The feeling was so intimate, so delicious, so perfect and she came undone as well, clenching tightly around him over and over as their joint pleasure took them both.

Perfect, his cock buried in her, her spasming around every inch of him, his fingers working her through their orgasms. Suddenly, their minds linked, each reaching for the other at their peak, reveling in the joy and the love and the overwhelming pleasure the other felt. Her clit, his cock, his hand on her neck, her fingers in his curls, his ear between her lips, her nails digging into his thigh - every sensation mixed together in a golden spiral that was magnificent and wonderful and beautiful and euphoric and consuming and it was everything and then suddenly it became too much. They instinctively drew away from the contact, the edges of it having become too keen, leaving them both overstimulated, overwhelmed, and a bit delirious.

Their bodies slowed in unison and they collapsed into each other as the last waves washed over them. She leaned heavily against him; he released her neck and held her close.

“That,” Ban said, licking her lips shakily, “was new.”

“Far newer than even you intended,” he agreed. “I however found it glorious - both things, in case you were wondering.”

Ban nodded. “That last thing we’ll have to use sparingly, I think. I…” she sighed, feeling lightheaded. It was amazing, far more intense than the time they’d melded minds while touching themselves before their reconciliation. Remember, Ban, openness, she admonished herself. She found it easy to do, suddenly realizing the lack had been more a force of habit than any actual need to hide, for awhile now. “It was amazing, much more intense than when we shared our pleasure from afar.” Her voice was quiet, almost distant, her mind struggling to retain thoughts in the aftermath.

“Agreed.” Astarion’s voice cut through the haze in her head, and he slowly repositioned them, turning her in his arms to cradle her in his lap. She could see him peering at her, the concern in his gaze obvious. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, just a bit adrift, like my mind is more exhausted than my body. I do think I’ll need a break after this, though,” she admitted.

He hummed softly, thoughtful. “Perhaps it would be a good time to bring back that idea we had - that little game we wanted to play. We agreed on a tenday, yes?”

Ban chuckled, tickled even through her exhaustion. “I’ll do you one better. Not until our wedding.”

“Not until-” Astarion cursed. “Gods. You are evil, you know that? You give me the best meal of my life and then decide on a month-long fast - evil. Unmercifully, unrepentantly evil.”

“It’s a yes or a no, Astarion.”

He smiled, seemingly pleased at the prospect despite his complaints. “It is not unprecedented amongst elven mates, to fast in this way, for long periods, to heighten the pleasure…” he mused, a devilish smirk blooming at the thought. “I’d very much like to see how intense things can be after a month’s respite.”

“Yes, or no,” she pressed.

He laughed. “Yes, darling. Yes to everything.”

To every question she’d asked today, to every one she would ask from this little game to eternity - yes.

Bonus: Was listening to this song while writing this chapter!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

[wjbminecraft]

Ok so I agree that the Minecraft movie looks bad. But also like almost every alternative idea I've seen including my own one feel more like fanfilm ideas than something I can imagine a major studio making. So, here's how I imagine a good (or at least not terrible) "mainstream" Minecraft movie could work (please bear in mind that I'm thinking from the perspective of what I, personally, believe a studio would approve, while also trying to make it at least somewhat Minecrafty, also sorry if this sounds bad, I'm not a writer or director or whatever):

Make it animated, obviously. Go for the Minecraft trailer style, but - and I cannot stress this enough - make it have dialogue, like yeah a movie with no dialogue might sweep the film festivals, but cinematic releases of dialogue-free movies are rare. In regards to face animation, they could just flap around the characters' mouth-pixels or whatever. No 3D modelled mouths, like I'm probably in the minority here but I do not like how Minecraft characters look with 3D modelled mouths.

Keep the isekai aspect. You can do a lot with that, especially if it has an ensemble cast (more on that further down), since you can then have some of them actually know the mechanics and have like. A character arc of teaching their parents or whatever how the game works. And there's maybe like two live-action sequences? Like one at the start and one at the end.

Make. The antagonists. Illagers. Other people have said this and I agree. It makes more sense than Piglins and also it means that the Nether could be saved for a potential sequel. However,

The movie should break away from just including stuff that exists in/works like the game, like this is the one criticism of the Minecraft movie that I 100% disagree with. Like people are like "Lol, this thing isn't in Minecraft! This isn't a real Minecraft movie!" then turn around and go "Minecraft Story Mode is the real Minecraft movie!" when like, that game has so much fucking stuff that isn't in the actual game. Let the Minecraft movie have made up stuff in it, but make it actually good made up stuff (and not like. Ghast hot-air balloons or chained buckets or whatever the Minecraft movie actually has in it). Give us whales and giant smashy-smashy Illagers and one (1) Redstone-powered mech and stuff.

I cannot stress enough. Ensemble cast. It could just be my bias but I do think it should have an ensemble cast. Like maybe two and their parent(s). Like a lot of the Minecraft Movie overhauls/preemptive rewrites I've seen are all like "it's just Alex and Steve surviving" and like. No, that would be too "boring" for a feature-length mainstream animated family film.

The soundtrack is cool cinematic covers of the Minecraft soundtrack, but specifically the more recent tracks for rights reasons or whatever.

Herobrine shouldn't be referenced.

"Defending the base" sequence during the first night in the Minecraft world, and then at some point later on there's a brief bit where all the characters are using the skills they've learned throughout the plot (e.g one of them is really good at Redstone and has set up like piston traps or whatever).

Sculk is used as a Chekov's Gun; there's a vein of it growing under the main village, and as the characters fight and defeat Illagers, it grows, and then when the protagonists are on the ropes, the sound of the Illager leader unsheathing their sword or whatever alerts an entire chain of Sculk Sensors that activates a Sculk Shrieker, which then causes a Warden to appear and save the protagonists.

I am mostly out of ideas but uhhhhh the Ender Dragon is also saved as a potential sequel thing. Ok bye.