#but you should at least consider his complexities and the way the events of his life inform where he currently is

[chainofclovers]

The world, or at least Ted Lasso fandom spaces, would be much-improved if people stopped genuinely wishing violence on a fictional character for his supposedly unforgivable sins and instead read this excellent interview and thought about it for a few minutes, preferably quietly and contemplatively :)

(Interview contains very mild and not particularly plotty s3 spoilers)

[osiiiris]

About problematic ships

I know this post and it’s consequences will probably end up pissing me off, but I’d really like to have a serious conversation about “problematic ships.” Like, an adult conversation. 

I know we can do it.

Precondition

For me, most of this opinion doesn’t involve the Copiiia/Copiia/Cop1a ships because I think the incest factor isn’t the main thing with that ship. The Papa x Papa ship involves Copia on 99.99% of the time for the simple reason that he was introduced as not being part of the bloodline, and six (6) years passed before he was officially and undoubtedly confirmed as part of it (I have my opinions about this change, too). It seems totally reasonable to me that some people just chose to stick to that first statement and create the pairings they liked with him through all this time.

I have never personally seen a Terzo x Secondo fic, or a Primo x Secondo and so on. Most Copiiia/Cpiia/Cop1a authors are simply not interested in creating an incest story.

That said, since people associated Copia x other Papas with pure incest from the beginning, I think we can at least gain something interesting from all this discourse.

/Precondition

Many “nasty” stories (books, fanfics, movies, songs… whatever) provide an opportunity to discuss “taboo” issues. Some can serve as case studies for reflecting on human behavior in specific contexts. I know fanfictions are mostly meant to entertain, to fantasize, even to get horny or just to imagine ourselves in a romance with our favorite characters, but this would be underestimating the work of fanfic writers. Some fanfictions are deep, offering interesting analyses and portraits of human behavior, and some may choose unusual topics to explore very dark and complex (also frivolous, why not) aspects of human nature.

If an author decides to choose a “problematic” topic to express their creativity, it is none of your business.

Even if a relationship is considered morally unacceptable, authors still have the right to write about it, and interested readers have the right to read it. Otherwise, no author should be allowed to write about murder, which I think is the most morally unacceptable act one can commit.

A relationship can be nasty even if it is between two complete strangers. It can be abusive. It can be violent. It can involve rape (a topic I personally despise with every fiber of my being, but STILL, I read about it and sometimes even write about it). It can be dysfunctional, toxic, unbalanced, boring… people still have the right to explore it in whatever way they like. By the way, somehow if a fictional relationship is so bad but it’s between two regular people it is still accepted, but it becomes absolutely unacceptable if it involves two siblings.

I’d like to bring up some examples of famous incestuous or problematic stories:

The Dreamers, by Bernardo Bertolucci: Not sure how many of you know about this movie. I watched it when I was a little girl and never for a moment was I grossed out by the story. I was rather fascinated by the relationship between the twins and how it becomes a refuge and a way to escape reality. You can interpret that relationship in so many ways. It was strange, even poetic, but it was interesting to explore. The movie is still one of my favorites.

Lolita: Nabokov himself asked not to romanticize the story (which was inspired by a real event, btw). That book doesn’t make him a pedophile or a nasty person; it was just his imagination, a sad dynamic he felt was worth exploring and telling.

Dogtooth, by Yorgos Lanthimos: This is another example of a very particular situation where explicit incestuous situations occur (more than one, to be fair). It is one of the most interesting movies I have ever seen from a “what humans do when put into a very singular situation” perspective.

Nymphomaniac, by Lars von Trier: nothing less than an equally upsetting and poignant creation. Many people here would go absolutely crazy at the scene where the protagonist reacts to her father’s death, I’m sure of it. I’m still trying to interpret it.

No, I won’t include A song if Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones, enough people have done that already.

Try discussing those works by saying, “That movie was bad because they are siblings and they can’t do those things!” Ok, legitimate, but try to imagine how you sound from the outside if that is really the ONLY critique you can make.

Witch-hunting creators who are brave enough to explore the nastiest parts of human nature doesn’t make you a good person. It makes you a person who wants the world to conform to your image, making you unable to face and analyze what you find unacceptable.

When confronting a topic you don’t like, you have two choices: enrich your knowledge or allow your boundaries to limit your artistic consumption, but never, ever bully someone else because they are simply interested in that subject.

[chadfallout76podcast]

what made you put nora x danse together in death shroud? i was surprised considering nora x hancock shippers seem to be the loudest/most popular ship in the fandom!

That's a great question with a complex answer. Sometimes writers write from instinct without a lot of thought in the moment. At least for me anyway, it's very stream of consciousness and I let the great whatever kind of guide me, in the moment not really thinking too much...just mentally playing out scenes in my head, letting the characters interact and then I transcribe what's in my head to the page. I had to think about your answer and why I put them together.

I know people LOVE a Nora/Hancock ship, but I looked at it through the lens of grief and loss. When you lose the love of your life, a part of you dies with them. Imagine a perfect morning, your husband, your child shattered in just minutes. MINUTES. In minutes everything you've ever known is gone. Then seemingly minutes later you watch them killed. An empty death. A pointless death, seemingly without reason or justification. And then, boom...you are thrust out into a harsh, unforgiving, broken world mirroring the shattered part of your soul. People bend, but they rarely break and even when they do, the road you take may grow dark, but at the end of it even in the deepest part of you, the heart YEARNS for what it lost. Nate went to war because he felt a deep sense of duty to his country and to his family, however misplaced this may be in the grand schemes of suits, politicians and madmen. Soldiers always pay the price for their kindness, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and represent the last true measure of devotion and faith in an idea. I think Nora would've loved that about him.

Danse, while completely different, is a blurry shadow of Nate. The dedicated soldier, whose ideals and life were built around the idea of what the Brotherhood should be (perhaps not what it was under Maxson). I would argue that many of Danse's actions fly in the face of how Maxson would do things, and yet he clearly skated reprimand as the ends always were satisfactory. There is a nobility in that fact, as Danse isn't motivated by power, making many of his decision altruistic to a degree. His arc however SIMILARLY to Nora leads to a cataclysmic loss of everything he's ever known. His entire identity, his "family", his entire life shattered in minutes. Danse is a widower to the person he was, Paladin Danse DIED that day. Danse is who survived.

Sometimes soulful love is born from a shared journey in healing. For Nora, Danse is a reminder of the man she lost...never, ever to be replaced or forgotten but honored. There is so, so much of who Danse is that is a shadowed remind of what she fell in love with in Nate, enough to be comfortably familiar while also different. For Danse, Nora is the suture of a wound as deep as the soul, not born into, but made...not created by Man with 1's and 0's, but through choices and actions that represent the truth of sentience. They very much needed each other. Healing journeys can create friction. People are complex. Guilt, doubt, regret, fear of being wounded again all can push people away from each other. And yet, in due course, the heart wants what the heart wants. Nora and Danse found their way back to each other, and for me, would've remained following the events of Death Shroud.

Although for more on what happens next...you'll need to wait a little bit. ;)

[rarepears]

Nie Huaisang, Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue all reincarnate together into PIDW, and become disciples around the same time as Luo Binghe.

The drama of this is of course enhanced by the facts that NMJ & JGY died "early," but NHS & LXC lived to the end of their natural lives as cultivators, and so some of their perspectives and opinions on events have naturally changed with age. (tfw the passage of time renders you unfamiliar to your once-loved ones)

Eventually they talk about their feelings and reconcile and such, and this ends up derailing the plot of PIDW severely as the rest of the PIDW characters confusedly observe quite possibly the weirdest disciples Cang Qiong's ever seen

NMJ on Bai Zhan, with no clue what's going on because he died first and NHS & LXC haven't told him anything

NHS on An Ding, thoroughly enjoying what's pretty much a vacation to him at this point and possibly running an interpeak illicit goods market (definitely not to distract himself from any of the emotions having NMJ & JGY alive and nearby would be causing him, Everything Is Fine) I haven't decided if he'd get involved with the whole og!SQH and MBJ situation tho

LXC on Qiong Ding, because I feel like he'd see himself in Yue Qingyuan and lowkey hate him for it and I think that could be interesting

JGY on Qing Jing, because he's the objectively the funniest/most interesting character to throw into the mess that is SJ and LBH. The way I imagine it, he's doing the most direct derailing of the plot, because he mostly accidentally gets right in the middle of the thing that is going on between those two

I feel like as I wrote this it became more serious than I originally intended so just know that I'm mentally picturing this like a fic that's interspersed with outsider POV of the 4 of them being completely deranged about eachother

(Also I'd feel bad taking away LXC's brother so LWJ and WWX + friends are busy doing hot girl shit being rogue cultivators. I think WWX should be a half demon so he gets to keep the cultivation and steal some of LBH's protagonist energy. If this was a fic then the rest of the Untamed gang would be perfect to use for side characters during off-peak missions)

*grabs popcorn and sits down to hear more*

Nie Huaisang is having too much fun waiting the two idiots called his shizun and shizun's poorly kept secret of a boyfriend go flailing around on these terribly unromantic dates BUT THE TWO WERE TRYING SO HARD that it was cute. He wonders if he should do something to help the poor idiots out... Should he?

Maybe he should...

(Watch Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun suddenly have a number of sex pollen accidents over the next few months....)

Lan Xichen would be an old man and a good voice of reason for Yue Qingyuan. Although he's head disciple and a very good one at that (if only because his Big Brother instincts can't be held back and he MUST interfere to help prevent history repeating once more), Lan Xichen has made it very clear that he would never accept becoming sect leader.

Also don't forget Liu Mingyan in the background writing about a 4 person sex orgy. At least, that's her personal theory for why there's so much UNRESOLVED TENSION between these four sus male disciples. And also, because it's fun.

It's even funner when you consider that Nie Mingjue is out of the loop of Cang Qiong stuff even on Bai Zhan because he tags along on so many of Liu Qingge's missions that he's probably spending like 8 months of the year outside of the sect.

(Nie Huaisang gets "assigned" to missions that happen to take place near Nie Mingjue's hunts.)

Meng Yao is Meng Yao and he still craves the approval of Male Authority Figures That Could be his dad. Also Meng Yao still likes to climb up the social hierarchy and power. AKA Luo Binghe growing mushrooms in the corner at seeing ANOTHER QING JING disciple THE SAME AGE AS HIM being given SO MUCH ATTENTION AND APPROVAL by shizun.

Luo Binghe develops a complex over Meng Yao of course.

(Shen Jiu approves of Meng Yao because he understands these characters very well and know how to manipulate (cough kill or injury them physically or mentally) them easily. Plus Meng Yao is actually competent.)

[More in #Nie Huaisang Lan Xichen Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue reincarnate into PIDW and are Cang Qiong disciples at the same time as Luo Binghe is AU

[darlingshane]

Violent Desires

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank doesn't like being called 'daddy' but you do it anyway to rile him up and have him punish you.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Smut, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Spanking, Light bondage, Mild Daddy Kink, Brat!Reader, Mention of Alcohol, Mention of canon-typical violence.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This is loosely inspired by some events at the beginning of The Punisher’s season 2.

— You can read below or at AO3.

Spending the summer in a grimy motel with no AC in bumfuck nowhere with an asshole you met only a few weeks ago isn't exactly a dream vacation. But trouble always has led you to the strangest of places. And considering that you might be dead if you hadn't met Frank Castle that night, you can't really complain about your current status. You got yourself here, and you should be thankful for still having all your limbs and head attached to your body.

Still, it doesn’t make it easy to show gratitude to a prickling jerk with a fucking savior complex, when all he does is boss you and hustle you around however he desires.

You can’t help but wonder what’s in this for him. At first, you believed he just wanted a piece of ass, like every other bastard you’ve met, but no, Frank is not about that. At least he hasn’t shown any interest in you in that way.

This isn’t about money for him, either. You’ve offered, and he’s declined any of your offers.

Perhaps, it’s all about doing the right thing – being a hero, whatever that means. But you’re not a saint, or a damsel in distress, and he knows that. Messing with the wrong people by holding onto something that Greenway wanted, and never got, thanks to your unyielding knight in shining armor, is what got you into this mess in the first place.

Eventually, you figure out why and realize that this arrangement has nothing to do with you or being noble in the slightless.

It’s about the fight.

He lives for it. Welcomes it. Seeks it. Needs it like oxygen.

Violence fuels him to keep going. It courses through his veins, thicker than his own blood.

Every day, it becomes more obvious you’re merely a means to an end in the hands of The punisher. You figured who he was too when you found an old newspaper piece with his face taped on the back of an old van’s window, when you stopped for gas once.

Frank or Pete. Neither name means anything to you.

His life is a tragedy, there's no denying that. But that doesn't give him a pass to be that inconsiderate towards you.

You’re a stranger to him. He doesn’t owe you shit, and vice versa. But when he saw you in trouble, unlike the rest of the world, he didn't hesitate for a second to risk his own life by getting between you and the men that were chasing after you.

After getting out of that roadhouse, he drove you from town to town for the most part of the last month, killing any dumbass that dared to track you down, until they stopped following you.

Living closely together with him is no picnic. He watches you like a hawk, always alert, and acts as more of a captor rather than a protector sometimes.

At this point, you're not sure what comes next. Is he going to be your keeper forever? Cause you’re getting tired of this situation and you just wanna go back to your life, or whatever is left. The truth is, Greenway killed everyone you knew, so you don’t have much to return to. Maybe sticking by Frank’s side is the best option for you right now.

Warranted or not, this isn’t over yet. He took down some of Greenway’s most dangerous men, and more are on the way. You’re both sure that the big boss is still looking for the woman, you, who has the key to bring him down. It consists of a pesky pen drive that if were to fall into the right hands, it'd mean the end to his crime ring. That's the only insurance that’s keeping you from pushing daisies in an unmarked grave somewhere.

That and Frank.

It’s been a couple of weeks since you were last tracked to that motel in Wyoming. The mileage of Frank’s van has collected thousands of miles since, and tonight you’re up for an adventure. So, you sneak out past your guard the first chance you get to explore the new town. Temperatures are painfully hot, and you just take shelter in a bar with a good air conditioner. You play pool, have a drink or two, and dance with newfound friends for a couple of hours past Frank’s dinner time.

“Where the hell were you?” his voice grumbles, one hand reaching to pull the beaded string from the old-as-fuck lamp on the night table between the twin beds when you step into the room.

It’s past midnight, you said earlier you were going to get some snacks from the bending machine and that’s when you decided to go on a walk around town instead. Because you’re not a goddamn child, or a helpless girl who can’t keep herself safe. He acts like you're both. You’re neither.

You simply shrug indifferently at his question, toeing off your slip-on shoes by the foot of the bed.

“You got anything to say, huh?” he mutters, rising from his bed to tower over you.

“I'm sorry, daddy,” you turn your back to him, and start shedding clothes off.

“The fuck did you just say?” he snarls oh so gravely. Tone laced in anger. You can feel the rough texture of his voice on the surface of your back when you pull your shirt over your head.

“Said I was sorry, daddy,” you pout, slipping out of your pants and kneeling on your bed, stripped to your underwear.

“Are you drunk?”

“Just a lil buzzed, daddy.”

“Stop calling me that. For fuck's sake! What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Isn't that what you are, though? You act like it. You sound like it. Always telling me what to do, what to eat, where to go… If you don't want me to call you that, then stop trying to control me.”

“You'd be dead in a ditch somewhere if I hadn’t done all that. Hate me all you want, sweetheart, but you and I both know that’s true.”

“So you keep saying, Oh Almighty Savior, but I was doing fine until I met you,” you stick out your pointer finger and poke his chest twice with malice.

“I doubt that,” he shoves your hand away. “And we still gotta find what kind of shit you bring to our door after your impromptu outing tonight.”

“Relax, if the punisher couldn't track me down, neither could they.”

“You better be right. Christ! You’re such a goddamn brat. You say you wanna stop running, but you’re being utterly careless,” he starts pacing the short length of the room, peeking out the window here and there.

“Why are you always so angry?” your lips turn into a half grin, as you shift on the bed, getting on all fours, showing your ass in his direction as he walks past your bed. “You wanna come take it out on me, daddy? I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.”

“So help me, God! Call me that one more time…” stopping in his tracks just for a beat, his teeth grit together, as the muscles of his jaw get all worked up.

“And what? What are you gonna do, daddy? Tape my mouth and handcuff me to the radiator again? You wanna know what I did tonight? C’mere and make me tell you.”

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you tonight, you’re not even that drunk. But you find it quite entertaining to rile him up like that.

For a moment, he stares at you like he wanted to rip you apart, like all those men you’ve seen perish in The Punisher’s wake.

You want him too.

You need him too.

Frank just stares and swallows anxiously, unable to decide what to do with you and your erratic behavior.

“Stop being a pussy and show me what the big bad punisher can do,” you keep provoking him, wiggling your ass in the air. “I know you’ve been sitting there all night, just itching like crazy to beat the hell out of someone. Or fuck someone’s brains out. I guess it’s just the same feeling.”

“Keep running your fucking mouth like that. See how far that gets you.”

You press your teeth on your bottom lip, glance at him over your shoulder before spelling the magic word, “do you wanna use my mouth, daddy?”

There's no doubt you're in big trouble when he abandons his pacing, and closes the window’s blinds in one harsh motion before standing behind you with such an imposing dark shadow it makes the hairs on your skin rise.

Silence takes over for three seconds and without a warning, that silence is broken by the sound of your panties being torn apart effortlessly with his fingers. It makes you ache in a whole different way when you look over your shoulder again to see his nose flaring and his eyes falling into the depths of lust as his fist clutches to your now-ruined underwear.

“Don't fucking look at me like that,” he mutters, lip curling into a snarl. And before you can say anything, he reaches with his free hand to hold your jaw while he shoves the shredded panties into your mouth. “You call me Frank or Sir, but I don't wanna hear you say that word again. Got that? Nod if you understand.”

The brat in you wants to say – yes, daddy – but you do as you're told. Dip your chin, and keep your head low.

His large warm palms roam the sides of your hips now. Gripping firmly to your skin as if he wanted to dig his fingertips past the delicate surface of your body to get his hands covered in your blood, and taste it; drown himself in it. That’s exactly how it feels.

It’s nothing but desperate. All this time without a companion has turned it into something he never was, at least not in bed. A bloodlust creature he’d sworn once he would never become. But you’re a different kind of breed, one that can take him places he’s never dared to visit, he recognizes. And right now all he wants to do is satisfy the monster sharpening its teeth under his skin, and feed him with your desire.

With one hand anchored to your hip, he sends the other to undo his belt. You hear the familiar unbuckling sound and the rustling of the fabric as he slides the fine leather off the jeans’ loops.

For a second, you think he’s going to strike you with it, but no. He instead slides the leather around your neck.

“Stay still,” it falls under a heavy breath between his lips.

A pitched sound echoes in your throat as he buckles it tight around your neck. It doesn't have a notch to hold on to up that high, so Frank curls the end around his fist to keep the leather snug around your neck.

“What? Isn’t this what you wanted, little brat?” he tugs on it a little.

The pace of your heart picks up, but you nod again in your makeshift leash. You trust him, nonetheless. He wouldn’t have gotten you this far if he was going to kill you.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Sir,” you mumble around the fabric of your underwear.

Then, you feel the deft fingers of his opposite hand, gliding from your ass and up your back to unclasp your bra. He lets you slip one arm at a time or off the straps as he presses his bulge against your ass. It stirs at burning arousal in your core. Your walls soften and flutter deliciously in anticipation.

Enjoying himself, he presses his hips a little harder, making sure you can feel the hard outline of his cock swelling behind the denim fabric. It's substantially bigger than you thought. It's daunting and exciting to think about him defiling your pussy with it.

“Let's see what you're made of,” he tentatively moves one hand between your legs, shoving his twitchy finger in your folds to collect your slickness. “Christ, you're so fucking wet.”

In his power play, as he rubs circles around your clit, every time your face dips lower, he pulls the belt to keep your head straight up, facing the ugly headboard of the uncomfortable bed. You can only imagine what people do in places like this, and how many dirty secrets this bed and these four walls have seen. They're about to witness another when Frank releases the end of the belt, letting the leather lose its constriction around your neck.

You let out a shaky breath through your nose as he takes his other hand away from your sex. A second after, both his palms land on your chest and feast on your tits. He fills his eager hands, squeezing as hard as they did on your ass to mark his digits on them. Claiming them as if they existed only for his enjoyment.

Working himself up, he lets out a grunt, and pinches your nipples with vehemence just to hear you squeal again.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he soothes his palms softer on your puckered peaks and frees them at once to finally undo his fly and release his erection.

Frank glances down, spits on his palm, and spreads his saliva around the blunt tip of his cock before guiding himself into your pussy. You're already drenched, but your entrance welcomes the extra lubrication as he slowly sheathes himself inside you.

Your eyes flutter shut, feeling the breadth of his swelling stretching your opening in that first stroke.

“God, you’re so tight,” Frank's lips part as a shy, beautiful moan slides past his teeth at the fine pressure of your slicked walls. He pulls himself out fully, and repeats that motion again to capture how your entrance grips around his length when he breaches you.

Abandoning himself to the depths of your walls, his thrusts are nothing but experimental for a few strokes before unleashing the violent desires of his inner monster to let his hips slam against your ass at full force.

Claiming every inch of you, he keeps your body in submission with his hands clutching the curves of your ass, and you gladly surrender to his whims. His fingers sink in new places, stamping their prints and half moons when his nails press harder on your skin.

The room oozes of sweat and sex and the lewd sounds that come from his body colliding against yours over and over, and the creaking of the bed.

Yours fists ball the flowery bedspread for a long time before sending one of your hands between your legs to care for your clit.

“Did I say that you could touch yourself?” he spanks your ass twice to put a stop to your hand.

“Please… I need it,” you articulate with difficulty.

“Stop whining, and fucking take it,” his palm smacks your rear once more, harder.

Ignoring your pleading, the punishing rhythm of his cock, crawling up to the hilt, becomes more desperate as it brings you closer to ecstasy; thrust after thrust. Your body shudders in delight, and every time you cry out his name, curl your hips against his moves, or beg, you're gifted with a new smack.

As you reach the tipping point, his force turns sharper, meaner. It's at that moment that all your muscles seize up, and everything becomes blurry before letting the orgasm take over your body. You groan and pull yourself away from Frank's reach to lay face down on the mattress.

You might have had enough, but he's not satisfied yet and before the orgasm ebbs he grabs the curves of your ass, pulling them up to their former position, while you keep your head and shoulders pressed to the bed. He keeps you like that with one hand and uses the other to shove his cock back inside, capturing the relentless flutters and contractions of your walls from your orgasm.

“Did I tell you to come?” he breathes fire, using a harsh palm to chastise you once more.

Still up in your high, you can only hum in response.

“Answer me!” he demands, extending his fingers to your lips to pull the fabric out of your mouth.

“I… I’m sorry, Sir.”

The overstimulation barely lets you word that out, as he grows overjoyed, watching you struggle between battling your orgasm and the new strange entity that overcomes your body. It’s a different kind of beast, fueled by a great amount of stamina, that doesn’t waver when it comes to picking up the same wild rhythm as before. He sweats it out, works it out, growls it out like a fucking animal until all his seed is poured into your tenderness and the lust-hungry monster is finally sated.

As that creature goes back to its cave, Frank goes limp on your side.

You stretch your legs and lay on your stomach, as he rests on his back. He notices just now how his clothes are still on and how annoying they become as they cling to the layer of sweat trying to cool down his body.

Glancing to the side, you see his chest rising and falling at a fast rate, as your heart starts to settle.

“That was…” he starts, and you can see a glimpse of a tiny smile taking over one corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you let out a sigh, sliding the leather that was still partially hanging around your neck, letting it fall to the floor.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, Frank. You didn’t.”

“I know you said that I could. But for a moment I thought– I don’t know what came over me… I never wanted to… didn’t mean to…”

“Frank,” you put a palm on his chest to stop that complicated thought. “We had sex. It was great. Don’t overthink it. I’d have hit you at any point if I felt threatened or unsafe. Trust me.”

“Bet you would’ve.”

Your lips curve up, observing his body completely relaxed for the first time in weeks.

[hysel-e]

🌸 Recipe for Romance 🌸

Orter's eyes narrowed as soon as you appeared before him in the hallway of the Police Academy.

"Say no more. I'm well aware that you're ecstatic to see me. I'm delighted to see you too," you greeted him with unmatched enthusiasm.

The only response he could provide was a sigh of vexation.

Beside him stood Alex Elliot, known for his strong sense of justice and someone you had grown quite close to.

"Y/N, how do you always manage to appear around the hall at just the right time with lunch for Orter?" Alex questioned.

"If you weren't aware, teleportation magic exists."

"But that's an advanced spell... and you're a first-year."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Let me offer you some words of wisdom, Alex." You pointed a finger at his face, "For the pursuit of love, no spell is too complex."

"Did you learn that spell just to pop over to the Police Academy every day?"

"Of course. How else would I be able to travel wherever I need to? I'll have you know that I'm currently in the process of learning a healing spell as well in the event he gets injured. Look at how caring and thoughtful I am," you said, swelled with a sense of pride.

"That aside... did you also prepare lunch for me this time?" Alex asked eagerly, his mouth already watering at the thought of your cooking.

You feigned a thoughtful look. "Hmm, let's see... is your name Orter Mádl?"

"That's playing favorites!" he protested.

"I'm kidding. Here's your share as well. Knowing your appetite, I made sure to make your portion bigger," you said, handing him a generously filled lunchbox.

"If it weren't clear as day to everyone that you were pursuing Orter, I would definitely ask for your hand in marriage," he declared, half-joking.

"See how he's much more honest than you, Orter? You should take notes," you said, turning to Orter with a smug smile.

"Taking notes would suggest a level of interest that doesn't exist," he retorted, adjusting his glasses.

"Well then, let's not keep the food waiting," you said, unfazed by his blunt comment.

The three of you made your way to the cafeteria and sat at an empty table.

"Mmmmmm! Good eats!!" Alex exclaimed as he began devouring the lunch you made.

"I'm glad at least one person appreciates my cooking," you said, glancing at Orter. "A word of acknowledgement would be nice."

"The meal is edible," he responded impassively.

"Is that what you would considered praise? You could stand to improve."

He took a deep breath before replying. "It's more than merely edible - it's acceptable."

"I knew it was delicious! After all, I made it," you beamed, choosing to take his words as a compliment.

How you always managed to misconstrue his words, he would never know.

"I'll let you in on a little secret since I like you so much. This particular recipe uses a secret ingredient that makes the food so delicious."

"Curious to know what it is? I don't mind telling you~" you teased, leaning in closer.

"I don't care," he replied flatly, his gaze fixed on his meal.

"The secret ingredient is love!"

"Stop disrupting my lunch," he said, his patience wearing thin.

His words fell on deaf ears as you ignored him and continued, "They say that love is the hardest ingredient of all to add, so now you know how much effort I put into making these delicious lunches for you everyday."

"Your efforts were unsolicited."

"But you still enjoy them, right? Then that's all that matters."

"Where did you get the impression that I find them enjoyable? My only concern is that they're nourishing and edible."

"If you date me, I'll cook nourishing and edible meals like this for you everyday~"

"Consider that fantasy dispelled. Such a thing won't occur in this lifetime."

Your smile widened. "So there's a chance in another life? If that's the case, then I'll traverse the realm to find you again."

The furrow in Orter's brow deepened, and he closed his eyes with a sigh before continuing, "Allow me to rephrase since it appears you don't understand. There is no chance of it happening."

But your grin remained, as bright as ever. "Well, I'm an optimist at heart, so I have hope."

True to routine, the back-and-forth between you two continued on until the lunch break was nearing its end.

"Thanks for the grub today," Alex said.

"No problem. I'm considering trying out some new recipes. Maybe I'll slip a few Cupid gummies into Orter's lunchbox next time," you mused.

If Orter weren't an emotionless machine, you'd figure you would see a vein appearing on his face right now.

"Penal code, Article 33290 - Tampering with another's food, carries a fine of 10,000 lond or a maximum sentence of 15 years!" Alex recited with a hint of mock severity.

"Wait, wait, wait! It was only a joke, I swear!" you quickly said, raising both hands in defense. "I can't afford the fine or imprisonment! How will I prepare your meals everyday if I'm stuck behind bars?"

"As courtesy for today, I'll overlook it just this once," Alex replied, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

"Perhaps I'll sneak chocolate cavities or a fight candy in yours," you muttered under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

The bell's chime echoed through the halls, signaling the end of the lunch break.

As you prepared to return to the main building of Easton Academy, there was one last thing you needed to do.

"Before I leave, I have something special for you," you announced, turning towards Orter.

Orter braced himself, for experience had taught him to expect nothing good from you.

Rummaging through your robes, you appeared to struggle to find what you were looking for.

Finally, with a triumph smile, you pulled out...

A finger heart.

"See ya!" With a wave, you disappeared in a flash of green flames.

Watching you vanish, Alex turned to Orter with a raised eyebrow. "Orter, did you cast some kind of charm spell? Y/N is quite taken with you."

He didn't know how to cast one, nor did he recall ever doing so, but now he was starting to wonder.

For reasons unknown to him, his mood was slightly elevated for the rest of the day.

Trying to find out the exact cause seemed futile, so he chose to simply let it be.

And so began the series of exchanges that would gradually kindle Orter's affection for a certain mage.

.

.

.

Alone in his dorm room after school, Orter couldn't help but replay the scene of you making the finger heart. Despite his attempts to dismiss it, the image stubbornly stuck in his head. He begrudgingly acknowledged the cuteness of the gesture, though he'd never confess it aloud - it would be as likely as hell freezing over.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 24: His Hands Hold My Heart & He Won't Let Go Until It's Scarred

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

“You’re going to sell me to Mephistopheles?”

“Well,” he glances at his nails, eyes half-lidded in bored disdain. “I doubt he’ll take you in the flesh. Look at you—pitiful. But your soul? That, I imagine, might interest him. Perhaps he’ll melt you down and turn you into something more useful. A coin, maybe. A miserable, worthless coin.”

You know you should feel fear, maybe even anger, but all you feel is amusement—dark, hollow, and bitter. It claws its way out of you in a dry, rasping laugh. He thinks he’ll gain something from the sale of your sorry soul? What a joke. You’ve already promised it to someone far worse than Mephistopheles could ever dream of being.

It is a long way to Cania from Avernus. At the very least, it gives you time to bring Astarion home to himself, and you will be inching toward your target in the meantime. What you will do if you arrive at Mephistar still bound and tethered by the leash of compulsion is something you can consider later.

“Think I’d make a fetching coin?” You quip, a sardonic smile playing on your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, darling.” Astarion taunts darkly. The malignant red of his eyes swim with an amalgamation of cruelty and malevolence. “You will at the very least be worth something.”

“At least slot me into Karlach, will you? It would tickle me to assist her in killing you.”

Your words are reckless, but instead of backing away, something within you shifts—a gut-wrenching desire to protect him flares up. It’s poisonous, invasive, and you feel disgusted by it. Is this the compulsion Gale warned you about? Twisting you inside out until you can't even tell friend from foe?

Astarion’s laugh is sharp and jagged, like glass shattering in your ears. “You’ve always been amusingly deluded. I could snap your neck right now, and it wouldn’t make a difference to me. Mouthy little spawn like you? There’s no shortage of your kind. If you don’t shut up, I’ll tear that tongue out of your skull.”

You groan with an exasperated roll of your eyes and lay your head down on Shadowheart’s pack like a makeshift pillow. It does little to cushion your head from the stone that somehow retains the sweltering heat, like the fires of Avernus are burning just below it, despite the fact that you’re in a cave.

“Fine, kill me. Or don’t. I’m tired.” You roll your eyes and turn your back on him, though the tense atmosphere and the heat baking the air in the cave make rest seem impossible.

You close your eyes and try to get yourself to drift into some semblance of a trance.

“You cannot be seriously thinking of resting now.” His sharp, derisive scoff cuts through the silence like a whip. “It’s still daylight out.”

You open one eye and glare at him. “There is no day and night cycle here, master.” You mock him openly and marvel at how little fear you possess, even though the grim reaper stares at you with dark eyes and ashen skin as pale as death. "If you want to stay awake and brood, go ahead. I’ll be here, meditating.”

For a moment, Astarion’s gaze lingers on you with something between loathing and interest. His lips curl as if he’s mulling over the quickest way to silence you for good. You flop over dramatically, turning your back to him, and you can feel him behind you, feel his cold eyes boring into your back, but nothing happens.

Keeping your eyes firmly closed is difficult, and you have to make a conscious effort not to open them and check to see if he’s prowling behind you with a dagger in hand. Instead, you focus on his beating heart, offering you the ability to estimate proximity, which has neither increased nor decreased for some time.

Minutes stretch out into an awkward, oppressive silence. And then—without warning—he lays down beside you and presses his back against yours. For a moment you stiffen and wonder if you should pull away, but the steady rise and fall of his breathing are known, soothing even, and you quickly find yourself slowly fading from your weary mind into your trance.

Unfortunately, Astarion’s body heat only adds to the blistering heat, and sweat drips down your face, stomach, arms, and everywhere else you can possibly sweat from. It makes Shadowheart’s clothes, which do not fit you quite right, stick to you and you shift uncomfortably.

“Are you awake?” Astarion murmurs, the words brushing over you like a chill.

You hesitate, not knowing if you truly want to answer. “Yes.”

“It’s hot,” he states, almost accusatory, as if it’s your fault.

“Well, we are in the Hells. This place feels like Grymforge all over again,” you state truthfully in a mumble. Despite your draconic blood, this constant inferno is unbearable.

Your psyche dances closer and closer toward the peaceful oblivion beckoning you as your breath slows and eventually ceases, and you push yourself further into him. You tell yourself that you’re doing it for safety, but the truth is, you’re just wishing for comfort.

He speaks again when you’ve already sunken so low into your trance that your limbs are starting to feel weightless and your head feels like it might be floating above your body.

“I could keep us cool, you know. Just say the word.” He offers, and you recognize the heft of weighty weariness in the lowness of his voice. At first, you’re perplexed, but then you vaguely remember that he can control his body temperature.

In your state of near unconsciousness, you forget which Astarion you are talking to, and your tongue numbed by fatigue answers as if this is your Astarion. “Yes, my love,” you sigh.

Astarion doesn’t answer, but the change in temperature is immediate. His body cools to an almost unnaturally low temperature, relieving you from the relentless heat. Despite your better judgment, you find yourself turning toward him, seeking that comfort. His arms wrap around you, but there’s no warmth in the gesture—just cold hands that grip a little too tight, holding you like a possession. His fingers dig into your back with casual cruelty.

“You are positively pathetic,” he murmurs, his voice soft but dripping with malice. “Clinging to me for comfort like I’m still the man you used to know. Foolish little thing. I could crush you.”

Even in the haze of exhaustion, his words twist into you like a knife in your gut. But your body is too heavy, too numb to react. You’re trapped in this toxic push-and-pull between him—the monster—and the shadow of the man you loved. For now, you let the coolness lull you into a fitful trance, knowing full well you’re lying in the embrace of something dangerous.

When your eyes flutter open again, you can’t even begin to estimate the time you were asleep. Minutes? Hours? Enough time for your body to stiffen. The muscles in your legs burn, and your feet scream with pain as soon as you try to move. You blink through the grogginess and find yourself still entangled with him, his icy presence anchoring you to the sweltering cave floor.

You catch a short glimpse of Astarion more or less in his trance and tilt your head slightly. It never ceases to surprise you when you see that he still looks like himself. In your mind’s eye, you’ve conjured up a monster, but it’s not a monster that lays holding you.

It’s still just Astarion.

He shifts slightly, his brows pinching when your fingers curl into him a little too hard, and his eyes slowly open. Cold eyes meet yours only for a moment before they dart to the cave mouth. The land is pebbled with cooling, molten balls, some still in their spherical shapes, others merely shrapnel spread chaotically, but no more rain down.

Astarion glances back at you with heavily lidded eyes that fall to your lips and hover there. You think he might kiss you, and you think you might let him until he tosses you off him roughly as if you were simply a convenient blanket or maybe a fleshly, undead shield.

“Get up,” he commands. “You’ve wasted enough time lying there like a corpse. We move now.”

Astarion stands abruptly in a way that makes him almost appear frightened, but of what, you cannot say. He tugs his shirt on with hasty movements as if you’re making him uncomfortable, and you reflexively turn around to give him privacy.

Now that shock and adrenaline have abandoned you, the agony that radiates up your legs is nigh-on unbearable when you try to put weight on your feet. You screw your eyes shut, half stooped over, palms braced on your thighs, and pray that you can keep the tears at bay.

Pushing through the pain, you crouch down and stuff what you have back into Shadowheart’s bag, positioning it across your body and standing. You don’t realize your body has betrayed you and tears are clinging to your lashes and vining down your dirty cheeks until you see Astarion’s ugly smirk twisting his lips as he takes in your struggle.

“You look like hell,” he taunts, crossing his arms. “I could compel you, you know. Force your body to ignore the pain. But why would I? Watching you suffer is much more entertaining.” He leans forward slightly, in the way he used to do when he was trying to seduce you in those early days and months. “I will enjoy watching you toil in the consequences of your choice, as I did for centuries. You should count yourself lucky that I haven’t skinned you alive and forced you to walk on the raw, exposed nerves.”

You grit your teeth and stand, barely able to meet his gaze without wanting to snap at him. But snapping at him would only give him more fuel, more satisfaction, so you swallow the pain. "I'm fine. Lead on.”

He chuckles darkly as he strides ahead, not even bothering to slow his pace for you. It turns out you were right about the silk. It didn’t stand a chance against the sawtoothed terrain and is chewed up as easily as your feet were. Every step is agony as you limp after him, the rocks and jagged ground tearing at your flayed feet. You bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out, but Astarion notices.

Of course he does. He always notices when you’re hurting.

“Don’t fall behind, little lamb,” he calls over his shoulder, voice dripping with mockery.

He keeps walking, the distance between you growing as you struggle to keep up. The silence that falls between you is heavy and burdensome, filled only with the sound of your laboured breathing and the distant crackle of molten lava.

As the journey stretches on, Astarion’s cruelty does not wane. When you stumble, he laughs. When you try to rest, he sneers. He takes every opportunity to remind you of your weakness, of your insignificance.

No matter how hard you try to shake it, that feeling of twisted loyalty remains, poisoning your thoughts. And Astarion, ever the predator, revels in your torment, savouring every moment of your slow, painful descent.

You walk for what feels like hours, but in this heat, it could have only been minutes. It’s just you, Astarion, and this landscape of ruin and death as far as the eye can see. The bones of the fallen crunch beneath your feet, and soon, the towering skeleton of a dragon looms ahead, its massive ribs arcing over the desolate ground like the decaying remnants of an ancient titan.

“An ancestor of yours, perhaps?” He arches a brow, his lips twisting in a cruel grin as he watches you squeeze through the dragon’s ribcage.

You shrug, keeping your tone flat. “I’m an orphan. I don’t know my family.”

Astarion stops abruptly, his eyes narrowing in exaggerated surprise. “Oh, an orphan, are we?” His voice is laced with venom. “Well, that does explain a few things.” He lets out a cold, hollow laugh, loud enough to startle you, and you can’t help but wince.

Shit. You forgot that this version of him didn’t know.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, even though you already know you’re walking right into his trap.

He smirks, baring his fangs just enough to be menacing. “It’s just so perfectly tragic, isn’t it? A lonely little orphan, so desperate for affection that she couldn't even recognize the poison behind a pretty face. Easy prey, really. You never stood a chance against me.”

The truth of his words stings more than it should, but you press on, determined not to let him see the hurt it causes. “What’s your point, Astarion?”

“My point?” He steps closer, his tone now gleefully mocking. “That you’re a fool. Did you really believe for even a second that I—he—had feelings for you? A naive little orphan, finally tasting affection for the first time, only to be used like a pawn in a game you were never equipped to play.”

Yes.

You try not to answer and just keep walking forward, between bones, ruins of great weapons, and craters, with your eyes firmly anchored to the ground. If you can keep your mind focused, maybe you will not cry.

“When he held you,” Astarion continues, his voice taking on a cruel, sing-song quality, “when you fell asleep in his arms... did you really believe that meant something?”

“Yes!” You snarl, but keep yourself turned away. He’s opened an old wound that never quite fully heals, and it bleeds through your eyes in the form of tears. “I thought I had finally found someone who cared about me. I was naive, and I didn’t recognize it as a trick at the time. You got me good. Are you happy now, Astarion? Is that what you want to hear?”

He sneers, his expression a twisted mask of disgust. “Pitiful wretch,” he mutters, though there’s a flicker of something—almost imperceptible—beneath the scorn in his eyes.

You squeeze through the ossified jaws of the dragon and wonder what the beast would have looked like alive, which brings you to a more concerning question: what in the Hells could have killed it? The only consolation that allays any true unease is that the beast has been dead for countless years. Whatever took it down is hopefully long gone.

Astarion takes the lead once more, and you realize he has not used his compulsion to force you to follow. You consider running, but where would you run to? He’s already taking you where you need to go, or trying to, at least. If you can make this version of him trust you, it might give you a chance to bring back your husband in time for a honeymoon in the hells.

How delightful.

The soles of your feet are little more than flaps of hanging skin. Your legs are wobbly as a newborn colt, and you stumble more frequently now, the heat, blood loss, and fatigue all merging into one sickening blur. You’re barely holding on.

You eventually come upon something that resembles a forest, but the trees are gruesomely twisted with orange leaves that seem to be constantly searing around the edges. When you peer between the trees, the gloom that clings between the trees feels unnatural, like a living thing, waiting to devour anything that strays too close.

Astarion looks around for a moment. “It will take us much longer to go around at your plodding pace. We will have to go through it.”

“No.” You grab his arm, voice high and desperate, and shake your head. “This isn’t a good idea. We have no idea what lives in there. We should just go around.”

He grins, a dark gleam in his eyes. “Oh, are we frightened, my little pet? Don’t worry. With me by your side, what could possibly harm you? Besides, of course, me.” He winks, and then without another word, he strides in, disappearing almost instantly.

You consider going around. If Astarion wants to die in there, that’s his business, but once again, that feeling squirms in your gut, leaving you rooted to the ground and unable to move unless it’s towards him.

A moment later, glowing red eyes pierce the gloom, and Astarion emerges with an irritated scowl. “Are you coming, or shall I make you?” His voice is laced with the threat of compulsion.

That is enough to coerce you to reluctantly step forward and into the gloom. You conjure a flame in your hand to light the way, but the shadows swallow the light almost instantly. It’s not long before you start to see the calcified corpses and strange-looking fungal pods that this place is made of. There is an eerie breeze, though it does not cause the trees to ruffle, that sounds like the wailing of tortured souls.

Without warning, Astarion grabs the back of your neck, his fingers like iron. You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, dragging you forward as if you weigh nothing. You sigh in resignation. It’s pointless to fight him.

Looking at the ground, you allow him to lead you around by the neck. “Why do you even bother with this?” you ask quietly. “I’m not going to run.”

“It would not go well for you if you did.” Astarion sneers. “I’d rather not take any chances with my little pawn.”

You trudge through the dark, each step heavier than the last. You’re exhausted, and the pain in your feet is becoming unbearable. You can feel the skin hanging loosely, blood trickling down with every step.

“We should leave, Astarion. We can’t even see where we are going. It will take us longer to get through this than to just go around it.”

Astarion chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. “Scared, pet?”

“Yes,” you admit, the word coming out as a shaky whisper.

The pompous arrogance of Astarion’s expression is made of slips momentarily, and you swear his eyes flicker. He grabs his head, shaking it furiously from side to side. When his eyes come back up, the flickering has ceased, and your heart feels like it drops from whatever decaying stem it hangs from and into your stomach.

“Fine. We’ll go around.” Astarion finally says, but his words are slowed, almost slurred, like he’s trying not to say them. “But don’t think I’m doing it for you.”

The two of you attempt to retrace your steps, but the landscape seems to have shifted. The trees, the bones, the shadows—they all look the same.

“Can you follow the trail of my blood?” You ask him.

Astarion scents the air, his brows furrowed. “There isn’t a trace of it anywhere.”

You walk around aimlessly for some time before Astarion stops for a moment in another attempt to get his bearings. You lean up against one of the calcified trees, trying to get some weight off your feet, and a twisted face juts out of the bark. It’s mouth wide open in a perpetual scream, and you jolt away from the tree and stifle a scream of your own.

Astarion is beside you in an instant, his dagger gleaming. “What is it?”

You point, your voice shaking. “There are… people stuck in the trees.”

You grab his wrist and find your way back to the white-barked tree, bringing the flame to it.

Astarion swallows. “Well, that’s not unsettling at all.”

Instead of your neck, Astarion grabs your hand, trying to pull you as quickly as possible through the bends and twists that often end up in completely dead ends. The pace is brutal, and the pain in your feet makes you bite your lip to keep from crying out.

You do not know what this version of him will do if you tell him you cannot walk any longer. Will he leave you in his place? Will he laugh and simply compel you to do it until your feet are chewed to the point that only bone remains? He may also just revel in your pain and ignore your pleas. It seems likely given his mood today.

You want out of here; this place feels wrong, and every instinct you have tells you to run as far from here as possible. When you run up to another dead end, it suddenly dawns on you.

“It’s a maze,” you caution with a shudder.

“Shit.” Astarion sighs, wracking his fingers through his dirty hair. His eyes drop to your feet, and he grimaces, cocking his head. “We’ll rest here,” he declares, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“Here?” You glance around uneasily. At the very least, you are backed up to a dead end, but there’s no telling what horrors are roaming this place.

“If you have a better idea,” he snaps, “I’m all pointy ears.”

The only better idea you have is that you could use Hellfire to burn this place to the ground, but the warning Asmodeus cautioned with still sits heavily on your consciousness. That, and you would rather Astarion not know about that particular power you possess.

“No,” you say, defeated, sitting down on the still remarkably hard ground. “I don’t have a better idea.”

“I thought not.”

Astarion sits while you keep several orbs of fire that form a ring around you. Another one of those tense silences seems to thicken the air between you. You’re tired, but you don’t think rest will come in a place such as this where the wind echos with pained voices and the shadows appear to twist and undulate as if something is moving through it, just out of sight. Beyond that, you can feel there is magic at work here — old magic — which is only used by a handful of creatures, and none of them are good.

Reluctantly, you grab your ankle to get a look at the bottom of your foot, only to realize it’s been flayed by the land. Your skin hangs in gruesome flaps, and you’re pretty sure you can see the bones. You sigh, picking out shards of obsidian and slivers of crystal and quartz.

You don’t need to look up to know that Astarion is once again watching you with a strange intensity. When you bring your eyes up to look at him, you realize that he’s not exactly staring at you but also through you, leagues away from here. It’s not a look you’ve seen on the Ascendant much before, and it concerns you. Is he listening to the call of Cania? Is the song still howling in his skull, icing over his soul, and infecting his thoughts?

Trying to fit the pieces of your skin together like a grisly jigsaw puzzle is beyond horrific, but you eventually get it as good as it’s going to get, and you press your palm up against the skin and let fire burst forth to cauterize it. You whimper under the pain of it, but bite your tongue to keep it as small and muffled as possible.

“You need blood,” Astarion muses while pointing at your feet, “to heal.”

“Are you offering?”

Astarion chuckles. “The answer will be no until the end of time.”

“Ah, so just making another genius observation then,” you retort. “Where am I going to find blood around here?”

“That’s very much a you problem.” Astarion counters with a smirk. “Take the healing potion.”

You’ve considered it, but it’s the only one you have, and you’re not keen on wasting it. So far, you’ve been lucky not to run into any of the denizens that inhabit this plane. You’re very sure that luck will run out sooner or later.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I quite enjoy watching you suffer. Now, get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”

For once, you do not want to argue with him, and you once again fold Shadowheart’s pack and lay your head on it. It’s hard to find enough peace to rest. You toss and turn for what feels like hours before Astarion groans.

“Will you stop flopping around like a dying fish?”

“I’m trying.” You sigh and gesture to your surroundings. “It’s a little difficult to get comfortable. Maybe you should rest, and I’ll take first watch.”

“Fine by me.” Astarion says, balling his coat up and putting it under his head.

His heartbeat slows and his breathing becomes shallow while he seems to easily slip into his trance despite the disturbing scene around him. Although you wonder if two centuries of being under Cazador’s yolk was worse than some unnatural darkness.

Despite the bawling wind, there is a surreal silence that is as bottomless as the shadows. Your knees come to your chest, and you wrap your arms around yourself while a shiver runs down your spine. It feels like the faces in the trees are watching you through their calcified eyes.

You almost reach out to Astarion to wake him, if only for company, but find yourself enraptured in watching him rest deeply in his trance. The vulnerability of it on this version of him appears almost alien, and for some reason, it seems improper to watch him that way you are.

His eyes move under his closed lids, his brows twitch randomly, and soft sighs sidle from his slightly parted lips. What does this version of him meditate on during his repose? Does he dream of blotting the sun from the sky for his children? Does he hear the whispers of Cania and all the lowly creatures begging to serve?

Like you, because that’s what he sees when he looks at you, isn’t it? Just another lowly creature who awaits his commands with bated breath. Is he wrong though? Even when he isn’t using his compulsion, you still follow him around like a good pup. It doesn’t matter what he’s done to you in the past or the threat he possesses now; you still continue to follow on his heels.

Time slips away from you in the maze, consumed by the crushing darkness and the twisted, calcified trees that seem to shift behind you when you’re not looking. As lost in your thoughts as you are, you don’t realize that Astarion is staring at you until you catch the sharp, predatory eyes that are so listless they almost appear black, glaring at you with unsettling intensity.

“That was quick.”

“I do not require much in the way of sleep any longer,” he says blatantly. “Would you like to get some rest or can you walk?”

You flex your foot experimentally, wincing as you rise to your feet. The ground, even here in this hellish maze, still feels like knives underfoot, but at least you can walk again—albeit clumsily and slowly.

Astarion watches you with a curious mix of contempt and something that almost resembles concern. Almost.

“Don’t overdo it, little spawn,” he mutters. “I won’t carry you if you collapse.”

You shoot him a glare, unwilling to show just how close you are to faltering. The ground beneath you feels like it's slipping away with every step, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you weak.

“I don’t need your help,” you snap, the words coming out sharper than intended. “Let’s just try to get out of here.”

As the maze tightens its grip, the world twists in unnatural ways. You fight to keep pace, the domineering pall wrapping around you like a second skin, while the gnarled trees loom overhead, their branches curling toward you as if eager to pull you in. Every misstep feels heavier, like the earth itself is conspiring to drag you down, but Astarion presses on without a flicker of concern for your struggle. You stumble, and for a split second, his eyes flash back to you—less in worry, more in cold amusement.

Your legs ache and the whispers in the air grow louder, more insistent. They slither through the trees like venomous words, some in voices you almost recognize, others purely monstrous.

Astarion, ever vigilant, leads with the confidence of someone who pretends to know where they’re going. Yet the truth is clear: you’re both lost. But he’ll never admit it. Not to you.

“Stay close,” he commands sharply, his tone leaving no room for defiance. He halts suddenly, his form taut, listening to something you can’t hear.

“What is it?” You whisper.

He throws you a withering glance. “Quiet.” His hand rises in a gesture that isn’t so much protective as it is condescending, as if you’re some child who needs constant supervision. “Something’s coming.”

The flickering orbs of fire you summoned seem to ebb, flickering as if they wish to go out no matter how much power you use, as though whatever approaches has the ability to snuff out even the smallest light. You strain to listen, but the silence of the maze is thick, like it clogs your ears. Then, from deep within the shadows, a whisper reaches you—soft, insidious, and eerily familiar.

“Turn back…”

You freeze. The voice… It sounds like someone you know, though the tone is distorted, twisted by the magic of this place.“

“Turn back…” The whisper repeats, this time louder, clearer. And now, unmistakably, it is your voice.

You glance at Astarion, who remains rigid and alert, though you can tell by his expression that he has heard it too. But he does not acknowledge the voice. Instead, his eyes narrow, and his lips curl into a snarl.

“Do not heed it,” he commands, stepping closer to you. “It’s this place—an illusion meant to draw you in, to confuse you.”

But even as he speaks, the whisper persists. “Turn back… before it’s too late...”

The words slither around you like serpents, and when you look ahead, you see a shadowy figure emerge from between the twisted trees. It’s you—or some twisted version of you. Astarion’s gaze hardens, but there’s no sympathy in it. He steps forward, his fingers curling around your arm, yanking you harshly toward him.

“Do not let it fool you,” he snarls, his grip firm, too firm. “It’s just another trick. This place preys on weakness.”

You try to shake free, but his hold tightens. The figure between the trees steps closer, her hollow eyes locked on yours, pale skin almost glowing in the gloom, clothes tattered and burnt.

“Don’t look at it,” he hisses. “It’s not real.”

“I know,” you say, your voice wavering despite your efforts to stay calm. But the apparition doesn’t disappear. Instead, it steps closer, its movements slow and deliberate, as though it’s stalking you.

“He’s lying to you,” the figure whispers. “He always has.”

You feel a chill run down your spine. The words are not unexpected—Astarion’s lies have always been part of your story—but hearing them from this twisted version of yourself is somehow far more unsettling.

Astarion’s eyes flicker, but his expression remains stony. “Ignore it. You’re stronger than this.”

But the figure steps closer still, her gaze unrelenting. “He’ll betray you. Just like before.”

A knot tightens in your chest. The figure’s words sting because they echo thoughts you’ve tried to bury. You’ve known all along what Astarion is capable of, yet here you are, following him deeper.

He watches you closely now, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not seriously considering this drivel, are you?” His tone is razor-sharp, almost mocking, as if daring you to believe the apparition over him.

The figure shifts, flickering like a candle about to go out, then speaks again, but this time in his voice: “I never cared.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the maze itself seems to hold its breath too. Astarion’s eyes narrow to slits, and he steps in front of you, blocking the figure from your sight.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he growls, dagger in hand, as he slashes at the illusion. But the figure only fades into mist, reforming just a few steps away, untouched and unbothered by his fury.

Astarion’s frustration is palpable, but before he can attack again, the figure speaks once more—again in his voice: “I never loved you.”

You wince, the words striking deeper than any blade could. It’s not just the sound of his voice, but the way the words reverberate in your chest, reminding you of every moment you doubted.

He turns back to you, his expression a mask of cold disdain. “This is pointless. If you’re going to fall apart every time this place plays with your mind, perhaps I should leave you here.”

The maze may twist reality, but you won’t give it the satisfaction of breaking you. Not now. Not here.

But as you step forward, the apparition lingers just out of sight, whispering truths you’d rather not face, all the while Astarion’s impatience grows sharper, like a knife pressed against your throat, daring you to falter.

Straightening your shoulders, you push past him. “Let’s keep moving,” you say, voice firm despite the tremor beneath it. “We’re getting out of here.”

Astarion watches you for a long moment, and for the first time, there’s something almost resembling respect in his eyes, but it vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual mask of ice.

The path ahead narrows as the shadows seem to close in tighter, wrapping themselves around the air like suffocating tendrils. Every step is a struggle, your legs heavy, your mind foggy with doubt. But still, you press on, unwilling to let the maze swallow you whole. Astarion, ever graceful and composed, moves beside you, though you can feel his growing impatience.

“This place reeks of desperation,” he mutters, his voice barely more than a hiss. “Everything here is clinging to life, yet everything is dead. It’s enough to drive even the most sane souls to madness.”

“It’s a good thing neither of us are sane then,” you say idly.

There is a strange pull in the air that you cannot quite place. It feels wrong somehow, abhorrent, like its presence corrupts anything that dares near. It calls to you like a harpy’s song, though whether it promotes salvation or doom, you cannot say.

Probably doom.

“Something is up ahead,” you whisper as low as possible, grabbing Astarion’s shirt to pull his ear closer to your mouth. “Something powerful.”

“I can feel it too,” he murmurs with a foreboding, flicking his dagger until it rests in his palm comfortably.

As you round a bend in the path, the path shifts and becomes laden with the smell of old blood and decay. You retch, pulling off the side of the path, with your body wracked with heaves. There is nothing in your stomach but bile to vomit. “Stop breathing, idiot.” Astarion grunts.

With the burnout settling into every crack in your being, there is a brief moment where you want to get on your knees and beg him for mercy. You wonder, if you get on your knees and beg him to pretend, if only for a little bit, that he is your husband, would he?

The answer only sends you further into despair. He would laugh and not hesitate to remind you of how fucking pathetic you are.

You say nothing back, not trusting your mouth not to plead with him for just a moment of peace.

A couple of steps, and the trees part just enough to reveal a clearing bathed in sickly green light, and in the center, hunched over a cauldron, is a figure. Her form is grotesque—long, spindly limbs draped in tattered robes, her skin a mottled shade of green, stretched tight over her bones. Two milky, blind eyes jerk toward you at the sound of your footsteps and seem to see straight through you. Her mouth, lined with broken, yellowed teeth, curls into a wicked smile.

A night hag.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Well, this is going positively swimmingly.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #34] Speed Dating

warnings: dating other people rip, 5th muster pied piper jeon jungkook, one my fave ever chapters !! just a really good display of the starluvrs dynamic <3

wc: 5.6k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

The sound of coffee beans whirring through a grinder obscures the conversations of the couples around you; friends catching up on events of the past weekend, mothers checking in with their sons to make sure they're eating well. There's a complex myriad of relationships within these four cramped walls, unrefined wooden beams and exposed brick providing a sanctuary to escape from the cold winds of the changing seasons.

It reminds you of Yoongi's studio; the slightly woody scent bringing back fond memories - all of which are abruptly forgotten about as Seojoon returns to your table, drinks in hand.

"Thank you," you smile appreciatively as he sets them down on the table.

He was a little late meeting you, thanks to his boss staying late in the office.

"Aiming for a promotion," he had said awkwardly when he was excusing himself. "Up to a senior management position. It's looking promising."

And so you hadn't judged him too harshly for his tardiness. Know that punctuality isn't always your strong point at the best of times. Even if it isn't the best impression so early on in your dating history, you'll let it slide.

You're in the heart of the cafe; privacy not required and not particularly desired either.

It's only your second date. You're still just getting to know one another. Expectations are low, and you're thankful for it. With the mess of Jeongguk and how horribly you seem to have overstepped the boundaries of what a friendship should be, you're glad to be in a situation that comes without complications.

Dating, you think, is simple. Or at least, it should be. You get to know a person, and see if you're compatible. If you're not, it's easy to cut your losses - no hard feelings. The difficulty is when people aren't honest, nor upfront about themselves or their intentions.

Which is why, halfway through your date, Seojoon raises one of his brows in response to your honesty, and asks, "You want me to date other people? In front of you?"

"Well, no," you laugh a little, because the way he phrases it is so... accurate. Setting your coffee down, you're pleased to see that he's smiling. Is obviously taking this in good humour. "I promised my friend I'd help him out with speed dating-"

"Why does he wanna speed date?" Seojoon questions curiously. Thinks the concept is a bit old school - and not in a good way. There's a trivial nature to it. He wonders how likely you'll be able to find a decent match from such a forced scenario. "Can't find a girl? Is there something wrong with him?"

"No," you immediately defend Jeongguk. "He's a barman, and like, not a predator, so his chance to meet people kinda like how we met is limited. Also has, like, a weird complex with tinder. Doesn't like it. Wants to meet someone organically."

"Speed dating is just real-life tinder," Seojoon laughs. "It's not organic."

"Maybe not," you admit, a little dismissive in your tone, 'cause he's being difficult. "But it's real life meetings instead of online, so I think it's a little better."

"And you want me to go... why?"

"Well, 'cause I'm gonna go," you tell him. It's already been decided. Your mind is made up. It's not really a case of wanting Seojoon to go, but knowing that inviting him along is the right thing to do. "And like, it will be fun! I'm not actually gonna be taking it seriously - it's just fun."

"Okay..." He sounds sceptical. "And what about the people who are taking it seriously? What if someone falls head over heels in love with you?"

"Well then you'll have to try extra hard to be the one that I leave with," you tease.

You haven't considered the possibility that maybe he'll find someone else he likes more than he likes you - 'cause you don't actually really care. Not yet. It's too early to be invested. Your guard is still up.

There's something Seojoon finds a little thrilling about your flirtation - but as he sighs, you're reminded of the fact he's older than you. Has a couple of years on Seokjin.

Just like your ex used to get bored of your sometimes childish nature, you fear that the same could be said for Seojoon.

Still, no need to write him off so soon.

Selfishly, you also think that distance is needed between you and Jeongguk - and if you're gonna use anyone as a human barricade, then someone as handsome as Seojoon definitely eases the blow a little.

A cold breeze wafts in through the door as customers leave, but the way Seojoon finally smiles and agrees makes you feel all warm.

"Alright, I'll do it," he agrees. It could be fun. You're fun. Perhaps he does need to lighten up a little. You'd met him when he'd been a few too many drinks deep, and knows that his sober self is far more subdued. Fears that you won't like him as much if he doesn't live up to that first impression. "Where is it? When?"

With an oh-so-pleased grin on your lips, you clap your hands together. "You're the best."

"Tell me something I don't know," he flirts, sipping on his coffee with a slight arrogance. His attitude assures you that no one else will steal any attention from him in the shadowy darkness of a speed dating venue.

And yet when you both arrive at a bar a few blocks from Dionysus the following Friday evening, you find yourself constantly looking over your shoulder just in case Jeongguk should appear.

"He should be here," you jitter about a little nervously, checking the time on your phone. 7:53PM. The event starts in just seven minutes.

"Calm down," Seojoon says kindly, rubbing your arm softly. "I'm sure he's just caught in traffic or something like that."

You nod, tucking your phone into your back pocket. Dressed a little casually in a pair of black jeans with a tight, long-sleeved shirt on top, you're not really trying to attract too much attention. Sure, you're just as glittery as always but it's hardly a cry for attention - it's just who you are as a person.

"Oh, here," Seojoon says as his thumb swipes away a little glitter on your cheek.

The touch should make you swoon. Should make you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Should have you smitten. Smiling, you fold your arms tightly over your chest.

It didn't make you feel any of those things at all. If anything, quite the opposite.

Perhaps you're being a little pathetic, but your glitter is your warpaint. His preening weakens your defences. Suggests there was something wrong with your choices.

You know that's not what it means at all. You know he was just being kind.

But if you wanted help, you would have asked for it.

"Thanks," you say regardless, because you acknowledge he's being a nice guy. You don't want him to feel like he's not being so, just because of your own insecurities.

"You look nice," he compliments sweetly. "Think everyone here is gonna wanna take you home."

You raise a brow in his direction. Glance around the room, then back to him. There are definitely more women than there are men, but the split isn't too far off. About thirty people, give or take.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately? I've already seen, like, four women give you a double-take."

He laughs, shaking his head.

"Maybe they were looking at you. Plus," he sucks a little air between his teeth, then nods to the door. You turn to see what he's looking at. "Just saw at least three groups of women stop their conversations as soon as he walked in. Might have some competition."

It's hard to pinpoint what you notice first.

Part of you thinks it's the dark leather belt around his slim waist; silver buckle a little aged, sitting perfectly just above the flat path of his body that leads to somewhere you know far too well.

A lot of it could be the black shirt draped over his shoulders - a button-down with small golden polka dots dappling the almost sheer fabric. A small amount of chest exposed, silver necklaces sit prettily against a chest that looks like it's in need of some glitter.

Most of it, though, is his pretty brown eyes that somehow look a little menacing in this low light. Typically wide and doe-like, there's a little something different about them.  Desperately, you have to remind yourself not to curse beneath your breath.

Yet when he gets to the concierge table to sign in, his eyes widen like they so often do, and his nerves are shown in the way he nibbles down on his bottom lip. Eyes glancing around the room, he's seeking something out - and when they land on you, they soften entirely.

"Oh," you simply say. "That's Jeongguk."

And suddenly, Seojoon isn't so sure of himself. Knows he's not a bad-looking guy, but Jeongguk is so insanely different from him. It's not a competition. The two of them are incomparable - and that's why you like Seojoon. You don't want to compare.

"That's your friend?" He double-checks. You nod. Shrug, like you don't get the big deal. Of course you do. You have eyes. "A little warning would have been nice!"

You laugh. "What? He's just a guy. No different to any of the other guys here."

"Oh, we both know that's a lie," he laughs.

"Well, what does it matter?" You tease. "Unless you're trying to score with one of the other girls? You already know I'm not gonna be ditching you for him. Nothing to worry about."

There's a little satisfied smirk on Seojoon's face as he says, "Suppose you're right."

Again, it's not like things between you and Seojoon are deep. Feelings haven't formed to the point of actually feeling territorial.

As he makes his way over to you both, Jeongguk hides his discomfort well. Remembers the conversation earlier in the week when you'd told him Seojoon would be coming. Remember how he'd smiled and said, "Yeah, yeah, no. Sure. Go for it. Invite him. Will be fun."

Then he also remembers the way he'd stood in the shower for 45 minutes completely still with absolutely no cognitive thoughts because everything just felt so overwhelming that he just wanted to think of nothing at all - especially not about you with someone else.

Before he reaches you, the host begins to make an announcement. She welcomes back familiar faces, and introduces herself to those of you who are new. Explains how the evening will go.

There's an equal split; 15 men, 15 women. Decided on a coin toss, women will be the ones to move from table to table. Each person has a number. Yours is 23.

Jeongguk is 7, and Seojoon is 15.

You get three minutes at a table to make an impression, and then you're swiftly moved along to the next person; like a human conveyor belt. Which, in a way, you sort of suppose it is.

The dates start off effortlessly. You've a vodka coke to soften the tension.

None of them are anything to write home about. Of course they aren't. Not when they're competing with two of the most handsome men in the whole wide world.

And so, when you finally get to Jeongguk's table, and he looks at you in the way that he does?

Oh, you'll swoon.

There's not really much thought given to the way he smiles when you sit down; front teeth so sweet and bunny-like as his nose scrunches ever so gently. The domineering, slightly intimidating version of your best friend who had entered the establishment at the start of the evening is gone.

"Okay, okay," he shakes his head. Breathes out a nervous breath. Sorts his posture out. Dramatically waves his hand in front of his face as if he's getting ready for a theatrical performance. "Sorry. Hi. Nice to meet you."

You nod right back. Hide the excitement that's bursting through you like the light of a thousand shooting stars. 

His eyes, somehow, seem to be full of them, too. You put it down to the overhead lamps.

Holding your hand out for him to shake, you nod. "Nice to meet you, too. What's your name?"

Oh, it's dumb. So incredibly dumb . 

"They call me Tony," he bullshits. You know immediately where his chosen name has come from. You've taken the piss out of his doll collection enough times to be vastly aware of exactly who the figurines are.

"Funny," you smirk, leaning back into the chair. There's a menacing quality to your smile. Jeongguk can't stop himself from smiling, again. "They call me Pepper."

Your knowledge of the intricacies of Tony Stark's various love affairs is limited, but you do know one thing; Pepper Potts is possibly the most important of them all. 

You don't mean to insinuate anything more than an acknowledgement of your importance to Jeongguk, but you also don't know the characters as intricately as he does. Don't know that Jeongguk's mile-a-minute brain is only accelerating even further down his path of being hopelessly infatuated with you.

"So tell me, Pepper, what brings a girl like you to a place like this?" He flirts, keeping up the stupid game a little while longer. There are three minutes on the clock. He's making the most of it. Knows he'll wish you were still in front of him as soon as you depart to the next table.

"Got a magnet in my chest," you tell him, reciting lore he told you once when you'd been wrapped up in his duvet, watching MCU films back to back while he'd been studying. "Think there must be some iron around. Can't help but be drawn to it."

He shrugs. Pretends as if the demonstration of the fact you actively listen to him and his passions isn't the hottest thing in the world. "Is that what you're after then, huh? An Iron Man?"

"Maybe," you flirt. "Happen to know where I could find one, Tony ?"

Oh, it's idiotic - and yet you both enjoy the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk smiles. Looks down. Shakes his head. When he looks back up, he's biting down on his bottom lip, but there's a subtle disappointment in his eyes. He's quiet, as he says, "Everyone else is so boring, B."

"You've not met everyone yet," you remind him, but for some reason, you quite enjoy that it's everyone else. You're not included in that. Still, you don't want to discourage him. "And of course you'll have fun with me. You know me."

The clock by the front of the venue continues to tick on. There's only a minute or so left to go.

"I just had a three-minute conversation about porridge," he deadpans. "And before that? Blisters."

"Blisters?"

"Blisters," he confirms with a sigh. "She said her feet hurt and so I asked why and... yeah. Tangent. She wasn't asking me anything back so I just kept asking her more questions about her blisters. Oh, do you get them often? Do you use the special plasters? Like, fucking hell, B."

You're laughing now, and Jeongguk really wishes you wouldn't - mainly because nobody else has found him this funny all evening, and he hates that it's you he's the most compatible with.

From across the room, Seojoon glances over to the sound of you laughing. Is both pleased and disgruntled when he finds it's Jeongguk you're laughing with.

"She definitely thinks you have a foot fetish, now," you tease him.

His cheeks flame to match the colour of the Coke can beside his glass. He decided against alcohol tonight. Knows it's good for lowering inhibitions, but he doesn't want to meet someone like that. Wants to go in with clarity. With a clear head. No distractions or false sense of attraction.

"Fuck," he curses. "She does, doesn't she? That's why she wasn't asking me anything back."

"Oh, she's so gonna warn everyone about it-"

"Fuck," he really whines now. "You gotta make sure everyone knows I don't have a foot fetish."

"Do I?" You smirk. "And don't you have one? I could have sworn-"

"I don't!"

"Sure."

"Since when have I ever done anything with your feet," he hisses under his breath, glancing around to make sure no one hears him.

You just shrug. "You've kissed them once or twice-"

"Oh, please," he scoffs. "That's just cause they were there and I need to kiss something-"

"And you chose my feet?!"

"And you still came, so is this battle you really wanna fight?"

The buzzer on the clock timer sounds, but you don't want to stand up.

You want to bicker with Jeongguk into the early hours of the morning. Wanna bicker all the way to his bedroom - even if he does end up doing unspeakable things with your feet.

It's this realisation that actually makes you stand up.

Your mind flickers between shamelessly indulging how much you like Jeongguk, and reminding yourself that you're here with someone else. Have forced the poor guy into an evening of speed dating.

'Just helping out a friend' had been your rationale, but as you sit down at the table beside Jeongguk and hear him greet the next potential partner, the tremendous upset that washes over you makes it clear that perhaps you'd wanted to keep tabs, too. Make sure that there really is no one he likes as much as you.

You're starting to sound like her, your brain tells you.

And so you greet your next suitor. He's perfectly pleasant. A little older, but still younger than Seojoon. Works downtown at a bank. Plays football normally on Friday evenings, but bailed to come speed dating.

The conversation is nice - but you're not really focused, 'cause you keep on trying to listen in to Jeongguk's conversation instead.

"Yeah, yeah. Dog person, massively. What about you? Cats? Oh cute, do you have one? Yeah sure I'd love to pet it! Do you have any pictures? What do you mean? Not that kind of cat? What do- oh. Oh."

The giggle you splutter is stunted; out of place in the conversation you're having.

Jeongguk glances over to you, and the suppressed smile on your face as you apologise to your 'date' is as clear as anything.

"Sorry, just heard something from another table," you explain. "It distracted me for a second."

And then Jeongguk is smiling too, cheeks a little pink from embarrassment, but the blood from his face has migrated elsewhere. 

It's his heart that swells, now.

Eventually, half an hour later, miles away from Jeongguk, you find yourself right where you should be: in front of Seojoon.

"Well, well," you greet. "Fancy seeing you here."

He smiles as you sit down. He's the last on the row, thanks to the fact he didn't sign up till much later than you or Jeongguk. Again, you'd have been here with or without his blessing.

"Y'know, I think I've seen you around before," he playfully says.

You nod. "In your dreams, probably."

Okay, so it's cheesy - but you're joking around. Engaging in an innocent flirt, just like you should be.

"Probably," he agrees. Takes a sip on his drink. Whisky on the rocks. "So tell me more about yourself."

Unlike your conversation with Jeongguk, you don't lie. Don't pretend to be anyone but yourself. With other people, you don't have to play make-believe. With Jeongguk, you already know that 'you' is not what he's after, so why even bother?

"What's there to say?" You suppose with a flirtatious smile. "Barista by day, art curator by night."

"Oh, a double life," he enthuses. "Burning the candle at both ends?"

"No." You're not sure why, but the question irks you. You don't let it show. "Just like keeping myself busy. What about you?"

"Mechanical engineer by day, perpetually tired old man by night," he says. There's a charm to his self-deprecation, but it only further exacerbates your differences. The night is when you come alive.

"Look at us," you tease. "Both burning the candle at both ends."

Even though it irked you, you play up to his humour. Years working in customer service, and now having to schmooze people professionally for Tae, it comes fairly easily to you.

Seojoon laughs. Shakes his head. Is warm in his tone as he says, "When I get that promotion you won't need to worry about working."

You laugh too, because it's an absurd thing to say. Just a funny little joke.

It's your third date. Kind of. You're not sure if you can count this as one, but you're gonna. He's speaking in hypotheticals. The promotion is grounded in reality, but the rest of it - particularly the part where you're a permanent fixture in his life - is just lighthearted banter.

"And then what?" you banter back. Just like with Jeongguk, you're playful. Perhaps Seojoon isn't too dissimilar from him, after all. "We'll move to the suburbs and have 2.4 kids? I can clean all day and cook your dinner for you?"

"Well, yeah," he says, his smile still present but a little less intentional. "Maybe not 2.4. I'm thinking three."

You shudder.

The idea of your body going through something as traumatic as pregnancy three times doesn't bear thinking about. You're not maternal. Sure, maybe one day, in the very distant future when you're settled and secure - with your own finances, and your own sense of stability. The whole concept of childbirth terrifies you. Having a family is something you'd like, but fuck . It's another fear to overcome - and a hell of a fear at that.

It's one that you haven't given much thought to lately. 

Of course, when you were head over heels for Seokjin, you thought that maybe your life would look a little bit like that. Could imagine him playing tennis with your child on the weekend. The eldest. A boy, maybe. Or maybe a girl. It didn't really matter what you envisaged. Never really thought about it too hard.

"Oh?" Seojoon questions your immediate reaction. "Not want kids?"

"Well not yet," you laugh. Shrug. Grin as you tease. "Got so much I want to achieve first."

"Such as?" he asks, but his smile isn't really as present as it once was. His eyes look a little stern.

You clear your throat. Sit a little straighter.

"Well, my job for starters. Like, I love what I do, but the curation I was telling you about? The art shows I help out with? I think that's what I really love. That's what I wanna do. I just have no idea how to even properly start."

Working with Taehyung to push his art out has been such a rewarding experience. The feeling you get after a successful art show is unlike any sense of achievement a good day at the cafe could give you.

It's something to be proud of. Yes, it's Taehyung's talent that makes the sales, but it's your networking that gets the right people through the doors. A combined effort.

"But it's fine," Seojoon interrupts before you've really finished your rambling. "I mean it. I wanna work hard so I can provide for my future family. If you and me 'go the distance', then you wouldn't need to work."

You furrow your brows. Look quite affronted. "But I want to work."

"But you wouldn't need to," he insists again, broad shoulders straightening out. There's an air of arrogance to the way he wipes his fingers on a serviette and tosses it down onto the table. "I don't want a partner who's never around. Not if we've got kids."

"So you want a housewife?" You almost accuse.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Not if it's her choice," you say defiantly. "But it'll never be my choice."

There's silence between you both. Seojoon's eyes drop, but yours continue to burn into him, affronted by his expectations, and the fact he thought perhaps you would ever shape yourself to fit into his idealised version of a woman.

"Okay, so say you get married," you theorise. It's not playful, now. Not like it was. "Get married, and she gives up everything - house, job, finances. All she does is raise your kids-"

"It's not like I'd be an absent father," he argues, but you don't really care. You're annoyed. There's nothing wrong with a traditional mindset, but you've already had one guy try and push what a woman 'should' be like onto you. You're never gonna let it happen again.

"But you'll be working so hard," you pout. Mock. Project a version of the future that you have no way of accurately predicting. "You'll be in the office all the time, and one thing will lead to another and BAM . Workplace affair-"

"I'd never cheat."

"I've been told that before," you say a little flippantly. "It's life. It happens."

"You're not being fair."

"No, what's not fair is that in the divorce she'll be left with fuck all - just your shitty, snivelly kids. No career, no financial security, no prospects, nothing."

Seojoon grates his jaw a little.

"You're projecting."

"And you're forgetting I'm a woman. I've dated corporate men before. I've heard the horror stories."

"This is literally insane," he laughs. "Like, you're crazy. You can't just assume every man is the same."

"And you can't assume that every woman will be happy with the life you want for them," you laugh right back, disbelief taking hold of your emotions. Scoff. Tut. "So fuckin' backwards."

"Well maybe not every man will be happy with the life you want for them-"

"I don't want my future partner to change their goals or aspirations to suit my needs," you remind him. "I just want them to support my goals, too."

Seojoon frowns. "You're making me sound like an asshole."

You just shrug.

"I don't think I'm making you sound like anything," you sigh. Shake your head. Look down to the dinner table and then back over towards him. "I just..."

There's a realisation floundering around you both; a brief peak into what the future could look like.

And neither of you are happy.

"So... Speed dating is fun," he says sarcastically, trying to inject some humour back into your conversation. He's not a bad guy. He's really not. He just doesn't want the same things that you do.

The buzzer on the clock rings.

Your time is up.

Not just for you and Seojoon; but for everyone.

Fates need to be sealed in brown envelopes.

Leaning against a coffee table, you skim over the second-date slip from the organisers. 

On it, is a table listing out every person you dated tonight with a small picture to remind you of them. All you need to do is scribble a big fat cross next to the people you wish to date again.

You put a thick cross in the box next to Seojoon's name, because it feels like that's what you're supposed to do. Hover over the empty box beside Jeon Jeongguk, and hesitate. Half think that you should put a cross in there, too.

If you were to see him on tinder, you'd probably give him a super-like, because it's funny, and what friends do - but this seems a bit more serious than a swipe. So you leave it empty.

Like a black hole, the empty space feels wrong.

But filling it would also be wrong. 

Slip handed back into the event hosts, you go to mingle with the ladies. There's an awkward divide, the men on one side of the bar, women on the other.

"So," a woman not much older than yourself nudges your arm. "Who tickled your fancy?"

You hesitate. Remember that there is a right answer and a wrong answer. "Number 15. Seojoon."

"Ohh, yeah he was dishy," she swoons. "Bit too stiff for me, though."

Laughing at her observation, she isn't wrong. "So who did you go for?"

"Number 7. I forget his name but I don't think it matters - half the women here seem to have put him down!"

When she smiles, there's a radiance to her. She's unjaded. Doesn't seem to harbour the resentment of failed relationships, nor the fracture marks of a broken heart. Someone like her would be good for Jeongguk.

You cast your eyes over to where he's talking to some guy who barely even managed to get you interested in him. Everyone else seems pale in comparison to your best friend. Glancing at Seojoon, you feel guilty. You're the one who insisted that he come tonight, and yet you've spent the entire time running laps in your own heart trying to run away from the undeniable feelings you have for Jeongguk. It's all so fucked.

The only thing that gives you even a little bit of comfort is the fact that you know, for a fact, that you and Seojoon won't work. You'll waste no more of his time.

Eventually, the organisers return. Each attendee is given a small brown envelope with the details of mutual matches in them. If you both chose one another, you'll be invited to stay for a second date - this time without the timer. Everyone else will be given a drinks voucher for the bar on the floor below - either to drown their sorrows or give them a little Dutch courage to try again.

Again, the women congregate. Excitedly open their envelopes. You hold back a little. Part of you doesn't want to see a fate you've sealed, knowing full well that you intend on ending things with Seojoon.

And yet, from across the group, you hear a gasp. "I matched! With 15!"

Fucking ouch.

You twist around to see Seojoon smiling at his sheet of paper, then glancing over - presumably to her, but catching you first. He does, at least, look apologetic. Tilts his head for you to come over.

And so you do.

"Look," he sighs. Offers a smile. "We both know after that conversation that this isn't right for us."

Scrunching your face up a little, you nod. Feel relieved, more than anything. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says as he lightly nudges your shoulder. "One of the girls here went to my college, so it was kinda nice talking about it with her."

"Makes sense," you accept, relieved that it's working out in the way that it is. "For the record, though, you were my only choice."

"Oh give over," he laughs, only to realise you're being deadly serious. He looks utterly confused. "Not even your friend? Jeongguk?"

Shaking your head, you shrug. Laugh. "I'm trying to help him find a date."

"Okay?" Seojoon questions. "Is that not what a partner should be? A friend?"

"Stop," you smile. "You'll put ideas in my head - and everyone knows ideas are a dangerous thing for a girl like me."

Looking down at you with a smile you know could steal hearts, just not yours, Seojoon agrees. "For what it's worth, I think you'll achieve everything you want to achieve."

You aren't so sure, but you thank him regardless. Encourage him to retrieve his match and head off for a real date. Tell him not to be a stranger, but realistically know that it's all he'll ever really be to you now.

From across the room, Jeongguk looks at you with a perplexed frown. You're running your thumb beneath the lip of the envelope to check the contents. You've no possible matches, not now your only one has chosen someone else.

You scan the room for your best friend and are surprised to see that he's alone. Holding up your empty envelope, you just shrug.

He reciprocates. Holds up his equally empty envelope, and then mouths, "me too."

Tilting his head to the side, Jeongguk doesn't really understand how you both ended up without a single reciprocated interest, even if the science is glaringly obvious.

You didn't put anyone other than Seojoon.

And Jeongguk didn't put anyone other than you.

Though he's too far away for you to hear, you can read his lips as he smiles and says, "Should we go?"

Glancing behind you one last time, the girl who had been speaking to you earlier catches your attention.

"So?" she asks excitedly. Though her matches came up empty - much like everyone else who chose your best friend - she's still pleased for everyone who got a match. She does seem to have forgotten the part where you told her you'd only written down Seojoon's number, but she's been asking everyone the same question. Is bound to have let a few details slip her mind. "Get a match?"

You smile a little, and then simply say, "Yeah. I think I might have."

There are whispers as you head over to Jeongguk. Gossip. Speculations. Why you? Why not them?

And the answer is simple: How would he ever choose someone else?

"So I know this bar," Jeongguk grins as you come within earshot.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm, it's just around the corner. Called Dionysus. I hear they have, like, a super hot bartender."

"Yeonjun?" You question. "He's a bit young for me."

"Sorry, let me rephrase," Jeongguk enthrals, hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the venue. "A super hot bar manager ."

"Oh shit, you know, it's funny," you banter back. "I hear he's gonna put my drinks on his tab all night?"

You're a sneaky little bitch. He'll give you that much. 

And he'll also give you exactly what you want.

"I think you heard correctly, B."

A small hum of delight escapes your lips as Jeongguk loops his arm around your shoulders. Naturally, your arm wraps around his waist.

"Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?" You giggle. "Let's go get fucked up."

[leportraitducadavre]

Do you think people in the fandom would be more forgiving towards Sasuke character as a whole if we got the show from his perspective or if not that then if his thoughts are more shown?

I find myself drawn to his character because, in many ways, I see reflections of my own inclinations, albeit magnified. The tumultuous events that unfolded within his clan and the devastating actions of his brother, wiping out everyone, add a layer of complexity to his character. It's kind of intrigued me to consider that, under similar circumstances, I might make similar choices, perhaps even worse. The Narutoverse, with its deeply rooted issues like child soldiers, clan annihilation, and internal slavery within the Hyuga branch, presents a grim reality. While some characters, and even elements of the fandom, criticize and reject his actions, arguing that trauma should not be an excuse, it's hard to ignore the systemic problems within the Narutoverse itself. The pervasive cycle of suffering, with clans being wiped out and individuals enslaved, points to a broken system that breeds villains and antagonists seeking change.

In contrast to the complacency and cooperation displayed by many characters, those who rebel against the established order and strive for something different, flawed as their execution may be, at least attempt to address the root issues. The fact that they are trying to break free from the oppressive system suggests a level of agency and resistance, even if I may not fully agree with their methods. That's why I'm more forgiving towards the antagantis like Pain, Madara and especially in Sasuke case.

Reflecting on Naruto's journey and his current achievements the fundamental issues persist unchanged.

Also, sorry if this got long I ramble a lot when discussing lol. I hope you have a good day.

Hello, this took long to reply, and for that, I apologize.

I don’t think the issue is “not having Sasuke’s thoughts on display” for him to get sympathy, as we get to see firsthand the reasoning behind his actions, his background, and connections; we also get to see the atrocities committed by the system on multiple characters including those that the fandom takes as “less controversial” and which are considered victims of a bigger scale than Sasuke. I put more blame on the naturalization of state-sanctioned violence and the oppression of minority groups who are then blamed for their village’s actions as they are “savage-coded,” which turns the government’s oppression into a response to their behavior rather than an action born from their own bias. Their ultimate argument always boils down to “fighting violence with violence is not the way,” yet they fail to understand that a government built with brutality as its primary basis and as its primary tool leaves no room for negotiations, as it also implies that those oppressed continue to be oppressed until a “solution” is reached through time. They blame those discriminated against and later on massacred for their demise and not those in power who decided that committing genocide was a plausible solution to their dispute. 

The main issue with the idea that “their hearts are in the right place, but I don’t agree with the antagonist methods” also derives from this same perspective, where the discriminated must take all the consequences of the persecution they suffered and choose the “moral high ground” still to keep being “victims” and not become “victimizers.” Their categorization as innocents/savages is always based upon their response to the mass killing of their kin, minimizing the actions of those in power and diminishing the value of their critics to the system in place. 

Yet, while the naturalization of state-sanctioned violence plays a part in Sasuke’s status as a “villain” by many of his detractors, it’s not the only one, as many feel Naruto has a similar (perhaps harder) experience with the system in place as he was ostracized, yet he chose to follow Konoha’s WoF –many fans are closer to experience something similar to Naruto (an unpopular kid that was often shunned by comrades), so they feel more inclined to stand behind a character that reflects a personal experience of them, and not behind the boy who suffered genocide, a thing not many can see themselves in nor can build sympathy for as they (again) naturalized such occurrence. 

The popularization of the action genre featuring first-world soldiers invading the global south, whose focus is more on the trauma that lingers in the invader for trying to bring peace than on the indiscriminate killing of minorities, also contributes to seeing those in power as more humane or deserving of redemption than those responding violently against the intruders, because those invaded should put their trust in the “good intentions” of those abiding by the system that destroyed them in the first place.

[horsetailcurlers2]

addison montgomery fanfiction recs by pairing

(although i am *relatively* new to the greys fandom, once i finished season three i immediately obsessively scoured the internet for any addison montgomery centric fanfiction i could get my hands on. here are just a few of my favorite ones for each of my addison ships (of which there are many). this is by no means an exhaustive list. my qualifications for this are that i’m cool and have good taste and spend way too much time thinking about fictional people)

ADDEK:

-“The Climbing Way” by winter machine (this is actually probably one of my favorite fanfictions of all time, period. this author is just absolutely brilliant at capturing their dynamic and all of its complexities. the entire thing is actually from derek’s POV which i was surprised how much i enjoyed considering i can sometimes be a derek hater lol but it provides some really good insight into his character without being as forgiving as canon or as bash-y as some fics (if that makes any sort of sense?). it also combines two of my favorite addek tropes: “sad baby backstory” and “traumatic event forces them to actually confront their issues”. it is also a very captivating portrait of derek and mark’s realtionship and has lots and lots of flashbacks. big angst warning especially for the early chapters.)

-“Some Bright Morning” by winter machine (i just can’t get enough of this author. i love any addek fic that heavily features savvy and weiss bc i think they should have made more appearances in canon. or savvy should’ve at least lmao. weiss was kind of a dick. but i like him in this fic! this is a very very interesting AU because it takes place largely outiside of canon settings and features a lot of OCs. it also takes place around early season one so the mark wound is still very fresh. its set entirely on a small island in georgia during savvy’s mother’s funeral so there’s plenty of forced proximity and bed sharing. the original setting and cast of characters are really fleshed out and completely captivating. like, i would read a whole separate story just about this island and its inhabitants. also features lots of background on savvy and addison’s friendship. and plenty of angst of course. you may be sending a pattern with these recommendations)

-“do you think i have forgotten (about you)” by crime_wives (this one legitimately made me sob. like, my body produced actual tears. angsty one shot. not happy-addek. a perfect snapshot of their tragic ending)

- “Unhinged (AddisonandDerekandMark)” by RulerOfAllThatIsEvilChiFlowers (very dark. very twisty. somewhat non linear.)

- “This Hurt Can Teach Us Both” by darlingwrecks (oh my lord this one is so so addek- bittersweet, sexy, nostalgic, painful and delightful all at once. my favorite thing about this writer is the way they write backstory, especially for the Med School Trio. this is also kind of fun because we never got to see how these two dealt with their post divorce logistics. derek was just kind of like “take all the property and fuck off” which is not at all how these things work lol)

MEDDISON:

- “lately she’s undressing for revenge” by emilyprentits (only read this if you want to be driven to tear your own hair out by the emotions this will make you feel. this is one of the fics that fully convinced me to ship meddison. so so so good and it’s like it was written from inside of meredith’s actual brain)

-“i’ll show you every version of yourself tonight” by withpeopleinperson (two words: stripper addison. read it. be forewarned it’s only one chapter and has not been updated in a few years but it’s a GREAT chapter regardless)

-“the seven stages of intoxication” by theprincessdiarist (meredith grey doling out meredith grey levels of emotional dysfunction. featuring loads and loads of delightfully frustrating mutual pining)

-“Sex and Caring in Seattle” by Bluefall (meredith once again having totally normal and regular feeling about her ex boyfriend’s wife. i love this one because they are both just kind of bisexual disasters and derek is just Also There. i love the way this author perfectly captures meredith’s perpetual inability to navigate her own emotions)

*EDIT: i also realized i forgot to add that these last two were recommended to me by @crime-wives !!!

-“open the floodgates up” by SugarsweetRomantic (this has EVERYTHING you could want in a meddison fic: mutual hurt/comfort, bed sharing, friends to lovers, these two being absolute dumbasses about each other. had me crying and also kicking my feet. genuinely)

MADDISON:

-“Make This Go On Forever” by darlingwrecks (i am so in love with this universe. i usually don’t gravitate toward kid/family centric fics but this one is so so much more than that. it’s maddison, if those two had made a real go of things, stayed in new york, and kept the pregnancy. there’s even some background merder eventually (which is not usually my jam but i like in this context). very very fluffy at times, a bit angsty at others, super in character but iirc i think this was written pretty early on in the show so addison and mark’s backgrounds may be a smidge different than in canon. this is the link to the rewritten version (i think?) on ao3. the author had the original up on live journal back in the day and i could have SWORN i read a sequel that i found a link to in the depths of their LJ but i cannot find it anywhere rn)

-“When I Grow Up” by winter machine (another maddison-if-they’d-stayed-in-new-york-and-addison-kept-the-pregnancy, but with a twist that brings them to seattle to see derek, who they haven’t spoken to in seven years. a fantastic plot but also sort of just a brilliant exploration of how mark and addison would be as parents given their own childhoods and how they have pretty much been cut off from the one healthy(ish) family dynamic that either of them have experienced. there’s also background merder in this one and it actually kind of made me like merder which is a major feat)

-“Celery” by winter machine (a fun little one shot featuring Derek Being An Idiot, Drunk Addison, and Mark Crossing Boundaries. a little bit sad and a little bit funny. again, everything by this author is just great)

JADDISON:

- “A Certain Slant of Light” by darlingwrecks (this is for those of us that were weirded out by addison’s convo with amelia in season 18. a more fleshed out exploration of addison’s mental health during the pandemic. it’s a very raw and honest portrayal of depression and anxiety and how someone like addison would navigate it while being a doctor in a global pandemic and raising an 8 year old. it’s not nearly as bleak as it sounds though. lots of fluff, a little smut. also touches on how addison might’ve grieved mark and derek. and archer makes some appearances which i loved (i know he’s an asshole but i really like addison’s brother lol))

-“Diamonds in the Sky” by Ziaaaaa_sdc (there’s so few jaddison fics out there, probably because of how compressed their relationship timeline was as they tried to wrap up the show, but this writer has several and they’re all so good. there definitely aren’t enough fun AUs for them so i was really excited when i first found this. its Ballet School Jaddison and there’s actually only three chapters atm. no idea if it will be updated ever again but it’s still more than worth a read. a smidge angsty so far. also seems to be setting up a little enemies to lovers arc)

CADDISON:

-“Help Me (With The Butterflies)” by BlackRoseMatron (a very sweet one shot. this author is single-handedly keeping the caddison shippers fed and i love it. they also have some really great meddison stuff)

[2n2n]

ch. 110

brutality, no survivors.... incredible suffering for the girlies (you, me, JP twitter)

and here I thought shenanigans would continue... this promo image was an immediate punch at 6AM

and yet this was all things considered the easy part...? ugh, but... please a moment to drink it in... all of my beliefs in the true power exchange... it's so satisfying to see it like this. it's easy, simple to still Tsukasa, isn't it... towering, presiding older brother.... his joudai trailing... touch your seal... the virtue by which you are kept safe, kept his. Poor Tsukasa. covetous object...!

a rascal....! uhh I love pocket-sanding Akane with old man parts ... amazing technique ahaha, Tsukasa knows how to make people lose focus huh? he's in such a good mood isn't he~ not as resentful as he was towards Mirai pestering him...

mirai explode lol.... I can't say I feel much personally, I guessed she might do this ... it's sweet of her to protect Akane, but I can't think much of it, beyond what it contributes to how we should feel about her. Noble rat after all? not so dumb as Akane had said before?

Mirai holding the yorishiro makes sense, for why she's typically locked in their boundary without any freedom. sure... easy. another key to haunt us! more keys why NOT

I like to see Natsuhiko being cool like this ... ♥

but this is so interesting...

I'm never sure how much Mitsuba really understood about the Broadcast club's greater plans... I wonder if Natsuhiko is being literal here, and Mitsuba DID know what he had to do, but had settled on his suicidal ennui.... ah, having to analyze your life for something precious is grim... he has an issue of not appreciating what he has while he has it, and being unable to state it...

.... and there's nobody to correct him. This is such a manga about... 'reasons'....

among the things even possible.. that poor keychain was destroyed. I wonder if there were a few things going on in Mitsuba's mind even then...

I really like... that mysteries, kaii need something anchoring them... I like that it's not enough, to exist... I like that the body naturally dilapidates, 'wants' to move on or become something else. It's a great metaphor....! In this manga... the most important thing, is loving something. If you don't love something, you can't stay alive. You won't....

I'm still wondering if the original thing Kou gave Mitsuba back in vol. 7 will ever come back around... or if it just gave him a complex or curiosity about the 'old' Mitsuba (who he snoops on in PP after this, so....) ... and can't itself be precious so much as worming...

anyhow... I like this turn of events, but it is so shocking we're stacking handling No. 3 and also No. 1!!!! I can't believe it!!!! IT'S ALL HAPPENINGGGG?????!?!? We haven't stacked mysteries like this before ~~!!!! It's so exciting.... I like Natsuhiko a lot in all of this ♥ I don't know... like with Tsukasa and Mitsuba, I believe him that he found it all charming in its own way, and that he wanted to offer what he could to Mitsuba for the timebeing. It's not as if there are other options, here... Mitsuba... really was never doing the things that needed to be done.... or letting others know what he needed to do.

I suppose Natsuhiko could wake up Kou to watch this if he wanted, but I find it much funnier if Kou just has to wake up at the end of this and Mitsuba is eradicated... lol...

can't say I really understand Teru's position about the mysteries...

you understand the mysteries are a kind of structural pillar for this region, but the pressure that was weighing on Hanako at least seemed to be the Minamoto ... it was that imperative the Broadcast Club's been taking advantage of. The rumors created an excuse to justify the sense of mistrust in the mysteries. But I'll never quite know what Teru is even capable of ... since he shouldn't be able to touch yorishiro ... but directly threatens to exorcize mysteries. Can you have extant yorishiro without the mysteries utilizing them.... ??? Well, I just don't understand it yet.... must put it aside.

back to what really matters...

I love how peaceful, relieved, serene he looks here.... finally, you've been so patient, Tsukasa... every little step of this has taken so long.... holding the last yorishiro in your hands... trusting Amane to handle you, after... it must feel good. The end in sight....

I really love this reach for Amane's knife...

back in this position, are we?

ah.... poor Amane. For a moment... I appreciate what he's trying to do, here. He sounds patient... he sounds like an older brother. Explaining so cleanly...

you want to be sure Tsukasa understands... maybe you think-- he hasn't thought this through, or he doesn't get the consequences, he's being childish, or reckless, maybe he's misunderstood how it happened before ... I love to hear Amane, say something so direct as... won't see you again.... won't be able to save you ... everything he did last time! to ensure... that you wouldn't be apart! the binding of their souls! tying Tsukasa down to him like a ship in a storm! protection, mooring... keeping you, where he can see you! remaining together, at all costs! that's important to you too, right, Tsukasa? don't you want to see each other?

it's as if you're saying you don't want to be together, don't want to be saved... what do we do with people who don't ask you to save them? why must they insist on leaving you behind?

Mitsuba won't ask Kou to save him. Sumire wouldn't ask Hakubo to save her. Aoi didn't want Akane to save her. I wonder if Tsukasa didn't ask Amane to save him, but Amane did it anyway... her certainly wasn't asking for a hero in the Red House, or to live on coming back.

it's a kind of rejection, isn't it? When someone is so ambivalent about the life you love so much... the life you want with them... it's as if they're saying, "I don't want to be with you enough to live for you."

Of course, every time, they're really saying ... "I just don't know what I mean to you." Mitsuba doesn't feel valuable to Kou; only a replacement, a reminder of something he once cared about. Best to give up. Sumire imagined Hakubo was only placating her, and could only wish not for his earnest sadness, but for him to pretend to be sad for her. Best to let death happen. and Aoi didn't feel Akane knew the real her, imagined he would reject the real Aoi, only in love with his grand projection of her. Best to step away now.

Of course, Tsukasa thought his brother hated him, so...

It all feels so simple and logical! It's saving trouble, right?

Amane made such a gesture last time... in their shinjuu... he tried, he really tried, to say something ... to Tsukasa.

but, the message didn't go through...

but I can only be so sympathetic to Amane, as he's an incredible hypocrite. Of course, Amane has put Nene-chan through everything Tsukasa puts him through.

You also try to grant your beloved a wish for a future that explicitly doesn't involve you, and make her feel rejected, abandoned, given no choice...

Amane...

oh, Yugi twins....

.... why can't you understand when you're precious? Why can't you understand how bad it hurts, to abandon somebody? Amane-chan really suffered without you, Tsukasa. You're always the one leaving him, and getting to feel sacrificial about it. He's trying to tie you down....

.... it's a natural response... to lash out. Rejected... misunderstood... abandoned... why is Tsukasa asking you to give up on him? Why can't he understand, even with that seal on his cheek... even as you died with him....

兄の思いは届かず…

I really love that for the chapter's end.

Amane's feelings never did reach Tsukasa. It wasn't understood, what he had tried to do, his sadness now. But... Amaneeeee....

maybe you could use a taste of your own medicine....

we think we know just how to make someone else's wish come true, don't we?

isn't it such an insult! WHY!!!!!! """"WHY""""""??????

..... I'm out of images, so I'll continue in a reblog, for a couple more thoughts I'm having ....

but for this post... ahhhh. It's unbelievable we're at least starting to tackle... this. I feel bad for Amane, I really do... I feel bad for Tsukasa, too. It's hard to not hurt someone you love ... in an attempt to only hurt yourself. If we hurt ourselves, we hurt the thing our lover adores ... we spit on their love for us.

I can understand why and how Amane can say "I hate you" ... to Tsukasa. As much as Akane could childishly say it to Aoi ... and you know, it is that same unimaginable love which makes it possible. Years of familiarity, it makes you more liable to lash out. There is such a greater sense of betrayal, when you've expended so much effort... when you try so hard for someone... when you're in so much pain about them....! After all I've done... you CAN'T say this or that to me.... etc, etc! Those intense emotions... can make you feel entitled, to never be hurt... you can't hurt me, after all I've hurt for you!

and I do think it's being said extremely childishly... daikirai... he's just, unable to be any more constructive with his feelings, he's so... hurt, mad. As much as Nene-chan is so mad, hearing Hanako spit on all of her efforts she made to reach him... BIG SLAP!!!

Amane, he's maybe endured 50 years of effort and an awful lot of physical suffering for Tsukasa, and it's not gotten through... wwww! I'm sorry, I'm worried Tsukasa might have a PROFOUND amount of suicidal urge. Might be an uphill battle, Amane... you might just need to save Tsukasa because you are selfish, and you want him for yourself. There might be no easier reason ... to keep him by your side. We can't make Tsukasa beg to stay with you... but you won't beg him to stay, will you? I think that would actually do a lot of good, Amane... but you really won't do that....

meanwhile, I love the juxtaposition of Nene-chan's incredibly childish DAI DAI DAISUKIII and this daikirai lol... we all have big feelings don't we lol....! well...

[xtarotdollx]

Attempting one of those long ass literary analysis posts because my friends have told me I should please enjoy this long ass ramble

Okay so like Jekyll creating Hyde is itself a crime right? Like it is it’s a horrifying event filled with body horror and pain like Jekyll creating the potion and creating Hyde is an objectively Bad Thing ™ but like why??? Jekylls motivations for doing so are both sympathetic and relatable (and intentionally so) so why are his actions considered the literal original sin of his story?? Anyway I was bored and fucked around and found an answer and I need to share it because fuck me I can’t be normal about Jekyll.

Anyway review time our buddy Jekyll is sad gay and alone and comes to the conclusion that people contain multitudes. And I say multitudes because Jekyll himself admits in his own research that there’s more to his theory and than just good and evil,

“I say two, because the state of my knowledge does not pass beyond that point.”

“… I hazard guess that man will be ultimately known for a mere polity of multifarious, incongruous, and independent denizens.”

and that he splits himself into good and evil because that’s what he’s most familiar with (aka it’s the split that he can use for his own benefit.) But like, homeboy was kinda on to something. The idea that humans are complex and multifaceted with multiple conflicting ideas and identities has been a thing across psychology and even whole cultures for like forever, and considering that Jekyll and Hyde was written around and about the the creation of the psychology as a scientific field, Jekyll is has (for lack of a better word) discovered something very profound, important, and massively influential to the world around him. And positivity influential to!! It’s that iconic quote “if each could be housed in different Identities, the world would be relieved of all that is unbearable” I think he’s getting ahead of himself here and kinda self projecting but there is very real truth to the idea that studying the difference facets of human identity could improve people and society. And even if he’s dead fucking wrong still putting out the information would end up benefiting societies collective knowledge. Kinda like how Freud was so influential to psychology because some of his theories were so buck wild and wrong that people had to come and correct him, widening the scientific field as a whole.

And Jekyll doesn’t do that. This life altering information is kept to himself, for his own personal use, benefit, and pleasure. And that’s so fucking wild and horrific for so many fucking reasons. Like it goes against so many rules of behavior it’s FOUL. First of the selfishness and gate keeping is inherently just cruel, but this man is a DOCTOR, and a SCIENTIST. This motherfucker took an OATH BEFORE GOD to provide the best care to the people, and now that care, or at least information that could lead to better care, is being squandered for personal gain. That’s fucked. That’s criminal activity right there.

But also I dare you to find me a scientist that doesn’t want to share their research and passion THERE IS NONE. I may be basing this analysis off of a stereotype but I believe it’s a stereotype based in reality but isn’t this the very thing people who go into fields of science and research do??? Like, they are unified by their desire to explore and SHARE knowledge??? Even if like the Jekyll wasn’t a professional doctor with his Hippocratic oath just doing things for shits and giggles, how is the goal not to tell people about this?? This doctor isn’t doctoring the way doctors should. Jekyll keeping his discoveries to himself is also just borderline non human behavior to me because who actually in real life does that. Again how is the end goal not to share this discovery? Humans are social creatures we want to share things. Swapping stories around a campfire is like the oldest human tradition ever. If you’re out in the woods and see a cool frog the immediate reaction is to call your friends over to look, or take a picture, or something similar. WHEN I THINK OF NEW WAYS TO VIEW AND INTERPRET JEKYLL ANS HYDE, THE IMMEDIATE THOUGHT IS TO SHARE IT WITH MY FRIENDS. I cannot FATHOM how secrecy is Jekyll’s immediate desire as a fellow human who lives on this earth.

And this actually slots in with really well with Jekyll and Hyde as a social critique of the upper class. Keeping super important info to yourself is NOT a human activity in any capacity, but it is an institutional one. The best thing I can think of to describe and compare it to is oil companies history of actively suppressing information about climate change to stay in business. It’s a modern example but I feel so deeply that there is an 1800s equivalent that I just can’t think of or don’t know in this moment. But the point is, Jekyll isn’t a person (metaphorically speaking), he’s a institution of wealth and power doing what large institutions do best, profiting off of the the control and suppression of the people below them, in this case the control of information.

But of course, Jekyll literally speaking, is a person. He’s just some guy, and seeing a very very human character act without any human instinct so casually is freaky and 10/10 horror. Jekyll’s creation of Hyde isn’t a crime or a sin because Hyde is an evil thing that will do evil things, it’s horrifying because Jekyll’s choice to do so is inhumane in every definition of the word thank you for coming to my TedTalk have a nice day

[janeicethesiren]

Hot take: The Woobification of Sebastian and O!Ciel-How Beauty Clouds Judgement

Hey guys, it’s me again and I can’t sleep. I have another hot take to share! Once again, please don’t take this too seriously, I’m just talking.

So, I just want to start off by saying that I totally get it. I mean it! We’ve been following these characters for years and we’ve gotten so invested in there stories and we can’t help but want them to win, you know? It’s human nature to want to root for the underdog in some ways. And, O!Ciel kinda fits the mold of underdog when you consider his backstory.

But, and this is my opinion, Ciel and Sebastian are NOT the underdogs. And I can’t help but think that if they both weren’t so pretty, you’d see a lot less people excusing their behavior or rooting for them.

I should also stress that I’m not talking about the people who look at these characters through a complex lense, I’m more so talking about people who are insistent that O!Ciel and Sebastian are good people/not evil.

Like I said, I get it and I empathize with the kid, but the kid is a BASTARD. He has progressively become an awful, awful person and that’s the POINT. And I can’t help but find it boring when people try to strip that away from him.

People feel bad for O!Ciel because he’s been through a lot, which yeah he definitely has. And people are mad at R!Ciel for standing against him and at Lizzy for turning on him, at least for now.

And, again, I kinda get it because we’ve been with O!Ciel for so long and it’s natural to root for him. But, O!Ciel is not the good guy! Lol what’s happening right now is that he’s currently being forced to face the consequences of his own actions. Which, let’s be honest, he wasn’t expecting to ever have to do because of his personal countdown death clock, Sebastian.

I can understand why he told those lies, especially at the beginning. But there’s no excuse for them anymore. He should have BEEN told everyone the truth. Would it have been easy? Of course not. But it would’ve been the right thing to do. While it’s understandable why he did what he did, he still took away his family’s ability to grieve and R!Ciel’s ability to rest, at least in my opinion.

Also, I think it’s important to note that, after a point, O!Ciel started to ENJOY being Ciel. So much so that he’s willing to fight the real Ciel for his own name. Which is absurd when you think about it!

His family absolutely ain’t shit for not only not noticing the difference, but also not doing anything to step in and really be there for that boy. But again, that’s part of the point of what Yana is trying to say in that upperclass Victorian society is/and was depraved, shallow, and mostly evil.

O!Ciel may have been thinking of the others when he made his initial decision but the decision was still selfish. I think that it’s ok to say that; while yes, he suffered from heavy survivors guilt and truly thought that his family would prefer for R!Ciel to come back (and unfortunately he wasn’t wrong), he still, if only subconsciously, wanted the power, prestige, and access that R!Ciel’s name carried.

He LIKES being Ciel now and loathes his old name and position. He LIKES the power, the access, the maneuverability, hurting people when they get in his way, killing those who wronged him, the security of Sebastian’s presence, the ability to make his dream come true (made a lot easier with Ciel’s name), the dark mind games he plays with people. ALL OF IT. He loves it and that’s the POINT.

And Sebastian is a demon. Yes we all know that, that’s not news. However, I still feel like we give the man (entity, whatever) too much credit a lot of the time. Again, mostly because he’s pretty.

Is it possible that he grew to care for O!Ciel in someway? Sure! And I do believe he legitimately has a lot of respect for O!Ciel. But I honestly think it’s more likely that the bastard is hungry and the current events are making him worried that he’ll end up being killed or losing his meal in the end. I don’t think it’s impossible or too much of a stretch to say that he’s grown fond of O!Ciel in someways, but best believe that child is food. Yana even outright says that Sebastian LOVES to see Ciel suffer! Only it’s not so fun when Sebastian is also suffering too, lol he’s a narcissist.

TLDR: It makes sense why people root for O!Ciel and Sebastian. But I think we give these two way too much credit sometimes and there’s an over abundance of people trying to absolve them both of their evil. They are both garbage (lovable garbage!) that are currently facing the consequences of (mostly Ciel’s) actions. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. Please don’t kill me.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Blood-Stained Relationship

Prologue i

Slight Yandere! Blade x Fem! Reader

Disclaimer 1: No incest will be in this story. It may seem that there is, but no, there isn’t. Everything will be explained as the story goes on, but again, there will be no incestual acts in this piece of fiction. The brother is NOT attracted to the reader in a romantic or sexual way.

As a matter of fact, the brother is bitchless lmao –

Warnings: talk of a sister complex, toxic and borderline abusive familial relationship(s), implied toxic marriage, implied borderline abusive parenting, obsessive and overprotective behavior/thoughts, hints of depression scattered about, repressed emotions, one suicidal thought, murder, blood. Please tell me if I missed any warnings so I can add them accordingly.

Disclaimer 2: I do NOT condone any of the harmful behavior or thoughts that take place in this piece of fiction. None of these actions should be romanticized or considered normal, as it is extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors and Blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT

Note: I just kinda gave up in the end, I don’t even know what that last conversation was.

Wordcount: 3144k

===

Your brother loved to spoil you.

Cosmetics, designer brand clothing, the newest high tech, pretty nails that feel a little too heavy at times, and personal stylists that made sure you looked like you just stepped out of a fashion magazine cover. Not to mention the lavish furnishing in the spacious house you share with him. Almost anything and everything you could ever want right at your fingertips.

And you’re extremely grateful for everything he has done and more – after all, where would you be if it were not for his generosity?

A dingy little apartment on Burn Street, working as a barista, a two-room lease that you could barely afford rent for. The shady part of town where shop windows get boarded up every second month because someone decided to rob the place at midnight. Needing to use a sperate and out of the way laundry mat because you couldn’t trust the apartment’s commute one. Going by yourself without a watchful eye making sure that you’re safe.

Which is why when your brother asks for a favor, you return it. Smiling, laughing, wearing a dress he picked out for an event, or making friends from a specific group. He feeds you well, and you cook with the ingredients he provides. Unemployed, sure, but you think you became a good enough homemaker.

It was the least you could do, especially since he doesn’t make you pay rent or bills. He would insist that you just enjoy your time at home, or just going around town, with a watchful eye of course, you need to keep your safety in mind.

Even the pretty apron with lace ruffles adds to the aesthetic, the experience. If someone would give everything to you, then shouldn’t you do the same for them?

And that is the exact reason the kitchen smelt of exotic spices, with your hands kneading the yeast while keeping an eye on the meat simmering in the pan. The stove was one of the newest modes in the past decade but purchased two years ago – when your brother gave you, his hand. There were too many settings for the thing, but you knew enough to use it properly.

Am I using too much, or this fine?

You finish beating the yeast into submission – gently kneading until it is good enough. Egg yolk gets drabbled on, and you open the oven to put it in, the heat a little too close. Even with the oven mitten on, it reaches your skin.

The oven door closes with a ‘beep,’ as you set the timer. The clock on the wall reads 6:00PM. Your brother won’t be home until Ten. Whatever his job was must keep him busy. So busy, that he tells you to wait until around 7 seven o’clock if you plan on cooking, and eight pm for takeout. And like a good little sister, you listen to your dear elder brother. But you decided to start a bit earlier, today.

The meat is still shimmering by the time you check on it. Carrots were in the pan too, but you still cut bell peppers to cook them separately. And then, maybe you’ll scoop them open and fill them with melted cheese – or were you supposed to bake those? No, you don’t.

And then, after that, you’ll mop again, the smell of bleach filling your nostrils until you felt dizzy, and if the bread is still baking, then you’ll watch one of your shows until the oven makes a ‘ding!’ and then you’ll take it out and get the table ready.

You smile at the thought, washing your hands with cherry-scented hand soap, the water cold. It brings comfort. And smells sweet, the smell gently urging you to bring your hands to your face and take a sniff. You resist the urge.

“Mm, I should get started on mopping,” you take a right into one of the corners in the kitchen, the mini ‘storage’ door opening with the twist of a knob and a pull. Grabbing the mop and bucket set – that costed more than it should – you fill the bucket with bleach –

Ring! Ring! Ring!

You fill up the bucket, the liquid swishing within. You add some water, dip the mop in, and then place the head of it in. Then, with one hand, you grab the bucket handle, and the mop handle in the other, making way to the living room. The floor was made of tile, cold to the touch as you step out of your house slippers, bare feet touching the white material.

It’s colder than expected.

With a small sigh, you start to mop –

Ring! Ring! Ring!

“House, turn on the TV to channel sixty-five.”

The Tv turns on, the channel immediately showing after a few seconds. The news is on. You don’t pay much attention to the current events, but here and there you’ll listen in about one thing or another.

“Mm, I should do laundry tomorrow. And then I’ll ask Mei to accompany me to the store tomorrow; I need to get groceries. Oh, maybe I’ll look online later today for a new dress –

Ring! Ring! Ring!

“…”

A defeated sigh and you drag yourself to the kitchen to retrieve your phone, rather upset, which was uncharacteristic of you. You���d like to put your phone on ‘Do not disturb.’ But the model you use doesn’t have that setting, surprisingly. You should ask your brother for a new one. You told him that you didn’t trust that phone company or that seller.

But he had trusted them more than you. Close friends, perhaps?

“Who is it, who is it…,” it vibrates against the marble counter, the shrill noise making your ears bleed. You should ask Mei if it’s possible to put it on silent. It won’t let you do that either, but your brother knows how to bypass it. He’s smart, like that.

And you think you like that about him. Just how he likes the way you are. Because he loves you, his dear little sister, and because you’re a good little sister, you behave. Like you should, and how you were told – suggested – by Mei when you were first welcomed into your elder brother’s home with open arms.

Because he loves you.

Dearest Brother flashes across the screen, and you wait a few seconds before answering his third call. He doesn’t like how he deals with his employees and co-workers. He’s always gentle when it comes to you.

“Hello?” You put him on the speaker, placing your phone back on the counter. It was time to check the shimmering meat anyway. “Sorry for not answering sooner, I didn’t check the caller ID. I’ll make sure to give you a customized ringtone later.” You chirp while opening the lid of the pan. It was almost done; your hand takes the wooden spoon and stir the meat to make sure it wouldn’t burn.

“It’s fine,” comes his relaxed voice from the other side of the line. “I know you don’t check your phone often to begin with; you would rather watch TV or do chores around the house. We have a maid for a reason, you know,” he jests, a chuckle low in his throat. How classic.

“Hehe, I just like being busy. It’s hard to get out of that mindset.”

“Even after two years.”

“Mm.”

When he laughs, it sets off bells in your head. Loud and shrill. “I just wanted to check up on you. You didn’t answer my text an hour ago, so I got worried.”

He could have checked the cameras. The house is littered with them, but to his credit, he is removing most of them. Little by little. However, he’s considerate enough to leave them out of the more… private rooms.

That was a line that should never be crossed.

But, of course, you still gave Mei permission to report to – to tell him what you do with your day. To look around in your room, and it was okay. Because it was Mei. And Mei cares about your safety, even if she reminded you of your roommate in terms of emotional distance.

It was fine, it needed to be. Because you were still an intruder who was as lost as a lamb. Even with guidance, you still had a hard time adjusting. And thankfully, both were so patient it made your heart swell.

You just wished it didn’t hurt as much as it did. Hearts weren’t supposed to do that with good news. With good and sweet actions.

“I’m just happy that you’re safe. You know how much I care about you.” There’s shuffling in the background and whimpers. You can imagine that he’s with a woman, a lover perhaps. Because why else would you hear those types of sounds? It is odd, however, how… masculine they sound. And how far they are, with a crunching sound.

You can hear something break in the background. Sharp yet dulled – it wasn’t glass or porcelain. Your smile is shaky as you imagine what type of stuff he might be into. It’s only natural to be curious, but you push the thoughts away anyway.

“I know.”

And truly, you do. Why else would he take great care to keep track of your location. The people you meet, the men he chooses – it’s all for your sake. And you make yourself believe as much.

The air smells weird. Burnt and heavy. Also, is it just you or is there light smoke coming from somewhere?

“…When are you going to be home for dinner? There’s bread in the oven. And the meat is almost done.”

You look at the clock on the wall. The time reads 6:54PM. Quickly, you take off the lid of the meat. It’s burnt. Well, at least that explains the smell.

“Did I forget to tell you?” Your brother’s voice is light and airy, already knowing that you did remember what he told you. But he plays along anyway. Because that’s what good brothers do.

And he is a good brother. Who loves you so much… that sometimes, it feels a little suffocating.

How ironic. He’s the one who provides the air you breathe, and yet, he takes it away all the same. But it’s okay. Because he’s your brother, and you love him too. Just not as much. And he’s okay with that.

“I probably forgot. You know how I am, brother.” Now that you think about it, when was the last time you called his name, instead of ‘brother’?

“Haha, you’re right. I said around ten, but…” More noise in the background. This time there’s a gushing sound. Coughing. Wheezing. He’s into some weird stuff, isn’t he?

You hear a woman’s giggle in the background. But it doesn’t sound playful or innocent.

Your manicured nails rapidly tap against the counter. A little too loud it could probably be heard on the phone. He doesn’t comment on it regardless.

“Later than ten? Oh my, you sure do sound busy today. Be careful, alright?” Your concern is genuine, but these days, it’s starting to come from a different place. You wonder if this is what your parents went through when they were younger.

If that’s why your mother would call you so often the moment you hit fifteen. Worried about your safety, paranoia creeping up her neck like a snake. If you recall correctly, father did this with mother too. So, it’s natural for people to be worried.

It must be.

“I do, however, have a request of you.” His tone turns serious, and you already know what it is. It’s always the same thing every time. Sure, he loves buying you pretty dresses and nice nails, a personal stylist who listens to your every whim. Usually.

Because there’s another reason, he loves buying you expensive, yet simple jewelry, and clothes that complement your skin-tone and curves. It was usually Mei who chose the clothing, though. Because your brother still does care about your privacy, because he’s –

“Good brother, I was hoping you would set up another playdate. Same person, or is it a different one?”

You can practically hear the smile in his voice. You’re a good sister, so you play along with your brother’s schemes. Although, these days, it’s getting a bit… annoying. Every man is the same, and if they aren’t, then they’re shy and can barely meet your eyes. It’s cute.

You tap against the counter faster. Be a good sister because he’s a good brother. He loves you. And you should love him.

But love wasn’t always healthy.

Sometimes love hurts.

“It’s a different guy, but don’t worry – he doesn’t bite. I’ll never allow someone to even do as much as nip at you.” He sounds so confident you almost feel relieved. It’s common. Be a good sister, like how mother would always tell you.

Behave, dear daughter. They love you. We love you.

And you love us, don’t you?

“Of course; I know you’ll always protect me.” Your knees are starting to get weaker. Maybe you ate something bad because now you’re starting to feel sick. Bile is building up. “But if I may make a request…, can it be an hour or less?”

Even though you love your brother, you hate how long these dates can get. And you hate how boring they become after the first five minutes. But recently, they’re dull right off the bat.

“Thank you for everything, (name). I’ll make sure to make it up to you.”

Before you could reply, or he could say “I love you,” the line ends suddenly. You had heard more wheezing in the background before he hung up. Along with multiple apologies that came from a man.

 The meat got burnt so badly it turned black.

The bread has another hour or two to go. All is well.

Because if it wasn’t, then one of the knives in the knife holder would find home in your wrist. In your chest. In your neck.

Like a crumbled piece of paper, you fold into yourself as you fall to the floor. That was enough playing for today. Oh. He never even told you what time he would be home.

Distantly, you hear something break before you close your eyes. You’re tired.

You hope your sleep won’t be interrupted.

--

“I love my sister.”

“Mm, I can see that. Although… perhaps, you love her a little too much, to the point it’s off-putting. People may get the wrong idea, you know.”

Your brother turns around to look at the woman speaking – beautiful, with dreamy pale purple eyes that are jaded. Almost lifeless, yet full of mischief. Like a snake waiting to pounce, she watches him, her purple hair swaying with each step she takes towards him.

One hunter against another. In the end, who will go down?

She must step over the corpse laying on the floor, blood clinging to her heel. It’s nothing more than an inconvenience to her. As though she simply stepped in a water puddle.

“I don’t have a sister complex.”

“Your actions say otherwise. But” she stops right in front of him, gloved hand pulling down her sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose. They gleam underneath the light, your brother’s reflection in them. He sees how thin of a line his lips are.

He’s not amused.

“It is because of your behavior that others stay away from her. That’s what you want, right?”

“No comment. But just know that I don’t have a sister complex. It’s closely associated with incest, and I don’t – “

“Alright, alright. We’ll just ignore that for now – “

“What do you mean ‘for now’?”

“– and get to business. So, you want to hire us, correct? For a baby-sitting job?” Her head tilts to the side, a lazy and smug grin pulling at her red lips. Despite her words, everything about her screams gentle. But the neon purple strings in her hand that are connected to the corpse say otherwise.

It’s – She – is as beautiful as she is dangerous.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘baby-sitting’ job, but yes. Besides, I don’t need to hire you to begin with.” Your brother shrugs his shoulders before crossing his arms. “I mean, I am one of your most valued resources.”

“Oh? Are you now?”

“Who do you think provides the funds? But, of course, if money is a thing that would make things easier, than… I wouldn’t mind paying a bit more.”

She smiles at that, releasing the string as it fades into thin air. “Mm, does the gender matter?”

“Yes. Unless, of course, you have a trusted gentleman.” He glances at the clock on the wall; 9:00PM. He wonders if dinner is ready by now, or if you burnt the food again. Maybe he should stop calling after five, else you get distracted. He needs to be a good brother and remember that you tend to get distracted easily.

“Is it 24/7? Or just during certain events?”

“For now, I’m not sure. But for sure, during her blind dates. There’s a lengthy list of them that I’ve been putting off. She’s just been so tired that I decided to give her a break, oh, but – “

“Please don’t go on a rampant. I know enough to judge the situation. But yes, I do know a trusted ‘gentleman’… I just need to clear his head occasionally. But for your sake, I think it’d be best if you introduce them soon.” She adjusts her glasses, fixing them on top of her head again.

“I can promise you he won’t show any interest.”

“But there’s a possibility he might harm her?”

Gently, her hands clap together. “There will always be a possibility that someone you hired might hurt her. That’s just something you can’t avoid. But if we avoid certain triggers, he’ll be as harmless as a fly… towards her.”

Humming in thought, your brother mulls over it. He did ask, so…

“But do not worry, for I will also be there, at times. But Elio has been sending me more scripts these past few months compared to him.”

“Him?”

“Bladie.”

He chokes on his spit. “You want me to entrust my dear sister to – “

“Trust me, he won’t lay a hand on her. Not if I tell him not to.”

“You mean force him to, you little she-devil…” he chuckles lowly, no true amusement in his voice or eyes. Again, he did ask, but still…

“What about Silver Wolf?”

“She’s more interested in her games than a baby-sitting job. And Sam… at least Bladie looks human. And rather handsome, too. But from what you’ve told me about your sister, he’s not her type. And she’s not his either; too young.”

“… I’ll entrust her to you, Kafka.”

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

“No. No, that cannot be right.”

As the news of her pregnancy sank in, Maera's initial shock gave way to a sense of denial, almost as if she were trying to resist the reality of the situation. Uncertainty clouded her features, and her mind raced with conflicting emotions. The ongoing war cast a dark shadow over her thoughts, and the unsettling prophecies of Helaena added an additional layer of worry.

The specter of death in childbirth loomed large, a heavy concern that intertwined with the complexities of the world around her. In the midst of this emotional whirlwind, Maera found herself grappling with the profound implications of bringing a child into such turbulent times.

The maester maintained his composure and explained, “I am quite certain, Princess. The babe will likely arrive in seven moons.”

Maera, still grappling with the revelation, attempted to find reason. “But what about the bleeding?” she asked, standing up from the bed.

Maester Orwyle reassured her, “Sometimes, when a babe is forming in the womb and nestles into its place, it can cause some bleeding. It is usually nothing to worry about, but I will monitor it closely to ensure your health and the babe’s.”

Despite the Maester's reassurance, Maera found her mind continuing to race with anxious thoughts. As she rose from the examination bed, she couldn't help but pick at the golden and sapphire ring on her left hand, something precious that Aemond had previously gifted her.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Maera took in the image reflected back at her. Her hair, dark brown with the distinctive silver streak, was braided and adorned with a golden headpiece. Widened green eyes stared back, framed by the mourning attire she wore—a black dress with embroidered golden dragons on the collar. She contemplated how her body might change as the pregnancy developed, adding another layer to the uncertainty that had taken hold.

A sobering thought crossed Maera's mind as she processed the news of her pregnancy. While the birth of a new child into House Targaryen would typically be celebrated as a blessing, the recent tragedies weighed heavily on her. The brutal murder of four-year-old Jaehaerys and Helaena's heartbreaking loss had cast a somber pallor over the household. In the wake of such sorrow, Maera couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the right time for the joyous news of a new life to be shared. The timing seemed almost cruel against the backdrop of recent events, adding a layer of complexity to the emotions surrounding the revelation.

Turning to the maester, Maera expressed, "Tomorrow is Jaehaerys' funeral, and news of a new baby would be a massive blow to the Queen. Can I count on your discretion until at least after the funeral?"

The maester nodded understandingly and replied, "You have my word, Princess. However, you should consider informing your husband as soon as possible." Maera nodded in acknowledgment, recognizing the wisdom in involving Aemond before anyone else. The weight of both grief and unexpected joy pressed upon her as she contemplated the delicate balance she needed to maintain during such trying times.

After leaving the Maester's rooms, Maera chose to avoid her own chambers, finding solace in the temporary refuge of denial. Facing Aemond would mean confronting the reality of the pregnancy, a reality she wished to postpone just a little while longer. Instead, she sought out Helaena's chambers, longing for the comfort of her friend's presence. However, her attempt to enter was thwarted by the vigilant guards, denying her access as Helaena was still not accepting visitors. Desperation to see her friend warred with the understanding that Helaena's mind remained deeply troubled, leaving Maera caught between a longing for connection and the harsh reality of the present.

Attempting to seek comfort in another manner, Maera hesitated to face the Grand Sept, haunted by the painful reminders of little Jaehaerys and Helaena's unborn child. Opting for a more intimate space, she made her way to the smaller Royal Sept, situated across the courtyard from the stables. In contrast to the grandeur of the main Sept, this smaller place of worship exuded a humble tranquility. Marble altars dedicated to each of the Seven Gods adorned the space, enveloped in the comforting scent of incense and the flickering glow of numerous candles. Kneeling before a small statue of the Mother, Maera sought solace in prayer as her mind began reeling with troubling and worrying thoughts.

Closing her verdant eyes, Maera pleaded for guidance and mercy as she grappled with the unexpected news. In the sacred silence of the Royal Sept, her thoughts unraveled like fragile threads. The looming prospect and expectation of delivering a son to further the Targaryen legacy, felt like an unspoken demand echoing through the corridors of her thoughts.

Her body, once a vessel of her own, now became a subject of scrutiny, a canvas on which the eyes of the court would fixate and criticise. In the hallowed silence, Maera’s thoughts involuntarily turned to the woman whose memory lingered as both a beacon and a phantom—her mother, Lady Gael. In the solitude of prayer, Maera silently wondered how Lady Gael navigated the complexities of carrying an heir. Her mother had weathered the trials of three pregnancies, the final one claiming her life. The untold tales of Lady Gael's experiences, the joys, and perhaps the fears, now hung in the air like a sacred whisper.

“Maera?” A voice echoed in the sacred space. Turning slowly, she found herself facing her mother-in-law, the Dowager Queen.

Alicent, clad in black mourning attire adorned with deep green detailing, stood before Maera with a demeanor of surprise. Her auburn hair was meticulously pinned atop her head, veiled as if to shield her grief. Brown eyes widened as they met Maera's, forming a silent connection in the quiet expanse of the sept.

As Maera rose from her prayer, the weight of her recent news settled heavily on her shoulders. Without conscious thought, she moved swiftly toward Alicent, her steps a mixture of fear and confusion. Abruptly reaching out, Maera initiated a desperate hug, as if seeking refuge from the storm of emotions within.

In that moment, vulnerability painted across Maera's face, she didn't disclose the cause of her turmoil. Alicent, perceptive to the unspoken distress, responded after a moment with a tender embrace. Though it wasn't the exact solace Maera had yearned for, the warmth of Alicent's arms provided a lifeline through the turbulent sea of emotions that defined the remainder of that challenging day.

After another prayer shared with Alicent and a brief apology for her emotional outburst, Maera resorted to yet another tactic of evasion. Seeking refuge in her father's quarters, she requested to dine with him, a request Lord Jasper willingly granted.

As they sat at the dining table, Maera played with the food on her plate using her fork, her gaze fixed on her father. She abstained from consuming a single mouthful, her mind preoccupied. Lord Jasper, with his distinguished appearance—dark hair and piercing grey-green eyes—engaged in lively discourse about his duties as the Master of Laws. Despite his animated prattle, Maera's attention wavered, consumed by thoughts she struggled to voice.

Observing Maera's distracted demeanor, Lord Jasper tactfully shifted the conversation, taking a mouthful of potatoes before saying, “You know, I have received a number of letters from our House via raven over the last few weeks.”

This piqued Maera’s interest, and she looked up from her plate. “What news do they bring?” she inquired.

Lord Jasper, sensing her need for a lighter topic, smiled and replied, “Well, your eldest brother, Guston, wrote. Seems his new baby girl is thriving. He also mentioned that he is completely wrapped around her little finger.”

A chuckle escaped Maera’s lips. “Really? I thought Guston wanted another son.”

Lord Jasper nodded, sipping his wine. “Indeed, he did. But you know how it goes. Daughters have a way with their fathers when they’re tiny and cute.”

As Lord Jasper shared more family news, Maera sipped chamomile tea from a nearby cup, absorbing the updates. Her father mentioned, "Cedric has been officially invited to the Citadel to train as a Maester."

A bright smile lit up Maera's face. "That's wonderful news, Father. I am sure he'll make us proud."

Lord Jasper nodded, expressing gratitude to the Gods. "Yes, thank the Gods. It is a way for him to honor House Wylde. I had low hopes for him with his quiet nature, but this opportunity is a blessing."

Sensing her father's veiled criticism, Maera cleared her throat, silently conveying her disapproval of bashing her brother. Lord Jasper, understanding the unspoken message, shifted the conversation. Taking a sip of his wine, he continued, "Dermot sent his congratulations for your wedding and expressed concerns about the war with Princess Rhaenyra. He stated if he could offer aid, he would, but I am unsure how he would plan on doing that." Maera nodded, a hint of discomfort crossing her features at the mention of the impending war.

Lord Jasper, picking up on the pause, smoothly transitioned to a more neutral topic, “And it seems our family to be blessed with more weddings very soon.”

“Oh?” Maera replied intriguingly, leaning in, prompting Lord Jasper to reveal further news.

“Gwyn is now betrothed to the younger sister of Lord Edwin of Tarth.” Maera cocked her head, absorbing the information. Lord Jasper elaborated, “It’s a strategic match, further allying Tarth to the Greens cause.”

Nodding in understanding, Maera encouraged him to continue. Lord Jasper revealed, “Luthor has now been matched with Lady Cassandra of House Baratheon. He will soon depart from Rain House to wed her and will remain at Storm’s End during his marriage.”

A smile played on Maera’s lips. “I hope Luthor finds happiness in his match to her,” she remarked, genuinely wishing well for her older brother.

Lord Jasper continued, "Happy or not, Luthor will do his duty, and produce as many heirs as possible."

The mention of heirs rekindled nerves within Maera, a silent reminder of her own pregnancy. Lost in her thoughts, she went quiet, unknowingly prompting her father to share more. Lord Jasper revealed, "Lord Borros still lacks an heir. If Luthor and Lady Cassandra were to produce a boy, the child could be named Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

Maera, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, stood abruptly, the sound of cutlery jingling as she knocked against the wooden table. Lord Jasper, concerned, asked, "Are you well, daughter?"

Claiming to have lost track of time, Maera stated, "I should return to my chambers." With a polite bid for a good night, she departed, the urgency of the impending conversation with Aemond now impossible to ignore. She knew she would have to face the reality of her pregnancy and share the news with her husband, a task that seemed daunting in the wake of the recent emotionally turbulent events.

As Maera stepped into the chamber, the familiar sight transformed into an unsettling tableau. Shadows clung to the edges, rendering corners obscure and accentuating the silence that hung in the air like a heavy veil. The eerie quiet heightened Maera's awareness, each footstep echoing with a gravity that matched the weight of the news she was about to share.

The unlit candles, their wicks whispering traces of smoke, stood as silent witnesses to the unspoken tension within the chamber. It was a stark departure from the usual ambiance, setting the stage for a conversation that promised to alter the very fabric of their shared existence. And yet Maera knew only one reason why the room would be this dark and quiet so early into the night- Aemond was struggling with his lost eye, the throbbing and piercing pain of it being dulled by the darkness and silence.

With the subtle chime of a bell, Maera's maid, Thena, materialized in the quiet chamber, ready to attend to the princess for the evening. The room, shrouded in a solemn atmosphere, seemed to come to life as Thena approached her duties. With practiced hands, the maid delicately removed her golden headpiece and unpinned Maera's hair from its intricate updo. Cascading in a blend of brown and a striking silver streak, the locks tumbled down, framing Maera's face. Next, Thena carefully unlaced Maera's dress, the fabric surrendering and pooling at her feet. Left in her shift after Thena's assistance, Maera dismissed her maid with gratitude.

Alone in the quiet chamber, she approached the four-poster bed, revealing the figure of her silver-haired husband beneath the covers. Aemond lay on his side, the moonlight outlining his toned arms and torso. Silver strands of hair glinted in the dimness, and the brief silhouette of his jaw hinted at his rugged charm. In the darkness, Maera discerned that his eyepatch and the sapphire usually nestled in his eye socket, had been placed in a golden dish on the bedside table.

As Maera removed her shift, she revealed herself entirely, a curvaceous silhouette in the moonlit room. Aemond, a man who favored the intimacy of constant skin-on-skin contact, had an aversion to her wearing clothing during sleep. It brought a sense of vulnerability, to be so bare before one another consistently. Maera knew her husband was not a man of many romantic gestures or poetic words of devotion, yet she knew being able to feel each other brought him great comfort, as it did her.

With a deliberate gentleness, Maera lifted the sheets and slid into bed, ensuring minimal disturbance to Aemond's rest. The weight of the impending revelation about her pregnancy could wait until the morning. As she lay back, head touching the pillow, preparing to close her eyes, she sensed a subtle movement behind her. Maera felt his warm torso press against her back, one arm sliding under her pillow and another snaking around her waist, pulling her closer.

In the hushed tones of sleep coating his voice, Aemond gently spoke to her. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

Consumed by her own thoughts and reluctant to burden him with her news, Maera kept her response brief. “I had duties to attend to, my Prince.”

A hum was Aemond’s only response. Molding his body to hers like a warm cocoon, he offered a silent reassurance. Attuned to her tension, began to run his fingers up and down her bare arm, eliciting subtle goosebumps. Maera, appreciating the comfort, found solace in the rhythmic movement of his fingers and the warmth that encapsulated her.

After a moment, he spoke again, “I assume all is well? After your visit to the Maester?”

Not wanting to disclose the news of her pregnancy just yet, Maera simply replied, “Mm-hmm.” Before Aemond could delve further, she redirected the conversation, asking, “How is your head?”

Aemond, propping himself up on his elbow, allowed the sheet to slide further down his toned torso as he continued the rhythmic motion of running his fingers up and down Maera's bare arm. A subtle smile graced her face, a silent acknowledgment of the comforting touch.

Leaning down, Aemond whispered into her ear with a seductive edge, his warm breath sending a shudder down her spine,“It is better now that you have returned to our bed.” With gentle care, he moved a strand of her brown hair and pressed a light kiss to the delicate shell of her ear.

The Prince’s lips then descended and pressed firmer to just at the start of her neck, a small smile gracing her face at the feeling. Where her neck met her shoulder, Aemond’s kisses became wetter and more urgent, sucking on the skin so it began to to turn a pale shade of purple. Maera revelled in the feeling, her body reacting on its own as she tilted head back against his shoulder to allow him greater access.

She could feel that familiar ache in her core as he nipped and licked at her shoulder, desperate to forget about the news she had been told and wanted to surrender to the pleasure her husband could give her. Maera’s could feel his now hardened cock digging into her backside and experimentally titled and rolled her hips into him, causing a gasp to leave both of their mouths.

Aemond emitted a silent chuckle before the hand on her arm disappeared beneath the sheets, and made its way to her breast, kneading the flesh and pinching the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation had Maera rubbing her thighs together in an attempt to find some relief, a noticeable slick of arousal starting to form.

She almost scolded Aemond when he removed his hand from her hardened peak, only for it to drift south and press flat against her stomach. A kiss onto Maera’s shoulder turned into another bite, causing her to gasp once again and arch her back into him. Aemond took full advantage of this, grinding against her once more, harder this time, his cock now slipping between her legs.

Her body was aching with desire, so she began to rock back against him, his length gathering her slick as it glided between her folds. A sleepy moan left the Prince’s lips as he slid the hand on her stomach to rest firmly on her hip, grasping at it as he matched her grinding, a rhythm becoming established. The tip of his cock brushed against her sensitive bundle of nerves, a squeak leaving Maera’s lips as a blush began to coat her cheeks.

Seemingly done with torturing her, Maera felt Aemond grab his length and line it up with her now dripping entrance. Once in place, his hand returned to her hip, and with a swift movement, he pushed himself entirely inside her, a low rumble leaving his chest as he did. The stretch she felt from his cock at this angle was incredible, the familiar sensation of pleasure beginning to bloom as she felt every part of his length nudging against her walls.

Aemond pulled out slowly before immediately thrusting back in, filling her to the hilt, the fingers on her hip digging in so harshly that they were sure to leave bruises. Maera could not help but cry out as his cock hit that spongey spot within her over and over again, the sensation causing her to throw her head back against his shoulder, her eyes closed and jaws slack as she completely surrendered to him, as she always did.

The fucking was deep definitely, thanks to his generously sized manhood, but it was not the usual hard fast pace that Maera was used to. It was slow, steady, almost sensual if you could call it that. It was the type of sex that the poets wrote about; to feel completely at one with the other person, to be so in tune with them that your connection goes beyond mere words. It was beautiful, and although not her preferred type of fucking, it just what she needed at this time.

She was snapped back to the moment when she felt Aemond’s hand move from her hip and dip between her thighs as he continued to thrust deeply into her. The Prince’s long, skilled fingers quickly found her pearl, and began swirling gently around it, causing her to cry out as pleasure began to build in the pit of her stomach. The intensity of the feeling grew as Aemond continued his ministrations and Maera rocked desperately against him, chasing her high. She felt his sweat-covered forehead press against her shoulder, the sound of sighs and soft groans leaving his lips filling her with a sense of pride and excitement.

As the coil wound tighter and tighter in her stomach, her hips began to stutter in their movements, causing Aemond to thrust upwards with greater intensity. After hitting the sensitive spot within her once more, the coil finally snapped with her, causing her to cry out in ecstasy as he fucked her through her peak, her own arousal coating her inner thighs, his cock and his skilled fingers that continued to rub against her bundle of nerves.

The Prince found his release shortly after, letting out a low, contented groan as he spilled his seed within her, ropes of hot white liquid painting the inside of her walls. After a moment of basking in the afterglow of sex, their ragged breaths of exhaustion beginning to slow, Maera felt her chin being grasped by Aemond’s thumb and forefinger. He slowly turned her head and captured her lips on a searing his, their mouths moving in tandem and hearts racing as the fuzzy warmth of pleasure encapsulated them both.

When he pulled away from the kiss, Aemond withdrew his cock, a hiss leaving Maera’s lips as she felt him pull out, a mixture of his seed and her own slick now coating the sheet beneath them. Aemond lay on his back and Maera followed suit, lying flat against the mattress as her bare breasts moved up and down as she took some steadying breaths. She turned her head to look at her husband with a soft smile, who also seemed to be recovering from their passionate encounter, a sheen of sweating covering his body.

With a gentle gesture, she lifted her arm and coaxed him toward her. “Come here,” she whispered gently. Aemond, his furrowed brow revealing a hint of confusion, hesitated. Maera spome once more, a sterner yet playful edge to her voice. “Do not make your Princess ask you again.” After a brief pause, Aemond relented, laying his head against her chest and allowing his hand to come up and cup her breast, causing her to giggle.

As she pressed her nose to his silver head, the scent of leather and dragon smoke, formed a sensory tapestry that spoke of familiarity, comfort, and shared history. In this intimate moment, every worry, including the weight of her pregnancy news, seemed to momentarily dissolve. And Maera was able to recognise a profound connection—one that extended beyond the complexities of royalty, duty, and impending challenges. The rare sight of Aemond laying his head on her chest, exposed a side of the prince not known to anyone else. It stirred a deep affection within Maera, an affection she remembered she had for him when they were young.

She marveled at the strength and warmth emanating from him, and the realization of what she felt for Aemond dawned upon her. This marriage was not merely duty, their past, or even just the lust they shared for each other, but a genuine and profound love. Maera was aware that this made her entirely vulnerable to him, but in this moment she did not care.

Tomorrow's concerns—the looming funeral, the war, her pregnancy, the vulnerability of her affections —all faded into insignificance. In the quiet of the present, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of Aemond against her, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath, and the simple joy of holding each other. It was a moment suspended in time, where the weight of the world momentarily lifted, allowing them to find solace as they were both pulled into sleep.

Notes: Fuck me, I find smut so challenging to write. After editing it so much, it’s not even sexy to me anymore 😅 oh well, I hope y’all enjoy it at least 🖤

Tags: @abecerra611 @blue-serendipity @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[comingyourlugubriousness]

Happy Birthday Yume Ume: Personal Story (Part 3/3)

Part: 1 / 2 / 3

Leona: Finally, the last question is “If you were to join any dorm other than the Ramshackle or Ignihyde, which dorm would you choose?”

Yume: *quickly, and matter of factly* Scarabia.

Leona: *smirk* Oh? Two in a row? Don’t let Radish sprout hear that.

Yume: *pouting* Shut up, it's not like that! It’s just…ALL THE OTHER CHOICES ARE SO MUCH WORSE!

Leona: *eyes widen at sudden outburst, before lowering again*

Yume: *ranting* You think I wanna deal with the Queen of Hearts dumb rules, or wake up at 6AM for spell drive drills?! 

Leona: It’s 6:30.

Yume: *ignoring his interruption* Honestly I don’t mind the Octavinelle dorm vibes itself; but I would rather DIE than live with Azul as a dorm leader; or have Vil breathing down my back 24/7 about my diet and health, uh- yeah-no thanks-!

Yume: *sighs, mumbling* And no offense to Diasomnia but their weird vibes make me feel like an outsider…

Leona: *Makes a vague noise of approval* 

Yume: Ignihyde would definitely be ideal, but since I can’t pick them Scarabia seems like the best choice. *shrug* I get along well with almost everyone and the dorm's mindset is something I agree with.

Leona: Mindfulness, careful deliberation, planning, considering all your options.*hums* Yeah that’s you to a fault. *crosses his arms, smugly* Maybe you should be there instead of Ignihyde?

Yume: *Immediately shutting it down.* No thanks, I can only take so many banquets and parties before I become exhausted.

-

Bonus question!

Yume: C’mon that last one was too easy, give me another one!

Leona: I’m only contractually obligated to ask two questions.

Yume: Boo~! *whining* C’monnnnn~!

Leona: Augh! Fine, *muttering* snot nosed brat…

Leona: If you could pick any student from Night Raven College to be your sibling, who would you choose? Other than your own siblings.

Yume: *surprised at the question* Huh…oh! Well that’s easy there's already a couple people here besides my brothers, that I consider siblings. *smiles* Like Ortho of course and- *they stop suddenly, seeming to have realized something.*

Leona:...And? 

Yume: A-ah, nevermind, just Ortho. *they seem slightly embarrassed suddenly*

Leona: *raises eyebrow* You're the one who wanted to be asked this question and now you're being secretive?

Yume: Oh well… *they purse their lips and cross their arms in though* *They laugh.* To be honest I’m not sure how this person would react to the idea and…it’s something I never really thought of until now. So, for now, I think I better just keep it to myself.

Leona: *slowly* How they would react…?

Yume: …

Leona: **realizes, his ears stick up** 

Leona: Hmph… *his tail flicks behind him. He looks away.* Well I’m sure they probably would care…but whatever let's move on. *He seems slightly stunned, but not unhappy.*

Yume: Oh man, wait I forgot. This part’s gonna suck isn’t it? *sigh.* Is it at least gonna be tasty?

Leona: *smirk* Guess you’ll find out. *winding up his arm* Are you gonna take your glasses off?

Yume: *dramatically, with grin* No, I’ll take it like a man.

Leona: Heh, suit yourself. *grins back. Leona pulls back his arm and throws. A breaking noise follows.*

The end! It was fun to write this but it took me a while! I find it hard to write dialogue without much description because I feel like so many things get said through actions and body language! Yume and Leona's relationship is fun and complex to write. In my mind, they both feel a sibling bond, but neither of them are really willing to admit it out loud. So it becomes this unspoken understanding over time. I think its a complicated feeling for both of them in different ways. In particular for Leona because in his life he hasn't had a good relationship with his actual sibling.

I hope you guys enjoy it. I'm working creatively on a couple different things but I also have a lot of big complicated events going on in my life right now. So sorry for the slow posts. I appreciate everyone who comments or leaves tags <333!