#even though its not explicitly mentioned yet

[rafeandonlyrafe]

aphrodisiac

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, stepbro!rafe, stepcest, drugging, noncon/dubcon, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, female receiving oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v sex, pregnancy, somnophilia, male masturbation, bit of voyeurism?, mention of plan b, reader is 19 (rafe is like 20/21 but its not explicitly said)

“hey, sis.” rafe calls from the bottom of the stairs. you peak your head out of your room, curls swaying as you look at him. “i made you dinner.” “oh, you did!” you squeal, bounding down the stairs to fall into rafe arms, giving him a big hug as he spins you. “you’re the best step brother ever!”

rafe loves your reaction. something as simple as him preparing some food for you has you hugging and thanking him incessantly, a big smile on your face, so appreciated of the little act. 

“no problem, sis. you’ll eat with me right?” rafe asks, having already placed the meal in the dining room, his plate at the head of the table, yours right next to him. he didn’t want to mix up whose was whose, for reasons you didn’t know yet.

“of course.” you nod, letting rafe interlace your fingers together as he leads you towards the dining room. you look at your place already set, another grin coming to your face. rafe made you soup and already got a big glass of water for you.

“thank you so much.” you hug rafe before sitting down, not realizing how much having your body pressed against his is affecting him.

“of course, bunny.” rafe says, leaning over the side of the table to push a strand of your hair behind your ear, not missing the way a blush comes to your cheeks.

you stir the soup before bringing the spoon to your mouth, blowing on it before taking a sip. “oh my gosh, rafey!” you smile at your brother. “this is so good!”

“im glad, honey.” rafe says, patting your thigh under the table before he works on his meal as well, letting out a breath of relief when you couldn’t taste what he had slipped in. “so, tell me about your day.”

“ugh, well i got into a fight with tiffy…” you begin to recount the details as you eat, not noticing that one of rafes hands stays underneath the table, just out of view as he grinds his hand down against his crotch, not able to control his cock when he’s around you, even your sweet little voice just explaining the drama of your day has him rock hard.

you don’t notice as rafes hand starts to jack up and down, his shoulder barely moving, his cock now free from his pants, praying he cums before you finish your soup, glad that you’re guzzling it all down. he wasn’t sure how much to put in, the secret ingredient he added just to yours. he wanted to make sure it took effect, but at the same time didn’t want to make you pass out.

“and then i took a shower.” you shrug. “boring, i didn’t do anything special. just shaved my legs and stuff. i did do a hair mask actually.” you touch over your curls, hoping they look a little shinier than normal.

“looks good.” rafe says, his voice hoarse, like he’s straining, and you make a weird face for a split second, trying to decipher if something is wrong before you shrug it off, immediately returning to recounting your day. “but i did use this new moisturizer all over, and it smells sooo good. like strawberries mixed with vanilla. just delicious.” you let out a small moan when describing the scent, not even realizing that rafe jolts in his seat, cumming into his hand as he bites his lip hard, barely holding back his noises.

“not as good as this soup though, rafey. thank you sooo much.” you reach over, rubbing your hand over his bicep. rafe quickly tucks himself back into his shorts, letting out an awkward cough.

“its no problem, really.” he shrugs. he feels a little guilty. you're so appreciative, and everything he’s doing has ulterior motives, but then you smile at him, and rafes cock pulses in his pants, and the bit of guilt goes out the window.

--

you sway towards the bed, wondering if you are coming down with something, your body warm, skin sweaty. you have already put on a pair of short pajamas, opting to skip the long set you usually like due to how hot you are.

you flop down on top of the covers, fanning yourself. you close your eyes, trying to sleep, but there's so much heat coming from you, especially between your legs.

“ugh!” you let out a groan, tugging your pajama shirt off to leave you in a sports bra, your shorts the next to go. you toss them off the bed and lay back, feeling like you can see your heartbeat through your skin.

you try turning to the side, hoping switching positions would make you fall asleep, but as your eyes close, so do your thighs, clenching them together as you grind back and forth, a delicious amount of pressure on your privates.

you quickly realize what you are doing and flip onto your back, panting heavily. you reach slowly between your legs. you've never masturbated before, but you've heard from your friends and movies what it is, so you cautiously rub a singular finger over top of your underwear when you suddenly press over a part of you that makes your entire body jolt, a moan forcing its way out of your mouth.

you try rubbing harder, focusing on the spot. you aren't even aware of the noises falling from your lips as your hand quickens, gasping out when you realize that your underwear is wet.

you've never felt the weird slickness between your legs before, but it helps your underwear rub easier over your skin, so you ignore it and continue.

before you realize what is happening, a damn breaks and a high spreads throughout your body. you scream out, limbs shaking as you rub yourself, realizing halfway through that this must be an orgasm.

you physically jolt off the bed when you realize that you just screamed out loud. it was only you and rafe in the house, everyone else gone for a weekend trip, but he must have heard you, his room right across the hall from yours, but you have more pressing issues as the orgasm did nothing to calm you down, immediately beginning to rub between your legs again.

you slide your shaky legs off the bed, knowing this isn't normal, the way your body is working. you must be sick, ill. you stumble out of your room and slam your body into rafes door, not caring that you fell into the wood, not when it's so cool and decreasing your temperature.

“sis?” rafe opens the door, and you quite literally fall into his arms.

“some… somethings wrong, rafe.” you pant, hands gripping at his shoulders as he holds you up.

“come in, come in.” rafe says, pulling you further into the room, kicking his door behind you. rafe maneuvers you to the bed, and the second you're sat down on the edge, your thighs are clenched together.

“i-i feel really weird. somethings wrong with my body i don't know, help me please.” you sob, chest rising and falling quickly.

“okay, okay.” rafe says, somehow not seeming surprised about the state you're in. 

rafe places a hand on your shoulder, and you cry out from the touch, feeling like your body is on fire.

“i must have ate something bad or-” you pause mid sentence, realization sinking in. you look to rafe with wide eyes. “what did you do?”

“come on sissy, let me help you out.” rafes thumb sweeps over your skin, forcing a shiver through your body.

“rafe.” you say cautiously, but it turns into a whine when he tugs on the strap of your sports bra.

“it's okay.” rafe says so softly. “im just taking care of you.” rafe brings his other hand to your torso, grabbing the bottom of your bra and pulling it over your head, your arms too weak to do anything but rise up and let him take it off.

you know you should cover your chest, but it feels so good to have your nipples exposed to the cold air as you let out a low moan. rafe pushes your shoulders back, and you fall against the bed without even trying to hold yourself up.

“such gorgeous tits, sis.” rafe leans over your body, hands coming to grip your chest, palms rubbing against your nipples.

“p-please.” you beg. “you're my brother.”

“just your step brother.” rafe bites back. “and i know you'd want me if your mom hadn't married my dad. i just needed to slip a little something into your soup to help you along.”

rafe isn't wrong, of course you find him attractive, but you did everything in your power to set that aside and truly see him as a brother, even if you didn't meet until well into your teens.

“you drugged me?” you squeal, pushing your chest into his hands as he massages his fingers into your plump chest, putting enough pressure to keep you down, not that you’re truly resisting.

“just a little aphrodisiac.” rafe glances down between your legs, your underwear completely soaked. “clearly it worked.” “just… just make me stop feeling like this.” you say quietly, ashamed of what you are asking for.

“yeah?” rafe smirks, immediately starting to move, pulling his shirt off and tossing it away. “gonna fuck you so good, sis.”

“you can’t tell anyone.” you remind rafe, even as your eyes gloss over at seeing his muscles. you sit up suddenly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you kiss him. you moan against his mouth, pulling him onto the bed before flipping so you’re on top. you make out with rafe, truly not sure if you’re even doing a good job, you’ve never taken anything this far with a guy before.

you grind your hips down over rafes crotch, feeling how hard he is beneath his sweatpants. whatever rafe put in your soup makes it for too easy for you to cum as you already feel your high building again, especially when rafe raises his hands to play with your nipples, pinching and flicking at them while you buck your hips into his.

you pull away from rafes kiss with a squeal as you cum, your knees pressing together around rafes hips.

“holy shit, that was hot.” rafe smiles up at you, a toothy grin that has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“just help me, please.” you beg. rafe nods, flipping you over onto the bed. you shuck your underwear off as he takes off his sweats, frowning when he's still covered by his underwear.

“ive wanted to taste you for so long-” rafe says, shoving your legs open as he lays in between them, his eyes on your soaked cunt.

“rafe, what are you gonna do-ooooh!” you shout as rafe lurches forward, burying his head between your legs. his tongue licks long stripes through your folds, lapping up all of your juices.

“never got head before?” rafe smirks, bringing a finger to your hole, teasing it by simply circling around.

“no, never done anything with a guy before.” you admit shyly.

“aww, baby.” rafe pouts up at you. “i didn’t know you were a virgin. that almost makes me feel bad about this.” rafes feeling doesn’t last long as his tongue is quickly back on your cunt, this time flicking directly over your clit.

you bring your hands to his hair, holding his face into your pussy as you grind your hips. rafe sucks your bud into his mouth the same time his finger plunges into you, forcing out yet another orgasm that has you screaming so loud you’re concerned the neighbors would hear.

“so, so good.” you whine, your clit feeling oversensitive but still filled with need as rafe continues licking and sucking, his finger now thrusting in and out of you.

“can make you feel like this all the time, sis. gonna let me fuck you after tonight right?” rafe asks, barely pulling away from you to speak, feeling the vibrations from his mouth on your pussy.

you don’t answer right away. you feel like you can’t truly give an answer, not when you are so turned on that you feel like you could explode, not as his finger keeps pumping inside of you.

“baby sis?” rafe looks up at you, waiting for an answer. you pull your lip between your teeth, trying to formulate thoughts. “or i can stop right now. if you don’t want to keep fucking me then you don’t need me tonight.”

“no, no, no!” you cry out as rafes finger stops moving. “i’ll keep sleeping with you just-just fucking move! make me cum again!”

rafe sucks your clit into his mouth as he forces another finger in, your walls tight around him but so slick he can move easily. rafe has to press his hips into the mattress as you cum again, giving some relief to his cock.

“fuck, how long until it wears off?” you cry out as your clit pulses.

rafe sits back, wiping his mouth against your thigh to clean his chin. “probably will feel better once i fuck you.” rafe says, in truth he’s not sure.

“fuck me then.” you beg, body squirming against the mattress, sweat leaking from your skin.

rafe nods, pulling his fingers out and kneeling between your legs. he pauses briefly before pulling his underwear off and tossing them away. “i can put a condom on but it probably won’t feel as good.” “just… just buy me a plan b tomorrow, okay? need you to cum in me, i think it’ll help.” you swallow nervously, knowing it’s a mistake, not just letting a guy fuck you raw, but your step brother.

rafe nods, draping his body over yours, knowing you are far too weak for any other position, your limbs jelly from the drugs and the orgasms. rafe reaches down, lining his cock up with your entrance. he pushes in slowly, watching your face contort in pleasure.

once he’s all the way seated inside of you, rafe feels your cunt squeeze around him rapidly, another orgasm being drawn out. you pant heavily, worried this will never end as rafe swings his hips out and then back in.

“is it-is it always this easy to cum?” you ask. they’ve all felt so good so far, but you are beyond overwhelmed.

“you’ve never cum before?” rafe asks, grunting as you raise your hips slightly, letting him sink in even deeper.

“not before tonight.” you admit, glancing down your body to see rafes cock entering you repeatedly, making another orgasm rise to the surface as you reach between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit as you cum hard.

“not always, baby. but i promise i’ll make you feel real good, even when you don’t have any aphrodisiacs.” rafe presses his lips against yours, but it’s not really a kiss, not when you can’t stop panting, your jaw slack and unable to close.

“did you take anything?” you question, realizing how hard rafes cock is, how easily he’s pounding into you.

“no, you are just that sexy, sis. i’ve wanted to get inside you for so long.” rafe grunts, making sure he thrusts as deep as possible every time.

“i-i think i’m gonna cum again!” you warn rafe, rubbing yourself to another orgasm, letting out a squeal as rafe struggles not to cum with you tightening around him, needing to get at least one more out of you before he bursts himself.

“fuck, you’re so tight.” rafe groans.

“cum in me rafe, please. i need your cum.” you whine, back sliding up and down the mattress as he fucks into you.

“yeah?” rafe smirks. “need your brothers cum, huh?” you know his dirty words are meant to tease you, but you can’t help agreeing. “yes, brother, please, please.”

rafe shifts his weight to one elbow, reaching down with his free hand to swat your fingers away from your clit, rubbing himself harshly, trying to get you to cum at the same time, hoping that will satisfy you.

“close.” rafe warns.

you let out a scream, back arching off the mattress as you cum, triggering rafes orgasm as he shoots his load inside of you, filling you up completely, rubbing you gently throughout your high before pulling away. rafes cock softens as he pulls out, flopping on his back onto the bed next to you.

you don’t even give him a second to breath, straddling rafes hips and trying to get his cock back inside of you, but rafe winces as his cum drips out of your cunt. “sis, stop. too sensitive.” he warns.

“i-i still need you though!” you argue. “you drugged me rafe, you have to help!” “here, come sit on my face.” rafe tugs at your hips until you are hovering over his mouth. rafe makes sure to only work his tongue against your clit, not wanting to taste his own cum, even as he feels it falling onto his chin and sliding down his neck.

rafe eats you out through five more orgasms until you can’t kneel above him any longer, flopping to the side.

“fuck me again, please.” you beg as rafe takes the blanket at wipes away his chin and chest.

“i can’t, i’m so fucking tired.” rafe wishes he could get it up, but its late, his body is exhausted, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“you can’t fall asleep and leave me like this!” you scream at rafe, tears falling down your cheeks.

“shh, here.” rafe reaches his hand out, sticking two fingers inside of your pussy, squelching in your wetness. he fingers you until he can’t move any longer, passing out. you continue to hump yourself on his fingers and rub your clit until the need lessens, the drugs begin to wear off, and you manage to pass out next to rafe just before sunset.

you wake up with a groan, muscles sore as you blink your eyes open, bed still covered in wetness.

“hey sis.” rafe says, sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, now dressed in his underwear.

“rafe.” you growl out. “you drugged me, you piece of shit!”

“hey, you certainly enjoyed yourself.” rafe argues back, locking his phone screen and tossing it away.

“fuck you!” you shout, launching yourself at your brother. rafe expects you to slap him, or scratch him, but not your lips as you press them against his.

“fuck me.” you ask. “i-i want to feel you when not drugged. you owe it to me. please, rafe.”

“oh baby.” rafe coos, not realizing what he just woke up inside of you. “you don’t have to beg me.”

--

“who did this to you?” your mother screams, ward looking just as concerned. “you’re still a teenager!” “i’m an adult!” you argue back.

“you’re nineteen! you still live at home, you have no job, no money! and now you’re pregnant?” 

“when i find who did this to you.” ward pipes up, an angry expression on your face, completing the rest of the sentence without even having to use words.

“just… go to your room while your stepdad and i talk. i don’t want to see your face right now.” your mother shoos you away.

any other time you would cry at her harsh words, and at disappointing your mom and step dad, but you know what is waiting for you in your room.

“they're pissed.” you pout, falling into rafes arms once your door is closed and locked behind you.

“a little bit longer, sissy. and then i’m getting us out of here. i know it sucks, but i need a couple more weeks to get the money, and then we are gone. anywhere in the world you want.” “tell me again.” you sigh, leaning your head against rafes chest, placing a hand on your stomach, your bump haven gotten to big to hide it anymore.

“just you. me. our baby. no one who knows we are step siblings. i steal the money to get us away, and then we make it legit. find jobs. get married. have more babies.”

you smile up at rafe, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

“i…” you whisper, knowing how dangerous of a time this is for you two getting caught. “i want you again.” rafe smiles. “that baby inside of you has you acting like you’re on that aphrodisiac again.”

“shut up.” you groan, rolling your eyes as you fall back into the bed, lifting your dress up to reveal you aren’t wearing any underwear. “we wouldn’t be going through this if you would have just bought me a plan b that next day like you were supposed to.”

“baby-” rafe shucks off his pants and underwear. “you spent all day riding my cock or begging for my mouth, even when the drugs wore off. i didn’t have any time!” “yeah, yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes. “just get inside of me.”

rafe smiles at you as he lines up with your entrance, sinking in with a quiet groan before leaning forward, feeling your baby bump press against his abs. “i love you, sis.”

“i love you too, brother.”

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[phantobats]

No, Crime Alley doesn’t need a vigilante like Red Hood. In fact, Jason Todd’s approach is exactly what Gotham must avoid to break free from its cycle of crime and despair.

I've seen increasing rhetoric amongst Batfamily spaces that Jason Todd's approach to ruling Crime Alley with an iron fist is the preferable one. He's been painted as some sort of hero for perpetuating violence and controlling the drug trade instead of dismantling it, as seen here:

user iheartdeadmen79 on tiktok:

Contrary to popular fan rhetoric, Batman doesn’t avoid Crime Alley. He confronts its darkness, honoring his parents’ memory and striving to improve the lives of its residents.

Batman frequently patrols Crime Alley, protecting its people from gangs and criminals ("Just Another Kid on Crime Alley!"). His mere presence is a deterrent to crime and a reminder that justice exists.

As Bruce Wayne, he addresses the root causes of Crime Alley’s plight. Through the Wayne Foundation, he funds infrastructure projects, clinics, scholarships, and other resources that empower the community (Detective Comics #457).

Batman collaborates with figures like Leslie Thompkins, whose clinic provides healthcare and shelter to Gotham’s most vulnerable. Together, they tackle crime at its roots—poverty, neglect, and systemic injustice.

Batman’s approach is about more than fighting criminals; it’s about building a foundation for a better future.

Jason Todd’s Red Hood represents the antithesis of progress. His iron-fist approach perpetuates the very cycles of violence he claims to stop.

In "Batman: Under the Red Hood", Jason attempts to take over Gotham’s underworld, including parts of Crime Alley, by using lethal force. This creates power vacuums, incites gang wars, and leads to collateral damage among innocent civilians.

Jason targets criminals but ignores the systemic issues driving crime. Killing gang leaders may seem effective, but it does nothing to address the poverty and lack of opportunity fueling the problem.

Residents of Crime Alley already distrust authority. Jason’s violent reputation only worsens this, making him seem like another dangerous figure instead of a protector.

Jason’s “kill to prevent crime” mentality sends a harmful message. It glorifies violence as the only solution to complex social issues, desensitizing the community to brutality and ensuring the next generation grows up in the same cycle of trauma.

The Bigger Problem: Romanticizing Red Hood

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: much of the fandom romanticizes Jason Todd’s methods without critically examining their consequences. Posts praising Red Hood for “taking control” or “cleaning up Crime Alley” ignore how his actions destabilize the community, alienate the people he claims to help, and perpetuate the very violence he fights against.

Jason isn’t a hero for Crime Alley—he’s a cautionary tale. By normalizing his ideology, fans risk promoting a toxic mindset that equates justice with unchecked power. Crime Alley doesn’t need fear and bloodshed. It needs hope, investment, and the belief that change is possible.

Batman embodies the hard, often thankless work of building a better Gotham. Red Hood, though well-intentioned, embodies the dangers of quick fixes and violent rule. Gotham, and especially Crime Alley, doesn’t need more fear. It needs heroes who understand that real change comes from compassion, collaboration, and addressing root causes—not from perpetuating the same cycles of pain.

Fans need to move past the idea that Jason Todd’s methods are heroic. They’re not. They’re destructive. If we want Gotham to heal, it’s time to embrace hope, not more violence.

And I do know that the creator of the Tiktok I mentioned wrote their POV off as just being fanon, yet because it isn't explicitly stated in the caption and you have to dive into the comment section to even figure it out, it perpetuates the idea that this is how things actually are in canon, instead of being something fans with no real idea about social issues made up to praise their favorite white guy of the month.

[leighsartworks216]

The Best Medicine

Zayne x gn!Reader

It's almost 1am. I think working on these fics is just gonna keep getting later and later until it circles back around to a reasonable time. Not proofread even a little bit.

Not explicitly mentioned, but this is a fic dealing with chronic pain, based around my own chronic joint pain, which flared up multiple times while working on this. Zayne would be so upset with me lol

Warnings: chronic pain, descriptions of pain, kissing, fluff

Word Count: 1,576

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

You listen silently as the front door opens and closes with a click. The jangle of keys as they’re neatly hung up on the nearby wall hooks. The rustle of fabric as he takes off his coat.

Dress shoes are replaced with slippers that pad softly through the house to the bedroom. You’re already looking at the door when he pokes his head in.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Zayne asks as he comes to your side. He sits down slowly on the edge of the bed, being careful not to touch you. He’s got that familiar frown on his face, the one he gets when he’s concerned about your health. It warms your heart.

“Not much,” you admit. “Just a couple snacks. I couldn’t stand for long today.”

He hums in understanding. To his mind, the worst kind of patient was one that could not be so easily treated. As if your heart didn’t weigh heavily enough on his mind…

You suppress a wince as you slip a hand out of the blanket to touch his cheek. He holds it lightly for a moment, before setting it back to rest on the bed. “You don’t have to have that look on your face, you know. We’re not in the hospital right now.”

“I always worry for your health, regardless of where we are.” With the threshold of touch crossed, he doesn’t hesitate for long before brushing your hair out of your face. His fingers are cool to the touch as they skim your forehead, tucking longer strands behind your ear. “Have you taken anything for the pain yet?”

You look down at his tie, loosened around his neck. He sighs.

“And you don’t want me to worry, even though you have a relentless habit of ignoring your health?”

“I thought…” You sigh. You know it sounds stupid; it always does. There’s no logic behind it. “I thought I could power through it this time. It wasn’t so bad this morning.”

He sighs, but the exasperation drifts on an undercurrent of fondness. “It may not have been as bad right now if you’d taken your medication sooner.”

He gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom. You can see his reflection in the mirror from this angle, until he opens it in search of medicine for you to take. It reflects your pitiful state for a time. Reduced to rotting away in bed all day, barely able to move without risking pain. On days like these, days when your body betrayed you, dangling your success at becoming a Hunter and fighting Wanderers right before your eyes, just out of reach, it was easy to lose yourself to the cruelty of your mind. It always found its way back to the forefront of your thoughts, whether you listened to music, watched a show or movie, or risked moving to scroll through messages.

The mirror cabinet shut, reflecting once more the calm face of your partner, and it felt easier to remember that one bad day did not undo the progress of a lifelong dream.

He returned with a small pill bottle in hand, none the wiser to your plight. Setting the bottle on the nightstand, he worked with you to slowly, as carefully as possible, help you sit up. You purposefully leaned forward to rest against him, but he didn’t push you away, despite the inconvenience. He did his best not to jostle you, listening for any noise of discomfort, as he retrieved the bottle and poured two pills into his hand. When you open your mouth for them, he chuckles, and deposits them onto your tongue.

The cup on your nightstand had been placed there this morning by your darling doctor. It’s still almost full when he picks it up and brings it to your lips. “You were supposed to drink all of this,” he lightly scolds.

Speaking through the pills in your mouth, you tease, “I was rationing.”

He doesn’t speak while he helps you drink. One hand rests at the back of your neck, supporting your head as it tips back. The other slowly tilts the cup, until you tap his knee to know you have enough water to take the pills. His thumb strokes the base of your skull as you focus on swallowing, prepared to assist if you can’t get them down in one try.

As soon as you’re done, he dryly retorts, “Rationing for how long? At that rate, you could make this one cup last a month.”

Your snicker puts him at ease.

He sets the glass down as he speaks. “You should try to get some rest. I’ll make dinner, and wake you when it’s finished.”

“Wait!” You grab his wrist when he starts laying you back down. The movement sends bolts of electricity up your arm. It feels like someone has tangled wires within the marrow of your bones and hooked each end up to a car battery. You let go immediately, but the aftershocks continue to linger.

“Relax,” he soothes. He rests you back against him. “Just breathe. It’ll pass soon.”

You press your nose to his collar as you do as he says. The first breaths come out as a hiss between clenched teeth, shaky and shallow. Like a struck cymbal, the pain gradually recedes until where once was a stabbing sting, there’s only a dull ache. Your breaths even out just the same, working to become deeper and more stable. You don’t have to look to know Zayne would have that sad, sympathetic look on his face, unable to do more than hold you and wait.

“That,” you manage a strained laugh, lacking mirth, “wasn’t my best move.”

Zayne makes a sound of agreement, but holds back from chastising you for it. You’d certainly learned your lesson already.

“I was going to say, let me stay on the couch while you cook.” You lift your head to look at him, smiling. “I haven’t seen you since this morning. I had all day to rest, I’d rather spend time near you.”

He frowned. “You barely moved a second ago and were in excruciating pain. How do you expect to make it as far as the door, let alone the couch, without exacerbating things?”

“Easy! You carry me to the couch.”

“As if that’s much better.”

“Please.” Your smile falls to a pleading earnestness, eyes wide and brow furrowed. “I just want to spend time with you.”

He stares at you for a moment, contemplating. There’s frustration in his voice now. “Either I carry you and risk your pain flaring up, or I don’t and you stubbornly make the trip yourself while my back is turned. Do you always have to tie my hands when it comes to your health?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?”

“No, I already know what you’d say.” He sighs, but relents. “Slowly. I don’t want to make things worse.”

It takes several minutes and a lot of careful maneuvering until you were in his arms, being carried like rescued royalty and not like a chronically in-pain partner who just pestered their doctor boyfriend to bring them to the couch. There were some twinges here and there, mainly in your knees and arms, from the way he carried you and the way you held on, but it was only a few degrees worse than baseline, nothing like the pain from before.

He moves steadily, focusing intently on where he’s going and not hurting you. Before long, you’re laying on the couch, covered in a soft knitted blanket and beaming up at the man before you. He tries not to appear flustered by the attention.

“I’ll get you some more water. Do you need anything else?”

“Just one more thing.”

“What is it?”

Your whole body seems to light up with mischief. “A kiss.”

He smiles as he leans down, supporting himself against the arm and back of the couch. You instinctively close your eyes. And open them a second later to glare at him when he just kisses your forehead. The disgruntled noise you make makes him laugh.

“On the lips, doctor,” you tease. “It’s much more potent that way.”

“Really?” He chuckles, breath fanning your face from the proximity. “Did you read that on the internet?”

You roll your eyes. “This is basic medical knowledge! Everyone knows the healing properties of a good kiss.”

“Then I suppose I should ensure my patient makes a speedy recovery.”

You’re still grinning like a fool when he presses a kiss to your lips, and delighted when he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he takes his sweet time, slowly working to part your lips with his own. He tilts his head, nose brushing your cheek, to indulge in you like the sweet candy he handed out after your check ups. It could have been minutes or hours, when he eventually pulls away. The breath he takes in makes your heart skip several beats. You lean up, hoping to catch it, but come up woefully empty.

You open your eyes, and he’s grinning down at you, a bit smug at seeing the effect he has on you.

“What would you like for dinner?” he asks at a near whisper, voice soft and ever so slightly raspy, full of love. You have to take a second to remember what food tastes like, when all you can think of is how sweet he is.

[crguang]

beneath it all, you

“Since I’ve met you, I've felt abandoned without your nearness; your nearness is all I ever dream of, the only thing.” in which garofano finds her equal <3

established relationship, fem!reader (r is explicitly referred to as “girl” a few times), smut, oral sex (garo receiving), fingering (r receiving), some praise because i’m me, uhh age gap, r has very sharp teeth and is normal about cannibalism as a metaphor for undying devotion, 7.7k words

A/N: this is not kafka but i swear she’s coming next… this was for me and like 2 mutuals but i figured why not post it here for the ptn community on tumblr. who doesn’t love a milf am i right??? go play this game if you’re not already

Your pulse is steady under the cutting edge of her sewing needle as it glides down the sensuous curve of your neck in a deliberate pattern, along one of the warm veins she knows lies right beneath this layer of perfumed skin. It thumps softly though not without a care; Garofano counts 52 beats per minute, each of them for her. In turn, hers races with no clear destination. Your head slowly tilts to the side, opening yourself to her burning gaze like a naive, doe-eyed fool, but the look in your lidded eyes only speaks of certainty. Three simple words are written for her in their colored depths: all of me. She welcomes those words like a confession. If you were to use your voice, you would say it isn’t one. Your truth is evident and unashamed. All of you, hers. All of you, laid before her in a perfect picture of vulnerability. Submission. Her pillows support your head, her sheets tenderly caress your bare arms and back with even the faintest movement the same way her weapon of choice traces the hollow of your throat, and her knitted shawl, made with her expert hands, still rests around your shoulders from the moment you absentmindedly mentioned feeling chilly earlier. Now, it embraces you so well she might feel a spark of envy in her gut if her insides weren’t overflowing with something else— desire. Desire to possess more than she already does. It’s never enough as if there constantly exists a crumb of you she has yet to taste, and just when she believes she’s had the whole of you, you meet her eyes with a smile that shows the barest hint of the canines past your lips and she’s certain that there is more to be had. 

Garofano can’t resist applying a small amount of pressure between your collarbones, pricking the skin until a drop of crimson bubbles up to the surface. She watches you and you smile at her little test like you did the very first time. She reflects your amusement with a low chuckle. The needle, dipped in blood, continues its journey down the middle of your chest. If it was a scalpel, she could have opened a cavity and fondly brushed the pad of her index over the length of your breastbone, but she would have gotten greedy and slipped her fingers between your ribs for a graze of your heart. Instead, she trails the pointed end across the expanse of your thorax. She both witnesses and feels the fluctuation of your next breath, a touch faster than the last, and she feels a tingling sensation in her limbs at the sight. Your upper body is completely bare to her leisure touch. She drinks in the rising goosebumps her needle leaves behind. Her gaze follows the glint of metal wherever it glides on your beautiful skin and her mind is unable to conjure up a compliment she hasn’t already uttered on your previous nights together. What new words can she possibly use that will encapsulate all of your beauty? She always has the same ones sitting on her lips: art, sacred, inestimable. Perhaps there is more value in repeating them over and over until her tongue grows numb rather than digging around for novelty. She has spoken every thought, has recited every stanza of poetry she’s found with your name spelled between the lines. Her love for you is anything but new after all. It’s familiar, like walking the same road home at the end of the day so often you could take the path with your eyes shut. Yes, she will repeat herself as long as she can use her vocal chords to form words. If not, she will write. Because love means nothing if she can’t express it for you to know. 

Garofano traces the gentle swell of your breast for a suspended moment. Your eyes are tame as you observe her every move before the sewing tool smoothly draws a curvy line back towards your heart. She keeps it there, watching your chest rise and fall under it. Her bedroom smells faintly of gardenia and stands still against the flow of time beyond its intimate space. You like the sweetness she carries with her, you often tell her. She’s not sure if you mean her fragrance or her. Looking at you now, with your heavy eyelids and an abundance of fondness for her on your face, she thinks you must be in love. The thought lights the embers in her belly, and its warmth spreads to the tip of her ears. 

“You know,” she starts quietly, “right now, your life is in my hands.”

She underlines her point by pressing the needle firmly against your skin without drawing blood. She knows exactly where to pierce for a fatal strike to the heart to take you out before you realize she’s done it, and she doesn’t even have to know your body like the back of her hand for it. Her needles are many things; tools she uses to create personally designed dresses, subtle weapons in snuffing the life out of the Garden’s enemies’ eyes and tonight, an intimate means of exploration. She glides the cool tip along the lines of your body, meticulous and attentive, like she wishes to lose herself in them. Her control and precision are unmatched, she doesn’t harm, only caresses. Though at times, she thinks you wish she would do the former, as if it was the strongest way to demonstrate what she feels for you. She prefers soothing strokes and tender embraces, sincere words and fond looks. It's unfamiliar to you, but she will hold your hand through your learning process regardless of how long it takes. 

Your eyes gleam at her words, prompting a knowing smile from her. You wrap both hands around her wrist and press the needle closer to your chest.

“Yes,” you agree easily, almost breathlessly, “right now and always.”

“Always? That’s a very long time.”

“Not long enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle with her growing smile. You release her wrist and allow her to draw patterns on your skin again, half circles and made up letters on your breast, sometimes dangerously close to the stiff peak of your nipple. Her free hand brushes up your abdomen. Her palm is warm, it often is, as she maps out the curves and dips of your stomach with a seasoned touch. Garofano knows just how to steal the breath from your lungs and render you a gasping mess for her. She’s so very skilled with her hands; anywhere they pass, a shudder follows closely. Your flesh is malleable between her fingers and she handles you like one of the expensive and delicate fabrics she works on whenever she has a moment’s rest— she’s careful, patient as a saint, and with a single curl of her slick fingers, a prayer of her name tumbles out of your mouth in half broken moans.

She cups your right breast and your lips part further. 

“You would stay with me forever then?” She asks, her voice a sultry caress. She already knows your answer and she never tires of hearing it.

“Mhmm,” you nod with a cheeky smile because you know what it does to her to see you so eager and devoted. “Forever yours.”

Her eyes burn into yours, you hold her lustful stare with as much heat reflected in your irises. Her thumb fleetingly passes over your hard nipple and the sensation is enough for your hunger to grow. Her hand leaves your breast to trail upward, over your collarbone, and she wraps her slender fingers around the base of your throat. She feels your next swallow under her palm. Garofano leans closer, her thighs now straddling your waist, and lifts the needle to your cheek. It unhurriedly draws a slim heart on your skin, but your gaze stays locked on hers and you tilt your chin, subconsciously gravitating towards her. Her guts clench at your expression, naked desire etched on the lines of your face. She lowers her eyes to the curve of your upper lip, so full and begging to be kissed, with the tip of your white canines visible just past it. She looks back at you.

“You look like you want to eat me,” she says teasingly, but there’s a truth to her words. 

“I do.” Your breath is slightly shorter and you swallow again, pupils blown. You inch closer to her, and your longing for her could not be clearer. “I want to tear into you. I want to sink my teeth into your skin and bite off a piece of you so that your taste never fades from my mouth.”

Her heart thunders in her chest like it’s trying to close the distance between it and your own. The needle pauses its languid movements. Your body is soft and pliant under her and the tips of your fingers loosely clutch the fabric of her shirt, holding onto her even as she’s pressed against you. Your eyelids droop further, your rising chest flushed to hers. You look intoxicated with her presence alone and Garofano feels her commendable patience fraying at the edges. You bring a hand to cover hers holding the needle again and stroke her knuckles. The warmth of your skin seeps into her, expanding to the rest of her body.

“Carve your name into my skin so there’s no doubt as to who I belong to.”

The pad of her thumb traces your bottom lip, pulling it down to see more of your teeth. She thinks your jaw must ache, hungry as you are. 

“And scar this perfect skin?” She smiles, eyes dark.

“Yeah. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“Mmm…” 

Her thumb slips past your lips and slowly slides over the upper row of teeth there, back and forth in a soothing pattern. Your mouth stays parted for her and your eyes soften at the gesture. She absentmindedly seeks to soothe the dull ache of your teeth with her touch but all she succeeds to do is fan the fire within you. Your fangs graze her skin yet she doesn’t flinch, used to their cutting shape, or perhaps because she knows you won’t bite despite every instinct screaming at you to do so. Her trust is not unfounded. You kiss her thumb before it leaves your mouth. 

Garofano softly shakes her head and cups your jaw. “No, I think I’ll claim you in another much more enjoyable way.”

She emphasizes her murmured promise with a kiss. Her lips lock with yours like two puzzle pieces made for each other. She’s languid and firm, a hand under your jaw, and she kisses you until the quickened rhythm of your breaths synchronizes. She relishes the sound your mouths make with every brief separation and the feeling of your lips sliding against hers, always greedy for more. One of your hands sneaks under the hem of her shirt to trail up the curve of her spine. A small shiver follows your touch. You chase her when she pulls away, and a short chuckle escapes her before she presses loving kisses across your jaw. Your fingers sink in her voluminous hair in a gentle grip. You squirm beneath her, your skin is already heating up under her soft ministrations because of a few kisses and unlike her, you’re not known for your patience. Garofano quells your growing impatience with a warning graze of her teeth against the edge of your jaw. 

You’d almost forgotten the sewing needle held confidently between her thumb and forefinger. Garofano withdraws from you and immediately earns a petulant sound out of your mouth. Amusement shines in her eyes at the slight pout of your lips as she straightens up above you, sitting on your pelvis, but her fingertips ache to give you everything you want. She will, in due time. First, she wants to savour the feel of your body under her hands and bring you over the edge using only the fingers you love so much. She places the needle on the hollow of your throat and makes her way downward a second time, though this time she ignores the erect buds on your chest and draws a straight line down your abdomen. The pleasant sting of her weapon makes you shiver even as the room’s temperature steadily rises. You regard her with heavy eyes and she follows the movement of her hand down your body while the other feels the curves of your waist, possessively squeezing the flesh now and then. The zone around your navel is sensitive, she leisurely circles it with her needle and her pleased smile widens an inch at your response— the sharp hitch of a breath. 

“Truly a work of art,” Garofano utters appreciatively, more to herself than to you. 

Her nails softly rake your skin, a satisfying contrast to the sting of her needle. It glides over your stomach with no specific destination, etching shapes and broken patterns onto your body. You shift under her. Your hands come to rest on her thighs, fingertips digging lightly into the supple flesh, and Garofano can tell you’re getting a little needy. 

“Mmh? Is there something you need, my darling?”

“You,” your answer is instant and laced with desire, her gaze flickers to your face at your tone. “Always you.”

Your eyes are aflame with lust, and she thinks it’s a wonder you haven’t tried to take things into your own hands yet. Your need to be touched by her, to feel the love confessions she writes on your body with her nimble fingers, constitutes most of your inhibitions right now. Your restraint is endearing, as is the way your tongue subconsciously darts out to wet your drying lips. 

“It’s taking everything in me not to pounce on you,” you continue honestly.

Garofano’s mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a smirk. “Is that so…?” 

She brings a hand to her collar and deftly undos the first few buttons of her shirt, drinking in the darkened color of your eyes on her. She exposes the slope of her neck to your hungry gaze and goes as far as popping open the fourth button so that you get a teasing glimpse of the smooth expanse of her chest. She feels your grip tightening on her thighs, but you still make no move to pounce on her like you said.

“Nothing?” She taunts you one more time, dipping a finger between the opening of her shirt and pulling the fabric down only an inch. 

You look at her with pursed lips. She laughs quietly and leans forward to plant a lingering kiss on your mouth that you quickly reciprocate, your eyes fluttering shut. Her breath fans your lips when she pulls away.

“You’re being such a sweet girl for me tonight,” she mutters against your mouth, “allowing me to indulge in you like this even though you’re itching to touch me. I can almost hear your thoughts, what you’ll do to me later.”

“I’ll put my mouth on you,” you say like a promise, “my tongue, my teeth. They long for you, you know— my teeth. They ache at the mere sight of you.”

“I know, darling girl…” Her nose brushes your cheek with the next kiss she presses on the corner of your lips. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“No. I can never be close enough, immersed enough, it’s driving me crazy.” Your hands move from her thighs to the curve of her ass, and a small gasp escapes her at your firm grip. “You’ll be covered in the shape of my mouth once I’m through with you.”

Your words make her pussy clench. The mental image of your marks on her, bruising her skin until it turns a beautiful shade of purple and leaving behind a dull ache she’ll still feel the next day, swirls around in her head. You’ve previously shared your displeasure at her choice of clothing, how she prefers long sleeves and high collars, and complained about your handiwork going unnoticed because of it. You’ve taken to leaving lipstick marks on the underside of her jaw instead, and she finds your wish to claim her for all to see maddening. You share her passion, her visceral desire to possess and never let go. You cling to her with scorched fingertips and sweet vows on the tip of your tongue, your yearning for closeness mirrors hers in all the ways that matter most. It takes her breath away each time to bear witness to the profound way you love, and she has to admit that she hasn't yet gotten used to standing in the heart of it. 

Garofano guides your lips to hers for another insistent kiss. She readily swallows the quiet sounds out of your mouth and keeps her body flushed against you for a moment longer. Her tongue runs across the seam of your lips, and you part them wider to welcome it. Your shared saliva meld together with no clear idea where yours begins and hers ends, until there is only the feel of you, impossibly close, taking over senses. You often kiss her like you’re running out of air and she’s the one breathing it back into your lungs, as if she held the essence of your being on her lips. She attempts to withdraw from your mouth enough to catch her breath and your fingers flex on her ass as you lean forward to capture her lips again. A pleased hum sounds from her throat at your eager kiss but she still punishes your gluttony with a controlled press of the needle at your stomach. The sudden sting makes you gasp in silent surprise, and Garofano takes the opportunity to straighten up above you once more. 

“Patience,” she reminds you, “you’ll get what you want soon enough. But for now, let me enjoy you.”

You don’t respond, your legs shut in an effort at restraining the heat between them. Her gaze tracks the needle in her hand as it moves across your skin and she revels in the slight tremble of your limbs wherever it passes. The tip is a teasing sensation on your body and she feels a deep satisfaction at the shivers it earns from you, your hands obediently back on her thighs like the good girl you can be. She can hear some of the breaths you exhale every now and then. Your chest thumps with need, your fingertips clutch at her skirt and your dark eyes are fixed on her form sitting above you, but you reign in your urges like she so gently demanded. Luckily for you, feeling you quiver underneath her, exposed and open, has Garofano’s hunger flare up in her guts. 

She moves backwards to settle between your legs and your thighs part almost instinctively to accommodate her. Your thin underwear clings to your skin, already damp from her earlier attention. Garofano shoots you an amused smile.

“I’ve barely touched you.”

“Garo, have you seen yourself? I get wet watching you sew.”

She laughs and you mirror her expression with a small one of your own. “So that’s why you insist on hanging around when I work…”

“Busted,” your smile widens when she playfully pinches your inner thigh. “Can you blame me? You’re the sexiest person in this garden. Don’t tell Mentor. Though she’d probably agree.”

“You’re impossible.”

The air is thick with anticipation and Garofano’s eyes are full of adoration. She runs her splayed fingers flat down your torso from your breast to your pelvic bone, stopping just above the waistband of your panties. Your hips shift under her touch but she pulls her hand back to take hold of your left thigh instead and you bite back an indignant protest. She teases you with the needle in her other hand, trailing the tip up your right inner thigh firm enough to sting pleasantly without causing harm. The subtle weapon draws closer to the edge of your underwear, and the muscles of your thigh flex with the restraint it takes you not to squirm restlessly. You’re aching for her to touch you properly, she can see it in the way your breathing picks up a beat when she kneads your flesh, her nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin. Still, you don’t pressure her to quicken her pace. Garofano rewards your good behavior with a kiss to the heated spot in the crook of your thigh. She can smell your arousal, intoxicatingly obvious. You’re ready for her and she’s barely done anything. She almost groans. 

Garofano effortlessly discards the needle with a flick of her wrist. She wants to touch you properly, feel your quivering muscles and raised hairs under her palms as she pleasures you. Two fingers toy with the band of your underwear and slowly reveal the curls underneath. She can hear each of your heavy exhales as she bares the rest of your body to her gaze. Your last article of clothing is discarded next and Garofano sucks in an inaudible breath at the sight of the telltale glisten of your lips exposing your arousal. She runs a single digit over your pussy, from your short, slick hairs down to your slippery slit and through your warm folds. Her finger shines in the low light of the bedroom. it ignores your aching clit and explores your cunt like it has a hundred times before. Your hips chase her touch, silently asking for more, but for some time it’s all she gives you. She spreads your lips to admire the pretty colors of your cunt and spreads your wetness all over your sex until it steadily drips down the crack of your ass cheeks. You sigh softly, a touch irritated despite the pleasure that courses through you at her reverent ministrations, looking down at her expectantly.

Garofano smiles; your lips part wider to speak— to whine for more, no doubt— and she applies pressure on your clit before you can utter a word. Your breathing stutters, she hears it more than anything, and your body desperately jerks further into her. Whatever sentence you were going to say is replaced by a quiet moan that makes her stomach clench in pleasure. Your pretty little sounds, so unashamed, always get the same reaction from her. She rubs tight circles on the sensitive bud and kneads the flesh of your thigh with her other hand, relishing the feel of it between her fingers. You get wetter by the second and she hasn’t even pushed a finger inside of you yet. 

“Hah, Garo…” you breathe out her name; it sounds softer in your mouth. 

She teasingly flicks your clit with a fingertip and tears another lovely noise from you. “Yes? What are you aching for, my darling? Tell me.”

“More… Your fingers.”

“What about my fingers?”

Her smile widens at the short whine you respond with. You can get so needy when she touches you like this, you forget yourself and easily lose your mind to the stimulation she provides you. It’s such a contrast to when you have your fingers around her throat and are stealing the air from her lungs with incessant kisses. She enjoys both versions of you, especially since you look this gorgeous, pleading and at her mercy. 

“Inside me,” you gasp brokenly, “God, just fuck me like you mean it— Mnh!”

“Bossy.”

You’re interrupted by two of her fingers slipping inside your cunt with no resistance on your part. Her digits are immediately enveloped by your dripping heat and curl inward to brush your inner walls, earning a proper moan from you this time. One of your hands gropes your own chest, thumb swiping over your nipple and adding to the assault of sensations your body is under.

Garofano’s thrusts don’t reflect her gentle personality, she adds a third finger that has your back aching off the bed and your eyes fluttering shut. Her hand leaves your thigh to toy with your momentarily neglected clit and you shudder with the first touch of her index on your pulsing nub. She can feel you clenching deliciously around her fingers. The wet sounds of them thrusting in and out of your needy pussy and your soft cries of pleasure fill the room in an erotic harmony. It’s music to her ears, she can’t tear her eyes from the arousing picture you make as you get closer to your peak; your hips eagerly meet each hard thrust, your brows twist in ecstasy and your lips are forever parted to let out those maddening moans you can’t contain. Her stimulation is unrelenting, she watches the way the pad of her finger rapidly teases your clit then further smears your arousal over your sex. Your glistening curls are temptatious, she thinks of all the ways she’ll taste you in the upcoming hour and the sinful thoughts only serve to fuel her desire to make you cream around her digits. She buries them inside you to the knuckle, savouring the warm and velvety feel of your cunt on her skin. 

She neglects her own arousal to focus on yours and your throbbing clit under her thumb, her need growing between her thighs. You pinch your nipple with two fingers and she briefly abandons the bud to bring a wet thumb to your other breast. She leans forward, never slowing her pace inside you, and lifts the plush mound to her mouth. Your eyes rapidly blink open, head tilting to gaze down at her, and Garofano’s pleased smile reflects in the crinkles around her eyes as she meets yours. Your free hand tangles into her long locks. Your grip is tight and desperate, a way to hold on to her closely. Your desire is written on your sweaty skin, it’s in your heated stare and in the flash of your tongue peeking just past your open mouth, and it’s all for her. All of you. Her tongue swirls around your hard nipple and suckles in time with the thrusts inside your cunt. You won’t last long like this, she knows your body’s tells better than you do and the way you clamp around her hand is the most obvious one of them all. 

Your breast slips out of her mouth with a slick sound. You respond with a small noise of protest.

“Don’t stop,” you almost whine, pushing her closer to your chest with the hand in her hair, “don’t stop, baby…”

“So greedy,” Garofano places sweet kisses on your breast, but it isn’t enough. Your fingers tighten in her hair and she curls her fingers in retaliation, knuckles brushing your sensitive walls. Your sharp intake of breath is as intoxicating as your taste. “You were such a good girl, don’t forget your manners now. It’d be a shame to stop right before you come for me.”

She slows her pace to a tantalizing rub to illustrate her point and draws another indignant mewl from you. She chuckles in amusement. 

“Garo, don’t tease…”

“But you make such pretty sounds for me.”

“Mmnh, I sound better when I come.”

“Oh, I know.” Her reply is low and honeyed, dripping with want.

It’s true, you do sound the most beautiful when you’re coming undone around her fingers or on her tongue. Your breath hitches, your eyes lift to the ceiling, and high moans meant only for her tumble from your pretty lips. With the image in mind, Garofano thrusts her fingers as deep as they can go, hard and fast, relishing the widening of your eyes at the sudden shift. Your soaping wet cunt clamps around her digits, sucking her in and refusing to let her go. The upper row of her teeth graze the heated skin of your breast and just barely touches the stiff peak, but it still earns her a breathless reaction from you. Your skin is burning with the desire coiling tight in the depths of your stomach. Garofano’s tongue darts out to swipe over your nipple just as the coil bursts and your orgasm crashes over you in electrifying waves of pleasure. You gush around her fingers and she merely rubs your inner walls to help you drag out your orgasm. Her name is a sinful drawl out of your mouth, her ears tingle with the rousing sound. Your desperate grip on her hair is almost painful, and she hums low in her throat at the pleasant sensation.

Her fingers effortlessly slide out of you once you’ve come down from your high and she lifts them to her line of sight so you can see the telltale glisten of your cum on her skin. Your lashes flutter open as you catch your breath and Garofano plants a parting kiss on your chest before sitting back on her knees. She meets your eyes with a satisfied glint in hers and brings her hand to her mouth, slowly sucking one cum-covered finger at a time. The digit disappears past her lips then slips out with a wet pop! that has your irises cower from the darkness of your pupils. Garofano makes a show of licking her fingers clean while you watch with parted lips, your pussy still pulsing with unabashed need. You lift yourself on your elbows. Your gaze is smoldering, full of promise, and she merely has the time to smile before you lounge yourself at her, wrapping her in your arms and bringing her back onto the bed with you. A surprised laugh escapes her as she willingly steps into your embrace. Her back softly collides with the firm mattress. Your lips are already on her jaw scattering kisses here and there, and the sudden movement has swept some purple locks into her face, tickling her cheek. She’s forced to shut her eyes when your mouth reaches the slope of her nose, her smile stretching wider. Her hands sneak around your bare torso and travel along the path of your spine in loving motions, as if writing those words that make stars burst in your eyes directly onto your skin. You hum contentedly near her brow in response. 

“My turn, now,” you mutter into her temple, a finger already tracing the hollow of her throat. 

You feel her next swallow under the pad of your fingertip. You pull away from her face to gaze down at her, and her eyes open to hold your stare, warm anticipation sending shivers through her limbs. Your fingertip is replaced by your palm, your fingers wrap around her throat and lightly squeeze the sides of it once. Garofano’s breath hitches, not due to the hand around her neck but rather to the heady veil over your half-lidded eyes as the tip of your tongue trails over your upper teeth. She recognizes that hunger, and her pussy throbs at the sight. 

“The world may not see my marks on you with all of these shirts you like to wear…” your free hand runs a straight line from her collar down to her abdomen, forcibly popping buttons on the way and effectively ruining the garment until more of her skin is revealed for your viewing pleasure. Your lips part wider, molars aching at the expanse of creamy skin before you. “But you’ll definitely feel them.” You lift your gaze to hers. “You’ll ache, like I do for you.”

“Is that a promise?” She asks cheekily.

You smile sharply. “Just a heads up.”

You lower yourself over her to capture her lips in a wet kiss. Your thigh slots between hers, bending in a way that applies delicious pressure to her covered cunt. You swallow the throaty moan that spills from her mouth and caress her tongue with your own. Garofano easily meets your intensity halfway. Your connected mouths move in a sensual dance that steals the air right from her lungs. Her hips shift under you, shamelessly seeking the dizzying friction of your thigh against her cunt. For one moment, you lose your mind to the intoxicating feeling of her kiss and melt into her body a little more. She tastes like sweet tea and the cum she sucked off her fingers just now, a strange yet addictive mix to taste off her lips. You normally could waste hours kissing her like this with no complaint, but your current impatience has other plans. Your hand trails up to her chest and sneaks under the pad of her bra, cupping a handful of her breast. It squeezes and kneads and caresses, manipulating the smooth flesh like clay.  Through your locked lips, Garofano’s sharp exhales become yours along with each quiet noise you pull out of her. Your thumb circles her stiff nipple and you feel the familiar shape of her nails on the skin of your back, digging ever so slightly. 

You can’t resist a minute longer, Garofano can practically see your restraint snap in two and she tilts her head to the side preemptively once you withdraw from her mouth. Your teeth on her skin always bring forth the same buzzing sensation in her lower abdomen; you litter marks along her neck, biting and licking everywhere your mouth reaches. The light sting paired with the wet warmth of your tongue as you suck the skin, painting splotches of purple on her body that rival her hair color, arouses her more than anything. The ache between her thighs is almost unbearable. Her clothes make it impossible to get the friction she needs to relieve herself, her hips uselessly grind into your thigh and she lets out a bothered sigh.

“Darling, ah,” she calls out breathlessly; your teeth sink into her collarbone before your tongue wets the spot there, covering her in your saliva, “a little help?”

Her hands leave your back to rake up the fabric of her long skirt up to her hips but are blocked by your thigh between hers. 

“M’not done,” you mumble, kissing the newly made bite marks across her collarbones. 

You absentmindedly pinch her nipple and tweak the erect nub between two fingers. Garofano swallows thickly. Despite her urgent need, she can’t find it in herself to reprimand your one-track mind. It’s cute how focused you are on your task while playing with her breast, relieving the ache of your jaw by nibbling on her like a chew toy. Your lips travel down to her chest and you take a few seconds to take off her ruined shirt and expose the dark bra underneath. The straps are sliding down her shoulders the next instant and the clasp is undone by an expert hand. Once she lies bare beneath you, you resume your ministrations on her chest. The flesh of her breast is soft and pliable, you spend the longest time stimulating her chest with lovebites and quick suckles, your eyes falling shut. Your tongue swirls around her nipple and your hand kneads her neglected breast. Garofano gazes down at your blissful expression as you suck her glistening nipple into your mouth once more, her lips parted and her eyelids heavy. She lifts a hand to the back of your head, a low moan reverberating through her chest. Her skin shines everywhere your tongue has touched and covers her in a soft glow under the bedroom lights. It’s littered with reddish indentations and purple bruises, courtesy of your desire to consume her, but you never go far enough for them to feel unpleasant. You kiss where you want to chew, lick where your molars throb with the instinct to tear and mutter reverent words when you best express yourself through the bite marks your teeth leave behind. Your restraint is commendable, but more than that, it is proof of a long-lasting devotion with her at the very center. 

Your mouth finally abandons her chest and travels to the soft curves of her stomach. With the movement, your thigh no longer stands in the way of Garofano bundling her skirt at the waist. She holds the fabric in place with one hand and spreads her legs enticingly, revelling in your immediate reaction to the sight of her drenched panties. Your fingers dig into her inner thigh, pushing it further apart, and you feel her stretch marks with a caressing hand. 

You tug the waistband of her underwear and glance at the wetness that connects the flimsy material to the slick hairs of her pussy, then lift your eyes to hers. “You’re so wet, baby.”

“I am. Why don’t you do something about it?”

“Mmm…” 

You leisurely drag your index up and down her covered slit, enjoying the sight of her lips emphasized by the pretty fabric. You hear a trembling breath and tilt your head to the right, pondering. 

“What are you waiting for?” Garofano shifts on the bed, brushing some locks out of her face and smiling down at you fondly. “Need some encouragement?”

“I’m just wondering how I want to fuck you. But… a bit of encouragement never hurts.”

“In that case… Be good and make me feel nice, won’t you, my darling?”

You bite your bottom lip in a futile effort to contain your growing smile. A swift movement has her underwear sliding down to her ankles and another  has a thigh resting over your shoulder. You turn your head to mark the warm skin at your disposal, taking your time to pepper bruises all over her inner thighs so that she won’t be able to close her legs without thinking of you. The colors are gorgeous on her, her body is a canvas you paint with your teeth and tongue, adding a few additional shades to the pink flush of her skin. She’s ready for you— has been ready a while ago— but you decide to tease her some more for what she pulled earlier, taunting you like that. Your lips follow a predetermined path towards her slick, aching cunt. Garofano tuts impatiently when you take too long, a quiet sound that amuses you.

“Patience,” you repeat her words from before and lick up a thin string of arousal smeared on her thigh, “I’m enjoying you.”

Her hand on your cheek brings your gaze back to hers and, despite yourself, you lean into the touch. Garofano strokes your face in a way that always has you melting, her thumb gently swiping over your cheek in a soothing pattern. It moves to your mouth and pulls your bottom lip downward. Almost instinctively, you suck the digit into your mouth. The low hum of satisfaction that you earn is enough to make you forget about your previous intentions to edge her. For a suspended moment, you simply look at her.

“You won’t keep me waiting, right?” The sultry and expectant tone of her voice coupled with the evident heat in her eyes make your insides clench. “I need you…” 

Her free hand lowers to her pussy, and she spreads her lips with two manicured fingers, giving you an unobstructed view of her dripping folds. Her thumb slips out of your mouth and wets your lips.

“I need your mouth, my darling,” she continues, a breathiness in her words, “that talented tongue on me. Will you be a good girl for me?”

You nod wordlessly, mind hazy. The lines of her face are more pronounced when she smiles, and you barely tear your eyes away from them as you taste her, tongue slithering up her slit to collect her arousal. You watch her with heavy eyelids while you lap at her like a thirsty kitten. You flick her erect clit with the tip of your tongue a couple of times, and Garofano moans in pleasure, still keeping her pussy lips open for your hungry mouth. The back of her head hits the pillows, her hips chase the sensations you bring her, and her chest falls heavily along every breathy sound that flies out of her mouth. She’s stunning, a sculpture that’s been given the breath of life. Her long locks of hair are like tendrils framing her face, her brows twitch with each pass of your tongue over her cunt, and lower, her nipples sit on her rising chest like precious gemstones. Your mouth waters. You long to suckle on them a bit longer, but that’ll be for later. You wrap your lips around her clit instead and suck, hard and fast. Face pressed to her drenched cunt, your chin and nose are rapidly coated in her essence. She fills your senses; her taste on your tongue, her scent in your nose, the flesh of her thigh beneath your fingers, those raspy, honeyed moans in your ears… She’s everywhere at once. Your world is reduced to her immense presence all around you. She’s not looking at you, her eyes are shut in pleasure. Her hand has turned into a claw on your cheek, her nails carving crescent moons into your skin, and her heel is pressed to your back to keep you against her. She clings to you as she grinds her pussy on your tongue, and you can’t help pushing a finger past her pulsing entrance. It slides in easily, she’s more than wet enough for it. 

“Hah, mmmn,” Garofano’s beautiful sounds above you encourage you to thrust into her at a steady pace. “Yes, just like that…”

You briefly withdraw from her cunt to marvel at how effortlessly your finger disappears inside her wet heat. The squelching noise it makes with each thrust is sinful yet it melds perfectly with her deep lustful moans. Praises fall from her lips like she’s uttered them a thousand times, and perhaps she has, your head spins with need and you forget to count. You slip a second finger into her and don’t let up on her engorged clit, suckling the nub until it twitches on your tongue. Garofano keeps her thighs spread prettily for you, though the muscles flex and relax in succession, a sign of her impending orgasm. Your tongue and fingers work in tandem to bring her over the edge, unrelenting and determined. You recall just how attractive she is when she comes, how her back makes this perfect arc over the bed and her pussy clamps around you, and you curl your fingers inside her cunt to hit the spongy spot that has her eyes rolling back in their socket. She’s so aroused, so wet, it doesn’t take much longer for her to get close to her peak. The pleasure steadily mounts within her, snaking around her guts and squeezing, and she lets you know through drawled out words of encouragement.

“You’re doing so good, darling— I’m so close, don’t stop.”

The assault of sensations is sending shudders through her body. She wantonly bucks into your mouth, chasing her high with no care in the world. You enjoy her the most like this, when she simply takes what she wants without question. She is greedy and you give freely with the burning desire to satiate her. Your fingers pump inside her dripping cunt, your muffled sounds of pleasure vibrate against her folds, and it’s not long before Garofano comes down your throat. Your soaked digits slip out of her and you latch onto her gushing entrance to swallow every drop of cum that that leaks out of her pussy with her powerful orgasm. Her strong thighs press against your ears and you let them, too focused on her tangy taste to do anything more than drink what she gives you. You lap at her a moment longer as she regains her bearings. Her hand lifts to the back of your head and strokes your hair while you clean her up. You look up to see Garofano already gazing at you, warmth etched in her eyes. She catches her breath and returns the easy smile you send her way with a soft chuckle. 

“Come here, sweet girl,” she beckons you closer and you obey instantly, pressing one last kiss over her dark, slick curls before climbing on top of her to reach her face. 

Garofano tenderly cups your cheek. The tip of her nose brushes along the side of yours, then she kisses your cum covered lips and sighs contentedly into your mouth. Her skin is as warm as the embers simmering in your belly. She kisses you sweetly, slowly so as to relish the feel of you against her, and you want more. You want so much more of her— you hunger for more of her taste on your tongue, of her curves under your fingertips, of her mouth on your body. She is there, lying beneath you, open and giving, and it still isn’t enough. Your weight on her is a welcomed one, she sneaks an arm around your waist to trap you on top of her body while she gets her fill of your kiss swollen lips. 

“Mmh, Garo,” you reluctantly pull away to speak, but she chases your mouth and presses some more kisses on it as you talk,” hope you’re not… tired…”

“Oh?” She tilts your chin upwards with two fingers and gives you a dark look. “And why’s that?”

“I’m in a playful mood.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm. I wanna play. And I have just the toy for it.”

Garofano laughs quietly at your raised eyebrows. Her forefinger absentmindedly rubs the cartilage of your earlobe. 

“Well, now I’m curious.”

Your excitement is adorable. A glint appears in your eyes at the thought you planted in her head, and your canines peek just so through your wide smile. Garofano simply observes your features in the low lighting as you ramble about your newest discovery.

“Okay, so, since I can’t actually get you pregnant, I got the next best thing…”

She’ll definitely entertain that thought later. For now, she only holds you close and traces the shape of your ear to commit the feature to muscle memory. In the sanctity of her bedroom and past these colored walls, you belong to each other. She smiles to herself. So precious, so beautiful, and you’re hers. Perhaps some hardships are worth suffering through if they lead to you.

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: Switch!Haechan x Switch!Mark x gn!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Poly!ilichil. Blowjob. Sub-leaning Mark, Dom-leaning Haechan.

| wc: 2.8k

| aurora's note: not explicitly part of my poly!ilichil book (so no mention of reyna)

Movie night in the house was fairly chill. It wasn’t mandatory, and the film was always chosen at random by whoever pulled the highest number out of a baseball cap, so if someone didn’t care for the movie that the winner decided on, then they could go do whatever else they wanted. For the most part, though, the boys always stayed. Especially ever since their conflicting schedules prevented all eight of them from being in the same room at once. Taeyong was still in the military, Yuta was in Japan to promote his tour, and within the next few weeks Mark and Haechan would embark on the European leg of their tour while Jaehyun would enlist. A house filled with you and eight men was slowly losing its numbers. Soon it would just be you and three others… That was a shitty feeling… So the boys tried to make their time together count, even if it was only six out of eight of them in the house.

When you came home from work, the boys started pulling numbers out of a hat while you changed into pajamas. By the time you were changed and fit to relax for the night, Haechan was in the kitchen eating a bowl of ice cream, Mark disappeared, Jaehyun and Johnny were looking on an iPad at what new manga sets Johnny should buy, and Doyoung and Jungwoo were making themselves comfortable on the couch in their usual spots.

“Who won?” you asked, plopping down on the empty couch perpendicular to the wall with the big TV.

“You did,” Jungwoo replied. He tossed the TV remote at you, hardly giving you the chance to realize what he said and catch the remote before it could hit you in the nose.

“Where’s Mark?”

Johnny turned off his iPad. “Doing skin care upstairs. He said we can start watching without him… I think Chenle’s going to try to convince him to play some video games, too, so I wouldn’t count on him sticking around.” He reclined in the love seat next to Doyoung and Jungwoo’s couch while Jaehyun sprawled out in the empty space in the middle of the room, since they had to evacuate the coffee table in order to make room for everyone. “He’s exhausted and stressed from working on the last few songs for his album.”

“And Hyuck?”

“He’ll join us when he’s done eating.”

“He’s tired from rehearsals,” Jaehyun said quietly.

You started scrolling through Netflix for a movie you wanted to watch. “They’re both drained. I can’t believe the company’s already talking about another Dream tour next year.”

“Yeah, well, it was supposed to be us, but…” Doyoung stared at the back of Jaehyun’s bleached blonde head. “Anyhow.” He sighed.

Jungwoo shifted to get comfortable, cuddling up against Doyoung who laid back against the armrest of the couch so that Jungwoo could lay against his chest. “Can we watch an anime?”

“It’s not your night to pick,” Johnny warned.

“You were thinking the same thing!”

“It’s not my night to pick either.”

To appease the boys, however, you went to another streaming service to find The Boy and the Heron, a film which more than half of the room hadn’t seen yet, and it was anime to make them happy. The four content smiles in the room told you everything you needed to know. And as the movie, they all settled happily, their focus solely on the film, which left you smiling too as you got comfortable under a blanket.

Mark returned later like he promised. About fifteen minutes into the film, he made an appearance in his pajamas, his hair wet from showering, his face bare with all of his makeup and daytime skin care washed away in order to cover his face with his nighttime routine. You looked up at him as he entered the living room, hesitating for a moment while he considered his options for where to sit or lay down. There was some room next to Johnny on the love seat if he scooted over, Jungwoo and Doyoung took up the entire couch facing the TV head on, there was room next to you if you sat up, and if Jaehyun didn’t lay down in the very middle of the room there was space for Mark to lay down too. However, no one budged except for you. Mark sat on the floor with his back pressed against the couch you were on so that he was between your legs— Even though he could’ve sat on the couch with you if he wanted. It seemed he was more comfortable down there. Tiredly, Mark’s head fell against the inside of your left calf while both of you silently watched the movie, his hands gently massaging your ankles until you got the hint that he wanted to be played with too, so you started combing your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp, massaging sore spots to help with any stress or headaches he had. Mark immediately melted.

“When do you need to call Chenle?” you whispered down to him, scratching behind his ear like he were a dog or a cat.

He shook his head slightly. “I told him I’m busy with you guys.”

Though he couldn’t see you, you were smiling behind him,scratching your fingers through his hair from his forehead down to his neck. He shivered then melted further into you. He was cute, like a pet, when he was tired and wanted to just fall asleep and forget about all of his worries.

But then in came the menace known as Haechan who was done with his ice cream and had cleaned his dishes before entering to sit and watch the second half of the film with you guys. Rather than taking a moment to decide where he was going to plop down, Haechan made his way directly over to you and Mark before he dropped to the ground and put his head on Mark’s lap and his feet on Jaehyun’s thighs— Both boys looked at Haechan with a questioning look before surrendering since there was no use in fighting against Haechan.

“Oh, fuck, Mark—” Haechan squirmed on the ground then flipped over and pushed himself up to look at the man sitting between your legs.

Mark hid his face against your leg. “Sorry.”

“What is it?” Jungwoo pried with his interest piqued, just like the rest of the group.

“He’s got a hard-on just from having his hair played with!”

You hesitated, to which Mark whined and nuzzled his face into you some more— Both to hide his embarrassment but also because he so desperately wanted you to keep going. But once he knew that everyone was looking at him instead of the movie, Mark started brushing Haechan off so that he could stand, while he muttered something about taking care of it and coming back soon. Both you and Haechan worked together to sit Mark back down after you silently shared a thought that it could be handled there. Afterall, you were responsible for getting him worked up… and Haechan was the one impacted by the distraction the most because his pillow was a bit hard.

Mark looked around panicked. “I’m sorry—”

You comforted him by running your hands through his hair again, then you leaned in to kiss his cheek lovingly, which put his guard down enough for Haechan to lay on his stomach between Mark’s legs. Mark was a bit distracted by your touches and kisses to care about the way Haechan was pulling Mark’s pajamas down just enough so that his erection sprung out.

Some of the boys sighed and shifted so that their focus was turned more on the TV rather than what was transpiring on the couch to their left. You, however, was focused on keeping Mark distracted some more. Haechan was being wicked, having his way by slowly rolling the tip of his thumb over Mark’s tip while he stared at you with innocent doe-eyes that nearly made you pull both him and Mark upstairs so that you could fuck them until they were too tired to keep their eyes open any longer. And Haechan got cocky once he saw that look in your eyes. He grinned while he began jerking Mark off at a slow pace, just to test the waters, get him worked up some more before the next part went underway.

His gaze glued to yours, and Mark’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, Haechan wrapped his lips around Mark’s tip.

“Shit, Hyuck—” Mark squirmed between your legs. “Your mouth’s fucking freezing.” Must’ve been from the ice cream.

But that didn’t deter Haechan. With his eyes closed, he lowered his mouth down all the way until Mark’s cock hit the back of his throat, causing Mark to whimper and roll his hips until Haechan put a hand on Mark’s hip to force him to stay still. As Hyuck started slowly bobbing his head, Mark let go. His moans and pleas for more were disrupting the movie, yet the others tried their best to stay focused, so you decided to help them out by giving Mark two of your fingers for him to suck on. He did so eagerly. The second he latched onto your fingers, his moans were muffled around them instead of covering up the sound of the movie, and as his tongue swirled and stuck between your fingers, you saw him still trying to fight against Haechan.

“Go slower,” Jaehyun instructed quietly without even looking over at them. “You want it to feel good, don’t rush it.”

Haechan rolled his eyes, as if to say to you, the only person who could see it, that he knew what he was doing, he didn’t need directions. However, Johnny caught it.

“Don’t roll your eyes at us.”

Haechan groaned sexually while slowing his movements and grinding his hips against the carpet. His hands moved from holding Mark’s base and hip to Mark’s muscular thighs so that he had something to ground himself on while he tried to maintain a slow and tortuous pace that had Mark panting against your fingers while mumbling more pleas for Haechan to go fast again, but he didn’t listen. Unfortunate side effects of both of them being switches. On the off chance the two of them wanted to play together and Haechan was the one in the Dominant mood, there was nothing Mark could say or do to have the younger man listen listen to him. Go faster only ever encouraged Haechan to continue going slow. Touch my balls made Haechan avoid them. Let me cum urged Haechan to pull away completely.

And that was exactly what happened.

When Mark popped your fingers out of his mouth suddenly to moan out, “Please let me cum,” Haechan pulled his mouth away. Johnny smirked from his comfortable spot on the opposite side of the living room. Haechan, though seemingly inclined to torture Mark further, didn’t have much energy in him to edge Mark all night, so he went back to licking around Mark’s tip slowly, cleaning up the mess of pre-cum mixed with saliva.

“Please,” Mark croaked, tilting his head up to look at you. The boys weren’t going to save him because they were too invested in the film, but you could take pity on him— Especially in the state he was in. He was so tired… so overwhelmed with the Dream tour, his solo album, the upcoming 127 concert in January, and all the projects on his plate the following year. “Please…” That got you.

Though you hardly had any sway over Haechan’s Dominant side— At least not like Johnny, Yuta, and Jaehyun did— you reached over Mark’s shoulder to put your free hand on the back of Haechan’s head, pushing him down, watching as he took every inch of Mark into his mouth again before you told him quietly to ignore Jaehyun’s instructions. All he needed to do was make Mark feel good, then both of them could rest. That was what they wanted, right? To relax, enjoy everyone's company, and not worry about a thing? You would do that for him if he was a good boy and made Mark cum.

Haechan took the lead again, rapidly getting Mark off, even bringing one of his hands up to jerk off Mark’s base and gently massage his balls. Mark’s hands found your ankles which he grabbed onto for dear life. He was so happy. He was back to moaning with relief and excitement, his orgasm building quickly, his hips bucking around again since there was no more fight from Haechan to stop him.

“Please, please, please, can I cum?” he begged desperately, his nails digging into your skin.

Your touch drifted from Haecha’s head to Mark’s chin so that you could hold him steady while pressing him against the couch and tilting his head up again so that you could see his face when you whispered those magic words, “You can cum.”

Mark’s face twisted with pleasure as he started cumming down Haechan’s throat. Jungwoo’s attention was caught slightly, his own hips rolling around in the hopes for Doyoung to start giving him some kind of relief, but he was ignored for the sake of the climax of the movie that had the rest of the boys involved.

Haechan’s own moans vibrated against Mark. He whined and jolted, the last of his high passing and turning into a blissful touch of overstimulation that stole Mark’s breath. Haechan was grinning. Mouth full of cock, cum leaking out, his cheeks red and eyes glazed over with lust. Haechan looked beautiful. Perfect, even.

“Okay, okay, don’t be mean,” you said, releasing Mark’s chin and reaching to tap Haechan’s cheek.

On his way up, Haechan licked up all of the cum that escaped his mouth, cleaning up every bit of the mess he made since Mark had already showered, and both of you could see how spent he was, his entire body and mind already giving into his exhaustion.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up and head to bed early?”

Mark slumped his back against the couch and rested his cheek on your knee. “Give me a bit.”

Haechan put Mark’s pants on properly then rolled over to lay down his head on Mark’s lap as he had intentionally meant to. Now he was more comfortable.

By the end of the movie, Mark and Haechan were asleep at your feet, the two of them quietly snoring, Mark’s hands still glued to your ankles so that you couldn’t escape without waking him. Jaehyun was mindlessly massaging Haechan’s feet that were on his stomach when he made a comment about how maybe they should use Haechan to wear the two of them out more often— Specifically whenever Haechan would throw a hissy fit about being sent to bed early after working overtime at the office for a couple of days in a row. Johnny laughed and turned off the TV. Jungwoo tiredly sat up and began dragging a tired Doyoung upstairs with him, but it seemed that rather than cuddling and sleeping, Jungwoo had half a mind of getting rid of his erection too with Doyoung’s help upstairs.

“What do I do about this?” You gestured to how Mark had you trapped.

Johnny stood from the love seat. “Sure you can’t sleep like that?” he joked. When you rolled your eyes, he and Jaehyun came to your rescue. Slowly, Johnny woke up Mark while Jaehyun woke up Haechan. Both of them whined complaints when they opened their eyes. “Come on, you’ll be more comfortable upstairs.” Jaehyun lifted Hyuck to his feet first before corralling him upstairs, then Johnny leaned over to pull Mark up to his feet, messing with his hair with a giggle. “Go on.”

Tiredly, Mark trudged up the stairs to his room.

“Thanks,” you said when Johnny helped you to your feet.

“Thanks for compromising on a movie tonight.”

“Well, I didn’t pay attention for most of it anyhow.”

Johnny chuckled, and with his hand in yours, he began leading you upstairs. “At least you had fun, right?” When you nodded, he smiled. “You should sleep in their bed tonight, since they’re leaving for tour soon.”

Mark wobbled into Haechan’s bedroom. You heard some annoyed whispering back and forth, followed by the thump of a body collapsing on a mattress. Seemed they were arguing about whether or not Mark had permission to sleep in there. It also seemed it didn’t matter because he passed out.

“Night, Johnny.”

“Night, love.”

As he dove into his room, you walked into Haechan’s to find both him and Mark sprawled out completely, limbs tangled together, drool already pooling out of Mark’s mouth. They were such idiots. But they were your idiots. So you climbed into bed with them, trying your best to make room for yourself while they groaned about not wanting to be woken up again.

“Fuck off,” you groaned as Haechan accidentally elbowed your ribs.

“You first.”

“Both of you shut up,” Mark mumbled into his pillow.

“Aye, aye, captain,” Haechan teased, still half asleep.

You grinned to yourself. You were going to miss them a lot while they’d be gone on tour again…

[tess-talks-inc]

On the Topic of Telemachus’s age:

First off preface lmao I’m a stranger on the internet if you want to see this and be like “I don’t care” more power to you this isn’t to condemn it’s more like my explanation? I guess? Of why Telemachus being represented as an adult is important to the context of the story and also to me.

Like obviously once again I acknowledge artistic interpretation, and Telemachus being young is important to the story as well and is part of the role he serves as a comparison to Odysseus, but like sometimes the way some artists draw him makes him look pre-pubescent and like… I understand what you’re doing, and honestly I respect it and I hope you are having fun, but I am holding your hands when I say that him being a young adult with that attitude is so so so important to his character and his relatability.

Adulthood isn’t something that magically appears one day, taking all of your dreams, immaturity, and weakness away. Telemachus embodies that- at twenty years old, he should be inheriting a portion of his father’s house and assisting in its running. He should, for all intents and purposes, have been a full and functional independent adult looking at purely his age. However, he is both literally and mentally stuck in limbo- his father is lost, so he cannot inherit in the case of his father’s death because Odysseus’ status is MIA, and internally he knows (literally mentioned book 1 of the odyssey and in Legendary) that if he reaches for that authority as an adult, the suitors will kill him. He doesn’t feel like he can, or that he is even on equal standing to the suitors as an adult man, he cannot see himself as one like they are, and it’s why he imagines his dad doing it instead. He wants to be saved, a childlike desire, even though he has advanced to a point where he himself can do something physically. That’s why, in the odyssey, Athena tells him explicitly that he can do something about the suitors, and lays out a plan for him. She says that he is no longer a child to his face, and the Telemacheia thus begins to be a coming of age story in which he matures, and later is registered as a threat of the suitors. He is a young adult yes, and he still has aspects of his young self (idealization of his father, daydreaming, him being quick to frustration), but him being an adult who realizes that he can do something and can understand the way he is childish is important and central to his character arc.

His arc is him growing into his skin, adulthood no longer being something that fits him like loose clothes and only a description of his physical state, but something that now is tailored to him, something that feels close to right.

Honestly, I think this aspect of him being an adult while still holding onto these aspects of childishness is where Legendary and We’ll be fine falls short in adapting his character. I understand why, because while he is introduced he is not the true central character of the Saga- it’s Athena and how he affects her, that’s what’s most important. Also, once again, he was just introduced. He’s not matured yet, but he’s realizing he needs to. I still love the songs and the saga, because it’s a good adaptation that poses interesting questions, but yeah. Telemachus is v clearly a young adult and that hasn’t translated over sound yet, which I think is why this whole age debacle is happening alongside the uwu-ifying of the man.

TLDR: Telemachus is a young adult and he acts like it due to his blend of childishness and slowly gained maturity. You can draw him and see him as a child if you want, have fun with it, but at least internally understand how his 20 years of age plays into his arc a of him maturing into manhood outside of your own interpretation of him :D

[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/774212277059682304/httpswwwtumblrcomdearweirdme7742039285407416

“Serves them right for being idiots” then proceeds to make the most idiotic write up of all time. The fact that anyone can have a smart phone and internet these days to spew nonsense online is beyond me.

Hi anon,

There was a time when I used to think this was the most sensible Taekook blogger on Tumblr, but over time, my opinion began to shift. I haven’t seen a single insightful post from this blogger since AYS was announced. I used to frequent Taekook blogs because it was fun to read other people’s perspectives, but eventually, I stopped visiting their spaces because I felt like I was losing brain cells after every visit.

This particular blogger frustrates me because it’s evident they truly believe they are wise or introspective, when, in reality, they are just as misguided as any other Taekooker. I won’t go into detail about the differences between Taekook and Jikook, nor the clear evidence of who is closer, as I’ve already done that in a lengthy post in the past. You can read it here…

Instead, today I want to address a few things that Taekookers, and some Jikookers as well, still fail to understand, not only about the bond between Jikook and Taekook, but also about human relationships in general.

Let’s begin with the fact that this blogger claims the Jikook ship was created by BigHit. Not only is this the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read, but it’s also a pathetic excuse for why another pairing gained recognition. Let’s not even mention that this blogger has only been in the fandom for a short time and probably caught up on content through YouTube edits, (you can tell they’re the type to fall for YouTube edits because they cite them as references), TikTok, and various conspiracy theories from bitter Taekookers trying to explain away the connection they see between Jimin and Jungkook. This person hasn’t been around long enough to form such strong opinions about the past, yet they act as though they lived through it all personally. Not saying one couldn’t be informed about a past they didn’t experience but we all know living through something is different from getting information about it second hand.

How exactly did BigHit create the Jikook ship when the primary reason for its popularity is the GCF Jungkook posted in November 2017? That video, which Jungkook made after a trip with Jimin to Japan, was not related to work. In fact, Jungkook explicitly stated that the trip and by extension, the GCF, was not work-related in any way. How could BigHit have created the ship when nearly every major Jikook moment came from Jungkook himself? If you were to ask any Jikooker on the street why they started shipping Jikook, you’d hear about things like the GCF, MMA 2018, the Rose Bowl, Hickeygate, etc. Not a single one would mention anything related to the company, and notice how all of these key moments were initiated by Jungkook?

This blogger also goes on to say that Jimin leans into fanservice more because he wants to please the company and the fans. I find it hard to understand how this isn’t anti behavior, especially since this blog claims it doesn’t harbor any ill feelings toward Jimin. Implying that Jimin lives his entire life to cater to fans and a corporation while disregarding the feelings of his friends is such an anti move especially because Jungkook himself describes Jimin as thoughtful and selfless. I doubt he would see Jimin this way if Jimin constantly disregarded his feelings and focused more on pleading fans and a money hungry coorperation.

The reason I mentioned that Jungkook initiates most of the interactions that Jikookers find significant is because Taekookers often argue that Jimin leans more into “fanservice” than Jungkook does and that Jungkook sometimes seems hesitant to engage due to his consideration for Taehyung. However, it doesn’t seem to me that Jungkook was particularly concerned about Taehyung when he singlehandedly kickstarted the ship with his GCF. He certainly didn’t seem worried about Taehyung during MMA 2018, or when he openly shared that his “bro” Jimin had bitten him on the neck while tipsy after a late-night drink knowing exactly how shippers would react. It doesn’t appear that he had Taehyung in mind when he revealed that he showers and sings with Jimin in the military fully aware of how fans might react to that information. By now, we have to assume that all the members are aware of what fans do, and Jungkook must know about both Jikookers and Taekookers. If he were truly concerned about Taehyung’s feelings regarding his “fanservice” with Jimin, I highly doubt he would have invited himself to shower at Jimin’s during a live, fully aware of how fans would interpret that.

This blogger seems to forget that it was thanks to Jimin that Jikookers didn’t have more moments to celebrate in chapter two of their bond. It was Jungkook who kept the ship alive during that time. If it had been up to Jungkook, we would have had many more moments to highlight. He was the one going live multiple times, talking about Jimin, watching and singing his songs. If Jimin had accepted when Jungkook invited him over for chicken and beer, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had shown up when Jungkook extended an open invite to any member to join him, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had agreed when Jungkook asked to come over, do a live, and shower at his place, we would have had countless moments to talk about for years. But alas, none of these things happened because of Jimin. Yet, somehow, he’s the one being accused of leaning more into “fanservice”?

These newer fans are incredibly fortunate to have encountered a quieter version of Jimin. If they had been around pre-2020, and witnessed how unapologetically vocal Jimin was about Jungkook, they would have disliked him (well, they dislike him now, but they wouldn’t have been able to hide it as they do now). They are lucky that they came in during a time when Jimin has become more reserved. If Jimin really wanted to cater to shippers he wouldn’t have said “no” when asked if he had eaten Jungkook’s ramen yet. He would have gone to Inkigayo just to give shippers something to talk about. He could have easily gone to Jungkook’s house anytime and taken photos, posted them, or even shared a video from when he spent the night with him before Jeju. He never lacked invitations from Jungkook; in fact, Jungkook asked him over multiple times. The only reason we didn’t see those moments was because of Jimin.

They claim Jungkook holds back because he’s concerned about Taehyung, but I didn’t see him thinking about Taehyung when he cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his butt in AYS. The funniest part is, in AYS, Jungkook initiated more physical contact with Jimin than Jimin did. Nearly every time Jimin initiated anything, it was usually playful, but it was Jungkook who woke up and cuddled into Jimin, touched Jimin to look for mosquito bites, who “caressed Jimin’s smooth legs on the yacht”, who leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. It was Jungkook who constantly talked about how much he loved the trip, describing it as the best trips of his life. Most of the significant Jikook moments from AYS were once again initiated by Jungkook, but Taekookers ignore these and magnify moments when Jungkook playfully pushes or shoves Jimin away when he’s being mischievous, claiming that it’s him setting boundaries. If he were really setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his ass. If he were setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. If he were really worried about Taehyung, he wouldn’t have told us that the trips with Jimin were the best trips of his life, especially after taking “private” trip with Taehyung. That’s insulting. So, I fail to see how Jimin is the one who leans more into “fanservice” when many Jikookers are still here today thanks to Jungkook.

This blogger’s concept of closeness is truly amusing and highlights their ignorance. According to them, Jimin seems closer to Taehyung simply because he called him a few times in chapter two. Wouldn’t it be nice if life were that simple and linear? Wouldn’t it be easier and less complicated if relationships were so black and white? This blogger claims that the things they’ve said themselves prove who is closer among the three, but I fail to see how Taehyung and Jungkook talking about not having deep conversations or feeling awkward with each other proves how close they are. I don’t understand how Taehyung saying that he only learned about Jikook’s trip through the group chat shows how close they are. How does Taehyung not knowing Jungkook was filming a show with Jimin demonstrate their closeness? And how does Taehyung not knowing Jimin spent the night at Jungkook’s before Jeju prove that they’re close? Mind you taekookers believe that everytime Jk was on his phone in AYS he was talking with Tae and they also believe that Taekook FaceTime a lot but my question is, what do they talk about on this numerous calls if Tae keeps finding out about Jungkook’s schedules from a group chat and not from Jungkook himself? If anything, these examples illustrate exactly how Taekook’s friendship and bond truly are.

Human relationships are fluid, multifaceted, and complex. Closeness and distance are influenced by factors like mental state, career shifts, personal growth, emotional needs, stress, and misunderstandings. It’s important to remember that a single period of time doesn’t define the entirety of a relationship, but it can reflect specific phases, changes, or circumstances that affect how people interact.

The fact that Jimin might have kept in touch more with Taehyung than with Jungkook during a particular period doesn’t necessarily mean that he feels closer to Taehyung. Let me illustrate this with an example, though this is not meant to reflect what happened in Jikook’s situation. If you have a friend and a lover, you would likely communicate more with your lover, depending on the circumstances. However, if you experience a misunderstanding, disagreement, breakup, or a period of distance with your lover, you might reduce or stop contact with them during that time but still maintain communication with your friend. Does this mean you’re closer to the friend you’re still in touch with? Of course not. It’s simply a matter of circumstances. This specific period doesn’t define your bond or who you feel closer to. This is the basic concept I’ve been trying to explain to for so long and I am honestly baffled people don’t understand this. I don’t know how everyone else does it but sometimes, when I don’t understand certain things, I put myself, my relationship and that of friends, family and acquaintances in that position to see it from a more realistic point of view because it is often so easy to view these people through a tunnel that blocks every logic out. Because these aren’t people we know personally it is very easy to watch them thinking we are watching movies or something.

Relationships and their depth are not defined by one single moment in time but by history, patterns, and consistency. And that’s something Taekook lacks. They don’t have a history that demonstrates they are or have ever been closer than Jikook at least not emotionally. There’s no consistency either. You’ll notice that Taekookers often cling to the solo era, referencing it as proof of their ship, because without that period in the 13+ years BTS has been together, they have almost nothing. There’s no evidence of Taekook knowing or hanging out with each other’s friends, little or no proof of them prioritizing time together outside of work, no evidence of them being each other’s biggest supporters, and no evidence of them seeking comfort or companionship from each other, except during fun moments. They literally have nothing else, and they know this, which is why they hold onto the solo era……it’s all they have. Taekook could come out of the military and never be seen together outside of work again, but Taekookers would still cling to that era. If you carve out that solo era period from the ship and ask taekookers to make arguments for their ship, they go back to slowed down edits, narratives about two lovers being separated and oppressed or counting moles on each others faces. Most of the arguments they have today they didn’t have before the solo era and they don’t find that straight. One of the funniest thing I ever read a taekooker on here write was that Taekook is real because they kept hanging out with each other when there was no contractual obligation. These are the same people who claim every time Jk mentioned Jimin on Lives he did it because of his contract or that he couldn’t say no to the travel show because of contracts. If Hybe could make Jungkook obey the contractual obligations to do fanservice with Jimin, couldn’t they stop takeook from hanging out? Yet they themselves send off takeook to premiers with body guards, send them off to concerts, post bangtan bombs of them on Valentine’s Day which they same tkkrs gosh about mind you. As if any of these boys ever had a contractual obligation to spend time with each other outside of work. I wonder what was said in the contract to make Jikook hang out all the times we know they did consistently for years.

This blogger claims that Jikook don’t need each other on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis, and suggests that Taekook does because they hung out during the solo era. First of all, there’s a big difference between two friends hanging out out of convenience and two people actually prioritizing each other’s company over everyone else’s. Taekookers believe Taekook prioritized each other, but that’s simply not true. Prioritization happens when circumstances don’t make it easy or you have other options but you still make the effort or choose each other. Other members were busy with their solo projects so who else was there for Jungkook to do those thrilling things with except Taehyung? Also notice how Jk was almost always tagging along with Tae and his friends and not just him and Tae together doing stuff which mean even Tae’s friends were always still more of a priority for him and Jungkook was an add on to the fun. For years, we rarely saw Taekook hang out outside of work, and we even confirmed that they didn’t spend time together during breaks, birthdays, or other significant days. We also confirmed that they grew a bit distant. So, now you think they prioritized each other just because they started hanging out when both of them had free time and mind you at a time when other didn’t? That’s not how it works. And it’s clear that wasn’t the case because as soon as they got busy with their albums, the hangouts stopped. They both still made time to frequently hang out with others, just not with each other as much. This is the simplest proof that if their schedules hadn’t aligned, we definitely wouldn’t have seen them together as much. They always talk about Jimin hanging out with Yoongi and Hobi but ofcourse. That was a given because 1: they are his close friends and 2: their schedules aligned way more than they did with other people. They were all working on their albums and were probably operating on the same wavelength as opposed to Jungkook who was on a rest and no work mode so it make sense that they kept more communication because they saw each other more so it was easier to do more stuff together. Also notice how Jimin wasn’t seen going to concerts or premieres and stuff like that with Hobi and Yoongi but occasionally had drinks with them, played games with them and talked with them on the phone. It’s really not the same things to compare.

What Taekookers have never understood about Taekook is that their dynamic is a fun and lighthearted one, primarily centered around shared activities. They click well when it comes to doing fun things they both enjoy. They have many common interests, particularly when it comes to engaging in entertaining activities. Their bond is more situational and activity-based rather than deeply emotionally intertwined. While they clearly enjoy spending time together, their interactions suggest a relationship built on fun, shared interests, and a natural ease in each other’s presence, rather than one rooted in deep personal connection or emotional dependence.

If you pay close attention, you’ll notice that Taehyung and Jungkook’s hangouts are almost always centered around specific activities or events, rather than deep emotional closeness or meaningful conversations or time spent together. This is evident from the fact that, almost every time we saw or heard about them being together in Chapter Two, they were engaged in some activity or having fun, only to part ways afterward and return to their respective homes. Even the one time we learned Jungkook was at Taehyung’s place, it wasn’t for intimate, one-on-one time, it was with some of Taehyung’s other friends, and Taehyung mentioned they were just playing games. On multiple occasions, we saw Jungkook hang out with Taehyung and then return home to start a live stream, which shows that he still craved a level of companionship that his previous outings hadn’t fully satisfied. You never just hear that they choose to be together just because….

Taehyung and Jungkook don’t have the continuous need to be together that one would expect from people who truly need each other on a daily basis, as this blogger claims. They meet, have fun, and once the purpose of the hangout is served, they go their separate ways. For instance, Taehyung didn’t feel the need to stay with Jungkook at the ski resort after enjoying the fun; he chose to leave with friends, leaving Jungkook behind. He didn’t feel any obligation to remain with him, as one would expect from a lover or a friend with a deep emotional connection.

Similarly, Jungkook didn’t feel the need to stay by Taehyung’s side after the musical and premiere, even though Taehyung apparently got drunk and fell asleep. A lover wouldn’t leave you alone in such a state, but a friend who was there just for the fun and company would leave without feeling any obligation to stay. Notice how every time you see or hear about them hanging out, it’s always centered around some fun activity and never simply because they wanted to spend time together. They don’t feel the need to stick together unless there’s something they both find fun to do.

This dynamic is very different from that of Jimin and Jungkook. I don’t need to list all the ways they differ, as I’m sure it’s already clear. Jungkook going to Jimin when lonely and bored just to sit there for hours with him doing nothing speaks volumes. Jungkook going to Jimin after a 3 day tiring concert to spend time with him, cook for him and seemingly spending the night with him just to be seen with him again the next day at a restaurant with friends shows the difference. We all know that these guys lived very busy, tedious and fast paced lives where they barely got a chance to spend any alone time together except at night as they were usually together as a group. So in cases like this, one would expect that the two people who are closest and possibly in a romantic relationship will prioritize those alone times together since they always had dozens of staff and cameras shoved in their faces all day with little to no privacy and we saw that the two people who actually did this were Jimin and Jungkook not Taehyung and Jungkook. Jungkook himself coined “all nighter friends” name with Jimin which spoke a lot about how much they spent their nights and quieter moments together.

Taekook share a laid-back, fun, and comfortable dynamic, which often gives Taekookers the impression that they are much closer than they actually are. A prime example would be Taekook at the Harry Styles concert. Anyone watching them together that night would assume they were the best of friends, which in a way they are. However, what people wouldn’t know is that at that very moment, Taehyung didn’t even know Jungkook’s hotel room number. What’s more telling is that, behind the scenes, whenever Jungkook felt the need for company, he repeatedly sought out Jimin, not the one he was seen comfortably hanging out with at the concert.

These moments reveal the complexity of human relationships and how different people fulfill different needs for us. The person you turn to for fun, thrill, and adventure isn’t necessarily the one you seek when your emotional needs arise. And if we go by what Jungkook has said over the years, it’s clear who he shares a deeper emotional connection with and who he has a more laid-back, fun, but less emotionally deep connection with.

I also find it frustrating the way Taekookers have elevated the Hawaii trip into something it wasn’t. That wasn’t Jungkook traveling to fulfill some emotional need for Taehyung. It was Jungkook traveling after receiving an invite to have fun with his friend…the one he clicks with perfectly when it comes to things like this. They were on the same wavelength at the time, enjoying each other’s company in their free time. Emphasis on FREE TIME. They always have fun together, and they share common interests. I’m sure Taekook would turn to each other for fun, thrill, and adventure, but I can bet my bottom dollar that they wouldn’t turn to each other for the deeper emotional stuff. They really never have, and history has proven this.

They didn’t prioritize spending time with each other over anyone else in the solo era. It was simply convenient for them to do so, and so they did. They both had the time to hang out, and they took it. But when we talk about true prioritization, we’re talking about Jimin flying all the way from Paris to spend one day with Jungkook, then heading back to Hawaii the next day. We’re talking about Jungkook choosing to use his limited break to take Jimin to Japan…something Jimin has always wanted. We’re talking about Jungkook, knowing full well that other members were available, yet choosing to spend his quiet peaceful time with Jimin every day, prioritizing him over anyone else. That’s prioritization…not Jungkook flying to Hawaii when he had time and money to have fun with Taehyung. This is something he could have done with any other friend if he had the time or money. Do you think if Mingyu or Eunwoo call Jungkook to join them somewhere fun in ant part of the world Jungkook has access to while he has the time and money he wouldn’t go? He will definitely go. Tae didn’t call Jungkook because he missed him in the way taekookers think. He might have missed his company and known that that is something they both would really enjoy doing since they relate like that and called him but it was definitely not because he missed his boyfriend. If that was the case, his “boyfriend” wouldn’t only have found out at the moment that be was in Hawaii.

Prioritization again comes in when Taehyung gets on planes to support his wooga, or his wooga putting everything else aside to spend time with him before his enlistment, or when he ensures he doesn’t miss important days for them. He never really prioritizes seeing Jungkook on his birthdays, and vice versa. He didn’t care to see Jungkook even for a single day during their 2019 break, choosing to travel with his friends instead even when Jungkook had a birthday yet we had Jimin flying all the way from Paris to see Jungkook for a few hours and head back yet, Taekookers claim they prioritize each other in that way? They don’t.

Two friends meeting up and hanging out when they have the time doesn’t equate to prioritizing each other, nor does it signify deep emotional connection or bond. Yes, they must like and care about each other to hang out multiple times, which we know Taekook do, but if their schedules had been less aligned, they wouldn’t have cared as much, and it wouldn’t have bothered them.

Unlike Taekook, Jimin and Jungkook have a long history of prioritizing each other, keeping constant communication, and staying fully aware of what the other is doing. A few months in a 13+ year friendship doesn’t change that. Real closeness isn’t about how many hangouts or fun activities two people can have, or how many cute pictures they take together, or where they sit during meals. True closeness and a deep emotional bond are about who you want to be with even when there’s nothing to do, who you turn to when you’re going through emotional moments, and who you think of watching when you can’t sleep at 4 a.m. These are subtle things, but they speak volumes.

Closeness is relative, and we can be close to people in different ways. There are ways Jungkook is closer to Taehyung than Jimin, and vice versa, but based on everything Jungkook has said over the years, and how we’ve seen them interact, it’s clear that his emotional connection with Jimin is and has always been much deeper. I guess it’s up for debate who you think he’s closer to. If you think a dynamic based on fun activities, camaraderie and ease is closer than one built on emotional depth and closeness, then I suppose you’d think Taekook are closer.

PS: AYS is still a very sore topic for taekookers. They claim AYS proved enough but if AYS really confirmed that Taekook is real and Jikook isn’t, why do they detest the show so much?

[respectthepetty]

Reading the (Visual) Rainbow Awards 2024

2023 was the first time I gave these awards, so I'm excited to deliver my 2024 version to the QLs that gave the best visual narratives this past year. In order to be considered for these awards, the series 1) had to air during 2024, and 2) had to finish airing by December 31, so out of the 114 QLs I watched this year, 13 are still ongoing and cannot be considered for these awards. Out of the remaining 94 QLs, 69 had some degree of consistent color coding

*For reference, in 2023, I watched 108 QLs, 14 were still ongoing, and 67 had consistent color coding.

Now for the ceremony to begin!

Petty Award: Last Twilight, Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo, and Spare Me Your Mercy

This award goes to a show or shows that had great visual narratives but I refuse to write about it because I'm petty, and these shows know what they did to me!

I've aired my grievances with these shows plenty, so now they can officially join last year's winners, Only Friends and I Feel You Linger in the Air, plus several other series in my Grudge Garden. May beauty bloom from the cruel love you gave me.

Stats Awards [These awards are based solely on numbers]

Most Popular: Black Brooder

This award goes to the color that was most popular in a pair, number-wise.

The stats: A Black Brooder was part of a color-coded pair 27 times in 2024. 2023’s was a Blue Boy with 26. The next color-coded boy in 2024 was a Blue Boy who was part of 21 pairs. 2023's was a Black Brooder who was part of 15 pairs.

The Best Black Brooder was Happy of the End’s Haoran. The show explicitly stated he was mysterious, secretive, and seductive which are all key characteristics of a Black Brooder. He had a dark past that haunted him and the narrative the entire show, so the black color appropriately emphasized the darkness within him. Even at the very end, he was lighter in his life, but it did not take away from what he went through to get that little bit of happiness and color. Haoran is the epitome of a Black Brooder, and that’s why he deserves the title of "Best Color-Coded Character of the Year."

Most Popular Pair: Light x Dark

This award goes to the color-coded pair who were used the most in the year, number-wise.

The stats: The Black x White dynamic won in 2023 with 12 couples, but in 2024 this dynamic almost doubled by being used 22 times. No other color-coded pair came close.

The Best Light x Dark Couple: Myung Ha x Yeo Woon from Love for Love’s Sake perfectly represent why this dynamic is needed, yet it wasn’t clear why until midway through the series. Black Brooder Myung Ha was sent into a game to save Heavenly Human Yeo Woon, but as the story unfolded, we realized that Myung Ha was the one who needed to be saved by his Heavenly Human and for a very good reason which adds to his dark color. The colors were there the entire time, yet the reveal of why those were the colors still shocks me almost a year later.

The Outlier: Wandee Goodday

This award goes to a series that delivered a colored-coded pair that no other series did.

When this show was first announced, I was elated that I was getting a Yellow Yal x Purple Person pairing which had yet to be done, and my excitement only grew throughout its airing. Even though I didn’t get the proper color exchange I dreamed of at the end, the show had outstanding visual rhetoric (bunny x tiger, anyone?), and it gave me a pair comprised of complementary colors, so it deserves this award for doing something different, and doing it well.

Visual Rhetoric Awards

Honorable Mention - Peaceful Property

This award goes to a series that had a great visual narrative but could not be considered for these awards because it wasn't marketed as a QL (even though it's canon to me).

The show’s “Cok Long” sign alone would have received a visual rhetoric award, but the characters were also color coded and gay af. The dance pose for love. The steak in the shape of a heart. The food in general! Home dreaming of Peach in bed to comfort him. The tears and strings in the hospital tying them together. The stories about Thansai x Ride and Vicha x Phoom!!!! The color exchanges! This show used all the visuals to bury the lead, literally and figuratively, and dealt with people facing the ghosts who haunt them in an unexpected and tender way, so it was a show with a lot of heart and the visuals to back it up.  

Best Boundary/Barrier/Bars - My Stand-In

This award goes to a series that best displayed an internal conflict with a physical barrier between the two leads.

This show’s visual rhetoric skills were vicious. I was personally attacked every time Joe’s back was only shown. I was shaking in rage each time Joe and Ming were shown behind bars, with barriers between them, and with Joe being lower than Ming. But nothing hurt more than when Joe 2.0 finally gave into Ming, and we visually saw Joe’s body split in two. Previous to that moment, they were each standing on opposite sides of the line, then slowly, Ming pushed Joe against the glass leaving Joe exposed to the world, so he could focus on Joe’s back, and the line was right there to show us that nobody was fully in that moment. They were both in their bodies, yet out of them. They were in the present, but also in the past. They wanted this, and simultaneously were disgusted. They were conflicted, and that line cut right through them. And me.

Best Balance - Jack & Joker

This award goes to a series that best used the scene to outline the balanced dynamic between the leads.

In a hospital room, standing in between the light and dark curtains, next to the red couch and the blue bed, two color-coded boys hashed it out and showed the audience why balance is always needed in a relationship. Jack became darker because he shouldered everyone’s burdens, yet there was Joke begging Jack to let him carry some of his sorrow and relieve him of his darkness. Then, the black and white colors and those dual smiling/frowning faces were right there to reinforce what Joke was saying — We need Yin & War Yang.

Best Background (Noise) - Marahuyo Project

This award goes to a series that best used the background details to strongly reinforce the ongoing plot.

It was a story about sea creatures that beautifully connected to the overall queer theme of the story, and King (of the sea) wore several sea-themed items. The show also focused on trans acceptance and solidarity with all characters wearing the trans flag colors at one point in the show, and the use of butterflies to signify the harsh yet necessary transformation we must experience to become better versions of ourselves. Oh, and the religious icons! Basically, this show did not waste one moment of its screen time, and it’s a feast for the eyes because of it.

Best Use of Clothing - 7 Days Before Valentine

This award goes to the series that made the best use of clothing to show the evolving dynamic between the leads.

Sun, the main character, was 🎶The Worst🎶 when this story began. The show looked the audience in the face and said that man was the devil with his horns and black and red outfits. Then, an actual demon showed up, in white! After that, this demon took on more of Sun’s darkness as an act of salvation while the demon’s clothing transitioned from white to gray then black. In the end, the demon was actually an angel who needed to see that redemption was possible for his own sake. It was a story about how nobody is really good or bad and how people deserve a second chance, which was a consistent theme in most QLs this year, and beautifully highlighted in this show.

Colors Awards

Best Color Exchange - My Love Mix-Up (Thailand)

This award goes to a series where the leads were color coded and switching their colors demonstrated more than their love being mutual.

The original Japanese version of this show is one of the best color-coded BLs and features the best color exchange EVER in the form of a well-lit kiss, so I was watching the Thai version with a critical eye. The Thai show had the pink = love moments and other subtle visual rhetoric, plus it included the traditional color merge of Kongthap’s blue with Atom’s developing yellow into green which they both wore for their first kiss. The show was following all the normal steps, but at the very last moment, after the boys decided their love was worth the fight and came out to their parents in teary confessions, they met in the place it all began merging Kongthap’s blue and Atom’s strong orange into a couple’s brown and kissed, and I have never been happier seeing the color brown as a symbol of love.

Best Kiss - Only Boo!

This award goes to the series that best used a kiss to support the color narrative of the story.

This show had no competition in this category. Its only competition was itself. Every kiss either was color-coded, included the Blinding Light of Love, created a color exchange, formed a color merge, or was lit with the Pink = Love lighting. Every. Single. Kiss! So this award isn’t for just one kiss, but all the kisses in the series, but the grand kiss in the finale had the boys in their respective colors, kissing under a pink light, while their colors were part of the background decorations as everyone cheered around them, and It. Healed. Me.

Best Red (Thread of Destiny) - Unknown

This award goes to the series that best used the color red to symbolize two characters being connected by fate.

Century of Love, a story of lovers meeting again a century after tragically parting, gave Unknown good competition in this category, but ultimately the story of two kids finding family in each other and building a life together is the winner, and it’s all because of that damn red railing! The red was there when Qian fed Yuan on the street, and the moment Qian wrapped Yuan’s hands in the red boxing tape, he secured the bond between them. However, the scene where Yuan stood at the bottom of the stairs before leaving the house felt like the connection was severed as he walked out the door leaving a dark room behind only for the camera to slowly move up the red railing to reveal Qian standing at the top of the stairs looking at Yuan’s room. They were still connected, and I’m still emotional about it.

Best Pink - Bad Guy, My Boss

This award goes to the series that best used the color pink to demonstrate the love between two characters.

This was the most competitive category in 2024, and Deep Night with its pink poly dream held the top spot for most of the year until this ridiculous Wattpad BL entered the group chat and crushed everyone with this single shot. In the show, Run was basically being manipulated into a relationship with Fei Long for ~evil reasons~ that included an incarcerated brother, a ploy to gain more power, and an ex-boyfriend, yet the pink kept showing up around Run until it surrounded both of them. And it was the softest pink. It was slightly surprising that they did both genuinely love each despite the circumstances, but it was even more shocking just how kind that love actually was. They might have been crazy for that, but they were also crazy in love!

Best Rainbow - 1,000 Years Old

This award goes to the series with the best use of a rainbow.

Pun was a dark-color coded vampire, and Yo was the colorful human he fell in love with, yet Yo thought that Pun brought color to his life. Before Pun showed up, Yo was lost in the world chasing aliens with his friends, but once Yo encountered Pun at a pork blood soup stand, both their lives became filled with adventures that were revealed to be centuries in the making, and Pun’s rainbow umbrella symbolized the whimsical nature of their relationship. Both brought color to the other’s life. In every life.

Best Heart - 4 Minutes

This award goes to a series that best represented love by using a tangible item to symbolize a heart.

Color-coded boys in love deserve color-coded plushies to represent their love. Great was white-color coded, and Tyme was black-color coded, so when they went on their adorable arcade date, the color-coded cat plushies with hearts on their sides were the perfect prize to celebrate the guys’ developing feelings for each other. However, the date never really happened and instead was part of Great’s redo timeline as his heart was dying after being shot. And somehow, that made it even better! In his last moments, all Great wanted was for Tyme to keep winning his heart over and over again, and Great would have given it to him, again and again. In another life, he’d enjoy just playing a claw game with Tyme.

Best Accessory - Addicted Heroin (Thailand)

This award goes to a series that best used a color-coded accessory to support the ongoing plot.

Everything in this show was color coded from the cotton swabs to the nail clippers, but the series wins this award for The Audacity™. In any version of this story, Hero’s character is going to be batshit bananas, but in the Thai remake, the show decided to include color coding in the craziness. When Hero had Pop(py) kidnapped, Hero tied him up with color-coded green rope because even as Hero had taken his boyfriend hostage in the dumbest turn of event, he needed to prove he knew Pop’s color was green. But not only did Hero do that in the show, the folks behind the show, who seemed determined to be wilder than the show itself, started selling figurines of the moment! It’s meta, but like really bad, which means I LOVE IT!

Best Blinding Light (of Love) - Deep Night

This award goes to the series that best used a blinding light to emphasize the overwhelming feeling of being in love.

Deep Night had several amazing moments using the Blinding Light of Love, but Wela and Khem had liked each other since the first episode, so this moment visually presented what it felt like for them to realize it actually might be something more. They were nestled between the pink of the club lights with the window bathing them in the streetlight; then, the light from outside became blinding as Khem admitted to being jealous and wanting to be something more with Wela. It truly was the point Khem realized he was deeper than he thought, and for Wela to see that his feelings were real. It was a moment of lustful escape that turned into a moment of genuine love.

Best Lighting - The On1y One

This award goes to the series that best used lighting to support the story's narrative.

Using dark, cool lighting for the moon and bright, warm lighting for the sun are not new techniques, but the way The On1y One used those lighting treatments for its characters was a reminder that the professionals behind the scenes are truly experts in their field. In the first episode, Jiang Tian, the moon, emerged from the darkness of the street, and the warmth of Sheng Wang’s light cupped his face as he stood outside the gate. As they interacted, each retained their respective lighting, but slowly, slivers of the other’s lighting began to merge with their own until the audience could no longer tell where their individual light ended and the other’s began. And neither could the boys.

Best Cinematographer: Jim Picharn - I Saw You in My Dream, Jack & Joker

This award goes to the cinematographer who best supported the story through visuals without distracting from the ongoing plot.

In 2023, Jim of Dee Hup House was on the shortlist for this award due to him being the cinematographer for Thai BLs Step by Step, Hidden Agenda, and I Feel You Linger in the Air, and in 2024, he was back with I Saw You in My Dream and Jack & Joker. The reason he is getting this award now is because both his 2024 offerings looked completely different. Jim has a certain hazy and dreamy style to his cinematography which fit perfectly in I Saw You in My Dream’s narrative, but his style shifted to something harsher and a little bit grittier in Jack & Joker. There were still specific Jim elements in both pieces, but it was clearer how his style served the narratives in each story differently. Not only was it interesting to see, but it was also a beautiful addition to the stories being told in both shows, so I’m looking forward to what new visuals he will be gifting us with in 2025.

Best Surprise - The Trainee

This award serves as a catch-all for a series that delivered a color-coded surprise while still incorporating it well within the plot.

I am not egoistical enough to believe the folks behind these QLs are reading my little ol’ Tumblr blog, but I’m also not humble enough to rule it out as a possibility. Normally, I have to watch behind-the-scene specials, find translated interviews, or follow cinematographers’ and directors’ social media to get confirmation about colors, but in 2024, several shows simply posted the information on main! Two Worlds, Love is a Poison, Peaceful Property, and a few other shows openly stated how the colors were being used in the show, but The Trainee did the most and made graphics to announce the color coding of its characters and posted them on Twitter and Instagram! The graphics also featured key aspects of the characters’ personalities which aligned to their color. For eight weeks, I had been determined to prove that Jane was a loyal Blue Boy and Tae was a wise Brown Boy, and, magically, the show just looked at me one day and said I was right. I will never forget that rush, so in case someone who does work behind the scenes on these QL is reading my posts, thanks for the best present 2024 could have given me!

Best Group Effort - Pit Babe

This award goes to the series that best color coded a majority of its characters.

I watched this show with no sound, no subtitles, and no idea what the hell was happening. And yet the colors got me through! I might not have any clue who is the Alpha, Beta, or Santa Maria in this show, but I know who is red, blue, and royally evil because the colors were coloring the entire time! I cannot write more about this show because I still don’t really understand what it was about, but I am super excited to watch the second season the same exact way I watched the first — with the colors guiding me the whole way.

Best Consistent Color Coding - Chaser Game W

This award goes to the series that had the most consistent color coding throughout its run.

Two celestial maidens in a video game. Two penguins in a book. Two women in a toxic workplace romance. No matter what form the leads took in the show, they were color-coded in every version of their characters. They were part of the reason the Light x Dark pairing was the most popular in 2024, and in the first season, they exemplified that dynamic with kind Heavenly Human Itsuki being stuck working for her demanding Black Brooder ex-girlfriend Fuyu. Then, the second season gave us the women swapping clothes and colors as they became a more established couple. Even their daughter took part in the color-coded hijinks, and in the end, Itsuki and Fuyu found the balance in their work and their love life, together.  

Best Overall - Idol Factory

This award goes to the series that did it like nobody else to claim the ultimate prize.

I refuse to pit two bad bitches against each other, so that’s why both The Sign and The Loyal Pin get this award. And I’ll even throw the Factory’s third offering, My Marvellous Dream is You, into the mix because regardless of which show I write this about, Idol Factory gave me rainbows of colors every single time!

I didn’t just get the pink = 💕love💕lighting. I got the pink lighting getting more intense as the love between the two characters intensified.

I didn’t just get color-coded clothing. I got the patterns of the clothing showing each character’s personality, so when they started to swap patterns, it was obvious they were in love.

I didn’t just get color exchanges. I got color events with blinding lights of love, color exchanges, and color merges.

Basically, I got everything I wanted and more, so even though Idol Factory has only produced five shows, all of them have excelled in the colors and visual rhetoric department, and I’ll be patiently waiting for its 2025 (and 2026) shows to air because I know they will be visually stunning, as always.

Congrats, winners!

[curioussubjects]

How is there a throuple on prime time TV?And why are they the medical staff on a luxury cruise?

I'm still not sure how Doctor Odyssey is a real show that's airing every week and not some fever dream, but since it seems to be that it is a real show, here's why I think it's yet another medical procedural drama...and on a cruise!

While polyamory has become more widely acknowledged in the mainstream, it's hardly normalized or even common in both media and people's lives. Likewise, queer representation, especially that of bisexual men, is still far from being without controversy (if it's allowed to be represented at all, as Supernatural fans like myself well know).

So, again, how in the world is Doctor Odyssey, which very explicitly centers the developing sexual and romantic relationship between Max, Avery, and Tristan a thing that exists? Or, to put it another way: if we have a story that is unusual for most people and even uncomfortable for many of them, how can that story be told without alienating the audience?

The answer: tell it in a way that feels familiar, and maybe a little detached from reality. So, medical procedural drama on a cruise! Ok, let me explain:

Why a Medical Procedural Drama?

Not only has the the genre been a staple of American television since the 90s (thanks, ER), it's a type of story that is told in formulaic ways. It is, after all, a procedural. Both its familiarity and predictability allow the audience to sit back and enjoy the story unfold with its expected beats. This type of TV is meant to be fun and easy to watch. Such shows might give you some current issues beats to ponder as you watch, but they're not making you do a lot of work.

But why medical as opposed to law enforcement, which is a much more common type of procedural? Because, thanks to the legacy of shows like Grey's Anatomy and House MD., medical dramas have a lot more leeway to be dramatic AND unrealistic while somehow preserving the veneer of realism. It's this allowance for dramatics and breaches of realism that create a comfortable bubble of "sure this might as well happen" that prevents the audience from being alienate when faced with a wide variety of topics that can be as accurate or fantastical as the plot demands.

Polyamory, within this broader landscape, can be a Very Special Episode that just so happens to span every episode, and viewers can be carried through that plot by the familiar patterns and conventions of the genre.

Why on a Cruise?

Oh, aren't medical procedurals so cliché? How can we make it interesting?? I know, put them on a cruise! We haven't put doctors on a cruise yet! (totally 100% real conversation on ABC)

Sure, the cruise premise stinks of gimmick, but what if that's the point? Surely, most people would see a show like Doctor Odyssey and imagine that what makes it different is that it's set on a cruise. Yeah, that's not completely untrue, but the cruise serves a much more important purpose than being a differential on a pitch.

In fact, the cruise, like the medical procedural, is another liminal space that allows for multiple ways to engage in fantasy or reality as the plot demands. Mainly, and most crucially, though, the cruise is a bubble, an illusion, which is a point the show itself makes in the pilot episode. It is unmoored (heh) from the expectations of land, like accurate representations of healthcare, or say...monogamy as default. As such, the cruise makes not only for a dynamic choice of setting, but a very intentional one.

Reality Check:

The interplay between genre and setting is crucial. The audience, with all its expectations, of what a medical procedural drama is know what they're tuning in for, and they can easily imagine the dramatic (or ridiculous) nature of the cases that will be present in a luxury cruise. True enough, as I mentioned before, the pilot episode starts by being very honest that the cruise is an illusion: the captain shows and describes all the craft and skill that goes into creating a safe space for passengers to engage in fantasy. The genre savvy audience is then invited into aligning not with the cruise passengers, but with the crew.

Except Doctor Odyssey isn't really about the medicine, or the cruise, is it? It's about Max, Tristan, and Avery. So the audience is given a choice at the metanarrative level: be the passenger or be the crew. Be aware that the point of the story is the polyamory or tune in for medical staff...on a cruise! Win-win! What I think is fun and clever about all this is that no matter who you choose to align yourself with, you can't ever truly escape reality lurking in the wings. The polyamory is simply there no matter how resistant the audience, but the setting and the genre create a buffer around it.

Sure you can have a threesome on a cruise, it's like Vegas. No big. Nothing threatening to social conventions. It's not real. But reality has a way of reasserting itself: in the tragedies that befall the passengers on the ship, or their mishaps, or the cherished memories they'll look back on. And while the crew upkeeps the illusion, they aren't immune or completely separate from its effects (good and bad). No one can divest themselves from what they experience on the cruise and neither can the viewer.

Through genre convention and its setting, Doctor Odyssey (and I mean, look at this title alone lol) navigates the unfamiliar waters of accepting the richness of the human condition (to echo Captain Massey), and brings the audience safely to shore with a new understanding of what relationships can look like.

And this is how Doctor Odyssey managed to get produced and make it to air, and we get to be unhinged about Tristan, Max, Avery, and the YEARNING. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk etc.

[galedekarios]

gale & his mother, morena dekarios

i thought it'd be nice to have a place to compile everything i could find about gale's mother, morena dekarios.

the first time you as the player get a vague mention about gale's parents is after saving mirkon, when gale brings up a story about his parents denying him a kitten when he was still a child:

Gale: One time my parents denied me akitten, so I summoned myself a tressym.

if you play a gale origin playthrough, you get a mention of her much earlier from tara, after she joins the camp.

this is a camp dialogue with its variants from act i:

Tara the Tressym: Well, if it isn't my favourite fellow himself. Player: How are things back in Waterdeep? Tara the Tressym: More or less the same - though news of some mad faction calling themselves 'Absolutists' is starting to trickle in. Tara the Tressym: I told your mother not to worry. That if they were anything to worry about, Baldur's Gate would handle things quick-sharp. Keep them from spreading their tendrils north. She still wants to know when she'll see you again, sir. I avoid giving any answers. But she misses you. Player: I miss her too. Tara the Tressym: I'll tell her. With my Cat Flap of Displacement, I can afford the occasional visit. I'd bring you along, if I could. Perhaps some day. - Player: I can't risk putting her in danger. Tara the Tressym: I know that, but she doesn't. She'd keel over if she knew just how you'd tried to manipulate the Weave. Or maybe she'd just say something like, 'My Gale always was one to make the impossible possible.' Oh, but she adores you. - Player: No more guilt trips, Tara. Please. Tara the Tressym: But then whatever will we talk about? Anyhow - I'm keeping my senses pricked for any sign of another item that might be of use to you. Hopefully something will turn up soon.

it's clear from the dialogue that gale's mother worries about him and loves him - adores him, really.

it also becomes clear that she doesn't know what happened to gale and that he nor tara has not told her.

another mention from act i, again from tara:

Tara the Tressym: Please tell me you've at least made inroads when it comes to finding someone to settle down with. Myself and Mrs Dekarios are starting to think you intend to die alone. Player: You've been visiting my mother? Tara the Tressym: Naturally. After you abandoned her, there was only me left to keep her company. She's very good company, though. Ah, the stories we've traded over toast and tea. You're a highly entertaining source of speculation. But speculation only goes so far! Tell me, Mr Dekarios - how have you been?

tara and morena are implied to have tea together regularly enough to trade stories about gale. tara is implied to be a sort of messenger between the two of them, likely after gale's isolation and subsequent abduction by the nautiloid, keeping morena informed, yet without revealing gale's secret and shame.

the devnotes also state that tara loves morena - high praise since other devnotes states that tara hates everyone except gale - and that she talks of her in an affectionate tone.

this is a dialogue in act ii after mystra has tasked gale to use the orb the moment he finds the heart of the absolute:

Tara the Tressym: Promise me, Gale. Promise me you'll find another way. Promise me you'll return home, when this is all over. Player: I can't make that promise, Tara. Tara the Tressym: You're going to kill me. And your mother. And then there'll be no one to mourn you when you've wasted yourself for no good reason at all.

i find it very interesting here in terms of other relationships that tara explicitly says that there will be no one to mourn gale except morena and her should he heed mystra's instructions and sacrifice himself. it speaks of the bond between tara, morena and gale - but also even more of gale's isolation and loneliness. we know from tara that she considers herself to be gale's only old friend and gale echoes as much. we also know that gale describes the dekarios family as the dekarios clan, that is "scattered" far and wide.

at the same time, the loud silence about gale's father becomes really apparent again. a while ago, i speculated about gale's father and i truly do still think that he abandoned morena and gale.

another snippet from an act ii convo, before gale reveals the details of elminster's letter to tara (or chosing to keep it to himself):

Tara the Tressym: I'm not one to pry. I'd rather make up all the juicy details myself over tea with your mother.

which again ties in with a similar line from act i, further cementing the fact that this is a regular thing between tara and morena.

still in act ii, tara says this if gale asks her if she'll still love him if he is a mindflayer:

Player: Will you love me when I'm a mind flayer? Tara the Tressym: Depends. Are mind flayers warm-blooded? If so, my prize napping spot on your lap won't be compromised. In which case, I suppose we could find an accord. And, of course, your mother would still think you a prince, no matter how many tentacles you had. And with a nautiloid, you may even manage to visit her more often.

again, gale's mother truly adores him. tara is utterly convinced she'd love him even if he'd turn into a mind flayer. at the same time, the dialogue again hammers home the fact that gale's been keeping his distance from his mother after he has acquired the orb.

the following lines are a compilation of some of tara's lines from act iii, all once again stating that she is a messenger between gale and morena, keeping morena informed about gale's well-being, while also looking after morena in gale's absence from waterdeep:

Tara the Tressym: You're almost at the end of this, Gale. You're nearly there. And not a moment too soon. Myself, I must away to Waterdeep. Your mother will be worried silly not to have heard from either of us - and now I can bring her the good news. When this is all over I'll be waiting for you, with a crackling fire and good book at the ready. Good luck, darling. - Tara the Tressym: I'm well past due to return to Waterdeep. I'm going to tell your mother that you'll be home soon. Don't make a liar of me, darling. - Tara the Tressym: I'll have to make up some good news for your dear mother, then. I'm going home, Gale. To look after Mrs Dekarios, and to remind you that there are people waiting for you in Waterdeep.

going back to companion gale, the next mention of gale's mother after saving mirkon, is from gale in an ambient with karlach:

Gale: I don't suppose you've any clue where we are in relation to Waterdeep? Karlach: From this distance between Elturel and Baldur's Gate, I'd say... a long way away.devnote Gale: Ah. That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky. No matter - what she doesn't know can't hurt her. Not at this distance, anyway.

it echoes the lines of dialogue that origin gale has, believing he endangers his mother with his condition and thus keeping his distance.

gale mentions his mother in an act iii dialogue after meeting tara on the rooftop of the open hand temple:

Gale: My tower in Waterdeep boasts an excellent kitchen and a wine cellar to rival Ondal himself. Not to mention a larder stocked with my homemade hundur sauce. Player: Hundur sauce? Gale: A Waterdhavian delicacy, spiced to leave exactly the right amount of heat lingering on the tongue, and served with that most sharp-toothed of aquarian residents, the quipper fish. I make it to my mother's recipe. It packs quite a wallop. As does she.

we know that gale's the designated camp cook from a conversation with wyll, and i think the conversation makes it fair to assume that gale's mother taught him how to cook.

still, maybe it's because i'm not a native english speaker and i might be missing some cultural context here, but the line "it packs quite a wallop. as does she." stuck out to me:

wallop. to hit something / someone hard.

this could mean that gale's seen her hit someone and packing quite a punch behind it. with what's been described of morena so far, i doubt it's because gale's ever been on the receiving end of that.

or perhaps it's less literal and more in relation to her seemingly larger than life personality that gale also hints at later, describing his mother as "intimitable" and "sometimes unavoidable". this description is from the following conversation that is currently sadly still bugged:

Player: So your last name is Dekarios? Gale: It is. Courtesy of my mother, the inimitable, dare I say it sometimes unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. It's been so long since I've used it. 'Gale Dekarios' cut a poor figure next to the wizard prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep'. Player: Gale Dekarios... I think I like him more. Gale: You like to many things about me I'd have sooner discarded... Your generosity is quite wonderful. Gale Dekarios likes you too. Very, very much. Though let's keep his exitence between ourselves for now. - Player: Doesn't your matter mind? Gale: Oh, she's happy if I'm happy. Morena couldn't care one jot what I call myself. Tara's the real stickler for using it. Has done since I summoned her. I'd prefer you not follow her exmaple, if that's all the same to you. 'Gale' is more than sufficient. - Player: You're right. Just 'Gale is better. Gale: I agree. And on the plus side, if I get myself into any truly cataclystic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

i love this banter so much and it makes me very sad that larian still hasn't fixed the issue of it not triggering. there's so much lore to explore here:

from gale dropping 'dekarios' in favour of 'of waterdeep', at first, to appear perhaps more grandiose, more suited to the ambitions he held when he was younger, to morena, apparently, not minding it, yet tara clinging to 'dekarios' (perhaps to keep gale's feet on solid ground as much as she could), to finally finding out that the reason that the gale we meet now is not using 'dekarios' still is because he doesn't wish to tarnish his family name should he indeed fall victim to the orb.

the last mention gale makes of his mother is during his act iii post final battle dialogue, in which he proposes to the player:

Gale: That being said, I wondered if you might consider accompanying me back to Waterdeep as a new member of the Dekarios clan? Player: Are you asking me to marry you? Gale: I suppose I am. Tara would be delighted. Not to mention my mother. But I'd be just as happy without such ceremony, so long as we're together.

this again mirrors what tara has been saying in her dialogue with an origin gale in act i: that morena and her were hoping he would find someone to find happiness with.

i think overall, even with only the very few bits and pieces we learn of morena, it's easy to tell that she truly loves and adores and cares her son, and that that love and care is clearly echoed back from gale to morena.

still, or perhaps more likely because of that love, gale keeps his secrets and his distance to morena because of the orb and the shame he feels he brought to his family.

it's all too easy to imagine that he wishes her to be proud of him and that he feels he has disappointed her and given her little reason to be proud of him in the same vein that he feels he has done with tara:

Gale: She'd [Tara] be most impressed by our efforts saving these tieflings. Proud, even. And I've given her little to be proud of recently.

anyhow, i hope i caught all mentions and that this was helpful to someone. 🖤

[madaqueue]

would you feel the noise?

playlists | "static" x steve lacy

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

themes/content: modern non-curse au. angst, smut. mentions of gojo x geto. language, cheating (but your boyfriend does first lmao), alcohol, weed, substance use (ket but never explicitly stated), dubcon-ish (you're both high), semi-public + unprotected, p in v (missionary). 18+, MDNI

word count: 3.9k

a/n: this got a little angsty at points and is so incredibly self-indulgent anyways happy pride i will never back down from the bi gojo agenda!

It’s all so fucking fake.

But then again, was anything real?

The smoke filling your lungs is real. The burn with each inhale is real. The crackles of the bonfire, its shape transforming with each second, overwhelms the crashing of the waves. Certainly, that is real.

Faintly in the background finds the hum of conversation, the whispers of laughter. It was always so easy for them, worming their way into others’ hearts. Maybe it wasn’t real - maybe they were nothing more than parasites, feeding on each other’s desires to feel wanted, to feel seen.

Tossing the now-spent joint into the fire, you stand, legs slightly wobbly from the mix of weed and shitty beer coursing through your body. Finding your boyfriend seated around the fire, his hand resting on some unfamiliar girl’s thigh, the mix of sand and rocks beneath your feet crunches as you make your way to him. When his eyes catch yours, he takes no action to move from the damning position beyond a sinister smile growing across his lips.

“Hey babe, grab me another beer, would ya?”

Even the retorts that used to fill your mind aren’t there anymore - Why can’t you? Too busy talking to your new favorite slut, whatever girl decided to give you an ounce of attention? Or too busy pretending to promote your shitty music, as if this party is the one that’ll finally make you go big and get you out of this town you claim to hate so much? - as you nod.

Making your way up the grass-covered dune away from the beach, you pass other groups lost in their own constructed worlds. Reaching the car, you pop the trunk and grab two beers from the cooler before returning down the shadowed path to the beach.

Maybe it’s seeing his arm wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the way you wish the flames would engulf them, consuming them until there’s nothing left. Maybe it’s just that you’re too fucking tired of this. But when you find yourself approaching the group around the bonfire, your legs won’t bring you there. Sighing, you turn towards the ocean - maybe you could find peace in the waves instead. When your body senses the presence of someone else seated on a washed-up log, the one you had hoped to reside on until your boyfriend decided it was finally time to leave, it was already too late.

His white hair glows under the moonlight as he turns over his shoulder to face you, his blue eyes unmistakable even in the dimness of night.

“Satoru?”

He looks different, yet distinctly the same. In the years since highschool he had grown, but something about him looks wrong, as though his soul was gone, nothing daring to take its place. Seating yourself next to him, the lingering dampness of the wood cool against your thighs, the changes are more prominent up close: his frown lines are deeper, his eyes less bright. Even his shoulders fall forward under an unidentified weight, one he was unable to carry. The light inside him had finally dimmed.

“Hey,” he weakly smiles, “it’s good to see you. Been a while, huh?”

Shock is dulled by the combination of substances in you, yet your heart picks up speed at hearing his voice again after so many years. At least it still remembers him. “Yeah, it has been.” Your arms instinctively move to offer him a beer, as though you were back in the highschool dorms sneaking in liquor before a party. “What are you doing here?”

Reaching out a hand he accepts the drink, the condensation momentarily tethering him to reality as he shrugs, gaze still focused downwards on the sand at his feet. “Thought it might be nice to see people.” Lifting the bottle he takes a sip, the taste familiar despite the years since he last shared a drink with you. “Why are you here?”

Without turning around, you tilt your head back to gesture at the group gathered behind you around the fire. “Came here with my boyfriend, he said there were supposed to be some producers here or something that might like his music.”

Gojo seems to sink into himself for a moment as he mumbles a soft, “Oh.”

Silence blankets you, yet something in it is comfortable, a lack of pressure to speak just for the sake of hearing yourselves talk. As you both sip your beer, he senses the changes in you, in the way you move your body. There’s a new rigidity, a tightness in your muscles as though every move took a concerted effort. You used to be so free, so unencumbered, a stark contrast to the tension that buzzes around you.

As he finishes his drink he places it into the sand before rummaging through the pockets of his jeans. Pulling out a small plastic bag, he gathers his keys, collecting the white substance inside before lifting it to his nose and inhaling. Turning to you, he holds out the baggie. “Want some?”

You don’t know why you say yes, perhaps some combination of fatigue and curiosity, an implicit trust in Satoru that he wouldn’t lead you astray. “Sure,” you nod with a sly grin. Lifting his key to your nose, you take the bump, the substance trickling through your sinuses and burning the back of your throat.

He smiles, seeing a glimmer of the girl he once knew: the nights you’d sneak out from the dorms, handles of vodka hidden under your jackets; hotboxing his first car, a shitty sedan that broke down a few months later, the smoke fogging up the windows; the barefoot runs through backyards, hopping over fences when cops would inevitably show up at the party you attended. “Not even gonna ask what it is?” he teases, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

You shrug, still smirking as you lean back, your hands resting on the damp wood. “Would’ve said yes no matter what.” Memories - or rather, blurs of them - flash through your mind, the days that turned to weeks you could barely remember, hunting for anything to numb the pain that dug itself into your bones. Every emotion was another ache, your joints creaking under the weight of surviving each day. Weed and alcohol happened to be the most accessible forms of escape, but at this point your body barely felt like your own, your cells simply a form to contain the lingering shreds of your soul.

He hums in response, allowing silence to settle upon you once again. The waves crashing begin to blend together, their sounds muffled in your ears. Has your body always felt so heavy? All you can feel is the cool wood beneath your palms and the warmth of Satoru’s arm next to yours, prickling your skin with his proximity. Your vision seems to pulse with each beat of your heart, each crashing wave of the sea. Are you the ocean? Is it breathing?

“Hey,” Satoru turns to you, moving as if in slow-motion. His eyes are glowing under the light of the moon, his smile making your cheeks feel warm. “Wanna get out of here?”

For a brief moment, you remember why you’re here, the boyfriend you left behind by the bonfire. Slowly, you glance over your shoulder. Your eyes eventually focus in the distance, finding his form illuminated by the crackling flames as he’s making out with the girl you saw him talking to before, his hands grabbing at her hips. That piece of shit. You should be angry, you should go up there and confront him, but instead of rage you just feel free. “Mhm,” you hum, the sound seeming to echo through your vision.

You feel yourself starting to float away, taken under in the current, until Gojo’s fingers intertwine with yours, pulling you back to the surface. Your legs wobble as you stand, his grip on your hand tightening as he leads you away from the party down the beach.

With each step, the sand crunches under your bare feet.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

You can’t help but giggle at the sound - how could your body make that? The miniscule pebbles adjust under your weight, leaving damp footprints in your wake.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

“What’s so funny?” Satoru turns to you, a smile plastered on his face.

“I crunch,” you laugh, momentarily turning your gaze down as your words land in the open air.

And he giggles, the sound bright under the dark sky. Picking up his knees, he slams his feet into the ground, forcing loud stomps to echo as you both laugh. Marching along the beach, you continue your path, holding tightly to one another as your joy bubbles into the air.

Rounding the corner behind an outcropping of trees, you find yourselves in a secluded cove, away from the noise of those gathered at the party on the other side. Gojo plops down on the sand, his body thudding as he lays back. You mirror his motions, unconcerned with the dirt coating your clothes as your back hits the ground.

Staring at the sky, you feel yourself wanting to be a part of it, to meld into the darkness, a cloud tethered to the land with lead. Heavy. Yet, you’re grounded by Satoru’s presence, the cool scent of his cologne, the gentleness of his thumb rubbing over your hand.

Glancing at him, he looks younger, no longer consumed by the years that had passed. His boyish youth has returned once again as his eyes lazily fix themselves upon the stars, as though each pinprick light heals him little by little.

He looks the same as the last time you saw him, the day of your highschool graduation. You promised to keep in touch, but as it often does, life got in the way. He and Suguru promised to call, to come visit, but with moving and work and the recurring responsibilities of adulthood, your friendships dissolved over time. On your part, you similarly assured them you would stay a weekend in their shared apartment downtown, a vow you failed to keep, recalling the pictures they sent you after moving in together. Suddenly, the striking absence of Geto fills your mind.

“Where’s Suguru?” you ask, your voice hitting your own ears before you realize what you’ve said.

Gojo tenses next to you for a moment, a flash of something - regret? - momentarily crossing his features before he settles back into the numbing bliss. Yet, hearing his name is enough, his mind forcing him to relive it, to feel it again.

The fights.

“You just don’t understand me, Satoru.”

“Because you don’t let me understand you - you don’t let me in! It’s impossible, Suguru, I don’t fucking know what you want!”

The pain.

“Then maybe you should stop trying.”

“Suguru, that’s not what I meant-”

“Why try to do something impossible? That’s not fair to either of us.”

The emptiness.

“It’s for the best, Satoru. We can’t love each other in a way that matters.”

“Suguru, please-”

“I’ll never forget you.”

Sighing, his gaze remains fixed on the sky. “We broke up.”

“Oh,” is all you can get out, barely able to process his words but feeling the hurt lingering behind them. “I’m sorry he lost you.”

A weak smile tugs at his lips. “It’s okay. I’m over boys, anyways,” he laughs, slipping back into the substance-induced euphoria he forcefully brought himself, a welcome embrace as he allows his thoughts to once again melt away. “Speaking of which,” he murmurs, the vowels drawing out, “how long have you ‘n’ your boyfriend been together?”

The stars seem to connect, each one a memory of the time you spent with him. “Eight months.” Each point a constellation of your past, yet none of them make you happy. Mostly, it’s just him taunting you, pushing you away, using your emotions against you. The times he’d pressure you into coming with him to a club only to find him making out with some girl in the corner; the concerts he’d bring you to and conveniently forget to introduce you to his friends; the nights he’d promise that this time he’ll be there, he won’t stand you up again, and the silent taxis home alone. “But I don’t love him.”

“Oh?” Satoru whispers, as though lowering his voice would allow him to better understand yours. “Why not break up with him?”

Your shoulders shrug, pushing the sand around them up. “‘s nice to have someone around, I guess.”

“I get that,” he quietly murmurs, gaze still fixed above. You simply hum in response before you feel him shift next to you. “Hey, I have an idea,” he breaks the silence, his smile evident in his words, the letters curling up at the end. “You should be my girlfriend.”

A chuckle in the shape of his name erupts from your throat as you entertain the idea, one that is completely, and utterly, impossible.

“I’m serious!”

Your head lazily flops to the side, your cheek resting against the cool sand as you meet his gaze, a blissed-out grin on his face. Under the moonlight, he looks angelic, his skin perfectly smooth, the curves of his body contrasting against the darkness of the woods behind you. In his soft eyes, you find a peace you didn’t realize you had been searching for, a silent promise behind them.

“Okay,” you giggle.

Before you can process the words, his smile widens, his shoulders relaxing as they release a weight he didn’t know he held. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod, the word making your body warm with its vibration, in tune with the frequency of the universe.

For a moment you just lay there, the crashing waves against the shore, a shared adoration flowing between you. Satoru blinks, his eyelids resting closed before he reopens them, his demeanor visibly brightening every time his gaze finds you laying next to him, as though he temporarily forgets your presence only to reexperience the joy of finding you again.

“Do you wanna go swimming?”

As if on cue, your senses momentarily shoot through your body, jean shorts digging into your hips, the warm cloth of your tank top over your shoulders. “Now?” you chuckle.

“Mhm,” he beams. “I bet the water’ll feel amazing.”

Something deep within your soul trusts him, submitting to his desires. “Okay,” you grin before sitting up.

Crawling towards each other, you allow yourselves to close the distance between you on your hands and knees, your motions abiding by a planet-sized magnetic pull. Grazing your hands over his chest, you help him remove his shirt, your palms lingering over his firm chest. Since you last saw him, he had filled out perfectly, no longer the scrawny teenager you once knew. Now, his muscles ripple as he lifts your tank top above your head, simultaneously undoing each other’s shorts, as though separating your touch for even a moment would cause you to lose one another, to lose yourselves in the darkness. Tossing your clothes in the sand, crisp air tingles your skin, covered only by a bra and panties, while Satoru, now adorned only in his boxers, returns his hand to yours. Squeezing your palm, he glances over at you, a silent reassurance behind his eyes.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

With that, you’re running into the sea. The water momentarily shocks you as cold pricks at your skin, but Satoru pulls you deeper and deeper until you’re both diving under the waves. Resurfacing, shared laughs echo along the ocean. He shakes out his hair, cool droplets landing on your face as you jokingly shove him away. Easily catching your wrists he pulls you closer, the warmth of his chest hitting yours a welcome contrast to the icy sea. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as his rest along your lower back, holding you against him.

Each wave has you bobbing slightly, grounded only by the brightness of his eyes. They flit across your face, your flushed cheeks, soft lips curled into a grin. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs.

His body feels solid, well-defined against the fluidity of your surroundings. “You are too,” you giggle.

Gaze never faltering, you both lean closer, and closer, and closer, until his lips meet yours. They’re soft, slightly cool after being outside all night, as you sigh into him. There’s a subtle sweetness lingering as his tongue swipes against yours, a quiet desperation behind his actions. Suddenly, cool air hits your skin as he carries you out of the water, sand hitting your back as he carefully lays you along the beach.

Pressing his weight against you, the kiss becomes messier, teeth bumping as your lips clash. Despite the breeze rustling through the leaves of nearby trees, you feel warm, a comfort in the imprecision. His clothed erection pushes against your core, your hips bucking against him as you moan into each other’s mouths. The friction is addicting, the damp cloth rubbing perfectly against your clit. Your thoughts are fuzzy, your body acting on its own as your palms trail over his back, lower and lower until they’re pawing at his waist.

“Need you,” you mutter into him, “need you s’bad.”

His head falls slightly, finding a place in the crook of your neck as he places wet kisses along your skin, a slight saltiness lingering on it. “Y’sure?” he whispers.

“Please, Satoru,” his name leaving your throat shockingly clear, the only thing cutting through the haze, finally granting you a second of clarity through the substance- and lust-induced fog.

Hearing you call his name, a shiver runs up his spine, as though it was the first sound he ever heard, as though he was reincarnated to live in this moment forever. Pulling down his boxers, his cock springs out as you tug your panties down your legs, meeting their fate in the sand.

Positioning his hips, he aligns himself with your entrance, his hands glued to your hips. Slowly, slowly, slowly thrusting into you, your walls stretch around him, your soul tearing open and releasing the white hot light of ecstasy.

“Oh fuuuuuuck,” he groans as he enters you, his eyes rolling into his skull, jaw slacking open.

Your hands trail up his back to land at his face, cupping his jaw as you softly giggle at his total loss of any remnant of shame, allowing the feeling of your body, your warmth, to completely overtake him, releasing the most primitive, desire-driven version of himself. Pulling him back into you, you rejoin his mouth to yours, tongues mingling in the space between them. Rolling his hips into you, each thrust sends wave after wave of euphoria up your body. Atoms align perfectly, allowing you to slip into one another, the distance between you infinitely approaching zero. You only exist at the points where his skin touches yours, his pelvis smashing into you, his fingers digging into your waist, the warmth of his lips and the gentle flutter of his eyelashes.

You aren’t quite certain if your eyes are open or closed, the darkness clouding your perception indeterminately from the sky or the inside of your eyelids. Either way, the scene is beautiful, each sensation painting a new color across your vision. Satoru’s cock pressing into your gummy insides, purple; his hand trailing up your torso to lazily grope at your tits, green; his hot breath as he whines with each imprecise thrust, blue. The image evolves, ever changing, impossibly beautiful. When his voice hits your ears, it immediately brightens, somehow even more complex, a masterpiece of sensation.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, never daring to separate his lips from yours, “y’were made f’me.”

“Made for you,” you babble back, and you truly do feel it, the way your walls meld around his length, how your bodies perfectly fill in each dip and curve of the other’s, your souls fitting perfectly against one another. “Best thing, feel s’good.”

“So, so good,” he whines, “so warm ‘n’ sweet.”

“Sweet, sweet,” you mumble into him, the taste of booze and something sugary lingering on his tongue. “Soft.”

“Mmm.” He shivers as your hands roam his body, one ascending to his hair and one trailing down his spine, tracing imprecise patterns into his skin. “Love you,” he spills.

The words tumble out before he could stop them, his hips momentarily stilling as he hears them. Before he could retract them, the hand in his hair pulls him further into you, your back arching off the sand as you whisper your response. “Love you s’much.”

Some part of you feels it’s just your body reacting, the bare minimum networks active to recite language. Yet, a deeper part knows it’s true, a quiet love you’ve always held for Satoru. Perhaps now, in the absence of your better judgement, the self-imposed cognitive rules, this piece of you is finally free to enact its control, speaking its truth, allowing it to be heard, felt.

At your affirmation, Satoru lets out a blissful whine, his thrusts picking up their pace yet somehow softening, a new tenderness behind them. You love him. He doesn’t even know what it means, really - after Suguru, his perception of love changed irrevocably. Yet, as he feels the warmth of your skin beneath him, the comfort of your presence, he doesn’t feel a pressure to know, a whisper of meaning lost into the waves of the ocean.

In your shared ecstasy, back and forth mindless babbles continue filling the air, the shape of the words gliding across your vision. It’s beautiful, you think, the way sounds create shapes create meaning; maybe that’s what you’d been looking for: meaning.

No, you had meaning - hell, sometimes you think you had too much meaning. Maybe you needed the absence of meaning, a stillness, a silence. Your life had been too rough, too tumultuous, whitecapping waves covering the oasis of your thoughts. No, you needed unbroken waters, a calm pond to sink into. As your fingers trail over the smooth skin of Satoru’s back, you feel yourself wading into the depths of his soul.

The thrusts of his hips, the rasp of his breath, consume your senses. He melts into you, you melt into him, both of you becoming grains of sand and stars in the sky. In another moment you expand, becoming the sea and the moon, watching over one another, a patient influence over each other. The connection ties you together, without expectation, without pain, simply content sharing your presence.

His arms begin trembling above you as your legs tighten around his waist, holding him against you. A light appears in your chest, the fire of desire burning larger as each prod of his tip fans the flames. Brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until it consumes you. Your vision goes white, your skin flushing hot. Satoru’s moans are far away as his entire body twitches, taught under the strings of pleasure.

You both come undone together, melding into the universe, two comets in space, two suns circling. The collision of your soul ignites, explosive heat surging through your bodies.

As your senses return, you feel nothing but warmth as he rests above you. Your gaze focuses on his, blown pupils glowing down at you. Cheeks pushing up, you both grin impossibly wide as giggles bubble into the stillness around you. Resting his damp forehead against yours, breathy pants fill the air, desperate to fill your lungs with the cool night air. Placing your lips to his, your thoughts finally quiet, your soul finally at ease. In him, you think you’ve finally discovered the missing shard, uncovering the truest form of yourself, the euphoria you had been searching for: peace.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

⭕️👋Hi I’m new, I really like your character analysis, world lore analysis etc,…I think they’re very accurate and provide more insight into the twisted wonderland world,

do you think NRC gets enough funding cause they’ve been losing to RSA for like almost 100 years now and the Magift incident where the recruiter’s and scouts probably didn’t really pay attention to most of the players cause of Malleus .I know they probably get funding and tuition and stuff from affluent parents who care about the quality of education & environment of their children but is that really enough? Is Crowley secret Stressed about funding cause of their losing streak to RSA???

I just wondered what your thoughts were on the matter

Hello and thank you very much ^^ It always warms my heart to hear that people enjoy my more analytical writings!

Now to answer your question, I don’t think NRC is hurting for money. Like, at all.

You did bring up a fair point about NRC’s almost a 100 year loss streak to RSA + the lack of interested Spelldrive/Magical Shift scouts in book 2, but that’s not enough of the big picture. RSA is only one rival magic school out of several. Just because NRC is not doing well against one other school doesn’t mean that NRC is suddenly deemed “lesser”—NRC is still considered a top arcane academy and eclipses other magical institutions like Noble Bell College. In regards to the pro recruiters, I don’t think it has a huge impact?? Sports is only one sector at NRC; they’re still doing relatively well outside of it (such as in academics, extracurriculars, and connections for internships) in the grand scheme of things. Update: Trein states in his vignettes that NRC is falling behind RSA in academics, which isn’t great news—but again, RSA is but one school for comparison. NRC still ranks above several other magic schools. Things like not winning VDC and not being noticed by scouts seems to only really impact the career prospects of students who were interested in the entertainment/sports industries; I doubt that this would seriously hurt whatever funding NRC is receiving.

Night Raven College is a private school, so they are most likely receiving money from tuition and not the government. Though tuition is not explicitly mentioned in TWST (at least not that I am aware of), if we assume the average cost for one student to attend a British boarding school—for which NRC is modeled after—that means 25,000 pounds per person, PER YEAR. Let us assume that NRC had only 800 students (this is the rough estimate TWST provides us). That means, from one year’s worth of tuition alone, the school is raking in 20,000,000 pounds or 4,058,310,000 madol. Note that this is just money in, not yet factoring for expenditures, taxes, etc.

The school also receives 10% of Mostro Lounge’s proceeds, and while we cannot put an exact number to that, we do know that most menu items range from 600 to 1500 madol. The lounge must also make significant enough money to pay for its ingredients, nice silverware (something which Azul stresses to give customers a high class experience), and even provide pay to workers (Ruggie would not be doing labor for free and refers to his time at Mostro Lounge as “a job”; see: his Ceremonial Robes vignettes). While this doesn’t make up a large part of NRC’s money, it’s still a nice little bonus to account for.

NRC also has many, MANY wealthy students, including literal celebrities and royalty. In fact, the upper middle class to flat-out rich make up the majority of the main cast (close to like 70-75%). If this is also the case for the regular mob students, then there are many other ways for the school to get huge donations. In the main story alone, two significant donations are mentioned: Kalim's dad gave enough money for NRC to completely renovate Scarabia and the Shroud parents paid for all the damages caused to the school's buildings. Additionally, Crowley says that the Shrouds made "substantial contributions toward expanding [NRC's] facilities."

Please note that this is just donations from current students’ families. Think about potential donations coming from NRC alumni too!!

It should be noted that NRC has the financial power to spend liberally, and no one really says that this will put the school in a touch spot. For example, all students are provided free uniforms (school, dorm, PE, robes, labwear, etc.; even the birthday outfits are said to be provided by the school), but they have to pay for replacements if they fuck up their first one(s). Crowley literally buys up Sam's entire stock of goods during Ghost Marriage... and if you know anything about Sam, it's that he can magically keep things "IN STOCK NOW!!" Crowley even indicates in one of his voice lines that he is in constant competitions to buy out Sam's stock and has scarcely managed to one-up him--so the fact that Crowley does buy out Sam during an event is meaningful and speaks to how much of the school's money he is throwing to save it. He also tells Sam to bill the school for the cost of the fairy dust in Fairy Gala.

Both times, Crowley complains about how he would rather not spend money, but he does so anyway. This in of itself does NOT prove that NRC is in need of money, this is just proof of Crowley's cheapness. (We see many other examples of this greed and stinginess of his; he guilts Yuu for spending money on them, constantly tries to get free food and souvenirs from his students, and cuts costs for Halloween candy.) If NRC were truly hurting financially though, then they would not be able to throw lavish events or donate back to the community, both of which still happen multiple times. For example, NRC holds a huge Halloween event every year in which they open their campus to outsiders. This event is entirely free and involves a budget large enough for each dorm to create intricate decorations and costumes for 800ish students. There is also enough money to throw a celebration party for the students at the end of it—and let’s remember, NRC has the money to afford five star ghost chefs to regularly cater, serve in the cafeteria, AND teach their Culinary Crucibles/Master Chef courses.

While explaining the nature of the Halloween events, Crewel cites that NRC has survived this long in part due to the "While explaining the nature of the Halloween events, Crewel cites that NRC has survived this long in part due to the "understanding, cooperation, and subsistence of Sage's Island locals." This implies that the immediate community on the island also supports NRC in some ways. Perhaps it isn't financially, but it's clear that NRC still has social capital and a good reputation in spite of its losses to RSA.

In Port Fest, Crowley states that setup, food supplies, and all other expenses will be covered by the school. Half of the proceeds will then be donated to charity and the other half will be granted to the students to celebrate their hard work. Again, would NRC be giving away this money if they really needed it for the institution itself? They're not obligated to give money to the students, yet Crowley easily agreed when Azul asked for an incentive.

And let's not forget the school cultural festival, which was largely open for the public to attend. If they choose to spend on additional things (such as food and drink or VDC tickets, which are a "hot commodity"), that's on the individual. The school itself is hosting the event for free.

Yuu is offered a large sum of money (if the NRC tribe wins VDC)... and Ramshackle renovations (from Crowley) in book 5 in exchange for letting the boys host their training camp in their dorm. Look at how old and run-down Ramshackle is; there is no doubt that such repairs would be pretty expensive—but Crowley doesn't complain about the cost, he's not above bribing someone to make himself and his school look good.

Crowley caring about his reputation isn't new either, it's a pattern. We see him getting upset at NRC's loss in book 5 and lamenting bad publicity/being excited about good publicity in numerous events (Ghost Marriage, Wish Upon a Star, etc.) The school has been under his care for a long time, so naturally he will feel proud and/or slighted whenever NRC is involved.

This leads me to the conclusion that Crowley, the figurehead and headmaster of NRC, and his own personality quirks are being misconstrued as an indication that NRC is in a bad financial spot. His own fixation on triumphing over their rival school, acquiring and maintaining material goods for himself, and wanting positive attention do not reflect the state of the school. Notice how no one but Crowley whines about the financials and how while Crowley still complains about spending money, he has no qualms with spending lavishly himself on school events and holidays. This means NRC has money to spare, but Crowley is just stingy about how those funds are allocated.

[spacechip707]

The Trouble with Bread and Neighbors

Summary:

After accidentally offending his new neighbor by offering bread, Charlie was certain of two facts in his life. He, Charlie, had become a target. And neighbor Xavier might be the death of him.

A/N: Hello Love and Deepspace Friends!!! This is a little (Crack) fic for those of us who felt bad for Charlie getting Xavier's pouty wrath. Please enjoy!

Charlie had decided to move to Linkon City for the good of his business and for the good of his overall health. After years of “messing up” his life, he had finally saved enough to open his own bakery in town.

It was meant to be a fresh start.

His friends even encouraged the move, praising the area for its friendly citizens and for being well-protected by hunters.

Yet somehow, poor Charlie had blundered his chance for that experience on his first day.

To be fair, he didn’t recall saying anything particularly insulting to the scarily tall white-haired hunter. Was offering free bread to neighbors crossing a line in Linkon? It was advertising.

And the hunter refused his own batch too!

Not to mention, the frosty rejection when Charlie invited MC to tour bakeries in the area.

From that moment forth, the memory of Xavier’s tone always sent chills down Charlie’s neck, his tacit threat veiled by a polite smile and courteous words. The baker contemplated making amends more than once--though he wasn’t sure for what. Ultimately, he decided not to further entangle their complicated start.

That was until the fated day when his doorbell rang…

With his apartment still half unpacked, Charlie hadn’t received any visitors at home yet, and his packages were directed to the building’s mailroom. He knew it had to be a neighbor. The thought was enough to lift his spirits…until he viewed the new company through the doorbell camera.

The familiar wide eyes of the hunter stared back at him through the screen. Unlike the last few encounters, there was no darkness swirling behind the ocean of blue. Instead, his eyes crinkled at the edges, following the upward curve of his lips. The expression appeared far too strained to indicate friendliness.

Still, Charlie didn’t want to be a coward so he answered the door.

“Charlie, right?” Xavier asked when the baker said nothing.

He hadn’t meant to gape, but even in a plain hoodie and jeans, the hunter couldn’t hide his profession with his towering posture and ominous grin.

I’m a dead man…

“Xavier,” Charlie managed to say after warding off the millions of scenarios his mind conjured of how he could perish by this man’s large hands. “H-how are you?”

“I’m well,” Xavier replied with an amiability that was foreign in their previous interactions. He shifted on his feet, his said large hands lifting up a small rectangular package wrapped in cloth. “I realized I hadn’t given you a proper welcome--even after you gifted us that bread.”

Charlie didn’t miss the biting emphasis on us. While MC had introduced herself as his colleague, he suspected they must've been somewhat of an item, even if they didn’t explicitly say.

The hunter extended the bag. “I made some egg tarts today,” he said. “I thought to bring you some.”

Charlie glanced at the knapsack warily, though his hand reached out to take it before his hesitation could be misconstrued as rudeness.

“O-oh,” he stammered out. “That’s very kind. Thank you!”

“It’s not the best,” Xavier added, shoving his hands into his pockets and having the audacity to appear timid. Had Charlie imagined the churlish remarks the other day? Or maybe he’d been having a bad week at the time?

“I’m sure they’re delicious,” Charlie appeased. He jutted a thumb to the open door behind him. “Did you want to come in?”

Xavier shook his head and took a step back. “No, it’s okay,” he said. “I was just trying to be more neighborly. Hope you enjoy the tarts.”

And with that, the man turned on his heel and retreated down the hall—to MC’s apartment no less. They could at least be subtle…

Charlie returned to his own apartment, setting the tarts on the counter as he replayed the bewildering conversation in his mind. Shoving his suspicions aside, he unfolded the cloth and opened the small container.

It was an abomination to all baked goods.

There was far too much char on a crust that should have been golden. Not to mention, the shape of the tarts was oblong instead of circular with each one of varying size.

Still…It was the thought that counted, right?

With that charitable idea, he procured one of the pastries and took a generous bite.

His tongue rejected it immediately. In panic, he spit the half-chewed piece into the trash, running to the sink to cleanse his mouth. The taste of burnt flour lingered on his tongue still, turning more acrid with every passing second.

He eyed the bitten tart with disgust. The bottom was most certainly black and inedible, a complete contrast to the golden-ish center. With a pause, he considered the custard middle that seemed decent, albeit amateur.

In the name of neighborliness, he risked his life again and swiped out a dollop of the center to taste. As expected, the custard wasn’t great—a little lumpy—but it wasn't bad either. Besides, he hadn’t eaten much today and didn’t feel like cooking after a whole day of unpacking.

So, he gratefully feasted on Xavier’s peace offering, wondering if this would be a start to a new friendship.

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

As it turned out, the peace offering was actually a murder attempt.

One that took effect in the middle of the night in the form of severe stomach pains and a mess coming from either end of Charlie’s person.

Food poisoning.

The hunter had tried to poison him.

Charlie should’ve been less naive to accept the sudden gentle disposition presented to him. It was a Trojan Horse, designated to end him.

As he scraped himself off the bathroom floor after hours of dispelling his insides, he was certain of two facts.

He, Charlie, was a target. And neighbor Xavier might be the death of him.

Time only proved him right in this matter.

Later in the week, when Charlie had finally recovered enough strength to return to work, he nearly stumbled into Xavier asleep in the hallway, donning his hunter uniform and sword at his side.

Normal people didn’t fall asleep fully clothed in the hallway. There was no smell of alcohol.

No, this was a camp-out.

Xavier was patiently waiting for the baker to emerge from his home so he could discreetly assassinate him.

Although the hunter did seem to have some scratches and bruises from what appeared to be a fight, Charlie knew they were probably fake—to create a believable alibi.

He would allocate Charlie’s death as collateral damage from a Wanderer skirmish. No one would question it!

But the baker refused to be fooled. He avoided death that day by extending his sick time and shutting himself back into his apartment.

The next assassination attempt occurred weeks later and was less subtle. Xavier had appeared at Charlie’s doorstep again, this time with a package.

“There must've been a mix-up in address,” the hunter explained, offering a sealed brown box that no doubt held a glitter bomb at best and noxious gas at worst. Besides, the smile on his lips was too friendly to be genuine.

Mix up? Impossible!

Charlie meticulously tracked all his orders, and no one sent surprise packages…except maybe his mother. But it couldn't be that!

So, he thanked Xavier and promptly dumped the package into the trash by the door without reading the label. He was sure to maintain eye contact to assert his dominance.

Death wouldn't have him that day either.

The worst offense was on none other than his birthday. He wasn’t sure how Xavier had discovered the date. Charlie had mentioned it to MC in passing, but surely the hunter would have given a respite on that special day in the name of humanity.

So he thought until he returned home from his birthday dinner and found a small pot on his doormat. Inside was a small plant with red tendrils spiking from its center.

A note peeked out from the side.

“Happy Birthday! I hope this year is as lovely as this Sundew Plant. It needs lots of sun, so place it on your balcony! ^^ - your neighbor Xavier”

It was obviously a threat. After an extensive internet search, Charlie uncovered that the plant was carnivorous, luring its prey into its hold with its deceptively cute appearance before it sucked the life from the victim.

Deceptively cute…Just like Xavier…

From that point on, Charlie avoided the hunter at all costs, determined not to soften at his friendly smiles and greetings.

Despite having to defend his own life within the apartment building, life outside of Xavier’s assassination attempts continued to flourish.

The bakery was doing exquisitely, and as the months passed, Charlie thought it might be best to extend the shop’s hours. But it would make the commute to and from work a nightmare.

So, with his new funds, he decided to rent a more spacious apartment closer to his business. He wasn’t particularly attached to the small studio, and most of his friends lived further in town.

Once he’d chosen a place, he began packing immediately. He didn’t see Xavier for quite a while either, making the transition even more peaceful.

The hunter only appeared again on moving day, and there were enough witnesses present that Charlie felt safe.

“You’re moving?” the white-haired man questioned in awe as he watched the movers carry out a set of boxes.

“Yup,” Charlie answered cheerily. Xavier was probably feeling defeated that his insidious plots never prevailed. In the end, the lowly baker won!

Xavier patted Charlie on the shoulder, his blue eyes locking onto his face. In a moment of weakness, that old fear crept down the latter’s spine, but he steeled himself.

“I’m happy for you,” Xavier said. His lips unfurled in a chilling smile. “Though I’m sure we’ll meet again.Good luck!”

Charlie gulped as the hunter returned to his own apartment, his pursed lips producing a haunting tune.

Was Xavier threatening to find him again…to continue this torment? Despite the niggling uneasiness, Charlie forced himself to cling to hope.

The hunter didn’t know his new address, and he never had interest in his bread.

So maybe, if Charlie played his cards right…he’d never have to look at those cold blue eyes again. Then he’d have his true new beginning.

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

Fate wasn’t so kind. Charlie did see those blue eyes again only weeks later, ever a harbinger of his near demise.

However, he learned that Xavier’s “attempts” at killing him weren't as terrifying as actually facing death itself. When Wanderers attacked his street on his way home from work, Charlie would’ve welcomed the chilly stares and threats over the twisted monstrosities and flying debris.

It was the latter that nearly ended him, a chunk of cement hurtling through the contrastingly serene sky. Charlie had felt his feet turn to lead as the rock plummeted towards him. All he could manage was to shut his eyes and await the impact.

Only it never came. Instead a blinding light flashed above his head, and the baker would’ve mistaken it for death itself had he not been tackled to the ground moments later.

Recovering quickly, he scrambled to his feet, ready to flee when a gloved hand caught his arm.

“It’s okay. The attack is over now,” came a familiar deep voice.

Slowly, Charlie faced his savior—who he had once believed to be his executioner.

“Xavier?” he stammered out, not quite comprehending what just happened.

The hunter shifted his gaze away from the wreckage to the baker, a flicker of recognition softening his grim expression. “Charlie,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was you.”

There it was. Despite being a knight of light seconds ago, it seemed his ex-neighbor’s thirst for vengeance had returned. A deep frown marred the man’s features, confirming the long-held animosity.

But Charlie had enough of running.

“I get it,” he bit out, his experience both heightening his frustrations and emboldening him to spill them. “If you knew it was me, you’d have let it hit me right?”

Xavier’s expression crinkled into confusion. “What? Why would I do that? You would’ve died.”

“Isn't that your goal?” Charlie returned with a mirthless chuckle. “All this time—I’ve dodged your attempts to end me. The poisoned tarts, the package, the threat in plant form! If that rock hit me, it would’ve made your job a lot easier. You wouldn't even have gotten your hands dirty.”

The white-haired man gaped, as if he really didn’t understand where this tirade originated. To be fair Charlie didn’t either, but his emotions were high strung and he dreaded his newfound peace would be shattered after this reunion.

Instead, the hunter snickered. Laughed. It was brief, his humor dashed away upon seeing Charlie’s rage.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Xavier hedged, his regal aura dwindling to shyness as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I seemed cold when we first met…and I was just trying to make amends for it. I’m told I don’t express my feelings very well. Guess I should’ve just talked to you instead of the subtle gestures. I’m sorry—I must've frightened you.”

Charlie’s world collapsed. He wasn’t a target? Neighbor Xavier wasn’t an assassin?

He wasn’t sure if the hunter was lying or not, but he couldn’t argue with the genuine remorse on the other man’s face.

Suddenly, the incidents he mistook as murder attempts seemed silly in hindsight. The custard did seem curdled, so he shouldn’t have eaten it. Xavier was a hunter, so maybe he did pass out in the hallway from exhaustion. His mother had asked if he’d gotten her surprise package months ago—the one he trashed. And…the Sundew plant was helpful in the end, eating any flies that drifted into the house.

“Oh…” Charlie said, a chuckle of his own edging up his throat. “I guess, I might’ve been a little dramatic. Sorry…and I guess I should thank you for saving me.”

Xavier’s smile no longer felt frigid when he extended his hand, and Charlie wondered how he saw anything threatening behind it before.

“No hard feelings?” he said.

Charlie clasped it firmly, a relieved grin unfolding across his lips. “None.”

His eyes drifted to behind Xavier where a familiar girl in a burgundy and black hunter uniform was navigating over the debris. Her eyes met his and lit up as she rushed forward.

“Charlie!” she greeted, skidding to a stop next to her hunter colleague. “Long time no see! Xavier mentioned you moved, and I thought we’d chased you off.”

Despite some truth in that statement, Charlie shook his head. “Not at all,” he demurred. “I moved closer to the bakery, that's all. It’s just down the block from here.”

MC’s countenance brightened. “So you did open one!” she said. “Xavier and I will make sure to visit soon. I still think about that bread you gave us, you know. We’ll be regulars, so be prepared!”

The praise went straight to the baker’s head, elation swelling in his chest at her enthusiasm. But as the old saying went, pride came before the fall.

In his overflowing excitement, Charlie blurted, “Please do! It’ll be nice to see your pretty face around again!”

Just like that, he felt it. The chill skittering down his neck, the dark shadow hanging over his head…

He gulped as he dared glance over at the hunter. Those blue eyes, previously wide and contrite, turned narrow and hostile.

“Faces!” he corrected but he was sure that made it worse. “Pretty faces!”

Shut up, Charlie…

Even if Xavier had no intention of harming him at the old apartment, he certainly had that resolve now.

With an awkward titter, MC placed a hand on Xavier’s arm, and Charlie didn’t miss how her fingers dug into his sleeve like a warning. “Well, we should make sure everything is clear after this attack. Be careful going home, Charlie!”

Her hand lifted in a friendly wave before she hurried back into the rubble. Meanwhile, Xavier lingered though his back was now turned towards him.

“Like she said,” the hunter muttered darkly. “Be careful, Charlie.”

Before the fear-stricken baker could reply, the man launched himself after MC with inhuman speed.

Charlie deflated as he turned on his heel to return home. It seemed his tendency for getting himself into trouble continued.

So after surviving multiple moves, a business opening, and now a Wanderer attack, he was now certain of two new facts.

He, Charlie, was an idiot. And, ex-neighbor Xavier might still be the death of him.

[bellabrady]

Why many people dislike Tommy Kinard

Listen, I don't like to try and dictate what characters others can like. However, I do find it concerning how quick so many people are to forgive a bigot who didn't even get a proper redemption. So, especially for those who simply don't really remember Tommy, here's a quick recap of him:

Let's start with Chimney Begins. Tommy is one of the firefighters at the 118 when Chimney becomes part of the team. The first thing Tommy says when Chim arrives is 'Hey Eli, did you forget to tip the delivery guy?' On its own, this isn't really bad, because it could very much just be a harmless joke. But in combination with Tommy's behavior throughout the rest of the episode, one could argue the comment has racist undertones. But this one's up to interpretation so let's move on.

Although not explicitly stated, it's very obvious the 118 captain is racist which is reflected in the way he treats him: he only lets him do annoying chores, is a jerk towards him, actively isolates him, and so on.

The rest of the team, including Tommy, does nothing to try and change this. In fact, they actively take part in isolating him too, for example by letting him sit by himself at a tiny table instead of the group table while they eat. Even when Chimney attempts to talk to them, everyone but Eli (the paramedic who ends up training Chim) blatantly ignores him.

One time, Chim and Tommy are alone in the locker room and Chim says: "Hey man, let's build a bridge here." Tommy doesn't even react. Chim keeps making suggestions of things they could talk about, like movies or sports, to which Tommy still doesn't react except by rolling his eyes. Chim then asks: "You just really don't like me much, do you?" and Tommy responds: "If I thought about you at all, honestly, I probably wouldn't."

Mind you, he doesn't even know Chimney and yet he's pretty sure he wouldn't like him. What exactly is he basing that on? Race, perhaps? (Tommy is very close to some other guys on the team by the way.)

Eli tells Chim that the treatment isn't personal and that the reason everyone is so distant is because in this job, friends die and that the team isn't just gonna give Chim their friendship until they earn his respect. "You don't name a puppy until you know it's gonna pull through."

In my opinion this is absolute bullshit though. You cannot tell me every single probie at the 118 has been treated this way for weeks (maybe months? I don't remember exactly). Also, keeping someone at a distance doesn't mean you have to treat them like literal dirt. It's also worth mentioning that once the captain, Tommy and his best friend leave the 118, no probie seems to ever be treated this way again. So if it's about the nature of the job, why wasn't it like this for everyone? So, despite what Eli said, I think Chim's treatment was definitely caused by racism.

Eventually, Chimney is finally allowed out on calls and risks his life to save Tommy's, which basically makes Tommy go: "Oh hey! Maybe I could treat this guy like a human being?" He thanks him for saving his life and from this point on they're friends. I don't know about you guys, but personally I think someone who doesn't see it fit to treat you like a person until you save their life doesn't seem like a very great guy.

Let's move on to Hen Begins. The 118 is still under the same captain, who is also a misogynist. Unlike the racism, this isn't only implied but confirmed.

I've seen people argue that Tommy can't be blamed for not standing up to his captain because that's his boss. And yet, when the captain says "This is our new diversity hire" about Hen, Chimney says, "You know, Cap, there's another way to say that," which immediately proves that Tommy could stand up to him as well, and simply doesn't have the guts.

They treat Hen similarly to the way they treated Chim. Tommy, along with everyone else but Chim, for example throws some gear on the ground before Hen's feet so she takes care of it, not saying so much as a single word to her in the process.

Chim tries to make conversation with Hen and says "I would've bet money that you were from the east coast, you just kinda have that vibe." Hen laughs and says "Thank you for the compliment?" to which Tommy replies: "New York bitchiness is a compliment?"

He doesn't even know Hen and she's done nothing that could be seen as 'bitchy.' Just some good ol' fashioned misogyny. Chim also recognizes that comment for what it is immediately because he goes "woah, woah, nobody said anything like that, come on." Tommy only huffs in annoyance as a response.

The captain then goes on a rant about how training female firefighters is a waste of money and Chim once again stands up for Hen, unlike everybody else, including Tommy, who just lets the misogyny stand.

It isn't until Hen rescues someone on a call that Tommy and his friend admit they wouldn't have found in time, that they finally treat her like a person. You'd think they'd have learned from Chimney that maybe people shouldn't need to prove themselves to you in order for you to treat them like a human being, but apparently not.

Ultimately, the team submits complaints against the captain and supports Hen but if you ask me, this should've happened a lot sooner and not only after they deemed her worthy.

And that's pretty much all we see of Tommy, except for some short scenes in Bobby Begins Again in which he just interacts with his team until he leaves for a different station at the end of the episode. There's no redemption, no proper apology and, if you ask me, considering the fact that he treated Hen the same as Chim, there's also no development.

And yet there are people who will defend this man with their lives as if 90% of his screentime wasn't him being a bigot or at best a coward without the guts to stand up to his bigoted captain.

So yes, personally I think liking Tommy Kinard is weird.

[sister-lucifer]

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Fluff, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and you and Tim are stuck inside the cabin together. You can’t sleep because of the thunder, and decide to see if Tim can help you out. 

Content/Warnings: Gender neutral reader, brief mentions of alcohol, uh…if you can think of anything else let me know! This is pretty damn soft, but actually not explicitly romantic.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You don’t really notice the sound of the rain against the windows anymore. It’s been raining nonstop since, what, 7 AM this morning? Its not quite storming, at least not yet, but everything is soaked, and you can hardly even walk out onto the patio without your shoes filling with water. It’s dreary, sure, but not exactly unpleasant. It’s a good day to stay in, that’s all. 

You shift your sitting position a bit, wrapping one of the woven blankets from the back of the couch around your shoulders as you gaze out the window. You’re not really expecting to see anything, it’s just trees and trees for miles around, but you always seem to find yourself gazing out into the endless pines. You only turn away when you hear Tim sit down in the recliner, sighing lazily as he puts his feet up. This is a sight you’ve seen many times: A few strands of hair falling between his eyes, an old flannel half unbuttoned over a stained white tank, a beer can in one hand and a nearly finished cigarette in the other. It’s practically Tim’s natural state.

He takes one last drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ash tray he keeps on the end table, chasing the smoke with a sip of his beer before that, too, is set aside. He glances out the window, whistling softly. 

“Ain’t nobody goin’ out in that weather,” He drawls, “Nobody with half a mind, anyhow.”

You nod in agreement, taking a little sip of your hot cocoa. It’s a wonderful way to keep warm in this homely old cabin.

You glance over at Tim, who is now absentmindedly flipping through TV channels. He’s probably looking for sports or Storage Wars or something, you think. Some old man show you’ll never find interest in.

As you look at him a bit longer, just spacing out a bit with your eyes on his face, your mind meanders back to before you two were this comfortable with each other. It feels weird to think about that now, though. You couldn’t imagine being in that place again.

Tim’s told you before that you reminded him of himself when he was a younger, when he was ‘new and green’ as he’d say. You were a wide eyed, scared kid, just like he was. You deserved to be living in a dorm somewhere, getting shitfaced at college parties and making choices you’ll regret the next morning but laugh at for years, not to be forced to cope with this reality. No one deserves it, really, to wake up in an unfamiliar place surrounded only by endless woods, no one and nothing around to help you and your body aching all over with injuries you don’t recall getting. 

He knows that feeling. 

He’s never felt worse. Neither have you. It’s hard to get worse than that, really. 

You were still a bit dazed when he first helped you back to his cabin, but something about the worn walls and cozy, lived-in feeling of the old rugs and antique furniture told you you were safe, at least for now. You were out the second your head hit the pillow. You slept for nearly two days straight. You really needed it. 

Since then you’ve been a permanent fixture in Tim’s life. You don’t really leave the cabin, and you’ve never left alone. Tim says it’s just until you can find a job and a place of your own, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to kick you out. You’re thankful for that, of course, but you can’t help but smile every time he insists that this is only a temporary situation, that if you don’t get off your ass he’ll quite literally throw you to the wolves, but he always smiles too. You’re definitely on the same page, and the headline says you’re not going anywhere.

The rainy day melts into a rainy afternoon, then an evening, then a quiet night. The rain has slowed down a bit, but now the thunder has rolled in, and every ten or fifteen seconds or so you can hear it clapping loudly overhead. The sound is a bit more…penetrating than usual, a bit more raucous, and far more bothersome. You’re not sure why. The only thing you are sure of is that your once comforting outdoor ambience is really ticking you off. 

You sit up with a yawn, glancing at the clock and groaning with annoyance when you see it’s already passed 2:00 AM. Damn, you’ve been lying here a while, and still no luck getting to sleep. 

The thunder crashes outside once more, making you roll your eyes. It’s mocking you, you think, poking and prodding in an attempt to get a reaction. You simply sit there for a few moments, debating turning your TV on or reading a book to tire yourself a bit more, but neither of those are particularly attractive options at the moment. You bring your knees up and rest your head on them, half lidded eyes lazily wandering around your dark room. It looks the same as usual, no surprise there, but when you look down the hallway you notice that Tim’s door is cracked open. 

Hm. Odd. He never leaves it open. Must’ve stumbled off to bed and failed to realize he didn’t close it all the way. 

It’s not a big deal at all, really, but the light of his TV leaking out through the cracked door paired with the noise of the thunder gives you an idea. 

You slowly slip out of bed, cringing a bit when your feet hit the cold wood. You’re as quiet as you can be, avoiding all the floorboards you know will squeak. There’s really no point, Tim sleeps like a rock most nights, especially if he’s been drinking, but you figure you’re better off safe than sorry.

You make your way to his door, pushing it open just a bit to peek inside. You wince when the door creaks unbearably loudly, but Tim doesn’t move a muscle. He’s sprawled out like a starfish on his bed, limbs in all directions and his single blanket only half covering his body. He looks foolish, but in a charming sort of way. He’s even snoring a bit.

You cautiously make your way to his bedside, watching him for any sign of consciousness. You don’t want to startle him. Even if he didn’t mean to, he could really hurt you if he thought you were a threat, though at the moment he’s not very intimidating. His sweatpants are ratty, there’s no hiding his dad bod in that old sports tee, and his face is illuminated by the cheesy sitcom he left on; not exactly the pinnacle of danger. 

You step up to his bed, debating what to do. You should wake him gently, it reduces the risk of injury, but how do you gently wake someone who could sleep through an aerial assault?

“…Pssst, Tim?” You whisper, but get no response. You repeat yourself, a bit louder this time.

“Tim, wake up.” 

He stirs a bit, but all you get is a groan and a minute twitch of his eye. Dammit. 

You sigh and roll your eyes with annoyance, reaching out to softly shake his shoulder.

“Tim, it’s me. Wake up.”

He lazily swats your hand away, groaning again and mumbling a reply without even opening his eyes. 

“Whaddya want, kid…?” He asks, practically chewing his words.

“I can’t sleep,” You respond simply, giving a little shrug. Tim is not amused at this answer. 

“And why does this have to involve me?” He huffs, glancing at you for a moment before his eyes close again. He turns onto his side towards you, yawning as he tries to pull his blanket back up. 

You don’t really have an answer to that one. Why did you feel the need to come in here and wake Tim up? It’s not like he controls the thunder. It’s not like he controls your inability to sleep…

…But maybe he can help. 

“I can’t sleep,” You explain, trying to figure out how to word your request without sounding stupid, “The thunder is too loud. I thought maybe I could…you know…” 

Tim’s eyes finally open, for real. He raises a brow at you, and for a moment you fear you’ve overstepped, but his expression shifts to tired once more as he turns onto his back again. 

“Kid,” He mutters, clearly annoyed but trying to be gentle, “If you’re old enough to share a beer with me, you are definitely too damn old to be running into my bed ‘cause you’re scared of a li’l thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” You quickly protest, “It’s just too loud for me to sleep. I didn’t know what else to do, I just thought…”

You trail off. You’re not really sure what you thought.

“…Never mind.” 

You turn to walk away, hoping he’ll be too tired to remember this in the morning. You’re in the doorway when his gruff voice stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” He drawls, sleepily waving you over without moving from where he’s lying, “Get back here, I ain’t chasin’ ya off…” 

You pause at that, then slowly walk back to his bed. He’s silent, and for a few moments unmoving, but then he scoots over a bit, patting the bed next to him. 

“C’mon.” 

You sigh in relief, happy to see Tim responding at least somewhat positively. You climb into bed next to him, though you’re careful not to get too close to him. You and Tim don’t really do physical contact beyond a high five for a job well done. 

That’s what makes it all the more surprising when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side but making sure to be gentle, giving you ample opportunity to pull away if you need to. You don’t.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, keeping his eyes closed and his face towards the ceiling, his free hand idly resting over his stomach. 

“…You ain’t too scared, are ya?” He drawls. You’re confused for a moment, but then the thunder sounds again and you realize what he means. You hadn’t even noticed the thunder since you walked in. It was nice. 

“No, I’m fine, really,” You insist, “I’m not scared, it’s just hard to sleep with the noise. It’s more annoying than anything else.”

He gives a grunt of acknowledgment. 

“You get on to sleep, then. Ain’t no reason for you to be tired tomorrow.” 

You nod, moving a bit closer to him. He, in turn, wraps him arm a bit tighter around you. It feels…nice. Foreign, yes, but far from unpleasant. He smells like pine trees and faded Old Spice cologne. 

You yawn softly, pulling the blanket up over the two of you as you get comfortable. A comfortable silence settles over you both as the sound of the thunder mixed with the blurry noise of the TV. You’re the first to break it, a question falling from your lips before you can really think of stopping it. 

“…You were worried I was afraid?” 

Tim shrugs, scratching at his stubble as he answers. 

“I mean, I guess…I just wanted to make sure, ya know? Make sure you didn’t need me to do nothing to make you feel better…” 

That makes you smile.

“Didn’t think you’d care that much…” You murmur with a hint of a giggle. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim quickly snaps, “Course I care. I care about you. Ain’t no way for me not to. I’ve cared about you since the second I took you in. You’re not that young, I know, but back then you were just a kid to me. You’ve matured since then, yeah, but I’ll never forget the way you looked when I found you wandering the trail that day…” 

“Yeah, yeah, and you remember when I was three apples tall, I get it,” You tease with a playful laugh. Tim can’t help but chuckle, giving you a little squeeze. 

“Can it, ya little shit. You know what I’m sayin’. I knew what I was doin’ when I let you into my home, I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t care.”

He’s got a point there. Most of the time Tim’s number one priority is self preservation. He rarely goes out of his way to do anything that doesn’t directly benefit him. He must’ve seen something in you absolutely worth the trouble. What exactly it is you’ll never know, but you’re certainly happy with where it’s gotten you. 

You turn to him a bit, giving him a tired smile. He turns to you as though he can sense your stare, cracking open one eye to return your smile before laying his head back again. 

“Alright, alright, ‘nuff yammerin’. Go to sleep,” He orders, reaching over to ruffle your hair before his hand rests back on his stomach. He never was good at being strict.

You stretch a bit before settling into your spot, getting as comfortable as you can so that you won’t have to shift around and risk bothering or waking up Tim later on. He hasn’t moved a muscle, his breathing already slowed and all of his muscles relaxed for once. It’s an odd sight, really. Usually he’s always holding some tension in his brow or jaw or shoulders, but he’s completely relaxed now, as are you. You finally feel like you could fall asleep.

“Night,” You mutter, your eyes fluttering shut. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Tim’s southern drawl ringing in your ears. 

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

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[beannoss]

Hi Bean!

I have a question for you! I have noticed in your writings that Twilight and Yor begin a romantic relationship after their secrets are revealed. Are you opposed to any romance between them before they find out? I assume if so, it’s because it’s morally questionable, though a lot of fans find romance before compelling as it raises the stakes considerably. I’m not suggesting one is right and the other is wrong, I’m just interested in your take on this! I love your writing! Thank you! 😊

Hello you! I'm always chuffed to see your name pop up 🫶😊!

Oh boy! Thank you for this ask — it's a big question but also I do have thoughts XD Sorry it's taken me a few days to get my ducks in a row!

I want to start, though, by emphasising that my thoughts and preferences here are exclusive to Spy x Family as a canon enterprise; they don't pertain to fanworks or other fan theories, I'm not out to yuck anyone's yum ✌️ ditto for even my own writing! You're right that I don't really have an interest in exploring that dynamic but I reserve the right to change my mind ;)!

[Reference herein to manga chapters not yet animated]

Right, so. There's lots of things I love about SxF, but one of the things that interested me early and keeps me engaged is that it operates under an interesting and complex morality. Spy work and contract killing are obviously an ethical minefield, and in the real world, generally to the bad. Within the world of SxF, Endo takes pains to write Twilight and Yor both firmly on the morally right side, even if Twilight’s tactics or Yor’s actions in a vacuum are frequently questionable. With Twilight especially it seems Twilight is currently (resisting) working through the impact and ethical implication of his actions on Anya. When it comes to Yor, I expect that’s where we’ll see him wrestle with similar questions through a romance lens. I think it was quite deliberate and important that Twilight specifically articulated that he’d been wondering if Yor had previous romantic relationships, and that it was now confirmed she hadn’t. As far as I can remember, it’s the only time he’s had that sort of reflection on Yor's life before the Forgers; I mention it because it mirrors times he’s reflected explicitly on Anya’s history and trauma and her needs as a child, with implication that his actions and motivations for adopting her could/probably will hurt her. I hazard that his observation about Yor will be similarly indicative of an arc down the line.

When it comes to canon, if the Yor x Twilight romance were to firm up while Yor still believes Twilight is Loid, I admit there’s a high chance I’d nope out. I want to emphasize firm up though… I tend to think Yor already has feelings for Loid (Twilight?) whether she’s fully aware of them or would necessarily articulate them as romantic (and I think this is being really interestingly conveyed and explored through her current feelings about kissing, though I may differ with some on how I think that may shake out). I also think there’s a… less high but not impossible chance that Twilight is aware he has or is developing feelings for Yor. I’ve argued before that he knows he has formed/is forming an attachment to her and that he knows he trusts her. I don’t think it’s too far from there to romantic feelings for Twilight: after all, attachment and trust (intimacy) are not things he's had in a long, long time. And given his current pseudo-short temper and general malaise comes out most with Anya, with Yor he’s been notably softer and more receptive. In my view, this is partially because so far he hasn't really done much that would really hurt Yor and nor has she done anything that would really hurt Twilight. So far, Twilight and Yor are on a fairly even footing.

This is a very long way of saying that I trend toward thinking we’ve got at least a few toes into the romance already.

The reasons I’d be a squicked by the firming up of the romance, pre-reveal, are related to its being morally questionable as you pointed out (I'll talk a bit more about that in a moment.) But it's also because I think it would undermine character arcs and dominant themes.

Twilight’s arc involves finding and forging a new pack, a new family. Somewhere safe and loving that he’s been denied essentially for his whole life (I don’t dispute that his mother loved him deeply and did her best to protect him: living with an abuser and then with her under war was never going to actually be or feel safe). A big part of this safety and love for Twilight is about being accepted, warts and all. Twilight started lying because he wasn’t accepted by his father as he was. There’s a fair bit to work through by way of accepting Twilight’s warts already — I think Yor will be fairly understanding as things currently stand, and that’s part of why they’re a good match. Their moral compasses, their sacrifices, how they see the world and how they want to try and make it better, align and/or resonate in foundational ways. However, given their current standing, pursuing deeper intimacy of a romantic/sexual relationship with Yor before reveals, I think would take it past the line. And particularly when considering Yor’s character arc.

Yor’s arc is also around finding love and security, but centred less around acceptance (although that obviously also explicitly features!) and more around self-worth and understanding her value. If the romance were to firm up pre-reveal, the false pretences are… I mean, to me, they lob a Molotov cocktail into that theme of self-worth and being valued, as she really would just be being used: the intimacy could never be real because Twilight is not Loid Forger. To expand a bit on an earlier point, perhaps ironically, Yor’s relationship with Loid is mostly on the up-and-up: they both know any marital connection they demonstrate is fake. They may be (are) friends, and also they’re under no illusions that it’s something of a tenuous friendship (at least for now). They co-parent Anya but are clear that this co-parenting comes with clear lines around and between their relationship otherwise. I want to tread mindfully here, because I also really like and appreciate aroace interpretations of Yor and Twilight and their relationship: I think this discussion around firming up their romance actually also holds true in the case of attempting to substantially deepen their platonic bond, pre-reveal. In the same ways, Twilight needing acceptance and Yor learning self-worth would be severely undermined by a pre-reveal apparent and false deepening of their commitment to one another.

On the point of it being morally questionable generally, yeah it is. I mean, look, it's fiction and they aren't real people who can be hurt by those actions. So in principle, Endo can write what story he wants, I wouldn't think it reflected poorly on him or anything like that. I just don't really want to read a story that goes to that place; it’s a squick. I'm sure this has been discussed before in fandom, but my read on the moral dubiety centres around the idea that it isn’t possible to actively choose or meaningfully consent to emotional or physical intimacy when one person is lying about who they are (and in this case, they're both lying about who they are... Although Twilight to a greater extent). This does tie back into SxF themes as well, as choice and consent are also… maybe not big themes of SxF exactly, but active choice and informed consent are things which have come up more than once (I have my thoughts as to why: for a character whose choices drive so much of the narrative, Twilight is actually also a character who’s shown to have little actual choice or control over much of his own life. Considering his motivations for a world where children don’t cry, imo valuing active choice and meaningful consent are important factors required for that world. And I also actually suspect the theme of choice will become more important the more we learn about Donovan, and his role as foil for Twilight.)

Also, honestly for me, it would be too close to a common trope in a lot of popular western fiction/media that I don’t like: a woman being taken advantage of by a man in some way, shape or form, and then through the magic of her non-specific womanness, forgiving him his gross transgressions under the thinnest of pretences. Particularly as Endo has already taken pains to sidestep that as a foundation of their arrangement. To be fair, I wouldn't be surprised that were Endo to take the pre-reveal romance path, it would be a deeper interpretation of that trope, but as with other sexist tropes utilised in pop fiction/media, I have to ask why the choice couldn’t have been for a more interesting path, rather than retreading that one. And particularly given everything he's established for Twilight and Yor: it goes against much of what Twilight stands for — and indeed goes against much of what he meaningfully brings in his current relationship with Yor, that of encouraging her, supporting her, and shoring up her thoughts, opinions and self-image, particularly when she voices upset or doubt about them. It also goes against much of what Yor stands for: while the power imbalance would lie firmly with Twilight, it remains true that Yor’s lies in an apparently deepening intimacy would also undermine the safety and security she ostensibly creates for Twilight. She also so obviously hates lying, the prospect of her keeping her secret into what she believed was a real relationship would wreck her. Doubly so, given the weight Yor puts on Loid's acknowledgement of who she is and what she believes: something she hangs her self-worth on, a recognition of her value. And I'd argue here that it would actually, conversely, be impossible for Loid Forger to acknowledge or accept Yor's truth: that's only something Twilight can do.

And so I guess there’s also just the bare fact following from the above that I think a pre-reveal firming up of their relationship is the less interesting choice for what is a major franchise that has otherwise done innovative things. Another reason I love SxF is that it subverts tropes and complicates cliches. One of which includes communication: for a pair who have crossed lines as a foundation of their relationship, Yor and Twilight actually do a lot of communicating. That’s a subversion of many heterosexual romantic tropes and norms, at least in a Western context, and, to put it sort of flippantly, it would bum me out if it failed at the final hurdle.

I just want to emphasise one more time, my opinions and preferences here are strictly related to Spy x Family in an official canon capacity, and nothing to do with fanworks or fan theories or what fans want to explore in whatever fashion. Part of my feelings here are also honestly because of the tone and pacing of SxF. I think it entirely possible to do interesting things with those tropes and actually think Endo is the type of writer I would trust to do so. But the way SxF is written by way of tone, pacing, narrative priorities and audience demand, I don't think even Endo would be able to do them within SxF in ways that wouldn't squick me out and make me lose love for Twilight, specifically, pretty entirely. I'd rather he just didn't 😂

Tl;dr: in canon exclusively I’m not into a firming up of their romantic relationship pre-reveal! Their situation is complicated enough as it is; give these goobers the love they want and can share with one another, kindly and gently, when the world has been neither kind nor gentle with them. In my view, it’s already primed in their character and thematic arcs 🫶