#everyone has a beloved side in the universe so

[nouvxllev]

CLINGYGRUMPYJENNA X READER!!

plsplsplsplspls

Summary: Co-workers in public, lovers in private 🙌🏼, while shooting for Wednesday, J gets really stressed, and craves for R's intimacy, but can't have that yet until break of dawn, so J basically gets sooo annoyed with anyone who tries talking to her that isn't R.

the waiting game

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Gn!Reader

Summary: request!! ^^

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: fluf, grumpy & clingy jenna!

a/n: caught basically the nastiest cold for a whole week, but im back! sorry requests taking too long, tryna to balance everything rn but it all will be done soon!!!!

masterlist.

Jenna hasn’t seen you in almost 4 hours, 36 minutes, and 4 fucking seconds. 

Yes, she counted, yes, it’s still ongoing, and, yes, she could almost murder someone with her bare hands if time even dares to pass by without you.

What makes matters worse is that she's terribly sleep-deprived even with someone's arms wrapped around her night after night.

Of course, the aforementioned someone swirling in her head 24/7 is you. Her not-quite-lover in public but entirely her beloved behind closed doors.

If Jenna had it her way, she would’ve jumped off a building by now and hard-launched the both of you by herself just so she could get hugs, kisses, and your hand intertwined with hers all she wanted.

Obviously, the universe decides to be a stuck-up bitch just now in their 14 billion years of life, wanting nothing more than to see Jenna Marie Ortega suffer without having you.

But it's fine.

She could get through this.

If there's someone in the world that could handle a single day without your warm hugs and lovely kisses, whether it be on the cheek or the lips, it would be her. She didn't endure almost half a year seeing that godforsaken Wednesday dance to go completely insane without you.

— Is what she kept telling herself 30 seconds earlier before she broke down and almost turned to witchcraft if you don't appear in front of right her.

She could push through with it, like she always does. It's a simple routine that never got the best of her.

Wake up and have breakfast with the love of your life while prepping each other with kisses and whatnot, run to set for the both of you to act out a scene for a while, when break hits all Jenna has to do is intertwine her pinky with yours under the table, then do hair and makeup after, act out a scene then wrap it all up, lie to everyone for the 100th time that her house is just a few steps away from yours, hit a bakery on the way home or maybe an ice cream shop if Jenna feels peckish, break down the apartment door Jenna shares with you, run to the bedroom, and smother each other with kisses and cuddles. Maybe a makeout session if Jenna's lucky.

It's bliss then repeat.

But today just so happens to be the day that Jenna takes over the whole episode, doing stunts and everything with little to no cuts for side characters.

She'd think that you would have nothing to do than act out your scenes—with her—might she add and it'll be all fine and the nights she'd spent waking up at 3 in the morning would be all's well.

But no, unfortunately you were the epitome of the perfect person and everyone just has to drag you around to who knows where to deal with some difficulties.

Plus, the both of you woke up late so she didn't even get the full girlfriend treatment she always got in the morning.

It was completely unfair!

Jenna was tired, grumpy, a bit too snappy, desperate for your attention, and she misses you. Alot.

And by that she means she misses the way you would wrap your arms around her after a busy day of filming together, pull her close, and feel the way how her lips fits perfectly on yours.

She would've dragged you back to bed and cuddle with you if she knew what was about to happen. Every second not spent with you is absolutely meaningless in her book.

Unfortunately, she has to play the waiting game.

She's fucking losing it.

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

It was 11 PM on a Thursday night.

Jenna is really so fucking tired, she could almost snap.

She had almost endured five to six hours of you nowhere even near her. The most she even interacted with you on set was when the both of you were acting a scene then abruptly got cut because of technical difficulties.

Plus, everyone but you was talking to her as if she was some kind of star! (she is.)

Jenna almost wished for an accident, or maybe a wardrobe malfunction that leads her to discovering some sort of new allergy about herself, just so she could be rushed off to the hospital and have you fussing over her, then maybe you could hold her hand and kiss her as if she would heal.

"How's it going, Ree—"

"Literally, I mean this in the nicest way possible, shut the fuck up Georgie."

He doesn't respond immediately, his eyes wide open as he steps back in surrender with his hands up in the air. "Ooooohkay!"

The brunette's head shot up immediately, her eyes burning and her shoulders slumped as she sank further into her chair for what felt like the millionth time.

"I... I didn't mean that, I'm so sorry." She closed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples, "I'm doing fine." She reassured herself more than anyone else, gripping the armchair for support.

"Biggest lie ever."

"You caught in Jenna's crossfire too, Emma?

"Oh damn, even Moosa?"

As if on cue, the whole cast decides to join in the damn conversation. Jenna loved them all, really, but it would've been so much better if a certain someone also joined and not far off into the distance talking to one of the editors.

Come on, would it literally kill you to question yourself why half of the cast was surrounding practically the love of your life while you're standing like 10 feet away!?

"You seem tense, J."

"Something wrong?"

"You've been staring at us for an hour with that Kubrick Stare of yours."

Who's exactly talking to her? Georgie, Emma, Moosa, it's all in that order but their voices seemed deranged, and it couldn't be any more worse when she's been trying to catch your eye for what seemed like the past hour.

She couldn't take shit when she's horribly missing you. So, she bites, and raises her voice more than she should, "Should I close my eyes to spare you the terrible fucking horror? Fuck, man!"

Jenna let an exasperated sigh escape from her mouth as she rose to her feet, eyeing the group with probably the most intense stare someone could bear witness to. She half-expected she'd get another pain-in-the-ass comeback from atleast one of them, but she was met with unusual silence.

The three look practically horrified, as if they were seeing the fictional idea of Wednesday Addams in the form of a 5'1, 22 year old woman dressed as her. Like they have the small but terrible quote running gears in their heads.

She heard them in unison muttering quiet apologies, "Sorry, Jenna…"

Her mind told her to forgive them for whatever they did, but her heart told her y/n.

"No, no it's fine." The brunette shook her head, her words forming icicles on each synonym and her eyes were like seeing inside of a storm. Without the peaceful atmosphere of an eye, clearly. "I'm just... stressed. Is Y/n free?"

Emma tilted her head to the side, "Actually, I never really saw them that much today, no?" She exchanged glances with the both of them.

"Heard they're busy with the tech team," Georgie crossed his arms, "Even for an actor, they've got a skill to be a director with how familiar they are behind the scenes."

Moosa nodded in agreement, "Yeah, they've been pretty tied up with all the technical stuff lately. Must be exhausting."

For fuck sakes, why did you have to be the most perfect and talented goddamn person?

"Why you looking for them?"

Jenna definitely did not need another goddamn voice entering her goddamn space.

She could almost roll her eyes and flip everybody off if not for Joy and the others being the most precious co-stars of them all.

"Because!" Jenna exclaimed, her voice cracking while lifting her arms in the air, "Y/n's my fucking lov...-"

Oh, shit.

"Lov...?"

"...Lovely neighbor." She blinked. "They... They bake me some cookies whenever I get in a bad mood."

Oh to fucking hell with this lovers in private bullshit. Lovely neighbor, that was the best damn excuse she could come up with?

"Well, heard they went home early because of an emergency, but it's kinda pouring out—"

It was in Jenna and Jenna alone on how insanely and horrifyingly fast she bolted out of the conversation, quickly changed clothes, thanking to the literal heavens (fuck the universe, Jenna will die on this hill) that Tim wrapped up early.

Josh. Josh was always the one you manage to bring up to be one of the most carefree guys in set, it's certain that he knew wherever the fuck you went. Actually, you always looked so happy whenever you talked to her about Josh and how much he lends with whatever left over set pieces they had, it's almost insane that you were—

"Aliyah, I'd tell you to shut up and fuck off as of this moment but I am literally too tired to even say that, what!?"

"Jenna, where the hell is your hoodie you wore on Christmas Eve!? I literally told you like an hour before your half-assed reply to tell me where'd you put your clothes."

Of course her sisters, more specifically Aliyah Goddamn Ortega, would find the most perfect timing to call her about the stupidest shit there could ever be.

"Okay, now, fuck off."

Jenna grimaced through gritted teeth as she hung up. She loved her sister, but does she love you more? Absolutely.

"Josh!" She called out, running towards him, "Sorry, kind of abrupt, but do you know where Y/n went?" Atleast she had some decency left in her to be polite to some.

"Actually—"

"Let one more word come out of your mouth not related to my question, and I swear, Josh—"

"Y/n left early, they told me to tell you but I guess I forgot."

Maybe a little too carefree.

"You fucking guess!?— I mean, yes, thank you. I’ll be going."

Oh, the waiting game is a pain in the ass.

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

You pace back and forth in Jenna's apartment, your socks making a dent in the fuzzy carpet in the living room Jenna bought when you moved in with her, a nail in between your teeth and rain pouring in the background.

How in the hell did you forget possibly all your devices on fucking set!?

Your phone was dead, and your laptop was unfortunately abandoned by its owner (yours truly) and you have no way of contacting your lovely girlfriend.

And worse of all, it was a little over midnight.

All this because you got a notification that someone was at the door for an hour.

And it was just a fucking cat. (To be fair, they were really cute.)

You were starting to worry, especially how it was pouring outside like there was a hurricane incoming and how you left early without Jenna intertwining her warm and soft hands around yours.

So not only did you leave all your devices behind, but you also left Jenna without any means of contacting you.

You almost cursed yourself, maybe even doing the most stupidest and financially unstable decision of ordering a new phone as if it was going to be delivered same day.

Until you heard a slight click and a door opening.

There were times thunder struck, but it definitely did not beat the way your heart almost leaps into your throat as you hear the door opening.

You pause in your steps, a deep breath stuck in your mouth as you cross the living room and peer through the door way.

The door swung open and you're met with the, one of the most gorgeous and relieving sights you may add, of Jenna standing there. Slightly damp and with an... angry? Expression on her face.

"Jenna!" You blurted out, rushing over to her and enveloping her in a tight hug. "Did Josh fill you in? I feel terrible for getting home early, I'm so sorry. There was this whole thing I had to deal with, then the rain came pouring down, and I thought I'd at least get you a cab—"

"Shh. Just stay still. And preferably quiet."

When she's in your arms, she melts in the warmth of the comfort you bring to her. "Guess you caught the cab." You whisper under your breath.

You notice her breathing slowing down, the tension in her body easing away, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she buries her head in your neck. A sway the both of you took upon as she tugged at your chest with her hands wrapped around your body.

Jenna felt and smelled like home. Maybe heaven really is real if you're back in her arms after death.

"Is everything okay? Did something go down on set while I was away? Oh, Jenna, I'm so—" You start to pull back, placing your hands on her shoulders.

"Y/n, push me away, I fucking dare you, I'll bring down hell upon this godforsaken world."

You hesitate, but her gaze wants nothing more than to be in your arms. Who were you to deny her?

With a gentle squeeze of her shoulders, you pull her back into your arms. You weren't much taller than Jenna, in fact, just an inch or two apart. You loved that about eachother, like the two of you were a perfect fit.

Minutes pass, the only sound of the soft rhythm of Jenna's breathing and your heartbeat became a melody to your ears.

"I'm gonna hard launch the both of us right fucking now."

Well, that definitely caught you off-guard.

"Something happened?"

"You weren't on set for like hours! And everyones got too damn annoying for my ears to even process so I was trying to look for you, but then I ended up insulting Emma and the others, then I called you my lovely neighbor because I almost ended up saying you're my lover so I had to cover for it!"

"...That's quite a handful. I'm sorry I wasn't there, baby."

Even so, you knew that Jenna wasn't ready for a public relationship, not now that everyone was currently holding her at a social and cyber gunpoint with her life.

And even back then, you were the first one in the relationship who told her that the both of you would be better off if they both kept it private.

Even from their friends... And maybe more so families. Or maybe Jenna's. It's pretty hard to keep secrets from her family.

Obviously, look how that turned out.

Finally, Jenna murmurs something. "Sorry. It's been a rough day." Then she adds, almost as an afterthought, "Just without you."

You could almost kill yourself of the mere thought of even having to leaving Jenna the whole day.

"I—"

"Don't worry, I know you were busy with tech."

"Yeah. They got me wrapped up in their troubles, but 's all fine."

"Ever thought beating the complete shit out of them?"

"Jenna, you can't just say that!"

"But they've been literally hogging you from me! And I think that's completely unfair!"

"But you really shouldn't. You'd probably end up getting destroyed, especially with your height."

"Oh, but I definitely should. Besides, we're the same height, Y/n."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Okay, you know what, tempting as it sounds, I don't think violence is the answer."

She scoffs another time, a crease in her forehead. "Well, it's definitely an option worth considering."

After a moment of silence, you carry her to the living room, her legs dangling as you lift her from her feet and settle her onto the soft-cushioned couch.

You start to pull away once you set her down, stretching your body after a tense day, yet a certain someone was making grabby hands for you while shooting a look with her eyes begging you to stay.

"Y/n, don't you want to stay here with me?" She pulls you closer, locking her legs around yours.

Oh, Jenna knows damn well you couldn't resist her.

"Jenna, just relax," you gently tug her legs apart with your own, letting them fall as she permits, "I'll just get you some water."

She tugs at the hem of your shirt, "Then I'll come with!" Her smile almost comes back alive and she's already clinging onto your arm.

"Jenna. The love of my life."

"Y/n?"

"You're tired, stressed, snappy, grum—"

"Okay, I am not grumpy or snappy!" Jenna bites back almost immediately. "Why does everybody keep saying that?"

You shoot her a look. A yup-thats-why-look, and it's enough to get a pout to form on her lips.

"Grumpy, and you're still damp from the rain. I wouldn't be surprised if you wake up with a cold in the morning." You gently pat her head before sitting her back down. "I'll be quick, alright? You know I'm not going far just for a glass of water."

"Fine," Jenna huffs, "But you better hurry back! Ten seconds, tops!"

With a smile playing on your lips, you roll your eyes before making your way to the kitchen. And of course, Jenna's gaze from the couch was following you. You know patience was never Jenna's strong suit when it comes with you.

It wasn't even a few seconds before you heard,

"Y/nnnn!" Jenna's voice calls out from the living room, almost sounding like a groan and a whine.

It's almost amusing how someone as seemingly nonchalant yet sweet as Jenna could also be this puddle of affection and clinginess when it came to you.

You chuckle to yourself before quickly making your way back to her, holding out the glass of water for her.

"That was well over ten seconds." Jenna remarks, downing the water in one go before setting the glass on the coffee table. Then, she pulls you back towards her, and before you know it, you're both collapsing onto the couch.

"Well, I thought I did great." You say before Jenna tackles you into a very tight hug.

Leaning back against the cushions, you let out a sigh, feeling the everything slowly melting away when she's in your arms. Jenna inches closer, resting her head on your chest as you wrap an arm around her, holding her close.

"Hug me tighter, y/n." She murmurs softly, almost demanding if she didn't have a soft melody to her voice, her body warm against yours and her breathing seemed to be in sync with your own.

"You'll die if I do." You sigh contentedly.

Jenna lets out a huff, her breath warm against your skin and her scent was all too comforting. That earthy rain smell and her aromatic fragrance. "You know that I don't mind," she replies, "Of course you'd think I'd care if I died in your arms."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You're impossible, Jenna." You shake your head once against, ruffling her hair as you give her an extra squeeze before loosening your hold slightly to let her breathe.

"You want dinner?" You whisper to her after, not even above a decibel just for her to relax. "I didn't get the chance to stop by at the bakery."

"Please," comes Jenna's response.

You know what a full-on smile with dimples from her sounds and feels like when she has that hopeful and happy tune to her otherwise grumpy voice today.

You slowly pull yourself back up, gently pushing Jenna off your chest. And also unknowingly pulling a koala trapped in a 5'1, 22 year old body named Jenna Ortega clinging onto your back.

"Jenna."

She buries her head into the crook of your neck, eyes half-lidded. "Mmm… Yeah?" It's honestly surprising how she can actually and literally attach herself to you.

"Jenna, you have to let go so I can cook." Even as you ask her to release herself, you adjust to her weight on your back, carefully making your way to the kitchen, your hands securely holding onto her legs.

"You can cook just fine, Y/n," she whines, "You have two arms."

"And you," you reply, gently patting her legs, "have two legs and two arms. I can't cook with you piggybacking, baby."

You can tell the nickname made her smile. "Yeah, but I don't have a built-in Y/n in my system that I can cuddle with all day. So please just let me be."

"No, Jenna—You're gonna get hurt."

You reach the kitchen and gently lower Jenna from her back, setting her down on the kitchen island.

Her arms still lingered around your neck for a moment before she reluctantly, and against her will so it seems, lets go. "You know how frantic I am when I cook."

"Then maybe, you're not a good cook."

"I'm trying to keep my girlfriends, which is you, may I add, life out of harms way."

"Maybe that's the reason why you're not a good cook."

"Jenna."

Grabby hands, once again, making a return and tugging you by your shirt collar. But this time, you resist.

"Whyyyyyyy?" she whines, her bottom lip jutting out in a Jenna Ortega fashionable pout. "Do you hate me, Y/N?"

You roll your eyes playfully before booping her on the tip of her nose. "I'm cooking you a meal to show that I love you, baby." You pull back yourself and put on an apron standing off side to the fridge, Jenna's gaze could almost burn holes into the fabric.

"Okay." She sighs, dropping her head down. "Okay, fine! Can I just hold your hand?" She looks up to see you standing in front of her, wearing the cutest apron with the well-known kiss the chef quote.

A faint blush spreads across her freckled face, and you couldn't help but smile at her.

You can't really cook with one hand that properly. But if Jenna wants you to cook for her even if you had your hands surgically removed from your body, then so fucking be it. A few missing limbs can't top a few smiles from your girlfriend.

"Alright, baby." You place take her hand and lead her to the stove where it seemed like you've got everything prepared. "Just get behind me when there's oil splashing, mkay?"

A few minutes pass by with Jenna's hand in yours while you cook. Her head leans against your shoulder as she stands close.

Between the two of you, Jenna was always the one who takes over the cooking part of the relationship, no matter how much you insist cooking for her. But you're grateful and very fortunate now that she's allowing you to take over. Plus, Jenna keeps you entertained with her witty remarks and random stuff about her day.

Oh, what a life you're living in.

"You didn't cook for yourself?" Jenna's voice interrupts your thoughts as you plate a serving of salmon topped with herbs, accompanied by sliced lemon and a few kiwis. With the skin left on, of course, just how she likes it. Only for your loving girlfriend.

You shake your head, taking her hand and her plate in the other, leading her to the dining table. "I'm good. I had a late lunch earlier," you reply, gently placing the plate on the table and sitting her down. "Besides, it's not often I get to cook for you. It wouldn't be as special if I cooked for myself too."

Jenna's eyes almost appear teary as she looks at you. "Please never show yourself again in public. I seriously cannot lose you." She replied almost immediately.

If you didn't miss it, you would've seen the adoration and love shining in Jenna's gaze. It's as if she wants to ditch the meal entirely and cover your face with kisses.

You swear you probably ate a seed in your chest by how you kept feeling warmth bloom in your heart at her. "How can I do that if I'm an actor?" You chuckle, "They'd probably question you first if I disappear."

Jenna takes her fork and points it at you, slicing a piece of salmon with her spoon. "Hey, I've seen the tweets about people practically drooling over you. It's like they're your lover and not mine!"

You crease your forehead, crossing your arms, "You get more thirst tweets more than I do!"

"And I believe you contribute to that percentage." She raises one eyebrow, smirking at your direction before chewing on another piece of salmon. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

A factual one at that.

You almost choke at your own words. "Oh, you know me so well."

A sigh escapes your lips, your smile still in place. "Besides, we're not exactly public, are we?" Leaning in, you draw Jenna into your own little world. "You're the only one who gets the real me. If I leave, I'll cross my heart on my own and I'll die on my own."

Jenna looks at you while taking a bite of her salmon, chewing slowly as if she's contemplating something, a tug in her lips. "Mn, guess so."

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You'd think you'd get some work done, maybe memorize future scripts or send out some emails to directors asking if you could audition for a show at one in the morning.

Instead, you're lying in bed with Jenna.

Or maybe a koala in this case.

In bed. Blankets over the both of you. Pillow's a bit too comfy to even think about getting up. Plus, the koala in question may or may not have hidden your phone and charger.

Jenna wasn't always a light sleeper. Sometimes, you'd wake up in the middle of the night to find her sitting up with a blanket draped over her entire body, furiously typing away in her notes app. It's endearing, but also makes you wonder if she's ever dabbled in witchcraft.

Now, she's wide awake to even be one.

Her eyes closed and her breathing steady enough to lull you asleep. The atmosphere is cozy, and so is your girlfriend laying atop of you.

Her arms were wrapped around yours for the millionth time while her head rests on her favorite part of your chest, her head staring off to the side as if she's trying to hear your heartbeat.

You thought she'd be passed out after dinner, but she dragged you by the cuffs of your hoodie and lead you to the bedroom.

"Jenna," you whisper not above even the slightest decibel, "I have work to do." The gentle rise and fall of her chest steadies in sync with yours, her head tilting slightly in the other way, and the grip she has on your body suddenly got tighter. It's already as if you'll fly away from her.

She huffs as she raises her head to face yours. "Your work—whatever that is—can wait, but I can’t." The room is dim, too dim, yet you could see the slight dip in her bottom lip.

You know you should focus, but with her so close, it's hard to think about anything else other than, 'Nah, fuck it. I'll live.'

You bring your hands up to cup her cheeks, gently brushing her messy fringe away from her face. Even in this dim light, you could see her freckles scattered across her face like vines making something so abandoned a painting.

Jenna sighs when she looks at you. "Y/n, how long are you gonna keep me playing the waiting game?"

"The waiting game? What even is that—"

"Can you kiss me?"

Oh. Her eyes become almost second nature to her words.

"Because I remember being woken up to the most gorgeous person ever but they didn't give me kisses, and I think—mpmhmmh..."

It took all your effort not to pull her into a kiss.

Obviously, your efforts were in vain.

Truth be told, you miss the way her lips hung on yours, she was perfect in every way. How her arms would wrap around you, how she'd reach up to tug on your jawline, tracing every thing you had offered her, how you would push back only for her to pull you closer.

The kiss soon ended with you and Jenna locking eyes. No words exchanged but the heavy breath the both of you took apart from eachother.

"—I think I might die..." Her words are breathless, her arms perfectly secured around your neck as you sit up.

You smile at her. "Well, I kept you alive, didn't I?"

"No," she breathes, taking hold of your cheeks before sitting up herself. "No, I'm still six feet underground if you don't continue what you were doing."

"You know, I'm starting to like the waiting game."

"Make me play that shit again, it'll be the last time you'll ever make a decision."

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jennaortega

Liked by ememyers and 1,398,938 others jennaortega goodnight to my gorgeous gorgeous girl @.y/l/n x 6 hours ago

natalieortega1: My fav girls!

joysunday: what lovely neighbors we have here

ememyers: !?@#%%#?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

user: WE FUCKING KNEW IT

moosa_mostafa_: we never knew....

user: MY??????? MY???????? WHAT MY WHY MY?????????????????????

user: now how long....

georgieebleu: the coolest ever

user: WHATS IT FINNA PLAY??????

naomijogawa: two losers having a loser rs

user: having a heart attack holYHIST WHAT HT FUCK

user: literally stop.

hunterdoohan: Respect!!!!

user: shit so insane she got the whole cast to comment

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

In short, Jenna won. Plus, she got all the kisses and cuddles she wanted until the alarm hit. (When it did, your name was surprisingly all over social media along with Jenna.)

[bamgyw]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ c.bg; six nights ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

summary: six nights of emo boy gyu sneaking into your room without your daddy knowing. aberrational catholic guilt ridden catcher in the rye wannabe porn document. afab reader x softdom!beomgyu. warnings: everything, unfortunately. minors dni. heavy smut ahead. lots of pretentious writing, too. catholic guilt and imagery. abusive behaviour, parental neglect. drug use. violence. everyone is sad. i’ll keep on updating part-specific tags. index: prologue: the house of god, first night, second night, third night, fourth night, fifth night, sixth night, dawn of the seventh.

prologue: the house of god

when daddy wanted to hide something from you, he would turn to his beloved bible. and ever since you turned fourteen, he had been holding on to a passage that he would repeat to you every night before going to sleep: 

"let no one say when tempted, "i am being tempted by god," for god tempts no one. but each person is tempted when lured by his own desire. then desire gives birth to sin, and sin brings forth death."

that is the only sex talk your daddy ever gave you. it was more of a sex mantra than a talk, or a warning, or even a prohibition. just a rule of nature that he wanted you to have engraved in your mind: desire is sin, and sin is death.

when daddy didn't want you to do something, he'd blame the rule on god. and there's little you could say against that. 

as you grew up, you realised that god might not be real, but daddy most certainly was. a punitive, disciplinary god. and one feels much more compelled to obey divine rule when god lives under your roof. when you can touch him, and he can touch you.

when god lives in your house and his wrath can tear your flesh apart not in hell, not in heaven, but in this life; you become more cautious than the most devoted of christians. so even when everyone in your grade started drinking, dating, having sex; you had it very clear that the priority was to protect yourself. not from the dangers of drinking, dating, or sex; but from daddy, that is to say, from god.

none of your friends from school understood it, that the fear of god was not irrational. you had scars and bruises that god had given you which you could perfectly show them. but then daddy would get in trouble. besides, he wouldn't like you showing your body around. 

none of them could ever understand what living with god was like, so they were the kind of people who would ask that stupid question; if god loves us, why does he hurt us? 

the first person to understand god was a boy called choi soobin. 

daddy had remarried choi soobin’s mom the year before you started college. she was a beautiful woman, lively and hopeful to start a second life after becoming a widow. it must be thrilling to get a chance at a second life when your first one has gone wrong. soobin’s mom could have been very happy in another universe. you felt sorry that she had stepped into daddy‘s trap. 

you had always wondered how daddy had managed to get a woman like her. bright, cultured and affectionate. but then you figured that maybe, as he was god, he didn't necessarily need to be yahweh, or elohim. he could also be zeus and disguise himself as a swan to kidnap and rape leda. 

you found out later that soobin‘s mom had never fully recovered from the passing of her first husband, and she often suffered from major depressive episodes. daddy saw that void in her, and her urgency to fill it. he forced himself into the hollowness of the void, and obstructed her veins, bones, and heart with the word of god.

soon enough, soobin’s mom had no limb or internal organ she controlled herself. she had once had colours, you remembered; rosy cheeks, a hazel head of hair, lips tinted with vibrant red. but daddy had turned her grey. 

soobin’s mom had been kind enough to see the good sides of daddy, you had liked her for that. but you regretted that she hadn't learned to hide her colors so that daddy couldn't steal them away, like you did. 

she became a shadow of herself, an almost non-verbal phantom trapped between the real world –that is, the confines of daddy's house– and the world of hopeful prayers and the salvation of soul.

the boy called choi soobin would never forgive daddy for that. but it was alright. you understood. in a sense, he had killed his mom. you had to love daddy because he had created you, but you didn't think choi soobin was obliged to. 

people said choi soobin had changed, too. that he used to be a gentle kid, polite and sweet, but he had turned hostile. that, like most teens, he had become self-absorbed and belligerent without a cause or that he had gotten those adolescent mood changes so late in his life because he was an attention seeker. people say things like that when they don't understand what living with god is like.

you were the only one who didn't believe daddy when he said that soobin had a demon inside. you knew better than that, you knew that daddy saw demons everywhere. but soobin’s own mom believed it. when daddy tried to exorcise the demon away from soobin with fist and blood, she looked away.

all that soobin had wanted by acting up against daddy was to save his mom. to bring her back from the dead. but after that betrayal, he stopped trying. 

soobin had never been violent towards you, though. not once. not even mean. you were the only one who understood him, the only one who told him he wasn't evil. you knew that god's tyrannical rule could break a person, fill them with hate. and so soobin and you became close, often talking against god. every whispered defamation, every blasphemy, the danger of it felt so exciting. not because of the mischievous sin, or because of the disobedience, but because you felt like you could speak your mind at last.

your first kiss was soobin. you felt loved when it happened, something you realised you weren't used to. the feeling bloomed throughout the following week as you hid from god's watchful eye to be together.

soobin told you a hundred times that you were the most beautiful girl in the world, kissing all over your face, clasping you as close to him as he humanly could. he would sneak his hand under your skirt and whisper, "don't think about him right now. it's just you and me." and though his touch never went very far in the magnitude scale of sin and punishment, it was enough to breathe a new life into you.

you sensed that a big part of why soobin wanted you so bad was because he got turned on at the idea of defying daddy, and groping his holy daughter was the greatest offence he could commit. but that was alright. you felt the same way. and you hoped that that hate-induced lust would turn into love, in time. you could then be happier, even in the house of god. 

or you could have been happier. because god is omnipresent. and he would soon act to see you separated. the blossoming flower was brutally ripped from the soil.

when daddy found out, he locked himself into the master bedroom with soobin one morning and didn't let him go until the sun began to hide. soobin left that room broken and dead in life, just like his mom, but he didn't have one single bruise. maybe daddy really was god, after all.

soobin never talked to you again. spoken, yes, but it was hollow. you never felt loved again. you learned a lesson that day: your pleasure brings pain to everyone around. the mantra became true. desire is sin, and sin is death.

so if there was any need left in your body to touch, to kiss, to lick, to possess or be possessed; you confined it to the darkest pit of your ribcage, way past your heart, never to be accessed again. 

until choi beomgyu came around.

he was the second person to understand god. but he had brought his lesson learned from home. he knew god’s ways even before he met daddy. he had a god of his own. you called yours daddy, he called his ‘that narcissistic sadist’. but strangely enough, you felt like they meant the same thing. 

choi beomgyu was sort of soobin's friend, if you could even call it that. they never labeled each other as such, never sought out each other's company for the sake of friendship. they just wanted to live through their loneliness while sitting in the same room.

beomgyu’s dad was a dealer. he made a living out of ruining people's lives, as beomgyu saw it. growing up, he had promised himself that he would never be like that, the kind of person who doesn't care about poisoning someone's body if that meant keeping the cash flowing. but as he grew up, he learned that it wasn't all black or white. that all of those fools kept showing at his father’s doorstep, like they had no other choice. like they enjoyed hurting themselves. 

beomgyu, like soobin, had become hateful. one of the things that bothered him the most was the "why me?" question. how unlucky he could have been to be born of such a father. but then again, he could run away. he could sort his shit out, get a job, never see his father again. but he kept going back. like he had no choice. like he, too, enjoyed hurting himself.

his dad barely knew he existed, and if beomgyu ever tried to make himself heard, he would silence him in cold blood. so any semblance of love or validation beomgyu could aspire to, he sought out with mathematically strategised plans. he craved the drug of attention and knew exactly where to get it.

he'd linger around fancy schools and church events, scoping out a certain type of girl. there was always a few of them going through a rebellious phase, desperate to go out with a bad boy and piss off their high-official dad. 

it didn't take much effort for him to get what he wanted. he was handsome enough to make it easy, and even though he was a spiteful nihilist, he could be charming on command. just a smirk, a tousle of the hair, and some cheesy lines like, "i'm messed up, but with you, i feel like maybe i could be better," or "you're too beautiful for a screw-up like me." and he would have them wrapped around his finger. 

he would bring them over to his place and fuck them rough on his drug-money-bought mattress. if there was shouting, or a gunshot coming from another part of the house, he'd fuck into them harder, muffling their fear with a rough kiss, using their panic to fuel his own twisted thrill. you fucking scared? i've gone through this crap every day since i was a kid. 

if he could crack the shell of a privileged princess, dragging someone along with him down to his mud, his pain would slightly numb out.

for just a little, but never enough.

that pattern of behavior didn't lead to happiness. not even to satisfaction. it was a vindictive way of muffling his pain with the aching moans of someone who had it easier. but in reality, it only pierced what was left of his soul, making him even more hollow. it was soobin who made him realize that.

until that day, beomgyu saw soobin as almost a kid—pitifully weak and too sheltered. but when he told him about his exploits of going after posh girls, soobin didn't applaud in shared bitterness as he often did.

beomgyu explained to him how hard he got seeing the fear in their eyes as they realised that the life he led, that freedom of the rebel, wasn't as cute and bohemian as they had romanticised.

soobin responded curtly. "and then what? you cum, the spell wears off and you stare at the ceiling in silence, thinking of how miserable you are." he said. "and then you feel guilty for being a piece of shit and using that girl as a blow-up doll. and because of that you feel even worse about yourself, which means becoming more hateful and ruining more people. its not a you thing, you're not that special. that loop has been said and done. probably how your dad feels after beating on you."

beomgyu was taken aback. he didn’t even find it in himself to get offended. he remained pensive for a while before saying, "hyung. do you think i'm a bad person?"

soobin replied; "i think you can choose not to be."

and beomgyu took the advice. he put an end to the hunter-gathering of rich girls. he respected soobin from then on, too. soobin had therefore been a good influence, one could say. or at least an influence beomgyu was willing to accept. he started hanging around your house more, to the point of almost never leaving.

you learned about him as if he were a mythological figure—someone everyone talked about but whose existence you couldn't confirm. as a friend of soobin, beomgyu was bound from the start by an unspoken rule to maintain the least possible contact with you.

beomgyu was made aware of that rule very early on. what he didn't know, because he had been misled, was your age. that's why he didn't think much of it at first; he thought you were a kid. so, whatever—he couldn't talk to soobin’s annoying little stepsister. big deal. he didn't care about kids anyway.

this, combined with the prison-like structure of daily life in that house—minimal time in common areas and endless hours rotting in your own cell—fulfilled daddy's command to keep your life and soobin's, and therefore boemgyu’s, completely separate.

but even though you hadn't seen choi beomgyu in person, you had been able to construct a fairly accurate forensic portrait of him, pieced together from your father's warnings about people like him.

about the piercings, daddy believed that the body is holy, and anyone capable of mutilating within sin. about the music they played when locked up for whole afternoons in soobin’s room, he believed that god is serene, and disturbing that peace is a sign of the devil. he considered long hair on a man an abomination, and much like the eccentric clothes, a mark of a sodomite.

daddy didn't approve of him, and saw him as no more than a threat to the sanctity of his home. but beomgyu was quick to remedy the situation.

beomgyu was most acquainted to the ways of gods. he knew they were capricious, proud and pathologically narcissistic. so he made sure daddy could see he was a troubled young man and played the role of the lamb seeking guidance. he convinced daddy that he could abduct him, like he had done with soobin and his mother.

when soobin recounted the scene to you, his voice had sounded more hopeful, more full of admiration than you had ever heard. "he went to your dad and talked to him as if he was the buddha. said that he was lost and needed someone to guide him on the right path." soobin said. "he had some quotes from the prodigal son parabole learned, and he just delivered so naturally. not a trace of shame because when he lied to his face like that. it was like watching a play. your dad bought everything."

from then on, beomgyu became an unsung hero in your eyes. the boy who had outmanipulated daddy into having it his way. the boy who had defeated god.

around halloween that year, beomgyu and his dad had a terminal fight. it ended on a threat so destructive that beomgyu thought it was for the better if he stayed away from his father's place for a couple days. maybe a week. soobin, knower of the impotence and humiliation of having to sleep under the roof of the one who lacerated you and torn you to pieces, offered him shelter.

daddy's eyes lit up with greed. he saw the definitive chance to welcome a prodigal son into the fold. for beomgyu it was almost a joke. he was amused at how fast daddy allowed him in. so clueless and hasty, like one of the girls he used to charm into his bed.

in truth, beomgyu wasn't even to blame when he inevitably bumped into you. it had been daddy's mistake, he had let him in himself. you thought maybe that made daddy more human, somehow. that he forgot to close the back door to the prison and the devil strolled in.

but it wasn't really a matter of having let his guard down. daddy was still as stern, still as disciplinary, still as paranoid as he had always been. choi beomgyu was just much smarter than daddy.

he was a demigod, he was a promise. he was soon to make you his.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ please let me know if you think reading about booty sex is gross (i'm doing market research)

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Two ships (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.

Warnings: Crybaby! Reader. Medieval punishment for children. Canon character death (Alyssa and Baelor) Sexual thoughts. Prostitution. Mature language. Incest. Fluff.

A/N: In which we explore the complicated dynamics of the sister wife. Requested. We also suscribe to @just-some-random-blogger doctrine about Daemon being a scary unhinged man but soft for the reader.

THE FIRST TIME your brother makes you cry is when you are eight years old. It is, of course, not the first time you tear up because of him. But there is a difference between tearing up because he tugged too hard on your braid, or because he cut your favorite doll’s hair and what he did to you that day.

You shall never forget the reason for your mother’s death, not for the rest of your life. It’s one of those core memories, a truth of the universe. You cannot forget fire burns, you cannot forget water is wet, and you cannot forget your mother is dead because of you. Even if you do not know when you learned those facts, they are still there. Tucked into your mind.

As a child, you used to be quiet. You barely cried, or demanded things of anyone. As the youngest and only girl of the household, you often felt like there was an unbreachable gap between you and your family. And so, you filled your days with your lessons, and behaved well, eager for praise and attention.

Your relationship with your brothers was complicated. Your father was often far away, busy with his important position, so Viserys felt more like a parent than a sibling. The age difference didn’t help things along. While you were still learning how to walk, his betrothal was already negotiated.

Daemon, while much closer in age, is much more distant too. He is mercurial, playing the cruelest tricks on you, but also defending you from other children. Just last week, he had dyed your beloved white dog green, but he had also punched a steward’s son for mocking your braids.

He can never decide if he hates you or loves you. And today, it’s one of the days he hates you. You can’t do anything right, it seems. As you break your fast, with Viserys cutting up your food for you, he calls you a baby. When the Septa comes to get you for your lessons, you are a suck-up. His bad mood escalates during the day, and when your father arrives for lunch and dares ruffle your hair, Daemon doesn't hesitate to call you a cocksucker whore.

For his offense, his mouth is washed with soap. It is not a punishment you have ever endured, because everyone knows ladies don’t get physical punishments, but it looks unpleasant. Whatever cocksucker whore means mustn't be very nice.

By the time his punishment is over, your father is long gone again. He has disappeared into his chambers, and Viserys has been left with the bitter task of reconciling you.

“You will apologize to our sister.” He orders Daemon. “Now.”

“NO!” Daemon shrieks, face blotchy from the humiliation of his mouth being washed with soap. He has not shed a single tear, which you find admirable despite yourself. The taste alone would make you gag, and that is without including the humiliation of a servant holding you while Viserys does the deed.

You feel awkward at the thought. Something doesn’t sit right with the thought of such a thing being a punishment, but you do not dare voice it. You simply sit in the chair Viserys has pulled for you and kick your feet. It soothes you slightly.

“Take it back, Daemon or so help me the Seven…”

“I will not take it back!” Daemon screams, pushing at Viserys. “She is a little whore! She has you all wrapped around her little finger, and now you will send me away…”

“Daemon.” Viserys grabs his wrists, in warning. With several years and a growth spurt on his side, he manages to subdue him easily. You worry that will not be the case for much longer. Daemon looks very different from your peaceful Viserys, shoulders broader, hands a bit bigger. In a few years, he will become a fearsome warrior, and Viserys will still be your bookish older brother.

“Why do I have to go squire for some stupid lord, anyway? We are the blood of the dragon! We do not need those fools.” At this new information, you frown. You clutch your doll more tightly. No one had informed you Daemon had to go squire away from Viserys and you.

“Fostering is important. It helps us form bonds with other houses.” Viserys explains, with the patience of someone who has had this argument already. You tug on your doll, feeling sadder by the minute. Everyone knew but you?

“Why don’t we send her away?” Daemon points at you, and a sudden wave of fear hits you. Viserys can’t agree with him. You cannot leave. Your panic almost makes you miss his next words. “She is the reason mother is dead. I hate her.”

And the world stops for a second. The argument goes on, Viserys screaming at Daemon, but you are still stuck there. Your ears begin to ring, so you press your hands tightly to them and shake your head.

By the Seven, Daemon is right, you realize with growing horror. Your father and Septa always told you your mother had died the way you were born, from the difficult birth. Tears begin to fall down your face, but you barely notice them. It feels like you are choking.

In your childish mind, the death of your mother in childbirth, and your birth had never been connected. You never thought it had been your fault. But Daemon was right. She was dead because she had birthed you. It was your birth that killed her.

Her death was your fault. You killed her.

No. No. It can’t be right.

“That is not true.” You turn to Viserys, uncaring they have long since moved on with the argument. He has always protected you and reassured you. Even takes care to get rid of the monsters beneath your bed every night. He will fix it. “Brother, he is lying again!”

Viserys makes a strange face. A cross between a grimace and a frown. He doesn’t refute it, nor tries to comfort you.

“It’s the truth.” Daemon smiles, with the smugness of someone who has delivered a killing blow. He advances, his eleven-year-old body seeming larger than life to you, and pokes a finger in your sternum. “You killed her.”

It feels like a rug has been pulled from under your feet. You stumble back. It’s all your fault. Your mother is dead, and your father is never home, haunted by the memory of his wife, because of you. Daemon and Viserys lost their mother, because of you.

You killed her. You killed her. You killed her. The world looks the same around you, despite the revelation, and you wonder if it is so because everyone knew but you. Is it why Daemon doesn’t love you? Why father is never around?

A sob makes its way out of your throat, and then another. And another. Soon, you are bawling like a dying animal, and feel like it too. You cry so much, your little heart feels like it will jump out of your chest and you will die. You cannot breathe, choking in your own snot and tears, and panic makes you nauseous.

Never in your life had you ever cried so. A nervous fit, the Maester will call it later, after you puke your lunch and stop making heaving noises like you are lacking air. One caused by extreme distress. Daemon will be standing guard at the foot of your bed when you come to be again. They had ended up having to give you three drops of Milk of the Poppy to calm you down.

It doesn’t happen again, and you barely remember it when you grow up. But Daemon never forgets it.

CRYING IS A weakness that cannot be tolerated. The three of you had been born dragons, but sometimes Daemon doubted Viserys and you had as much fire in your veins as he did.

Said doubt intensifies when he finds you crying in the gardens. Daemon has never been fond of crying women. He is not an empathetic man, and has a tendency to think he is surrounded by fools. Such a character trait doesn’t lend itself to soothing crying maidens. At least, not sincerely.

If he wants to bed the chit, Daemon can pretend like the best mummer. It’s not hard at all to fool highborn maidens into thinking he shares something special with them, convincing them that the pain won’t last, that it will start to feel good soon. When it comes to you, though, the problems start.

You are not a common whore, like most women at court. As a daughter of House Targaryen, you are closer to a goddess than a woman. Fooling a goddess is no easy task, much less when the goddess knows you so well.

His usual tricks do not work. When Daemon tries to apply faux pity, and forced pleasantries, you see right through him. It’s not because you are particularly cunning, but rather the fact that you have a long memory.

Long enough to remember all the pranks and fun he had had at your expense when the two of you were children. With how much Daemon tortured you, it’s no wonder you prefer Viserys.

Daemon never meant to be as nasty to you as he had been. He coveted the attention Viserys paid you, as the youngest in the family. He disliked how everyone fawned over you, how his mother had died, and his father had left, and all they had gotten in exchange was you.

Another part of Daemon simply enjoyed mischief. Causing chaos for chaos’s sake. Like any young boy, he had fun playing tricks on others. The disdain he felt for you had made you into the ideal target.

When the years began to pass, Daemon had noticed you were flourishing into a beautiful maiden. Targaryen custom dictated you were meant to be his, since you were too young to be Viserys’. There was no point in fixing your relationship, or trying to win you over like he did with the other maidens. You were a given thing. No matter your shared past, you would have to marry him.

It’s only the fact that you are embarrassing the family name that prompts him to approach you in the gardens. He has no intention of comforting you. It’s not like he cares that you are crying. Really. How ridiculous.

“What happened to you?” Daemon asks, sitting next to you. “Princess shouldn’t cry.”

It is quite recent, of course. Viserys' ascension to the throne has not actually yet occurred, but the succession issue has been settled in their favor. Daemon had gathered a small force of loyal men that hadn’t been necessary in the end, but Viserys said his first act as King would be rewarding him from his loyalty.

He knows what he will ask for already. Marriage. His grandmother had tried to marry him to a Vale woman, but the idea had ended up being discarded because Viserys’ own match ensured the allegiance of that kingdom. Daemon wanted to have his Valyrian bride before anyone, especially the Hightower cunt, got any ideas.

“Nothing.” You wipe your tears away, angrily. You scoot your cute little rear towards the edge of the tree you are sitting under. As far as you can go without losing the spot of shade.

Daemon sighs. He is used to you being difficult, but it would soon change. You would be informed of your duty and behave in a manner befitting your position in life soon enough.

“Do I need to protect your honor?” The very thought unsettles him. Three years his younger, you are still barely a maiden in his eyes. A pure, unspoiled being. The idea of someone else corrupting your innocence, something that is meant to be his, is infuriating. Daemon hates when other people touch what is his.

If anyone will corrupt you, it’s him.

You laugh, bitterly.

“If only!”

“What do you mean?” Your statement has clarified nothing. He feels more confused than before. Perhaps, you have a secret lover who refuses to take your maidenhead? Or are you suffering from unrequited love? But when? With whom? You spend nearly all your time in the library, pouring over dusty books, or on dragonback. Not much time for entertaining suitors.

You stay quiet. There is a strange expression on your face, a mix of embarrassment and sadness.

“H��edus.” Daemon prompts, gently tugging on your braid.

“Some ladies Aemma brought were talking about knights, and kissing…” You get a fit of hiccups and nearly choke, so Daemon is forced to wipe the snot from your nose so you don’t suffocate to death. Let it not be said he is a bad brother. “They laughed at me!”

“They laughed at you?” How dare them. Only Daemon was allowed the honor of your tears. You were too important.

“No one asked to dance with me at the feast! And no knight has ever kissed me.” You pout, about to go into hysterics again. “Ever.”

“Doña hāedus…” Daemon wipes your tears, fighting his smile. He has an inkling you wouldn’t think it funny. “You shouldn’t listen to them. You are a Princess, the blood of the dragon. They are just sheep.”

You pout more. Daemon hurries to comfort you. Oddly, he dislikes seeing tears on your face. It must be because you are in public. As a Princess and his future wife, your actions reflect on House Targaryen.

“Ugly sheep. In fact, the actual sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

“But knights have kissed them! And they get asked to dance, and to walk in the gardens, and…”

Daemon raises his hand.

“Knights would kiss you too if they could. But you are too superior to them. They wouldn’t dare.” Or they would meet Dark Sister. All your first should be his. “It’s excellent that you have not sullied yourself with just any knight who looks at you.”

“But I am getting old.”

You are about to cry again. Your female vanity must be hurt, thinking yourself unwanted. Daemon will never understand caring about what others think of him. Dragons shouldn’t concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep.

But there is something about you, the soft little Princess who crumbles up completely when someone is mean to her, that tugs at his heartstrings.

It is why he leans in and captures your mouth with his. You taste like innocence and salt, melting on his tongue. It’s not Daemon’s first kiss, but it feels like it. There is a tug deep inside of him, a strange yearning on his chest, that has not been present when he has kissed other women. Not even maidens.

Cloyingly sweet, dripping on his tongue like the most enticing potion. His. Never has he experienced this before. Daemon wants to drown on it, drown in you. But before he has a chance, you give him a shove and run as fast as you can.

And he stands there, as if struck by lighting, pinned down by the unmeasurable realization that this is love. Love, in its purest form, for his soon-to-be sister wife. It leaves him dazed, confused, rooted to the spot. Utterly out of control.

“DID YOU HEAR?” The serving girl whispers loudly, her voice carrying through the corridor. Night has fallen already, and you pour over a heavy tome on constellations while sitting in one of the windowsills of the Red Keep. It is the best time to put your new knowledge into practice, but the constant chattering of the maids interrupts you.

You close your book, hesitating between scolding them and sending them away, or waiting for them to leave on their own. Scolding them feels unkind. It’s late enough for them to no longer be on duty, and there is no harm in what they are doing. This corridor is a heavily transited one.

Perhaps you should move to your rooms. But you do not have a balcony, and the view from your windowsill it’s quite limited. As you ponder on it, something they say catches your attention.

“And they say the Prince asked for a blonde girl. A maiden.” The Prince. Daemon! You have not seen hide nor hair of your older brother since he stole your first kiss. In fact, you have been avoiding him.

As children, he had played plenty of nasty tricks on you. Once, in a fit of temper, he had beheaded all your dolls and hanged their little heads from a window. But adulthood had mellowed him out. Or so you thought.

The worst thing wasn’t that Daemon stole your first kiss. It was that you enjoyed it.

“No!” The other girl sounds scandalized.

“Yes. And that is not all. He took her roughly, and was kicked out before even…”

Took a whore roughly? You knew he whored around, but hurting whores was a new low. You weren’t too approving of his behavior, but whoring was normal for young lords. Everyone knew they did it, even the most pious ones. Hurting them, though? It was no better than being a rapist.

The other girl lets out a gasp, but she sounds more delighted by the gossip than anything else.

“Imagine how rough it had to be for them to kick him out.”

“I would say plenty. Poor girl.”

“He is out again, is he not?”

“Every night, like clockwork. Something has roused his appetite, it seems. He used to whore, but not…”

Their scandalized voices drift down the corridor, and you think the rumor must be wrong. Daemon wouldn’t hurt anyone. Sure, he whored around, and took plenty of maidenheads, but your brother wasn’t cruel.

Was he?

He had stolen your first kiss. Beyond the softness and the sweetness of the kiss, Daemon had ruined a moment that was meant to be special. Now, it was forever tainted with the memory of being made a mockery of. Not only by those girls, but him too.

There was a difference between stealing a kiss and hurting whores, though. Much more, when it came to hurting them seriously enough to be kicked out of the pleasure house.

Was it your fault? Had he discovered with you he enjoyed taking from women by force? Was he taking out his anger with you on them? The maid had said the girl was blonde. Perhaps Valyrian blonde.

You needed to know. You ran to your rooms and got your black cloak, set on finding him.

Finding Daemon was no easy task. You made it to the city on foot, but once there, you had trouble locating the pleasure houses. There was no sign outwardly pointing to them, but you managed to get to Flea Bottom without getting mugged. Or at least, this looked like what you thought Flea Bottom looked like.

The streets were dirtier, the crowd rougher and drunker. There were people sleeping on the floor, no Sept in sight. This was a place far away from the Gods. The few Goldcloaks patrolling seemed uninterested in actually preventing crime.

You made sure to walk with purpose, afraid of being stopped if you looked like you were out of place. The streets were badly lit, and you could barely tell apart one alley from another.

A sudden tune caught your attention. A woman was singing in a tongue you didn’t recognize. You decided to follow her voice, but before you could do so, someone blocked your path.

“… A dragon for half an hour.” It was a woman. Her hair was dark and hanging limp around her face. She swayed as she walked. “My prince, I will let you choke me.”

You made a face, realizing a strand of your silver hair was peeking on the edge of your hood. She thought you were Daemon, you realized. Both your brother and you kept your hair long, and in the darkness of the alley, with your hood up, you may have looked alike. Was she a whore?

“I’ll let you. A dragon, please, I need to feed my children.”

Children. She had babes. You imagined them, tucked in their beds, wondering where their mother had gone. What if something happened to her? If the children had a present father, he would provide for them, and she wouldn’t be here. It was how the world worked. She must be alone with the babes.

You reached inside your cloak, and pulled out a gold dragon. There was an odd sort of pity building inside you. You imagined yourself, offering up your body to strangers to feed your children, and your heart shattered into little pieces.

You had never questioned the role of whores. They were sullied women, but they served a purpose. Entertain the men so they didn’t hurt others. Tend to their baser needs. It didn’t feel so clear-cut as you avoided the woman, in fear she might attempt to service you.

The voice sounded louder, so you ducked into the next alleyway. It was then you saw them.

The woman singing was sitting at the entrance of a small house. She was scantily clad, as were the surrounding women. But there was only one of them who caught your attention.

She was tall and willowy, with long limbs. There was a haunting elegance to her that looked out of place in the Street of Silk. Her blonde hair was long, and in the right light, could be mistaken for silver. It cascaded down her shoulders. Her face was eerily similar to your own. She was tragically beautiful, stricken by some unseen grief.

Sitting down and clapping along to the song, she looked as if she was praying. There was a dark stain on her neck, cleverly hidden by her hair. The closer you looked, the more it seemed like a bite mark. Not just any bite. A vicious one.

You gasped, hands coming to your mouth to muffle the sound. Whores had never been of concern to you, but now you were seeing their reality, and it was heartbreaking. The thought of women in brothels, in cages, as pleasure slaves, made you want to weep.

Women like you. That she wore your face was even more jarring.

WHEN CARAXES HAD been born, he had not done so alone. Out of the ether, his sister had come, hands linked with his. Meraxes, goddess of the sky, an eternity doomed to hold to her sibling. Caraxes only reflected his twin’s colors, gazing up at her as the flowers did the sun.

It was said that they met only once a day, thanks to the mercy of Gaelithox, who allowed the twins to embrace every sunset. It was the reason Meraxes hated him. He held on to her too strong, and prevented her from embracing the one who she truly loved. He invaded even her reflection, seeking to make himself a part of her, even invading her sacred reflection in the waters of her twin.

The story was always one of your favorites. You begged Viserys every night to tell it to you, sickening Daemon with your romantic tales. He isn’t sure why he is reminded of it today, of all days.

Foreboding, he will think later, when the storm has passed. But now, he chooses to focus on the coronation taking place in front of him, and bask in their triumph.

“Kings reward loyalty.” Viserys says, after the crown is placed on his head by a proud Aemma. “And my first act will be rewarding those that stood by my side.”

Daemon and you are kneeling, the first among the crowd. The first to take a knee to their King. There is a strange feeling in his throat, and he fights the urge to cry. Daemon has always considered tears a weakness, but the moment is so perfect, so magical, he feels the urge to do so.

Men don’t cry. Instead, they take big breaths, and savor their victory. Viserys on the Iron Throne, and Daemon about to be given your hand. All they have ever wanted, now ripe for the taking.

“Brother, please rise.” Viserys' voice is clear and loud. Daemon does so, pleased by the honor of being the first to rise in front of the masses. They had talked about it, of putting up a show for their political enemies, but Daemon had never expected Viserys to grant him honors before any other of his advisors. “Your diplomatic and martial skills were essential to securing my claim. As a reward, I give to you our sister’s hand, and name you my heir. May the two of you have a fruitful union and make House Targaryen proud.”

And when he turns to you, with a smile on his face, he realizes why he remembered the story of Caraxes and Meraxes.

Your beautiful, purple eyes, are wet with tears. You remain on bent knee, frozen.

Daemon pulls you up with the utmost tenderness, one reserved for family alone. The hand on your elbow seems to shake you out of your stupor.

“Thank you, my King.” Your voice trembles, but you speak the words dutifully. You know as well as him that this is Viserys’ day. Everything has to go perfectly. There can’t be any hint of division between the three of you, not when the rallying cry for Viserys had been that he was bringing back the three heads of the dragon.

Three siblings. Three dragonriders. Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys.

“It is a great honor.” Daemon adds, tightening his grip on your arm. You look ready to bolt, and he is tasked with reminding you that you can’t.

A silent tear travels down your cheek. With your back to the crowd, no one but Viserys and Daemon can see it. Viserys gives him a long look, pleading him to do something. Neither of them had been expecting your reaction.

They had thought you would settle well into your duty. That marriage would give you a stable tether, a shield for your fragile soul. Viserys had chosen Daemon for the honor, had given you to him to care and protect.

But you seem even more scared that you were before. How wrong had they been.

“We are very excited.” Daemon hugs you to him, fighting to keep his composure. Your rejection stings, and he wants to rage, but he can’t. Because you are in public, and House Targaryen doesn’t air their dirty laundry in front of witnesses, but more importantly because your dam is breaking. You let out a little sob, and Daemon has to embrace you fully to prevent you from falling apart.

Fools that they are, the rest of the courtiers mistake it for a sound of joy. What else could you want? To marry the King’s heir, a Valyrian husband who can give you pure Valyrian babes.

“Good.” Viserys smiles, a bit strained. You take a shuddery breath, and straighten up under his arm. Daemon can practically feel the change, from scared girl, to experienced courtier. You know as well as he does the importance of presenting a united front.

You smile. It’s as fake as the silks whores wear, when pretending to be a Targaryen Princess. To the inexperienced masses, it tears all the same.

“How joyful days come ahead. Long live the King!”

You open your arms, the picture of the hopeful bride. The smile threatens to crack your face in two. The crowd cheers. A royal wedding is always something to admire, and there is no better way of celebrating a coronation than with one.

The hour is late when Daemon finally manages to catch Viserys alone. You have gone straight to your rooms after the feast, sulking. Aemma has been sat outside your door for hours by now, trying to coax you out like one would do to a skittish cat. Her talks of duty and royal wombs only got her a pillow to the face for her efforts.

Daemon and Viserys, much more used to your moods, hadn’t bothered. You were angry, but not hysterical. Both often manifested in tears in your case. Only one could prove lethal.

“I do not understand.” Viserys frowns. “What more can she want? The two of you will get Dragonstone, for a few years at least, and when I have an heir, you will not be kicked out. You are family.”

“I do not understand it either.” Underneath the simmering rage Daemon feels, there is only confusion. He is a knight, and has proven his skills sufficiently enough to be awarded Dark Sister. He is of an equal standing to you, a Prince to a Princess. He loves you so deeply it scares him.

The Seven know he has tried to get you out of his head through every means possible. He has deflowered more maidens that he can count this week alone, his cock is chafed raw, and yet, no matter how beautiful they are, your face still haunts him. It’s your name on his lips when he comes, and your body he pictures under him. The whores are never right. Their hair is the wrong shade, they are too thin or too fat, their tears taste of iron instead of your sweet salt.

You should not think it is a bad thing. Women love that sort of thing, leading men by their cocks, getting them so cuntstruck they cannot see straight. You should love it too because it is a weakness to him, but a power you can wield. And yet, you hate it. You had run.

“I cannot go back on my word now.” Viserys reaches for his cup of wine. He knows that his reign is still fragile, and if his lords see his sister defying him, they might get ideas. “She has to marry someone, and with her delicate constitution, I cannot in good conscience…”

“Handing her to a stranger is a bad idea.” Daemon agrees, not out of some selfish motivation, but because he knows it’s the truth. You have always been far more delicate than most ladies, with your books and silly ideas about the role women should play. Had you not been so closely tied to Viserys, you may have even supported Rhaenys.

If Viserys was Aegon, you were Rhaenys. The sensitive little sister, loved because of her innocence and kindness. You never tried to push your strange ideas, after all. You just looked like a kicked puppy when contradicted.

Any other man would crush you at the first hint of defiance. Daemon, used to you as he was, knew rage was futile. If you wouldn’t settle in your duties easily, he had to take action and ensure you did through other means.

Gentler means. Daemon still remembered the fits you used to have when little. Viserys did too. Neither wanted a repetition.

“I have thought about it, and you should forgo the bedding.”

“I agree. It might make her sick.” Sick is the euphemism they use for your fits when there are prying ears. Daemon gives a pointed glance at the guards. Viserys drops the topic after that.

Almost against his will, when the embers of the fire they sit in front of die, Daemon goes to your rooms. He isn’t really thinking, when he walks down the hallways that lead to your chambers instead of his. Nor is he thinking when he dismisses your guards, and opens your door.

You are laying on your side, a pillow held to your thighs. Your hands are made into fists over them, as if you had fallen asleep in your rage still. Despite it, your face is peaceful, with only dried tear tracks to disturb your childish expression.

Your body is curled into itself, tightly. You must be cold, Daemon thinks, and takes of his cloak to lay it over your form.

In dreams, you smile. And Daemon understands that he is no Gaelithox. There was a reason Caraxes and Meraxes were only allowed to embrace once a day, after all.

HORROR AND RAGE are not emotions that lend itself to permanence. At least, not in you. Not when it comes to him.

Not when he plays such strange game, and gets you strange prizes. Daemon has not asked for his cloak back. You have taken to sleeping wrapped up underneath it.

How can a man capable of such cruelty be capable of such tenderness? Confusion means ignorance, and ignorance breeds fear. You have known Daemon all your life, but you are still unable to understand him.

The only certainty you have is that when he is near, your rationality flies out of the window. It’s all instinctual. To fight, to fuck, to fucking fight.

The sleep of reason produces monsters. Monsters that take hold of your heart and squeeze it, until it is no more than liquid and pulp. Did he hurt that woman? Will he hurt you? Love you?

Daemon had stolen your first kiss. Daemon had gotten kicked out of a brothel. There was a girl in the Street of Silk with a bite mark on her neck. He had visited you the night of your betrothal and tucked you in.

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Whichever it is, you have no time to come to terms with it. Viserys wishes for the two of you to be married by the end of this moon. It makes you feel even more blindsided and betrayed.

None of them had thought to ask you before deciding. They had just done so.

The idea of marrying your brother wasn’t what came as a great shock. As a child, you had often daydreamed of honoring your ancestors and becoming your brother’s wife. It was the way things should be. But you had always thought you would marry Viserys.

When Viserys married Aemma, you thought you would marry someone outside your household. Daemon and you were clearly ill-suited, even before everything that had happened between the two of you.

Betrothing the two of you would be madness. You had never understood each other in the manner Viserys and him did. You were an outsider to their relationship, the other head of the dragon. Rhaenys to her conquerors.

But inexplicably, Viserys had done so. Being betrothed to him without even being asked about it stung. No one had thought to warn you, or ask for your opinion. They had simply announced it to court and hoped you would comply.

The feeling of betrayal had only mellowed out after asking Viserys his reasoning. He hadn’t been trying to blindside you, he had explained. He had thought you would be happy. Both Daemon and you yearned for Valyrian partners. It made sense to betroth the two of you, especially because Daemon had asked to marry soon.

Your brothers were just dumb. But their foolishness was a dangerous one, since they rode the two biggest dragons of your generation and sat on the Iron Throne. Common fools could undo the damage they caused.

But in your case, there was no way out but through. Viserys had begged you to give Daemon a chance, and so, you found yourself preparing for meeting him.

Viserys had chosen the place the two of you would meet. The Godswood was neutral territory, and far away from the castle that if you started shouting insults at each other, only the Kingsguard shadowing you would hear.

It only made you dread the encounter further. You had taken a liking to the Godswood, and were contemplating using it as a hideaway for when things at court got to be too much. If this went wrong, it would forever taint the place for you.

You decide to arrive early, to allow yourself some time to compose yourself. Daemon beats you to it, already waiting near a tree when you get there.

“Hāedus,” Daemon says, when he sees you. In a show of rebellion, you have decided to wear your more modest gown, with a neckline that nearly reaches your ears. Aemma had encouraged you to wear something more revealing, but you wanted to strangle the cow. “You look lovely.”

“Lēkia.” You press a kiss to his cheek, unsure if you should greet him like you always do, or the betrothal has changed the protocol. Kissing his cheek as you always do seems safer, but you regret it when his eyes flutter closed at your touch.

He is acting odder than usual. In an increasingly out-of-character charm offensive, he takes off his cloak and places it on the grass.

“So you may sit.” His tone is too formal. It makes you even more wary, but you sit. Daemon does the same, by your side. So close, you end up frowning more.

He leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

“Despite my struggles, I have come to admire you.” Daemon noses along the hair right above your ear. “Rationality has left me, and no matter how hard I try, you haunt me at every corner, every hallway, every street of this damned city.”

“What am I supposed to say?” You complain, with a frown. You push him a little, to be able to meet his eyes.“I am well aware of your attempts at forgetting. Valyrian whores, Daemon? Really?”

“It was all in vain.” He pulls you back in, embracing you. His hands are warm around your stomach, his lips chafed against the skin of your neck. “Let me take down your hair.”

Your eyebrows raise. Out of all things he can ask for, this is the weirdest one. His petition is so simple and innocent, you almost think he is not Daemon.

“Let me take down your hair.” Daemon begs. The ardent tone in his voices surprises you. He sounds like a man possessed. As if he cannot survive if you deny him. “Hāedus...”

This devotion, this unexpected fit of love, surprises you. So much, you find yourself nodding.

You feel his chest contract with his sudden inhale. His hands are careful as they unmake your braid. His touch so tender, even the most delicate hairdresser would envy it. But when your hair falls down your back, in mussed tendrils, he shows himself to be Daemon.

His nose presses to your temple, breathing you in. His fingers run through your hair, and he presses feverish kisses to your scalp, your jaw, your ear. Licks the sweat behind it, samples your earlobe with his teeth.

Teeth. It makes you tense. You think of the girl in Flea Bottom, of the bite over her throat.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. You appear before me in the darkest corners, and in the brightest meadows.” Daemon inhales, hands grasping your waist tightly. “When I squired, away from home, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I didn’t know it was love then, but I have loved you since before I knew what the word meant. I fucked the tightest cunts of Westeros, sampled the prettiest maidens, and yet it is your face that I imagine when tugging at my cock.”

Something inside you snaps. Among the righteous indignation, a strange satisfaction takes place. You shove him off you.

“Don’t be crass!”

Daemon doesn’t attempt to embrace you again, but remains unbearably close. Your eyes drift to his lips. You would love him even if he were the one who mauled the whore. You would love him even if he did it to you. Because of it, perhaps.

“I want you to be mine. Put me out of my misery.” Daemon begs, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Marry me, and end my suffering.”

“You frighten me.” You whisper, without quite meaning to.

“Do you fear I will hurt you?” Daemon asks you, voice very gentle.

You avert your eyes. It’s not that what you fear. It’s how out of control you are when it comes to him.

“I would never.” He vows, leaning in. His lips brush against yours, before Daemon presses his forehead to yours. He looks into your eyes, and smiles. “Do you remember the last time we kissed?”

“Of course I do, you idiot.” You scowl at the memory. “You stole…”

“No. You were crying because no knight…” He gets up, and begins to tug you to your feet. You remain sitting. “Oh, get up, you stubborn thing.”

“Daemon!” You complain, but get up. He stands a few feet away from you. Curious about the point he intends to make, you cross your arms over your chest and glare.

He offers you his hand, as if to dance. You take it, eyes full of distrust.

“I have been a cunt. But you have to stop running.” Daemon circles you, pulling on your hand slightly. Is he…? Your confusion must show on your face because he gives you a mocking glance. “To dance from afar is not to dance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might as well be in Essos.” Daemon keeps circling you. “Let us dance properly, for once.”

“Here? Dance?” There is no music. And your brother has never been one for bursting into spontaneous song and dance. At least, you don’t think so.

“Together. You wanted knights to ask you to.” Daemon pulls you close, into a hug, and the puzzle pieces finally fit. The day he had kissed you, you had been crying because no one had asked you to dance. That Daemon remembers the reason when you had nearly forgotten it yourself astonishes you. “Now a Prince asks you. Do not make me ask twice, please.”

“Let us try. To dance as if glued by fire. Let me prove I can be good to you. That I listen to you. ”

And it’s stupid. It’s silly, there is not even music. But you let him pull you in, this time, and realize Daemon has always been capable of tenderness. At least, when it comes to you.

[mononijikayu]

chapter (1) — rumours.

GENRE: alternate universe - actors/celeb au!

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), r-18 and above, singers au!, romance, fluff, minor angst, slow burn, humour, slice of life, will they won't they, light-hearted, flirting, playful, possessiveness, teasing, explicit content, possible, kissing, sexual content, innuendos, drama, feels, hurt/comfort, falling in love, love, happy ending, actor/singer! sukuna, actress/celeb! reader;

WORD COUNT: 3k words.

NOTE: this was a request by a good friend of mine here, midnight-138; honestly, this was fun to write but i realized it wasn't going to be fun without a series happening. since jjk ended, i like to think its just a tv show with actors and everything. anyway!!! enjoy it!!!

masterlist

hey lover! series

SOMEHOW, ITS VERY COMMON TO HEAR YOUR NAME IN ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING. Headlines are always buzzing about your on-screen chemistry with your beloved co-star Ryomen Sukuna in Jujutsu Kaisen.

The two of you are practically inseparable on set, sharing private jokes and glances that fans swear could only belong to people who are more than just co-stars. Every Instagram post and tag, every red-carpet, every bit of interaction sends social media into a frenzy.

A blurry paparazzi photo of the two of you leaving a restaurant together? Uproar. Sukuna’s hand on your back at a press event? Uproar. Matching accessories spotted in your latest selfies? Uproar.

Fans dissect every interaction, convinced that something more than friendship is brewing. Because why wouldn't they? Everything felt like a clue. Everythjng felt like it was a mystery that needed to be solved when it comes to you two.

But the worst part about it is that you and Sukuna remain silent. Neither confirming nor denying anything. When asked about your relationship during interviews, you both just smile—maybe even exchange a playful look, adding fuel to the fire.

You leave fans in a constant state of guessing, teasing them with cryptic posts that seem like inside jokes only the two of you could understand.

In the quiet privacy behind the cameras, though, whether there’s truth to the rumors or not is a secret only you and Sukuna hold close. And maybe that’s part of what keeps everyone so hooked.

As social media explodes with theories, fans take it upon themselves to become full-time detectives. Suddenly, every frame from behind-the-scenes footage becomes evidence.

"Did you see the way Sukuna passed her the water bottle? That’s definitely a boyfriend move." People zoom in on grainy images like they're solving a mystery for the FBI.

A single, innocent tweet of yours like, "Had sushi today!!! 🍣🥢" is met with immediate chaos:

"GUYS, DIDN’T SUKUNA POST A PICTURE OF CHOPSTICKS TWO DAYS AGO?? THEY’RE EATING TOGETHER, CONFIRMED!!"

"Sukuna wears black, she’s wearing black. THEY’RE MATCHING."

"Doesn't she live in the East Side and Sukuna has a shoot in New York too? I bet he slept at her place, that's why they're together!"

You can't even breathe without someone connecting it back to Sukuna. Once, you posted a picture of your mother's cat, and someone commented, "Wait, Sukuna said in an interview last year that he likes cats. Coincidence?? I THINK NOT."

And the funniest part? You and Sukuna seem to be in on the joke. And still, STILL, not confirm anything. Not one thing. NEVER.

At every red carpet event, you both manage to “accidentally” coordinate outfits or just happen to walk into the venue within seconds of each other. On set, you pass him your coffee to share and the fandom collectively loses its mind. Yet, in interviews, your answers remain as vague as ever:

“So, there’s been a lot of talk about you and Sukuna. Are you two seeing each other?” The interviewer asks you, a certain mischief in his eye.

You looked at Sukuna, who raises a teasing brow. “We see each other every day on set, yeah.”

Sukuna grins back at you. “Sometimes even during lunch. At your trailer."

"Well, depends on the day." You added, grinning back. "I mean, sometimes we get messy in there so...."

Your fandoms spirals further.

Of course, fans don’t stop. A blurry photo surfaces of someone who might be you two walking through a park, closely packed together in a very close skinship The comments section erupts:

"THAT’S THEM. SUKUNA POSTED A PICTURE OF THOSE BENCHES A WHILE AGO!!!"

"No way, that could be anyone!"

"Look at the way they walk. That’s dating posture."

"Dude, it's just two blobs in a park."

"Only their blobs could look that in love."

Eventually, the theories get so wild, people start making compilation videos of “proof.” You sit back, watching them, popcorn in hand, thinking, They really think they’ve got us figured out.

But until the day you decide to spill the beans—or not—the internet will just have to keep guessing. And you and Sukuna? You’re having way too much fun letting them.

One day, you both find yourselves in a meeting with the producers, and the topic of fan theories comes up. They’re considering incorporating some of the drama into the show. With how your characters are, it was very easy to just make it happen.

“You guys are basically a couple already in their eyes. Why not lean into it?” one of the producers suggests, chuckling.

Sukuna leans back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what you’re saying is we should start holding hands on screen? I mean, don't we do that already?"

You can’t help but laugh. “i mean that depends, you know? Only if we get matching outfits. I’m not going out there without a coordinated look.”

The producers are writing down ideas, completely serious. “We could do a whole segment on you two fighting each other and you know......sexual tension. Very exciting.”

"We already have that anyway." Sukuna snickers back at the producer. He looks at you. "I mean......have you seen how we get down?"

"Yeah, we don't need anything to be scripted." You grinned back at Sukuna before standing up, walking towards him and placing a kiss on his cheek. "I have to go sit at the make up chair first. Bye!"

In that moment, even Jujutsu Kaisen's producers weren't sure. Are you guys datng or not?

And Ryomen Sukuna refused to say anything. He merely smiled. Proudly.

Later, during a shooting break, you and Sukuna can’t stop giggling about it. “If we did that, the fandom and our fans would explode.” you say, shaking your head. “We’d really end up causing a generational fall out."

Sukuna smirks, “Let them have their fun. I’m sure they're enjoying how we have fun too."

➽───────────❥

PROMO SEASON CAME AROUND FAST. And even during this time, you and Sukuna were never escaping the allegations. At one of the major press eventa later that month, you both decide to play with fire once again. Once more, rumors were little but they burnt like wildfire.

At exactly 9:00 am, you had to be there in the agency building to get ready. You show up wearing a shirt with a giant cartoon cat on it, and since Sukuna and you have the same agency, when Sukuna arrives, he’s wearing a matching shirt with a dog. The cameras flash, and you both strike a pose, arms crossed, looking like a bizarre couple straight out of a sitcom.

The internet goes wild.

“ARE THEY ADOPTING A PET TOGETHER?!”

In the frenzy, you hear someone yell, “What’s the cat’s name?”

You look at Sukuna, who gives a dramatic sigh. He snickers. “Guess we'll have to say something about our pet, darling.”

You both exchange a look, trying to suppress your laughter. “Oh, but don't we already have Noodle?” you suggest.

"We do.” he replies back, mischief in his eyes. “But only make sure you only feed him on your side of the bed.”

The whole thing spirals into a hilarious Twitter thread: “Sukuna and (Y/N) are definitely getting married and adopting a cat named Noodle.”

This entire thing creates media frenzy. Because what do you mean there's a marriage? And not to mention, a cat? That makes it even more serious!

The following week, you’re both asked to do a Q&A session with fans at a media event.

The moment someone asks, “So, is Noodle a real cat?” you both exchange a look, then burst out laughing.

“Listen, Noodle is a very busy cat.” you respond, trying to keep a straight face. “He’s got modeling gigs and a busy social life. And very busy building his collection of balls. He’s basically the star of our lives.”

Sukuna adds looking at you. “Yeah, he’s too good for us. He's definifely giving us a run for our money in acting. Oh, if you can visit our house and see his acting chops! He'd replace me as Sukuna!"

By now, the memes have taken over. “Noodle the cat is the real star of Jujutsu Kaisen” trends on Twitter, complete with fan art and even a fake merchandise line.

Every time you and Sukuna scroll through the latest memes together, it feels more like you’re in a sitcom than reality.

And it happened again when you both came live on Instagram after a long shoot together. You were eating convenience store ramen together. 

“We should probably just embrace the whole ‘cat dad’ angle for you, bub.” you suggest one evening while going through a particularly funny thread.

“Only if you’re down to play the role of the supportive girlfriend.” he teases.

“I’d do it for Noodle!” you laugh.

At the end of the day, the speculation continues, but now, it feels like a shared inside joke. And who knows? Maybe there’s a little truth buried in the fun.

Until then, you and Sukuna are happy to keep the mystery alive, letting the fans run wild with their theories while you enjoy the antics of being in the spotlight together. And just be together.

➽───────────❥

YOU DON'T LIKE PRESS TOURS. Because they get longer and longer the more you're in them. But it's part of your job and you can't ignore it.

As the promotional campaign for Jujutsu Kaisen heats up, the marketing team decides to do a special segment where you and Sukuna read some of the most outrageous thirst tweets from fans live on social media.

You both gather in a cozy studio set, a couple of drinks in hand, ready to dive into the wild world of fandom obsession.

The camera rolls, and the host introduces the segment with a laugh. “Today, we have two of the hottest stars from Jujutsu Kaisen! Let’s see what the fans are saying about them.”

The first tweet pops up on the screen:

“Why do I want to fight Y/N just to get a date with Sukuna? Like.....Let me touch those pecs too, Y/N! #ThirstyForSukuna”

You smirk and turn to Sukuna, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like I've got some competition, buddy. Who knew you’d be a heartthrob?”

Sukuna leans back, feigning nonchalance. “What can I say? I’ve got that bad-boy charm everyone just falls for, you know?"

The next tweet scrolls by:

“Y/N could step on my neck and I’d thank her for it. #JJKThirst”

You nearly choke on your drink, laughing uncontrollably. “Wow, I’m basically a neck-stomping goddess now?”

Sukuna grins, “I might need to step up my game. Do I have to start practicing neck-stomping moves?”

You grinned. "Why not? We can start now, baby boy."

"Hang on, lemme kneel in front of you."

The host chuckles, and the viewers can feel the playful tension in the air. The next tweet appears:

“Why is Y/N so cute? I just want to put her in my pocket and carry her around. #ProtectY/N”

You lean over and poke Sukuna playfully. “Looks like I’m the cute one. What are you going to do about it?”

“Pocket-sized? I’m pretty sure I could lift you up and carry you around. I’d be the pocket protector.”

The host raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “This is some serious couple energy right here!”

More tweets flash on the screen, and they’re getting wilder:

“I’d let Sukuna ruin my life and then ask for more. #JJK”

“Y/N and Sukuna need to date in real life. They have undeniable chemistry!”

You read that one aloud, rolling your eyes dramatically. “It’s not like we don’t have undeniable chemistry, right? I mean, we just got it, you know?"

Sukuna leans closer, lowering his voice, “You’re right. It’s almost like we’re living in a rom-com, and I’m just waiting for the big confession scene.”

The chat is blowing up, and you can see fans losing their minds over the playful flirting. Comments like, “THEY’RE SO IN LOVE!” and “CAN THEY JUST DATE ALREADY?!” flood the screen.

Next up is a tweet that reads, “Y/N can do no wrong. I’d let do anything for my queen to step on me! #ThirstyForY/N”

You turn to Sukuna with a playful smirk. “Looks like I have my own little army. How do you feel about that?”

He leans back, crossing his arms. “I’m not worried. They can love you all they want, but who’s the one sharing sushi with you?”

The two of you break into laughter as another tweet rolls in:

“Okay, but if you and Sukuna don’t end up together by the end of JJK, I’ll riot.”

You look at Sukuna, eyes wide. “Looks like we’re starting a revolution!”

“Right? How about we take the revolution to the next level? You and I should go on a ‘date’ for the cameras and really stir things up.”

“Imagine the tweets! ‘The romance is REAL!’” you exclaim, giggling.

By the time the segment wraps up, fans are in a complete frenzy. The host turns to the camera, “You’ve seen the tweets, now let’s see what the fans will do with this energy. You guys are absolutely hilarious!”

As the cameras stop rolling, you and Sukuna lean back, grinning at each other. “You know, I think we just made a lot of people’s dreams come true,” you say, still buzzing from the fun.

Sukuna winks. “Just wait until the next promo event. We’ll really give them something to talk about.”

With the buzz of excitement surrounding you both, the thrill of flirting, and the chaos of fandom, it’s clear that the jokes and playful banter only add fuel to the fire of the romance rumor mill, and you’re both having the time of your lives

As the promotional segment wraps up, you and Sukuna step off set, still riding the high from the chaotic energy of the livestream.

Fans are already trending the hashtag #YandSForever, and you can’t help but pull out your phone to check the latest tweets.

“Look at this one, Su!” you say, reading aloud. “I need Y/N and Sukuna to take a couple’s selfie like right now. Make it happen!” You smirk. “Should we make that a thing?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “A couple’s selfie? What, are we going to match our outfits again?”

“Absolutely! Let’s go full rom-com with hearts in the background.” You both burst into laughter, and he nudges you playfully.

“Okay, but only if we can throw Noodle into the picture for added cuteness.” he says, mock-serious. “Can’t let my cat-dad image fade. After all, we have a three soul family!”

As you’re scrolling through the tweets, you come across one that reads, “If Y/N and Sukuna were a snack, they’d be the whole charcuterie board—gorgeous, a little salty, and definitely irresistible.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Okay, that’s actually pretty clever.”

“Salty, huh?” Sukuna leans in closer with a smirk, “You think they’re implying something about me?”

“Only that you’re a snack, Sukuna.” You wink, enjoying the banter as you both stroll through the studio’s backlot.

Suddenly, someone yells, “Hey! Are you two dating, or what?” It’s one of the crew members, clearly getting in on the joke.

You both pause, exchanging a look. “We’re.....interesting, right?” you say, nudging Sukuna.

He smirks, “Yeah, just interesting. Especially together. Interesting together as we definitely share sushi and matching outfits.”

The crew member laughs, shaking his head. “You’re both ridiculous. Just make it official already!”

You can’t help but grin, feeling a mix of warmth and excitement at the thought. As you continue walking, you check your phone again and see another trending tweet:

“Sukuna’s hand on Y/N’s back at the premiere was a whole mood. I’m not okay.”

“Hey, I think we were just trying to navigate the crowd.” you say, laughing as you elbow Sukuna. “Or maybe I was just trying to keep you from tripping on your own ego.”

He feigns shock, placing a hand over his heart. “My ego is as solid as my acting skills! But it’s nice to have someone as cute as you around to keep me grounded, darling."

Your cheeks flush at the compliment, and you decide to lean into it. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure to keep your ego in check. Maybe I’ll start charging a fee for my services.”

“Oh? What’s the rate?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“A dinner date sounds fair. Noodle can join too!”

Just then, another crew member walks past, overhearing your banter. “Wait, are you two actually going to have a date? I’ll start a betting pool.”

Sukuna leans in, whispering dramatically, “How much are they betting on us? Better be big money we can share.”

You break into laughter again. “I’m betting they’ll think we’ll end up together by the end of the season. That’s practically a guarantee.”

As you walk back to your trailer, you can see fans gathering outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of you both.

“Looks like we’ve got an audience, Su!” you say, glancing at the growing crowd.

Sukuna gives you a sly smile. “Let’s give them a show.”

You both step out onto the steps of your trailer, and the fans cheer, holding up their phones to capture the moment. Sukuna eagerly wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you both pose for a picture, flashing playful grins.

The fans go wild, shouting your names and yelling for you to kiss.

“Maybe next time, guys! I'm hungry!” you shout back, grinning. “Tough luck but you’ll have to settle for selfies!”

"Yeah, everyone!" Sukuna whispers, a sly smile on his face. "Can't let my darling be hungry now, can't I?"

You both pose for a few more pictures, enjoying the energy and excitement radiating from the crowd. As you glance at Sukuna, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline.

This might just be a fun little game for you both, but with every shared laugh and inside joke, the lines between friendship and something more seem to blur just a little more.

Later that evening, you’re scrolling through Twitter again, and the excitement of the day sinks in as you read the latest updates:

“I’m not saying Y/N and Sukuna are endgame, but… I’m not NOT saying it either.”

“Someone tell me how I can apply to be the third wheel on their sushi dates! #LifeGoals”

“Can’t wait for the upcoming JJK season! Also, please, can they just kiss already?”

You smile, a mix of joy and mischief bubbling up inside you. With Sukuna by your side, the adventure has only just begun, and you can’t wait to see where it all leads. After all, isn't that the fun?

[imagopirateversion]

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales; Why It Shouldn’t Exist

Or how I invested time and energy into an analysis of a relatively dead franchise instead of doing it for my actual media analysis university course.

An essay by: a bitter and obsessed PotC fan since they were 7, with a lot of free time.

Lads, this is going to be long. You have been warned.

The Beginning

At the very beginning of the movie, we see a young Henry Turner looking for his dad.

Now, we're not talking about characterization problems or how likely it is that a ten-year-old child would risk his life to look for a man he technically only saw once; we're talking about plot problems, actual logical fallacies. My questions are:

How? The Flying Dutchman is a legendary ship, impossible to be found unless She wants to be found. The only reason we see Her in Dead Man's Chest is because Davy Jones himself is looking for Jack to collect his debt, and in that occasion the Dutchman's captain wasn't even doing what he was supposed to do, so he was most definitely in the living world. Will otherwise, he's doing the job Calypso gave him, so he's constantly in between. Is the movie trying to convince me that a kid was able to do something no one in the history of piracy was ever able to do? And even if he did, why hasn't anyone explained me how? He simply looks at a map and throws himself on the bottom of the ocean. How did he know The Dutchman was there? How did he know it would've come to surface?

Where is his mom? We got to know Elizabeth in the first three movies; we know she's a smart woman and we can assume she's an attentive mother. She didn't notice her son preparing himself for a trip in the middle of the ocean to go look for his dad? Was she distracted? Was she outsmarted by a 10ish-year-old? Or is she just not contemplated in this scenario?

Why does Will look like that? Will is doing his job, so... why does he look like he's slowly corrupting? That kind of corruption is the punishment Calypso reserves to The Dutchman's crew when the captain fails her, which isn't the case. Did they forget about it? Was the idea of putting algae on Orlando Bloom's face just impossible to resist to?

Alright, this isn't actually from this movie but it's bothering me, so I have to write it; also, it would make this whole movie unnecessary, so it's somehow related to it. Why (and I can't stress this enough) can't Elizabeth be on the Dutchman? Why can't they do the job together? Is it because she's not a pirate? I'm pretty sure se actually is. Is it because she's a woman? Last time I checked she was the KING. She wants to stay with Will forever, Will wants to stay with her forever, they can literally live forever on the same ship. Why aren't they?

Whatever the Hell Happened to Jack Sparrow

Imagine creating a character that is so iconic whenever you ask a person who was a kid in the early 2000 to imagine a pirate, they imagine said character.

Now imagine fourteen years pass and you decide to ruin that character by making him the most hideous, annoying, idiotic person in the whole saga, and we're talking about a saga that has Philip the Missionary in it. Why? Jack Sparrow is THE anti-hero. Never on the right side, but never on the wrong one. You can tell he's doing something morally questionable, but you still find yourself rooting for him. He's stupid enough to make you laugh, but he's secretly clever enough to always get away with it. Now he's just... drunk. And that's not even an excuse for this horrendous new characterization, because he was always drunk. The guy FORGOT HE WAS ROBBING A BANK, the same guy just one movie earlier was able to escape from the King of England's palace and steal a lady's earring (by pretending to be a literal slut) in the process. He just switched from the iconic drunk bi bestie everyone loves to my cringe uncle that drinks too much at Christmas parties and makes everyone uncomfortable. Please, if the risk is ruining an entire generation's beloved character, either don't make the movie or find a better explanation than "Bad luck dogs you day and night".

The Pearl in The Bottle

So... what you're telling me is that Jack Sparrow, the guy who was able to defeat Hector Barbossa, Davy Jones and Blackbeard thanks to his slyness, and who loves his Black Pearl more than anything else in the world, had said ship in a bottle in his pockets for FIVE YEARS... and he never thought about breaking the bottle to free Her. That's what you're telling me. This is the pivotal point upon which the entire Jack's plot hinges. I... I don't even know what to say. Was this supposed to be funny?

What an Incredibly Lucky Coincidence

A guy needs a treasure to save his father. To find it, he needs the help of a notorious and legendary pirate. He looks for him everywhere, sailing on dozens of ships just so he has the remote chance to stumble across the pirate. The last ship he's been on has sinked, he's the only survivor. He's been found in the middle of the ocean and someone brought him to the nearest city. Which city? I mean, the one that has both the pirate he was looking for and a lady who's the only person in the whole planet who's able to find the treasure he was looking for! And, oh my... he finds the both of them! In that same city! Without even LOOKING FOR THEM! A hell of a coincidence, if you ask me. Also known as lazy writing.

What's Wrong With the Guards?

Now, I know Pirates of the Caribbean isn't exactly known for its accurate historical reconstructions, but why are the guards in this movie acting like they're some sort of hellhounds ready to kill anyone in sight? Even pirates and traitors as Jack and Henry were supposed to stand trial before being sentenced to death. It would've probably been an unjust and barbaric trial, but there should've been one. We literally saw it, in the previous movie. Why's Jack been sentenced to death for simply existing here? He gave pirate vibes and they decided that was enough?

Paul McCartney

This is not an actual point of the analysis, I just wanted to remind people that Paul McCartney is in this movie and that's the only valid reason to watch it.

Salazar

I am confused. Once again, I have questions.

El Matador Del Mar was so good at his job he had almost defeated piracy. "The last ones joined together to try and defeat me". The last what? Pirates? There were no pirates left? This happened when Jack was young, so a lot of time before the first movie, right? Where were, I don't know... Blackbeard? Davy Jones? Barbossa? All the other Pirate Lords? I might be wrong, but I guess Salazar didn't kill them, did he? Why weren't they there during that "last battle" in which "the last ones joined together"?

The Devil's Triangle. I just don't understand what's the logic behind it. So, this is a cursed place. Whoever enters there, can't get out. One would think it means that if you get there, you die; and Salazar does die, but he somehow also becomes a ghost whose only purpose is to find Jack Sparrow and have his revenge. So, do people become ghosts when they get in The Devil's Triangle? We have to assume people have gotten stuck in there before; otherwise, there wouldn't be legends around the place. So why isn't it like full of spirits ready to haunt people? Why are Salazar and his crew the only ones?

Poseidon or Calypso?

What's the Trident of Poseidon? Does Poseidon exist? Isn't Calypso the Goddess of the sea? Breaking the Trident, you break all the curses of the sea, so the Trident must be more powerful than Calypso, which leads to a question. Where is she? She IS the sea, right? So she must have known someone was about to find the Trident and brake all curses, including her one. She just decided it was okay? It really feels like someone decided to suddenly change the world's mythology without giving explanations.

The Compass

This is possibly the most blatant plot hole in the whole saga. Probably the most blatant plot hole I've ever witnessed, and man, I watched all the Harry Potter movies. In Dead Man's Chest, Jack meets Tia Dalma in her "shop" and he tells her he's looking for the Davy Jones' key. She asks him "The compass you bartered from me, it cannot lead you to this?", making another pivotal point of Dead Men Tell No Tales factually senseless.

That man couldn't have given his compass to Jack, because that wasn't his compass.

So either Salazar is lying while telling his tale or they forgot about that line in the second movie. Anyway, let's pretend that line doesn't exist; even if that captain gave Jack his compass in that exact moment, why would it be the key to free Salazar, exactly? How is the compass in any way related to The Devil's Triangle or to Salazar? In the movie, they try to explain it with a sentence: “if you betray it, your greatest fear comes true”. So, is Salazar Jack's greatest fear? I really doesn't seem right, Jack almost didn't remember Salazar when Henry mentioned him. To Jack, he's only a guy he outsmarted decades earlier. Also, Jack technically already gave the compass away, twice: to Elizabeth in Dead Man's Chest, to make her find the chest, and to Beckett in At World's End, when they're negotiating.

That's... That's Just Body Shaming, Mate

Let's talk about her. So, the woman's ugly. It can happen that a woman is ugly. Was it necessary to build an entire scene around some blatant body shaming? This scene wants to mimic the similar scene in Dead Man's Chest: Jack's on an island, running from the main villain, and he's forced to do things he doesn't want to do until someone saves him, then it was Will, now it's Hector.

Except in Dead Man's Chest it was LITERAL CANNIBALISM he was facing, and yet he looked LESS TERRIFIED and DISGUSTED. What's exactly the message here? Lads, is marrying an ugly woman worse than cannibalism? I don't know... that was just bad.

Justice for Hector Barbossa

If you know me (you probably don't, but if you do) then you know about my obsession with Hector Barbossa. I truly believe he's the best written character in the saga, and he's in my top five of the characters I love the most in all media. I watched The Curse of the Black Pearl when I was seven and I am autistic, so I had all the time to develop a literal relationship with these characters in my head. As much as Geoffrey Rush's interpretation was impeccable, as always, it really hurt to watch Hector in this movie. He just doesn't sound like him. First of all, why isn't he on the Queen Anne's Revenge? Why's he letting someone else sail around on his ships? He would've never. Why's he just sitting on a throne and shooting musicians instead of, I don't know... being a pirate? Being a pirate is the only thing that matters to him. He says it at the end of On Stranger Tides, and he even says it in this movie, to the witch. "I'm a pirate. Always will be".

So, why isn't he pirating? What happened to him? And what about the pact with the witch? He made her curse all his enemies; that's honestly the most out-of-character thing he could've done.

Seriously, watch this movie, and then The Curse of the Black Pearl and tell me he sounds like he's the same character. Then there’s his death... was it necessary? And I don't mean if it was necessary to the plot (it wasn't), but the way he died, did it make sense? He takes the sword and sacrifices himself to kill Salazar, but WHY? Salazar was back a mortal. They could've brought him to surface and then shoot him. What was the point of his death, Disney? I will never forgive you.

I would've preferred if they never showed him again. He's alive and living his best life in Tortuga, if you ask me.

How does Carina Smyth exist?

Let's do the maths. Carina Smyth has approximately the same age as Henry Turner, who was born around nine moths after the end of At World's End. At the end of that movie, Barbossa once again stole the Black Pearl (he's iconic we stan a legend), so we have to assume it is during that time (between the At World's End and On Stranger Tides) that he conceives Carina. He stays with this woman during the whole pregnancy, bacause he says he was there when she died. So nine months, at least, right? Except; Jack makes it clear that he and Barbossa met Carina's mom, Margaret, together.

When, exactly, did this happen? It can't be between On Stranger Tides and Dead Men Tell No Tales, because Hector himself says only five years passed between the two, and Carina doesn't look like a five-year-old;

it can't be between At World's End and On Stranger Tides, because we know Jack and Barbossa weren't together, and Hector was too busy losing a leg and planning his revenge by working for the King of England; it can't be during At World's End, because Barbossa was too busy rescuing Jack and then slaying (literally and metaphorically) Beckett's men to save piracy; it can't be during Dead Man's Chest, because he was dead; it can't be during The Curse of the Black Pearl, nor during the ten years before it, because he was... he was a skeleton, I hardly believe he could reproduce, despite what’s written in some fanficions; it can't be before, of course, because Carina would be too old. The only chance, but it's a stretch, is that Hector and Jack met this Margaret Smyth years and years before, and that at a certain point (while he was still busy slaying, losing a leg or planning his revenge), for some reason he decided to come back to her and accidentally had a daughter. That would mean that Jack remembered Margaret Smyth's name DECADES after he met her.

The Post-Credit Scene: What?

WHY'S DAVY JONES BACK? The Trident technically broke all the curses of the sea. He is THE cursed man of the sea. AND HE'S DEAD. The only answer I was able to give me, is that the moment the Trident broke the curses, the curse that said if you stab his heart he dies was also broken, so he technically didn't die, but it makes even less sense, because if the curses just aren't real anymore, then a man shouldn't be able to... carve out his heart and put it in a chest, right? (Which by the way, makes Will Turner being alive senseless as well). Even if so, Davy should've come back as a human.

My conclusion is that this movie should not exist, and we, as a community, should pretend it was never made. Hector is alive. Bye.

Imago

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the other woman

christopher sturniolo x poc!reader

summary: an angsty story of regret and selfishness told through different moments in time

warnings: alternate universe (takes place in the early 2000s bcs i’m obsessed), angst, implied sex, cigarettes, cheating (with, not on y/n)

a/n: hiiii srry for ghosting u guys again :/ i finally have motivation to write again!!! send in blurb or one shot ideas pls. unfortunately im putting tgwtt on hold for right now bc i feel writing that series takes so much out of me and i end up not enjoying anything i write. i hope u understand & im sorry to those who enjoy it! anyways i hope this is well received since it’s a bit different than my other works — lowkey tuned into my inner sally rooney bc her angst HITS . luv u baiiii

★ march 2004

there’s a vile and shameful look to you that you’re not so sure you’ve hidden well enough.

your stomach feels overweight and heavy with an extreme amount of pain bubbling and stabbing your insides whenever they decide to pop.

you clutch at the edge of the bathroom sink, staring at your figure and aching eyes (you added some dark eyeliner into your routine hoping to distract from your disdainful mood but you’re starting to think you may have drawn more attention with the dramatic look).

you suck your stained bottom lip into your mouth out of comfort or maybe a need for something to hold as you move to dig for the pack of slightly crumpled cigarettes in your small, wine-red purse.

the door handle begins to rattle unnervingly just as you spark the slim stick to life.

you comically still yourself in your exact position (bent over odd and cupping your hand around the cig as if there was any sudden wind to blow out your flame in your friend's classy bathroom).

"y/n? you in here?!"

your eyes widen first, before they eventually roll. you wave your hands around to cut through the plumes of clogged smoke in the quaint room.

“y/n!”

“someone’s in here!” you reply, taking another puff of smoke and adjusting your hair a bit in the mirror.

“you gonna open up for me?”

“ummm,” you sputter through the cigarette held in your mouth as you adjust your strapless dress with both hands in the mirror.

“y/n.”

you let out a soft groan and quickly smash the cigarette a few times against the french vanilla ceramic sink bowl, throwing what's left of it in the trash. you practically shove yourself against the tiny wall space to the side of the door as you inch it open enough for the two of you to gain a full view of each other.

you smile, “chris.”

★ december 2003

they say the holidays are worst when spent alone.

and despite having three siblings and parents who’d want nothing more than to spend their christmas eve with their son, chris has always preferred to spend the holidays with a beautiful girl — in hopes that she’d gift him the intoxicating feeling of her thighs tightly trapping his face by the end of the night.

so it’s shocking that he’s at your door step, dressed in a suave, ribbed white long sleeve, dark blue jeans, and somehow caught without one of his usual hats slouched on top of his head of fawn hair.

and it’s real fucking odd that you answer the door wearing a dress that fits you extremely well, paired with a cardigan to keep some modesty.

it’s so very weird given that chris has his girlfriend of over a year texting him another apology for abandoning their plans together to visit her family in wisconsin as you both share an intimate hug on your porch.

you try not to think it’s so unnatural for you and chris to go out for dinner, despite the fact that everyone in your small town knows he has a girlfriend who’s notably quite the opposite of you.

thank goodness chris keeps some casualty — leaving you to open your own door when climbing into his beloved truck.

★ february 2004

“okay, um, this is something you can eat and there’s, like, a million types- you like granny smith!”

“oo, apples!”

chris nods excitedly and flips to the next card, “it’s my favorite meal of the day.”

“breakfast!”

“yes, you’re perfect. alright this is casper the friendly-”

“ghost!”

“amazing! ‘kay, i’m always complaining that mine isn’t stiff enough.”

“your dick?” josh jokes.

“fuck off, josh! i’m more than capable…” chris laughs.

“gross! chris?!”

“what?! don’t make it a biggie. now hurry ‘n gimme that answer baby, please?”

“well i’m guessing it’s your mattress?!”

“you have 7 seconds!” nick says while intensely staring at the tiny hourglass.

chris gives an encouraging hand motion for her to continue on that path.

“ummm… your bed?!”

“yes! that’s what i’m talking about!” chris shoots up from his position, on the ground in front of the coffee table, and immediately picks liv up from the couch in celebration.

the group let out plenty of laughs and giggles at the fear in her eyes as she’s lifted up and down excitedly.

cassie yells out, “aw yay mom and dad!” when chris sets her down and kisses her lips.

you try to control your face. your eyes flicker over and see them smiling with their faces so close together. and it drives you a little mad that whatever chris whispered to make her burst into laughter can’t be heard from your spot across the couch, especially not when there are so many conversations going on at once.

it’s just a game. you have no right to be jealous. it’s fucking taboo.

you clear your throat and uncross your legs as you begin to leave from the leather couch, “matt and josh, you can go before me- i’m just gonna grab some water.”

★ march 2004

“smoking cigs again?” chris asks as he steps into the bathroom.

“no,” you lie, resting your hip against the edge of the counter.

he knows you’re lying but doesn’t bother to pressure the truth out of you, he’s not your father. or your boyfriend at that.

“are you doing okay?” he pauses and waits for you to acknowledge him.

you don’t.

he clears his throat, “you look beautiful in this,” he tugs your dress down showing off the cleavage you’d just got done hiding.

“‘m all good,” you answer his initial question while exaggerating a smile.

chris mindlessly nods his head and somehow gets even closer to you, to the point where you have to tilt your head just the slightest bit to make eye contact.

“can i kiss you?” he asks with a genuine glimmer of generosity in his eyes and tone; as if he wanted you to want it more than he wants it himself.

you’re silent. he holds your neck gently and raises his other hand to drag your large bottom lip downward, cooing a tease, “hmmm..?”

you whine a little to yourself — this can’t happen again.

“yes?” chris mocks a little, giving a squeeze to your neck, “say it.”

your eyes droop and suddenly the ache of pain and guilt melts down to a slush of excitement and warmth both inside and evidently outside, if the stickiness of your lace underwear says anything. you nod your head.

chris is so obsessed with your mouth, his thumb doesn't move from your bottom lip as you peek your tongue out to wet it, "yes, please." your words echo off of his lips that now practically hover yours.

even though you've used your manners you manage to deliver it as a command. and it doesn't help that you paired the sentence with your hands running up the hot skin underneath his dark shirt. his mouth hangs slightly ajar as his head nods softly once more and his eyes flicker over your pretty face.

you wait for his response before your eyes lock onto his and you pout, "i thought you wanted to kiss me, chris?"

★ december 2003

“that’s hot,” chris mumbles as he kicks his legs over eachother and stretches out on the longest part of your L - shaped, funky-green couch.

“what is?” you ask as you return to the living room, popcorn cradled in an oversized bowl against your waist.

“pamala anderson,” chris jokingly moans out, biting his bottom lip and covering his lower half with one of your fuzzy throw pillows.

“gross, you perv!” you throw a handful of popcorn at his face — that’s stretched into an adorable smile — and take a seat next to him.

“baywatch reruns are all that nbc play anymore,” you squint with a sigh, taking a swig of the cool bottle of beer chris requested before handing it to him.

“they lost the best thing to ever happen to ‘em, i’d milk that shit too.” he then takes a sip, smirking when a desperate pamala anderson begins to run in slow motion on your fuzzy box television.

“what would liv think of you drooling over some baywatch tits?”

“what would liv think of me replacing her with you for my christmas eve dinner?”

you can’t help but think that ‘replacing’ is possibly the meanest word he could have used.

he smiles and gives a soft laugh when your face doesn’t respond, “joking- don’t spaz on me now…” he rolls his eyes from you back to the screen in front of you.

you swallow and adjust your legs to sit underneath you, trying to get comfortable while remaining in your small red dress.

★ march 2004

“never again,” you remind chris and yourself as you step into your once discarded underwear.

chris nods his head a few times, replying when he finally catches his breath, “right.”

“okay,” you slip your dress back on and chris redresses himself away from you.

chris slowly comes up behind you, kissing your shoulder once and hugging you gently. you want to cry — because in any other circumstance you’d embrace this feeling. but you can’t help but feel dirty.

he whispers with his head buried in the side of your crowded neck, “you know your my best friend, right? i love you.”

and you can’t help the shivers and sobs that decide to escape from your sad, used body.

“shhhh,” he apologizes, “i’m sorry.”

★ december 2003

chris imagined having sex with you plenty of times before — figuring most guys have thought of it with all of their girl friends, at least his friends made it seem true.

though his imagination could never ever live up to your whines and the way your body effortlessly takes him as you bounce yourself on top of him.

you both knew this was a bad idea, it was bad before you ended up back at your place after dinner. chris is an admittedly horny drunk and you’re no better so sharing a few beers while sitting so close to each other was bound to backfire.

only in the morning would some ounce of guilt and regret wash over him, when he’d listen to the cheerful voicemail his unknowing girlfriend left him while he was busy with his fingers in your mouth.

★ november 2004

chris hasn’t spoken to you since you came clean to liv about your disloyalty, six months ago.

he yelled and cried at your doorstep. he told you that you ruined his entire life, that he never wants to see you again.

you convince yourself you never want to see him again, but you tend to miss him in the loneliest times. when you’re sat awake in your dark bedroom.

you still miss his voice and his face.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König AU Writing Masterlist

Masterlist

Konig Dump

Happy Tails:

KorTac decided to rent some space in a small animal adoption cafe to provide an animal therapy program for their agents. König came for the snacks.

Intro [1] [2] [3]

Summoned!CoD AU

Reader, or Summoner, was forced by the military to summon a beast of war to use in battle. Unfortunately, Summoner isn't great at controlling themselves, so they accidentally summoned a being far too powerful for any of you to control.

Intro

None of Your Shit

Ever Watchful

An Ant Among Men Among Gods Among Cosmos

Kiss the Ocean Kiss Yourself (First Kiss)

Accidental Meteor Showers

An Unexpected Appearance of Softness

A Question Best Left Unanswered

Sweets and Sours and Maggots

Circles of Stars in Cosmic Waltzes

Writhe Beneath Me

Silly Games for Silly People

A Step Through Time, A Step Closer

A Different Definition of Ash

In The Heart of My Mother I Laugh

Mistakes Meld Realities Together

Extras

The Best Song for Summoned!CoD

Nice Kidnapper!König

To live is to suffer. Your existence feels meaningless, and you know that if you dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would remember your name. Your one chance of happiness was speaking to a nice masked man at a bar, but your 'friends' had cut off your time and stolen you away. Little did any of you know, he'd steal you back soon enough.

Intro [1] [2]

First Time Out of the Basement

Flickering Shadows Hide the Light

Cream and Honey and Thorns and Nettles

Ablutions with Acid

Carve the Fat

The Possibility of an Open Window

Do You Miss What You Had? Do You Miss Who I Was?

Long Pig

A/B/O Universe

In a world where military soldiers are forcibly paired up with partners to produce more soldiers, König is paired with an omega O, and has to deal with the new changes in his life.

Intro

My Ever Empty Bed

An Olive Branch Among Thorns

Declivities

Two Can Play At That Game

To Market to Market to Buy a Fat Hog

Aren't You Tired Yet?

I Sit With You And Cry For What Could Have Been

The House is Burning, and Everyone is Laughing and Smiling [1] [2]

Kinktober

Ghostbusters AU:

Who ya gonna call? GHOSTBUSTERS

New Recruit

A Conversation with Those Who Laugh at Death

You're a What Now?

Basement Bros

Infection!AU

You've managed an off-grid farm ever since you parents passed. It's been years, but you've endured the winters and grown to be an incredible homesteader. However, that was before the lights went out, and the barracks north of you went to shit.

Monster Trainer!Cod

Reader, code name Handler, is assigned by higher ups to be the Designated Operator of König, a rowdy and difficult-to-control jotunn/nachtkrappe shifter hybrid with a strange history of 'accidents' with his previous handlers. Your best bet to get by is to speak to others on base, but nobody is forthcoming with information.

Talking Heads Roll On Floors

Headaches Split my Skull, Stop Talking

Mischief and Mayhem

A Knot Undone Spills Forth Endless Possibilities

Phantom of the Opera!AU

Inspired by a glorious ask, a version of Phantom of the Opera where König is our beloved phantom trying to save reader from the horrible fate of being seduced by a lover from the past with a dangerous agenda. König is a twisted man, but it takes a dark soul to recognize another, and so he will do whatever he can (from the shadows) to save his beloved songbird.

The ask the inspired it all

A Man Among Ruins

Lights Go Out I Wake Up

Cannibal King!AU

Taking place in the world of Sons of the Forest, reader is trapped on a remote island. Soon she is kidnapped by a cannibal king. Once by his side, she learns that life in the woods isn't as painful as expected, adn that humanity comes in many forms.

King Cannibal Conquer Quest

Rest Well Reign Strong

Fuck Me Like A Bitch So I May Love You More

Stars Whisper Prophecies into Waiting Wells

Local Executioner!König

Living in a small village leads to a tight-knit community. When you father left to be an adventurer after your mother passed in childbirth, you were taken in by the village baker, your uncle. You always avoided the public executions, but your uncle gets sick and can't go out to market to sell his buns on the very day an execution is slotted. You must go, and there you find a cursed outsider who sparks your interest.

Carve Out a Place for Me to Sing

Hope is in Buns, Life is in Stars, Promises are in Vain (Pt 2)

Cat Hybrid!KorTac

Horangi and König are sick and tired of roughing it on the streets. They were born and bred to be soldiers, but the batch of kittens that were meant to be made into KorTac's next greatest soldiers escaped into the city, they had to grow up on the streets. They made their little gang, but Horangi and König always wanted more. One day, reader comes along and finds two sick kittens on the street. Unable to stop herself, she brings them in and nurses them back to health. She immediately regrets her decisions.

Intro

Konig and Horangi Refs

Hunters

Horangi Wink

Horangi's Hoard Art

Meeting the Human Forms (First Time)

Cuddling Konig

Move comic

Food Quality Ask

Get Out of There! Comic

Devourer of Treats Ask

Child Locks Ask

Art from This Post

[princess-dirt]

Number 1 Miquella defender.

Seriously tho (TL:DR), I'm seeing a lot of people online dismissing his character as pure evil, and it's insane to see. Although most of this is my fault for thinking the average gamer thinks about anything deeper than brainrot memes. DLC spoilers btw.

In a universe where there are like a dozen characters guilty of dozens of war crimes and genocide, calling the queer coded femboy pure evil for letting 2 people die and sacrificing himself to End Racism, War, and Genocide is a wild take.

I don't think I'd mind as much, but Ranni's ending and the Frenzied Flame endings are the two most beloved endings by the community. Like, it's ok for Ranni to kill her brother, but Miquella stealing his half brother's body after we kill him is too far.

It's ok to kill everyone because it means Melina gets to live. But Miquella making himself a god to save his sister from a life of constant horrible pain means he is power-hungry and evil.

And this isn't mentioning the whole "trecherous twink" and "Miquelester" memes that are rooted in homophobia.

But that part has a lot to do with misinformation being spread about Miquella's powers. People believing biased people who already decided to hate Miquella making up his powers or taking every bit of dialog or text to the absolute extremes.

The most obvious example being Mogh and how Miquella charmed him. I've seen delusional people go as far as to say Miquella mind controlled Mogh into starting a genocide and a blood cult. This despite the fact that it's entirely possible that Mogh started this process before Miquella was even born yet. Mogh was ambitious and wanted to be Consort to the next God. By all lore, even with the DLC, Mogh wasn't forced into anything. The line of text about the bloody bed chamber is also taken to the furthest extreme despite sexual violence and sec in general being devoid from all fromsoft games.

Even in Dark Souls, where cross breeding is canon and maidens being experimented on is also canon, actual sexual violence can only be inferred, and even then it's fringe theories. In reality, Miquella dies quite early as Mogh puts him in the cacoon and the "bloody bedchamer" is literal as in Mogh lives inside Miquella's blood. Making Miquella's corpse quite literally a bloody bedchamber.

But even if the incest happens. Yes, Mogh beats the rapist and kidnapper allegations, but nothing says he was forced into this. Miquella's power operates by making others not think negatively about him. While it can be argued that the use of the power is coercion, that is not the debate being had, and everything in the dlc shows us that his power can not force anyone to do anything. He can just convince people more easily.

Mogh is a tragic character like Morgott yes, but he is still a horrible person. The Tarnished (the player) kills him as easily as every other boss in the game. Miquella tricking Mogh and using the Tarnished killing him to steal his body is a bad thing.

I won't argue that Miquella's plan has some victims. Even if Radahn made a vow to be his Consort, Miquella still needed him dead to join him in the Land of Shadows. Radahn suffered even if he accepts Miquella by his own free will at the end.

As Ansbach says, taking Mogh's body is a horrible thing to do. Even if Ansbach is a murder cultist and heavily biased, he is right that it was still wrong to do. Ansbach even finds himself taking neither side and instead asking the Tarnished to make a new order. (It's just ironic that Ansbach describes what Miquella wants for the world)

Miquella sacrificing so much of himself is sad. We hear St Trina who is Miquella and likely Miquella's sense of Love personified, beg us to kill Miquella. Not because Miquella is evil, not because St Trina felt betrayed, but because Miquella can't love himself anymore and can accept the prison that is godhood.

And we see Miquella abandon his doubts right before he abandons his love and Trina, hiding them away from danger. We know even after sacrificing every bit of himself, he was still scared facing the Gates of Divinity. He leaves behind even his fear.

He does this all to fix the countless sins of his Mother and extended family and heal himself and his sister's curses.

It's not a coincidence Miquella's first action as a God is removing his own curse and taking the form as an adult. Showing despite everything, his goals remain the same. But of course, as the current or soon to be Elden lord ourselves, we stop him before he ever gets a chance to try fixing the world.

Some Tarnished even go out of their way to the Haligtree, slaughtering refugees from war, and killing Malenia, his sister, in cold blood. And I think this level of moral complexity and lack of clear right and wrong in the world of Elden Ring is tripping up so many people.

They see Mogh be a victim as a child and be tricked by Miquella and cannot fathom how he could still be evil. The genocide he is committing and his blood cult of murderous knights and "medics" are ignored.

Ranni can be forgiven because she is hot. Maliketh is never held at fault for what Marika does or did despite him only ever defending her and helping her. He is just super cool. We are the Tarnished so even when we chose the evil endings, there is still justification for it.

But the femboy who is very strongly queer coded can't be forgiven or understood. And another part of it is Griffith. Griffith is another morally complex feminine prince type character. Miyazaki is famously a massive berserk fanboy so characters like Prince Gwyndolin and Prince Lothric were often compared. But Miquella got the comparison the worst. Berserk spoilers btw.

And Griffith is objectionably a horrible person even before the Eclipse and when he stops being Griffith and becomes Femto. His moral complexity and the many nuances of his character often get forgotten because of the Eclipse, because of his horrible actions. Griffith being SA'd, self harming, having an unhealthy often one sided toxic love, and having so much self doubt that he nearly breaks down several times is forgotten about. They label him as pure evil and any deeper discussions about him as a character are lost.

And Miquella, as soon as he got the Griffith comparison because of his looks was destined for a similar fate when it is revealed he is an antagonist in the DLC. Griffith is pure evil, Miquella has a ton of similarities and thematic parallels to Griffith, so obviously, Miquella is pure evil. The classic no media literacy response.

I am yelling into he void I know, but I love writing and I love Miquella as a character so much. I think deep analysis and reflection is valuable even if it's just me talking to myself.

[threebooksoneplot]

what draws you both to jalice/makes you so feral about them as a ship?

you should know we had an entire meeting in order to answer this ask. no this could NOT have been an email (unlike new moon) 🤭

Secretary G took notes. they are as follows (read the bolded parts for a tl;dr)

we kind of see it as though jalice got the traits that edbella weren’t allowed to have, either due to their status as protagonists or because smeyer's mormon background causes her to view these qualities as too sinful/negative for her wholesome Waiting Until Marriage main couple. (examples: alice's materialistic, "shallow," hyperfeminine qualities, her character flaws (especially her manipulativeness), and jasper's aura and history of fucked up violence closer to what you'd find in traditional vampire stories/horror/adult gothics/books not written by a mormon author)

in terms of how much screentime the non-main-love-triangle canon couples get, their relationship is kiiiinda given the next-most weight to edbella’s (examples: jasper's extreme overprotectiveness, the New Moon chapter 19 moment where alice prioritizes jasper and bella is like “yeah I get it, I would do the same.”) basically smeyer gives jalice's relationship a lot of the qualities she finds romantic/ideal, (and which are either similarly romantic to us or entertainingly toxic/a good source of drama), presumably because alice is like her 4th-favorite character after the main love triangle and she wants nice things for her

we both really love how, superficially, as presented in the books, jasper and alice seem to have this almost “courtly love” that smeyer has described as "spiritual." yet when you look closer, their relationship has so many darker undertones—the deep codependency bordering on obsessiveness (mutual, but especially the way it manifests on jasper's end—"I will kill this random teen girl who witnessed edward's jean valjean moment™ because any means are justifiable when the ends are Protecting Alice"), the dark sides of both of their powers, the idea that jasper is only a cullen and/or only a vegetarian for alice's sake, etc. hell, even the fact that they're the only Cullen couple who we know had (gasp) premarital sex 😏 (I mean we assume rosemmett did too, but alas, they don't have that hilarious "carlisle convinced jasper and alice to get married" quote from smeyer)

partially summarized: "jasper’s general desperate willingness to sell everyone to satan for one corn chip if it keeps alice safe (carlisle: I know this and I love you)"

we're forever smug that the movies gave us even more jalice screentime (especially remarkable in such a protagonist-centric universe), including jasper being in the same grade as alice/bella/edward, and the extra jalice kisses in Eclipse and BD 🥺

what we wrote down as the “who’s protecting whom" phenomenon, as coined by G in this old ask. (shannon: "jasper is the toddler you've given the PS2 controller that's not plugged in")

we also like the characters individually. jasper is for the girlies with competency kinks—a stoic caretaker who speaks little and mostly expresses himself via acts of service. we also both love the way in which he needs protection from his own uncontrolled violence (slipping up and killing humans, suffering the pain and fear he inflicts, etc.) he is, in the words of our beloved @liceparade, the "line cook trauma boyfriend"

“It’s hot when there’s a fictional violent man who wet babygirl 😌” —shannon

and alice, unlike bella, genuinely loves being spoiled and bossing people around. she's brat-coded, she's confident and secure in who she is, her god complex ("I'm close enough [to omniscient]") causes fascinating conflict, bella eats drywall from sheer horniness at her merest movement, she dresses like a slut in the Mormon YA Novels and yet somehow escapes authorial condemnation, she has a sickass gothic heroine backstory, she's "annoying," aro started a whole war over her (eat shit helen of troy 🖕), she spaces out in public and has to be led around by jasper, she's one of the most powerful vampires in the world, she's in high school getting a C+ on her precalc test 💅🏻

it's appealing that smeyer frequently puts alice in the center of the series' various conflicts (james' singer and "one that got away," the accidental cause of all the drama at the end of new moon, one of aro's secret True motives for starting the conflict in BD.) this is mostly as a consequence of smeyer using alice as a plot device and/or deus ex machina, but it is in fact interesting

is alice jasper's morality chain? we love pondering this question via fic, meta, etc (especially because...alice ain't exactly a model of ethical behavior herself)

together, the two of them exhibit lots of classic tropes. they're grumpy x sunshine, chatty x silent, opposites attract, etc. to say nothing of that height difference 🥵

we love the yin/yang symbolism of a character with a horrific past paired with a character with NO memory of her past, who is focused on the future and all about potential. not to invoke an ancient phrase but POETIC CINEMA

the next note just says “POTENTIAL in general.” I assume we meant how all of the above stuff creates potential for interesting stories, conflicts, metas, art, fic, etc

G has brought this up in the past, but we love the irony of jasper, a character whose chief desire is to be left in peace, being soul-alteringly in love with the one character who will always be a giant glaring target through no fault of her own. hilarious

[thesuperiorrobin]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ~

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warning: Angsty?? Hurt with little/to no comfort maybe? Happy ending???? Not proofread

Damian always made promises to you and he fulfills them no matter the cost. He just wants to see you happy. He would make them when he had to go away for a few days, sometimes weeks, for a mission.

“Promises you’ll come back?” You would always ask.

He would always reply the same—his pinky stretched out towards you, a soft reassuring smile painting his lips “to you? No matter the cost beloved” a promise that was sealed with pinkies linked together and lips pressed softly against one another.

Have you ever loved someone so much that you plan your whole future together? With the other person going along and adding their own details to your make believe shared life?

That was you two, sharing those thoughts under the stars, holding each other in a comforting manner.

Surprisingly—Damian thought of the perfect wedding, a combination of both cultures, both big families together in one big room—dancing, laughing and chatting up a storm over the loud music that plays. The thought of having your first dance together as a married couple made him feel—ecstatic. Yeah, a perfect wedding for both of you.

What was a happy thought of him planning a beautiful day turned sour.

Because the day of the funeral was held about five days after his death, on the property that belonged to Bruce Wayne, right next to his grandparents. A private invent that was considered a nightmare.

Yet even when you're standing right in front of the grave, with his name engraved into it, you still think it’s just some horrible nightmare, one that you should have woken up to the moment you heard the news. That day it was cloudy, as if the universe had known when it had lost another soul, grieving with you in the process. That’s the only thing you could remember, everything else was much of a blur, the memorial, his burial—all of it until this very moment.

You find yourself alone, everyone else gone—they don’t have the heart to pull you away after giving their condolence. The tears are no more, your cheeks stain with them . There’s a painful feeling in your heart as your eyes follow the curves of his name on the stone:

In loving memory of our lovely son, Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

it’s hurts to much and all you could do is stare at the dirt. The sigh you let out is shaky—you’re trembling in your spot.

As more time passed, the more the sky got darker and darker with Grey clouds—the sound of soft thunder striking down followed by the wisp of rain soon after. It’s not long for the rain to thicken. But you didn’t budge, you couldn’t—cause if you did you wouldn’t have the heart to come back, not wanted to bear the pain anymore. The rain leaked through your coat at some point, wetting your clothes underneath as it sticks to your body along with your hair, wet down and sticking to your neck, cheeks and forehead.

You could hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind you—then a warm heavy hand was placed on your shoulder. The rain seems to stop and when you look up and there’s an umbrella placed over your head, a hand holding the curved handle. Your eyes up the hand and arm of the person. There, Bruce stands beside you with tired red eyes and a sadden smile, ones that seemed forced.

“Let’s get you inside with the others” you wanted to say no, but the words wouldn’t leave your mouth as his arm finds itself behind your back as he leads you away from your loved ones grave. You take one last look at his grave, before it’s gone for good.

It only took one look for him to understand, nodding as you leave the older man’s side.

Alfred and Titus follow you closely. They stand by your side waiting for you to open his door, and once you do they wait until you enter it first.

Damian's bedroom has never been so…quiet.

Usually when you come over there’s normally the soft sound of his TV or his favorite music playing in the background. But there’s nothing. His room is no longer bright, the only thing keeping it dim was the light from outside. Beds undone, a couple of his clothes are scattered everywhere, and his desk is covered in his painting materials.

It's like time had stopped all together in his room. It’s funny because he was never the type to be a messy person, he probably didn’t have time before he was sent away.

Titus, that sweet big dog, rubs his nose up against your palm—whining as he does so. You make your way up against his nose and up his head—gently scratching it as Alfred jumps up into your arms. You catch him with ease. The big Great Dane leaves your side for a moment and you don’t think much of it. With the cat still in your arms, you’re scanning the quiet cold room.

Up until your eyes land on a spot in his room—the walls filled with nothing but pictures. A closer look and it’s pictures of you and him—with a handful of them also being him with his family or his pets. Tears threaten to spill once more—you try to hold them back.

But you're unsuccessful.

A few of them fall down the fat of your cheeks. Every picture holds a memory. Ones you and him held dear in your hearts. Something hits the back of your leg and you let out a small ‘ow’. Alfred jumps out your arms as you look down, eyes blurry as you blink the tears away. Titus stands below you right by your feet with a thick book in his mouth. The Great Dane nudges right up against the back of your thigh. Titus was such a smart dog, maybe smarter than other dogs around the world.

He does it one more time until you take the book out of his mouth sniffling away your tears as you do so, clearing them up with the somewhat wet sleeve of your coat, very faint teeth marks cover the back and front of it. He wants you to open it, that’s what you think and it’s probably right. You find yourself sitting on the ground, back up against the wall with your legs crossed over one another. The big dog lays beside you, head on the fat of your thigh while the cat finds its place on top of Damian’s bed.

You’re hesitant to open it and you don’t know why. Few minutes of silence and fighting with yourself about it—with a single sigh you open it. The first page is blank but the next one and the following aren’t. It was his sketchbook. One that he would try to hide from you because it would make him embarrassed if you had ever laid your eyes on it. His words not yours. Damian was amazing when he came to his artistic side no doubt about it.

Every page filled with sketches, every space taken up by them and Arabic language beautifully written on the corners of most pages. It wasn’t a surprise when you saw your reflection on paper. Actually, most of them were of you. Others might find it weird, but to you it was something that made your heart pound and your face feel warm. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want you to see it.

Flipping the page one last time, you find a small paper folded in half in the small crease of the book. You think it’s another drawing, so imagine your surprise when you unfold it and it's written later.

Addressed to you from Damian. You recognize his hand writing with every cursive on every line.

‘I’m never good with affection, I would like to apologize in advance despite being together for two years’ you find yourself smiling. Something you haven’t done in days ‘I’m not good with words either, so I hope you find this letter to be of use. Grayson told me I should do something for our third year anniversary—seeing as we both haven’t done anything special for the two previous years. With you being my first I, myself, am not very good at any of this and you know that. But I’ll try for you. Remember, not that long ago when we would talk about our future together under the bright stars? It’s a little ‘sappy’ as Todd would put it but I hope it becomes true in the near future. Grayson and Drake told me not to worry about it as much, because they are both ‘sure’—hinting at our future like they know something. And I think they do. Secretly I know Grayson is already planning a wedding. It was the first thing he did when I told him about you. He cried when he found out he was the first to know, but don’t tell him I told you. Words can’t describe how much you truly mean to me, they can’t describe how much I…..’

that’s where it ends. He never finished the letter. You wanted to yell at the letter, but doing so would make you look like you’ve lost your mind. Not that you have already. All you could was cry—trying your best to hold back loud sobs but they came out choked out instead. The letter is covered in droplets of your fallen tears as you crumble it under your grip, holding it close to your chest.

The book is long forgotten.

Maybe in a different life things could be better for the both of you.

Schools literally start’s TOMORROW 😭

Buts it’s my last year, graduate of 2024😋 (I’m a senior without a drivers license 😞)

[zombholic]

MASC DEALER DINA HC — dina woodward

description — masc dealer!dina, modern au, college au, mentions of drugs, drug usage, sfw & nsfw, MDI !!

— You met her through a friend of a friend, she was really mean at first, didn’t get along too well but you were a customer so she had to provide.

— She liked to keep to herself, only having the maximum of three close friends which included Jesse and Ellie.

— There was a halloween party at one of the Sororities so you and your friend two friends dressed up like the trio in mean girls did.

— Dina was sat on the very big couch, manspreading with a blunt between her lips as she was lighting it with her match, hand covering the flame.

— You had a wave of confidence light through you that made you walk over to Dina and maybe converse with her.

— The whole night at the halloween party you and Dina chattered away, she offered you a hit and there you guys were high and talking about everything.

— You two started becoming closer, to her you guys were just friends but you started getting butterflies every time she was around.

— It was like everyone around you knew that you were heads over heels for Dina but her, she was under the impression that you were just very friendly.

— Whenever you two would be anywhere together you would be sat on her lap or cuddled up next to her, especially if she was selling or rolling up joints.

— Dina owns a gun, she doesn’t keep it strapped on her but she has it close enough in her apartment whenever a guy wants to start acting stupid.

— Dina was also known for not just selling weed, she had every drug under the sun but she would honestly rip your face off before she let you use anything other than weed and even with that she has a limit for you.

— She is very protective of her friends and especially you, you were in her words “kinda stupid.” so she was always ready to shoot a motherfucker if they even made you uncomfortable.

— One day your beloved showed up with another girl who was clinging onto her arm, Dina confessing that she was her girlfriend and you swore all you saw from then on was red.

— You started to ignore her, if your group was hanging out you would pretend she wasn’t there and it ticked her off, what really set her off was when you found another dealer.

“Y/n, wait.” Dina saw you leaving the cafeteria of your university, catching up to you she grabbed your forearm forcing you around to face her.

“What do you want?” Your face was filled with annoyance, your expressions never being subtle so she knew exactly what you were feelings.

“What the fuck is your issue? Why are you ignoring me and why the fuck did you find another dealer?” She was truly angry, her jaw clenching, the grip on your arm becoming stronger.

“Are you actually that stupid Dina? Did the damn weed catch up to your fucking brain?” You tried to pull your arm back causing her to only tighten her grip. Dina yanking you to the bathrooms she was quick to push your back against the cold tiled walls.

“Tell me what your issue is before I punch your damn face in.” You knew it wasn’t an empty threat.

— You gave in and told Dina why you were ignoring her, she was taken back from the sudden confession of your feelings towards her.

— It had been weeks since you spoke to her, during those weeks Dina broke up with her girlfriend after finding out she was stealing her shit.

NSFW mdi NSFW mdi NSFW

— Dina was at your dorm banging on the door in the middle of the night, you thought the damn cops were at the door with how loud she was banging.

— She didn’t hesitate to grab your jaw, pressing her lips against yours so deeply.

— You didn’t pull back only when she did to catch her breath, all you could do was ask what the fuck.

— She dragged you to your room shoving your body down onto your bed, pinning your hands to the side of your face she leaned back down kissing you hungrily.

— The kissing led to her going down your jaw to your neck where she bit and sucked until you were covered in her love bites.

— Dina took her time, making you strip in front of her slowly, her hands roaming your body causing you to break out in goosebumps. She pulled you between her legs and kissed up your chest to your tits, sucking on one while her other fingers pinched and played with your other nipple.

— She made you ride her fingers, you gripped onto her shoulders mewls and whimpers spilling out from your lips, her dark brown eyes never leaving your face loving the way your expressions were just pure bliss.

— She manhandled you onto your stomach with your ass up in the air and back beautifully arched, she traced your arch with her hand. She didn’t keep her gun strapped but she did keep something else strapped.

— Her cock was too much for you to take, girthy with 7 inches inside of you. She was painfully slow with her thrusts, pulling out all the way only to slam back inside your drooling cunt.

— Dina used every curve on your body as a handle when she started quickening her pace.

“Oh— Di…ohmygod you fuck me so good.” You moaned between hiccups, she was fucking you stupid, her cock kissing your cervix, her thrusts were lethal and knocked every single breath out of your lungs.

Her hand sneaked to your aching clit, rubbing the puffy bud in fast circles as she slammed her cock inside of your wet, pink walls in an unforgivable pace. You swore you were seeing stars at this point, words not even forming properly anymore.

“Too much, oh fuck— s’too much please!” Your face was buried in your pillow, tears now streaming down your burning face.

“It’s too much baby? Oh, is my cock too much for your little cunt to handle?” She mocked, a grin formed on her face, she was in love with breaking you apart with her cock.

authors note — do yall wanna see some other hc from different characters??

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there!

I was wondering if you had any recommendations of fics that have Aziraphale as a priest? i’m in search of some but have no idea how to find them.

only ask is that it’s 3k words and up!

Thanks so much for all you do, you are truly the foundation holding the fanfiction side of Good Omens together!

lots of love x

Hello! We have #priest Aziraphale & #priests au tags. And of course there is the priest Aziraphale tag on AO3. Here are more to add to our collection...

All The Lights That Light The Way by FeralTuxedo (E)

On the run from a disastrous work Christmas party, Anthony Crowley encounters an angel singing in the streets of Soho.

& Forgive Us Our Trespasses (Of Which The First Is Love) by ineffable_angle (M)

Fleabag-inspired AU where anthropologist Dr. Anthony J Crowley becomes friends (and then definitely more) with the hot priest Father Aziraphale Moore. They meet at their high school reunion and discover that they just can't quite stay away from one another. Mainly, they debate evolution, go to brunch, and overcome Anthony's religious trauma. Some scenes and dialogue from season 2 of Fleabag do show up, but the plot is not the exact same.

The scent of incense on his fingers by gimmewhiskey (E)

Crowley knew what was twirling on Aziraphale's tongue. “Don't even think about saying you forgive me," he whispered, then turned and strode quickly to the door. Aziraphale stared after him for a few moments longer. He slowly raised his hand and touched his lips. There was a scent of incense on his fingers. ...Or the story of how a successful lawyer Anthony J. Crowley successfully pretends to forget his old love while Father Aziraphale atones for sins for them both.

(Let's) Do it again by gagna_onni (M)

Father Fell has lived his whole life in a small town in Wales. His life is simple, the community is kind and welcoming and he does all he can to help everyone. One day a guest arrives at his clergy house. And right after his arrival, things start to change in an unexpected way.

in your own time by ineffabildaddy (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

Faith, Hope, and Love (And the Greatest of These Is Love) by khh1961 (E)

A young Father Aziraphale Fell takes up his first post as a junior priest, under the stern supervision of Monsignor Gabriel (who very much likes things to run his way, thank you kindly) and meets fellow parish priest, Father Anthony Crowley. Our young Father Fell is immediately captivated by Father Crowley's handsome face, ginger hair, and dead sexy Scottish accent. This looks to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. But what else it may become remains to be seen. Love and the will of God are both ineffable.

- Mod D

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Review of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

In the previous section, we explored not only who Dick Grayson is and why he is so beloved by his friends, but why many people — including Taylor and others at DC — have a hard time  understanding his character. By reducing Dick to a hero who is “good” and transforming into an “everyman” that anyone can project themselves onto, Taylor fundamentally removes that which makes Dick special, transforming him into a different character.

But there are other ways in which Taylor and DC mischaracterize Dick by erasing his history and transforming into a more “palatable” mainstream hero. That is what I wish to explore in more detail now. 

Let’s begin by examining how Taylor’s framing Dick’s story in Nightwing (and that of the Titans in Titans) as a coming-of-age tale contributes to a grand erasure of Dick Grayson’s greatness.

In Taylor’s run, Dick is treated as if he were a new superhero. However, even if this run (not the entire title that started in 2016 with Rebirth, but just Taylor’s run) were to become a new stand-in for the 1996 Nightwing solo in which Dick arrives in Bludhaven for the very first time, Dick Grayson should not be portrayed as someone new to vigilantism. Even if one were to generously interpret Taylor’s Dick as being only twenty-two years old after starting as Robin at twelve years of age and only recently having become Nightwing, Dick would still have a decade of experience doing detective and hero work. It is notable that most of that decade was spent with him leading the Titans, serving as Batman’s partner and second-in-command, and mentoring numerous young heroes.

(Wolfram, Amy, writer. Kerschl, Karl, illustrator. In the Beginning… Part Three. Teen Titans: Year One no. 03, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2008. pp. 09)

One of Dick’s core traits is that he is a natural, if at times reluctant, leader. Many key moments in his character history are defined by Dick feeling the weight of the responsibilities placed upon him and having to push through his personal reservations for the sake of others. 

Dick was the first child hero. He was the first sidekick. Out of universe and in universe. (In the introduction to  Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman, Kristen L. Geaman mentions that some argue Mister America from Action Comics #2 is, in fact, the first side-kick. However, this claim is debated since Mister America played more of a comedic and “Watsonian” role [as Dick Grayson Fan C suggested], and Dick was the one who popularized the formula of the role.) He was the proof that the concept of a sidekick — a partner — could work. Proof that kids could be trained into this life. Proof that they did not need powers in order to be a hero. That is one of the reasons why, in-universe, he is admired by so many characters – because he is the trailblazer who opened the doors for every young hero and side-kick that came after him. Dick’s history is also why he has so many connections — it is because he was the one who opened the doors for everyone else, mentored so many people, and partnered with those who were his age and those who were much older that he gained so much respect in the superhero community. 

And yet, that history is called into question in Taylor’s narrative when he frames Dick as a young, new hero who is just beginning to assess what he wants to do with his life. Not only is it bad storytelling to portray Dick’s connections without factoring in the experience tied into them, it also demonstrates a fundamental lack of understanding of who Dick is, what he represents, and why he’s been so beloved for over 80 years.

This lack of appreciation and of respect towards Dick is extended to the other Titans in Taylor’s Titans (2023) run. As he himself pointed out, the first arc is called Out of the Shadows because, in his words, the Titans are “stepping out of the shadows of the Justice League.”

(Taylor, Tom [TomTaylorMade]. Twitter, 22 June 2023, https://twitter.com/jesswchen/status/1636971185782259716?s=20.)

And yet, to its fans, the Titans were never in the Justice League’s shadows. They were not inferior or subordinate to the Justice League, even if they may be less known. In-universe, the Titans may have modeled themselves after the Justice League and they may be allies, but the Titans are still an independent entity. From their very inception they defined themselves in contrast with how the Justice League operates. 

In fact, in JLA/Titans #02, Dick himself draws this distinction when arguing with Bruce and calling him out on his condescending behavior towards the Titans.

(Grayson, Devin; Jimenez, Phil, writers. Jimenez, Phil; Brown, Eliot R., illustrator. The Generation Gap. JLA/Titans no. 02, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1998. pp. 23)

Trying to repackage Dick and the Titans as newbie heroes who are only now experiencing independence demonstrates a lack of understanding of their history and who the Titans are meant to be. The Dark Crisis and The Dawn of the DCU attempt to frame Dick’s Nightwing series and Titans as coming-of-age tales, where only now the characters are stepping into adulthood. Taylor’s writing goes a step further and portrays them as making rookie mistakes, coming across as newbies, and as a result, erasing all of the rich history that have built these characters into who they are today.

As I mentioned above, even if we generously interpreted that Dick never lived in Bludhaven before, Dick should still have plenty of experience being a hero and living on his own. The moment in which he transitions from Robin to Nightwing (willingly or unwillingly depending on your preferred Nightwing origin story) is Dick’s coming-of-age moment. By the time he comes to Bludhaven, Dick already knows who he is, what he wants, and he knows how to care for himself. By the time Dick comes to Bludhaven, his internal struggles are not that of a young adult who just left the nest and does not yet feel like an adult, but rather that of an adult who knows his own abilities and is confident in who he is. 

And yet, in Nightwing #84, the first issue in Nightwing: Fear State, Taylor has Dick pondering on the responsibilities of taking care of Bludhaven. Right on the first page, he says “Fighting an entire corrupt system? Saving a whole city? There’s no training for that.” 

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Rodriguez, Robbi, illustrator.  Fear State Part 1 of 3. Nightwing: Rebirth. 84, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 03)

Except even the most basic knowledge of Dick’s character shows that he was, in fact, trained to save an entire system and to fight a corrupt system — he was trained to care for Gotham and to take out the corrupt systems that prevail in that city. Not only that, Dick has also been Batman, at which point he was also Gotham’s main protector. 

This mistake becomes even more outrageous when one considers that, though Taylor’s run is at times treated as a soft-reboot, Dick is still shown to have lived in Bludhaven while operating as Nightwing. This means that that generous interpretation I’ve been alluding to is not, in fact, compatible with the story as it is written. It is a falsehood, and therefore cannot be used to excuse the “new-in-town” approach Taylor uses when writing Dick. 

Dick’s apparent inexperience and, frankly, incompetence, is further highlighted by the amount of times Dick is saved by others, or the amount of times when he is dependent on others to do the work for him. These instances include, but are not limited to:

The people of Bludhaven answering Nightwing’s call when Heartless sets the tent city on fire in #81

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator Leaping into the Light Part 4. Nightwing: Rebirth. 81, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 13)

Dick being knocked out with a single blow and then unmasked during his first attempt to investigate Melinda also in issues #81

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator Leaping into the Light Part 4. Nightwing: Rebirth. 81, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 20 - 21)

Babs calling people to Dick’s rescue rather than trusting he could get out of it on his own in #82.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part 5. Nightwing: Rebirth. 82, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 03)

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. The Battle for Bludhaven’s Heart Part Four. Nightwing: Rebirth. 95, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 24 - 25)

In #90, when his building blew up and Wally came to save him, then proceeded to force him to rest away from Bludhaven instead of letting him take action.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator Get Grayson Act Three. Nightwing: Rebirth. 90, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 15)

And needing Babs’ help during a car chase in #106,

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Byrne, Stephen. The Crew of the Crossed Part One. Nightwing: Rebirth. 106, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2023. pp 16)

Which greatly contrasts how, in #113 of the Nightwing (1996), Dick handles a similar situation while simultaneously mentoring Rose Wilson.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Chian, Cliff, illustrator The Scorpion and the Frog. Nightwing no 113, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2005. pp. 19)

The thesis of Taylor’s run is that people need to rely on one another — we have to be each other’s safety net. And while that is an interesting theme to explore and one that certainly speaks to Dick’s history of doing things on his own out of fear of putting others in danger, Dick should still, more times than not, be able to do things by himself. After all, this is not an ensemble piece — this is Nightwing’s story and as his fans, we want to read about him. Cameos are fine. They can be fun, in fact. But cameos are different from Dick constantly struggling and needing help whenever he faces a challenge – the former portrays Dick as someone with powerful connections that deeply love him; the latter portrays Dick as being incapable of doing things without someone holding his hand.

This is another thing that Waid understands about Dick and portrays it clearly in World’s Finest. When Kara explains to Clark what first attracted her to Dick, she emphasizes how, despite the fact he had no powers, he could still save himself. 

(Waid, Mark, writer. Lupacchino, Emanuela, illustrator. Scream of the Chaos Monkey. Batman/Superman: World’s Finest no. 12, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2023. pp. 06 - 07)

Being not just competent, but exceeding even the highest expectations is at the core of Dick’s character. And, as was pointed out in the previous section, it also serves to feed into his toxic perfectionism — he is one of the top tier heroes, therefore people expect excellence from him. Dick does not want to fail those who put their trust in him, and so he demands perfection of himself to the point of self-destruction.

Beyond that, we cannot give Taylor credit for trying to tell a story about Dick growing out of his perfectionist bad habits by learning to rely on others. After all, if Dick is constantly asking for help, then he is not resisting help. And that removes his chance for growth. A character arc requires development and change, which means one cannot start at the endpoint. Therefore, it cannot be claimed that Taylor’s intentions are for Dick to learn to rely on others, for he has been doing so without hesitation since the beginning. 

As a result, the story is not about Dick being Bludhaven’s safety net while learning that he also has a safety net of his own, but rather about Dick always relying on his safety net, always knowing it was there, and having them also shoulder the responsibilities he took when he named himself Bludhaven’s protector. There is no room for Dick to grow because he is already at the end of his journey. And there is no room for Dick to be the hero of his story because others are constantly coming to his rescue when things get too difficult.

Once more, I must clarify that I’m not saying that Dick is not loved, or that Dick is not important to many people. I’m simply stating that the way his relationships are built gives him very little room to rely on them. He is their safety net but he doesn’t trust them to be his safety net. Exploring this requires going into the nuances of each relationship, where conflicts are created, and where people hurt the other in the heat of an argument. It would mean dealing with the messiness of complex human emotions, forcing characters and the audience to sit with uncomfortable feelings as we get to the root of Dick’s perfectionism and his fears.  

In June of 2022 a reader on Twitter asked Taylor about his decision to have Dick constantly falling, for, as they pointed out, this makes Dick look incompetent.

(Jonathan [@Nightwingdagoat]. Twitter, 21 June 2022, https://twitter.com/Nightwingdagoat/status/1539267708310765568)

Taylor responded by saying that these instances were Redondo’s call, and that it was their attempt to humanize Dick.

(Tom Taylor [@TomTaylorMade]. Twitter, 21 June 2022, https://twitter.com/Nightwingdagoat/status/1539267708310765568)

In fairness to Taylor, the following criticism will then be directed primarily at Redondo who believed these instances were the best way to “remind people that Nightwing is human.” That being said, as Taylor appears to support such a position, and as he has written numerous incidents where Dick is conveniently knocked over by others, I do believe this can be directed at him as well. 

Simply put, to have a character constantly fall is a superficial and lazy way to humanize said character. Casual falls like this, after all, are not failures. They contribute little to the story and have very little consequence.  

Nothing happens once Dick falls. The bad guy doesn’t get away, the innocent civilian is not hurt, the crucial piece of evidence needed to crack the case is not destroyed. There are no lasting consequences for Dick to deal with, no conflict that can arise from these falls, no tension to make Dick’s future success more emotionally effective. Furthermore, these falls are completely out of Dick’s control, taking away any responsibility he might have for his mistakes. 

If the flaws that are meant to “humanize” Dick are falls which he bears no agency over, then he, the good guy, has no responsibility over his own “failures.” Said “failures” also end up having no consequences to the plot, which gives Dick no crisis to respond to (furthering his passivity), and this robs Dick of character development opportunities. 

It creates a stasis in the story where the only conflicts Dick faces are the ones against really bad guys that always – always – lose to Dick and his connections, and ones which do not ask for moments of introspection.

Despite almost never falling in The Untouchable, Dick is far more human there than in Taylor’s and Redondo’s run. This is because Dick is forced to face the consequences of his “failure” to capture the Judge twice in the past. Dick is constantly thinking about the Judge’s victims, forcing himself to carry their lives on his shoulder. He pushes himself to toxic lengths. Whenever the Judge escapes his grasp, the conflict evolves, the stakes are raised, and the tension builds. Dick’s desperation becomes visceral to the reader, and that is what humanizes him to the reader. Similarly, the emotional pay-off of the climactic battle in the end grows with each obstacle Dick faces.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator The Untouchable: Chapter Four: Infiltration. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 38, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 09)

But Dick’s newbie incompetence is not the only way Taylor mischaracterizes Dick. It is by combining the lighthearted tone of his story, his depiction of Dick as a blank canvas “good guy,” his avoidance of conflict, and his attempts at answering difficult real-world problems that Taylor ends up creating a version of Dick Grayson that is utterly self-absorbed and lacking in foresight.

Telling and not showing is an immense problem in Taylor’s writing. There’s a difference between how a writer attempts to portray a character and how, given their actions in the context of the narrative created, the story shows them to be the complete opposite. In such cases, the story triumphs over the writer. This is why I claim that, though Taylor tells the reader that Dick is caring, intelligent, and a hard worker, he actually shows Dick as as selfish, incompetent, and naive.  

Take, as an example, how Taylor sidelines the Heartless storyline in favor of slice-of-life scenes. If Heartless was not there, perhaps those sweet moments could be just that. However, as in the world of the story there is currently a serial killed running around free, making orphans out of the youth Dick vowed to protect, the fact that Dick is not constantly working to catch Heartless is not only out of character, it makes it so it seems he doesn't care what happens to the people of Bludhaven (And now also Gotham, given #111, which was released as this essay was being edited). Rather than stopping crime and bringing justice to Heartless’ victims, Dick would rather spend his nights in his apartment, enjoying a relaxing evening with his girlfriend and his dog. 

Please do not take this to mean that I consider a slice-of-life story to be inferior to other genres. My reason for highlighting this is not to undermine the value of slice-of-life, but rather to argue that such scenes do not live in isolation. They exist within the context of a larger narrative, and what would be sweet in a sitcom-style story comes across as something entirely different when other characters are facing life-and-death stakes. It does not matter how much the writer tells us that these characters are caring and compassionate — their lack of action and urgency portrays them as self-centered. 

Just as Taylor attempts to write the big climatic moments without properly building the momentum necessary to make them impactful, he similarly forgoes the work required to win the reader’s trust, and instead expects his audience to simply accept that important plot and character developments are happening off-screen. Rather than letting the audience experience the intrigue and devastation of the Heartless mystery by showing us how the horrors of these murders motivate Dick to continuously search for this cruel killer, Taylor instead advances these elements off-screen, opting instead to tell the reader they’ve occurred.

That is not to say that writers cannot streamline plots. They absolutely can and, in some cases, they absolutely should. However, streamlining a subplot is a far more complicated matter than just telling the reader said events happened off-screen and expecting them to simply accept it. 

While it is impossible to provide a precise checklist with the step-by-step guidelines on how to properly streamline a subplot, I believe one of the factors one must consider is whether that plot should be streamlined or not. Personally, I believe that Dick investigating the character who was meant to be this run’s main villain is too big and too important of a story to be played off offscreen.

Dick has hardly spent any time attempting to apprehend Heartless. Instead, as time of writing, his investigation of Heartless has practically nonexistent. Instead, after not focusing on him for the majority of the run, we are simply told by Dick and Babs that they’ve been keeping an eye on Heartless, even if their investigation is never shown to us. 

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Basri, Sami Nightwing. Nightwing: Rebirth. 111, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2023. pp 09)

If we, as readers, are to believe that Dick is the selfless detective and hero — the Heart of the DCU — that Taylor tell us he is, then finding and apprehending Heartless should be one of his top priorities. If Heartless was meant to be Nightwing’s big nemesis, then their confrontation should always be a source of great tension and conflict. Such importance would be demonstrated by showing Dick working towards stopping him at every moment he has free. But either those moments are not happening at all, or they are happening off-screen.

Having such an important conflict and such a crucial antagonistic dynamic develop does nothing to enrich the plot — in fact, it only detracts from them, for because we do not get to witness this relationship grow and we are only told that it is happening, the pay off that must come when Nightwing and Heartless finally have a big confrontation will be cheapened as a result. 

Heartless' actions are so brutal and create such urgency that not prioritizing Heartless' arrest makes it seem like Dick doesn't care about his victims. Batman doesn't wait around when the Joker breaks out of Arkham – he hunts the Joker down. Similarly, Dick didn't wait around on the Judge – he hunted him down. 

For Heartless to be the Big Bad, Dick should have put him in jail already and Heartless should have escaped. DIck should have faced him multiple times. He should have been Dick's priority because of how cruel and urgent his actions are.

Finally, there are three particular moments that I wish to discuss to illustrate how ambivalent Taylor is when it comes to Dick’s characterization, choosing to prioritize online discourse over who Dick Grayson’s established history and personality. 

The first one comes from a throwaway line. And yet, because this was a throwaway line that demonstrated how little thought Taylor gives to his main character. 

When Tim makes his first appearance in Taylor’s run in #80, Dick’s narration says that many would consider Tim to be the best Robin, and that he “totally gets it.”

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator.  Leaping into the Light Part Three. Nightwing: Rebirth. 80, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 09)

“Who is the best Robin” is a discourse that I, admittedly, care very little for. It serves no purpose other than to get fans to fight one another, bashing each other’s favorite characters in order to prop up their own. When posed on social media, this question becomes a thinly veiled attempt to generate high engagement. In reality, when people discuss “who is the best Robin,” they are, most often than not, truly arguing about who is their favorite Robin. But the question is framed in a way to be purposefully divisive, creating conflict within the fan community. The fact that DC plays into that divisiveness that requires their characters to be brought down so others can be lifted up for marketing material is concerning, but the fact that writers such as Taylor are letting that fan perception bleed into in-universe narration is nothing less than lazy writing that prioritizes online leaning into buzz over good storytelling.  

Naturally, as a Dick Grayson fan my opinion is that Tim is not the best Robin. Dick is. But my problem is not that Taylor said that Tim was the better Robin, but that I think Dick would never concede to the existence of a “best Robin.” In fact, not only do I believe that it is out of character for Dick to believe that one Robin can be defined as the best Robin, I would argue that Dick would be offended that such a question could be asked.

Dick, more than any of the other Robins, understands the purpose of a Robin, as he was the one who created the mantle. By seeing so many others inherit his family’s colors and his mother’s name for him, he also understands better than anyone that each person who becomes Robin has their purpose in their own unique way. Dick would understand how each of them made the Robin mantle unique, how they added to its mythos in their own way, and how all of their contributions are equally valid and equally important. He would never single out one of them as the best because he knows that Robin is about an ideal of justice by bringing light into the darkness. Most importantly, understanding how many Robins tied their self-worth to the mantle, Dick would never want others to feel as if they fell short of some arbitrary measure by proclaiming they are not “the best.” Dick would be against that measure, against the very idea of ranking Robins, as if they were interchangeable, as if they each didn’t make relevant contributions. He would hate the idea of the mantle he created in honor of his parents being used to judge and measure the worth of those he loves. Dick would argue that there can never be a "best Robin" because Robin is always about being your best self in the service of those who need your help, and you can't quantify that.

The concept of a “Best Robin” is a marketing strategy and a fan-oriented discourse that Taylor casually imposed into the narrative without considering whether his protagonist would adhere to such ideas. He prioritized internet discourse over characterization, and while the former may be immediately fulfilling as the page is cropped and shared a few thousand times in the first few days after publication, only the latter will leave an impression that will last decades. Taylor is embodying a current DC Comics trend to favor the former over the latter. As scholar Steve Baxi said in his review of Leaping into the Light, that page “doesn’t feel like Dick Grayson appreciating his brother, it feels like Dick Grayson saying what the audience wants to hear.” (Baxi, Steve, “TRADE COLLECTION REVIEW: Nightwing Vol. 1 - Leaping Into The Light” Comics Bookcase, August 2021)

Although they share similar problems, unlike the “Tim is the best Robin” throwaway narration, the second example I wish to discuss in detail became a big plot point in the beginning of Taylor’s run. I’m referring to the choice of having Dick become a billionaire due to the inheritance Alfred left to him.

To be more clear, my problem is not with the fact that Taylor made Dick into a billionaire (after all, Dick inheriting wealth from his parents is not a novel concept), but rather with Dick’s musings on the subject. (Dick’s financial situation is inconsistent across the years. While some like Dixon and Wolfman allude to him having a trust fund his parents set aside and that remained untouched until Dick’s adulthood, other writers like Humphrey who portray him as more middle class and sometimes struggling financially. Then there are the numerous times in which Dick was left homeless, implying that he did not have a safety fund to go to when tragedy struck.) On #79, Dick says, without a hint of irony, that he always thought that Bruce could do more to help Gotham with Bruce Wayne’s money than he does as Batman. 

(Taylor, Tom. writer, Redondo, Bruno, illustrator Leaping into the Light Part Two. Nightwing: Rebirth. 79, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 07)

This is a popular online discourse that reveals lack of knowledge about Batman and a naive understanding of how corrupt systems function. I understand we are currently very critical (and rightly so) of billionaires and the hoarding of wealth. I understand that this leads many — media critics and everyday fans — to analyzing how wealth is portrayed in the stories that resonate within our culture. But anyone who claims that Bruce has not used his wealth for the benefit of Gotham outside of funding his Batman endeavors has not engaged properly with Batman media. I’m not going to go into the merits of how Bruce’s wealth should or should not be portrayed and how DC has currently been handling this issue (that is the subject for an entirely different essay that is not relevant to this discussion), but I will say that Bruce has, canonically, used a lot of his money to fund safety net programs in Gotham, to invest in small businesses and on individuals, and in trying to make the city more affordable and kinder to those with less. 

Twitter user Ashley|TheBatFamily 🦇 (@TheBat_Family) created a comprehensive Twitter thread of examples. These are but some of the ones that stood out to me and that feel most relevant to this essay:

In Cataclysm, Bruce attempted to lobby the US government to offer aid to Gotham after the earthquake; 

Bruce used his money to rebuild the city during No Man’s Land;

Bruce invested in the people who were ready to start new businesses so Gotham could offer jobs to its people and rebuild itself without being fully dependent on others;

Bruce created scholarships so more people could attend university;

Bruce funds Leslie’s free clinic as well as other hospitals around Gotham;

Bruce invested on low-income housing developments in Gotham by working with local firms, providing accommodations to local residents so no one would be displaced;

Bruce expanded and modernized Gotham’s public transportation system;

Bruce ensured all Wayne properties were secured against earthquakes (which led to those residences being the only ones standing during NML);

Bruce funds libraries and museums;

Bruce funds green efforts not just in Gotham, but in other places by buying land and making them nature preserves;

Bruce funds orphanages and provided them resources (from educational supplies to toys for the children);

Bruce provided support for immigrants;

Bruce funds appeals for wrongful convictions;

Bruce provides employment for former convicts;

(Ashley [TheBat_Family]. Twitter, 13 October 2020, https://twitter.com/TheBat_Family/status/1316006509923520512.)

In short, Bruce Wayne has done everything and more that Dick claimed he wished to do for Bludhaven. There’s nothing novel about the idea. Batman narratives don’t put as much focus on these endeavors and do not place as much emphasis on Bruce’s philanthropy simply because they Batman stories are, at their core, detective stories first and foremost. Their focus is on investigation and crime solving (Though I would argue that Cataclysm and No Man’s Land put a lot of focus on issues of wealth, class, and examine Bruce’s financial responsibility towards the city).

But just because these examples are not the focus of the stories in which they are present, it does not mean that they do not exist. Neither does it mean that Batman stories do not engage with themes of wealth and class inequality, as well as systemic corruption. In fact, I would argue that many of the best ones know how to use Bruce’s privileged status to explore these issues. The Court of Owls by Scott Snyder, for example, brilliantly uses the Court and the Talons to engage with these themes. (An essay analyzing the Court of Owls through such a lens would be a fascinating study, especially when exploring the parallels and foils between the Court and the Talons, and Bruce and Dick. Alas, this is not the place for it.)

Dick, who not only has always been characterized as knowing Bruce better than most people,  but who was also raised by Bruce, would know about every single one of the examples listed above. Dick, of all people, had a front row seat to all the ways in which Bruce helped Gotham with his wealth, both in examples that were covered by the press, and the ones Bruce did secretly without taking credit. Dick attended countless fundraising events, press briefs, boardroom meetings. But most importantly, Dick would have witnessed with his very own eyes that lack of funding is not at the root of Gotham’s problems.  The problem in Gotham is not lack of money or safety nets, but rather, it is that its systems are so corrupt that pumping more funds into it will do nothing to help those in need. Instead, it will only further enrich those who are already in power. That’s why in this comic book world with comic book conventions and comic book logic, Batman is needed. Batman is a disruption to the system, forcing it to change, dismantling it from both the outside and the inside. In Dixon and Grayson’s Nightwing runs, Dick’s understanding of systematic problems can be observed in his motivation to become a police officer, as he joins the force with the goal to weed out the corruption and dismantle the system from within. Money alone cannot save a city if the foundation was purposefully designed to favor those on the top by taking from those at the bottom.

(Dixon, Chuck, writer. McCarthy, Trevor, illustrator The Threshold. Nightwing. 60, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2001. pp 22)

But of course, Taylor never takes a moment to wonder how being raised by Bruce Wayne would influence Dick’s perspective on this matter. Instead, he once more takes a popular online discourse and makes Dick say it out without considering characterization. A more in-character and canonically accurate approach to such a story moment would have Dick comment on all the ways Bruce used his money behind the scenes to help Gotham, and how he wishes to do the same for Bludhaven. A single line change would have demonstrated Taylor's willingness to engage with Dick’s character history rather than just copying the hot takes he sees on social media. 

Not only that, this change in dialogue would also establish Bruce and Dick’s closeness as it would show that not only is Bruce a source of inspiration for Dick, but that Dick is one of the few people who have seen this side of Bruce. That would have also made the hug between Bruce and Dick in the #100 more emotionally effective and thematically cohesive, especially as they are in front of Alfred’s grave.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator Power Vacuum: Part Four: The Leap. Nightwing: Rebirth. 100, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2023. pp 44)

The truth is that Dick's Haven project engaged with issues homelessness only in the most shallow of manners. Rather than discussing the realities of this matter, it simply used it as a backdrop. It is an appropriation of hardships by someone who is unwilling to engage with the difficulties brought upon by said hardships. It is substance-less writing masquerading as social consciousness.

The third example I wish to cite which demonstrates Taylor’s lack of consideration for Dick’s character or his backstory comes when Haley is taken in #87. Dick’s internal monologue reads that “The last thing I’d want is for anyone to be threatened because they’re close to Dick Grayson,” referring to the fact that he is now a public figure thanks to the press conference he gave about his plans for Bludhaven. 

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator Get Grayson. Nightwing: Rebirth. 87, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 09)

The idea that Dick Grayson, billionaire Bruce Wayne’s first child, was unaware of the dangers faced by those associated with a public figure is laughable. The idea that the first Robin, who was often taken hostage by villains who wished to get to Batman (so much so that Frank Miller famously nicknamed him “Boy Hostage”), did not understand the threat posed to those who are close to powerful figures is insulting. After well over a decade as a superhero, and after well over a decade of being associated with a wealthy public figure, Dick should know better than most how such ties can put loved ones at risk. 

In-universe, this line makes Dick appear so self-centered that he does not take into consideration how his actions affect his loved ones. It makes him appear dense, unable to think through his actions and strategize contingency plans and safety precautions before taking such a giant risk. 

Out of universe, this betrays a lazy way of storytelling, with Taylor going for low-hanging fruits without thinking of how that might affect the characterization of his protagonist. Out of universe, a collection of throwaway, thoughtless lines like this demonstrates just how uninterested Taylor is in giving even the slightest consideration to who Dick Grayson is meant to be, instead putting his focus on the gimmick that will get him noticed on social media.

[jweekgoji]

kind of headcannons about yanderes, so basic warnings about kidnapping, manipulation, unhealthy dynamics, obsession, overprotective behavior.

I kind of lied about Fern being the best yandere of AT, IMO Betty would be the best choice, girl freaking holds her man like her wifey, punches weird magical creatures she saw for the first time and she doesn't give a F about some big ass red boss baby , ALL FOR A MAN!!!

as for yandere potential, I would have ranked them like this. ↓

Betty/Golbetty is a really dedicated, ruthless and determined person when it comes to saving and protecting people she loves, even as a regular human she does really scary stuff against some powerful beings, all for beloved! I also really like Magicwoman Betty, I like insane yanderes losing their mind over how to save s/o , especially if they were really sweet and caring before all the crazy stuff happened.

Lich is kind of underrated tho, his voice actor really serves, a good villain which would give me god-like yandere villain/human beloved vibes which would be like a pet for Lich. The power difference is tasty, not to mention the size difference. Would wish to extinct all the life in the universe only for you to be all alone with him :P

Simon is not like Betty, even though he totally would do the same as her, sacrifice everything he has only for his s/o, without them he is nothing and pathetic to watch. but I see him as some kind of father figure with fucked up mind. Hates himself for it, thinks he's too old for you, you totally deserve better than someone like him, but not like he is against the idea of you being around him.

Scarab, The Star somehow like Lich, if you are human or just weaker than them, they would treat you as some sort of pet too. Maybe Scarab would taunt you more, calling you pathetic, ugly and disgusting, at the same time he would be the one who bathes you all the time. He thinks he is superior, but actually freak deep inside. But I would give bonus points for the reverse dynamic, s/o who treats Scarab as a bug he is, not caring about him begging for a job as a wishmaster. step on him, squish him like a bug, but he would run to you for more.

Ooo Finn is himbo, funny guy, actually average yandere, but Jake's death really changes his view on life. It's canon that he waits for the day he dies just to see his brother again. I think he would be a really overprotective one, always on your side whenever you go, helping you with whatever you have to do even if it's something simple. I love the idea of the good loyal hero being a little too protective towards their s/o. Most of the time Finn actually can't understand what he is doing wrong, so if you tell them about it, he would laugh it off.

FW Finn is such a cherry. I would pick Ice Finn and adult FW Finn for this. Ice Finn is scary, before he goes crazy, he is a polite and cute young man, but like other crown users, he has a really deep sense of love for the one he loves enough to put that cursed thing on his head just to save them. I see him more like a creepy guy, not like Ice King tho, Ice Finn would be kind of scarier since all those buildings made of frozen people would scare off everyone. He would be a clingy guy seeking human warmth since his body temperature is too low, but don't run away from him or you will add to his frozen collection.

Adult FW Finn are much cooler in both senses, like Ooo Finn he is overprotective, might be even more since Destiny Gang is always around and he can't let his s/o to be killed by them, he already had to lose his wife, so you would be guarded 24/7. Canonically, Finn would totally hear you once you try to leave him, so don't try it. He won't hurt you, but you would lose your privilege to walk.

Minerva just like her son is the one who wants to help people all the time. Even though they don't really want her help. It will be short here, but like I said about Finn before, she is an overprotective one, and her being everywhere literally would make your life a living nightmare since it would be hard as hell to leave her.

I already made headcannons about Fern, so will be short here too. Fern>Finn in yandere behavior, Fern is violent due to grass demon influence, he has low self-esteem, he doesn't think he deserves you since Finn would be much better at protecting you from harm. But his mind is constantly changing, so in the moment of trying to prove himself, he will kidnap or kill whoever stays on his way to get you, not to mention that if you are the person who's in good relationships with Finn, he would not hesitate to take care of Finn and take his place.

Winter King is a weirdo who has too much power. He is affectionate and could mess with the brains of everyone with his charm. Look at him, such a nice and powerful King! How could you not love him, dude?? Money, knowledge, power, love, all he has and he will give it to you. Well, if you are smart enough to see him playing, his mood will turn into a more angry one, showing some traits of the Ice King. So yeah, same old kidnapping Ice King stuff...

For PB&Candy Queen it's obvious, just like Ice Kings, she is a crazy girl, the definition of yandere, but her blender thingie is actually impressive. I don't think she will be all lovey dovey with her s/o, like she could play her songs for you, keeping you trapped, but one day you will be mixed with her together. PB from the vampire world is kind of like a much cooler version of OG PB, I like her character design and how she is portrayed, I just like strong women who would dominate you, that's all.

Can't say much about Hunter, Fionna, PB, Marceline or Phoebe for now. They're kind of chill and too cute, I can't see them doing crazy stuff (for now). For Huntress Wizard, my love, I see her cool and chill too, but this girl would give you some wild presents like when she gave Finn an animal's heart 😭 well, she is a lonely wolf type, kind of don't know what couples are supposed to do and would try to express herself in her own style which would weird you out a little but she still tries!

Peppermint Butler is kind of underrated too, he's a freaking funny guy, no one would actually believe you if you say that this candy guy would do some creepy shit. I mean look at him! Kind of like more the idea where his s/o is some really powerful entity like Death or Vampire King, he would daydream about you, giggling and kicking his feet making weird fanfics about you in his journal~~~

For Uncle Gambald and Patience, I would say they're pretty strong and violent. Don't disobey those two unless you want to die or something, are you stupid?? Patience at least would try to appear like she's actually trying to be good, she wants to know you more and teach some stuff, or tell stories about the past, just don't ignore her. Uncle Gambald is a creep, stay away from him!! He's gonna make you dumb candy citizen too!!

I actually love Prismo so much, but as for yandere he would be really tied up to his work. I mean, he can't do anything with you when you are outside his time room. He is helpless. He can't touch you or feel you like others would, he can't be around you 24/7 like them, he can't give you what most people need from their partners and it is really sad. Of course, he can make you appear in his time room whenever he wants, he can make everything you wish for, hoping that maybe you will stay with him a little longer. I don't think he would appear angry or annoyed by you, he's too sweet and caring. If you want to leave just go, but he would feel like shit without you around, his work is boring as hell, people who came for making a wish are annoying him, his time room is full of garbage. But Prismo's attention focused totally on videos of you from different universes, the only thing keeping him entertained.

[neohoestechnology]

I absolutely love your moodboards and headcanons! Could you do one for Draco? 🥰🫶🏻

Thank you so much!!💗💗

I'm SO sorry it took so long (mainly because I saw the request yesterday 🫠 my university is KILLING me sorry😭). This is LONG so bare with me + my English is rusty af so I apologize for any grammar mistake

☆ Draco Malfoy Headcanons & Moodboard ☆

Okay, so, a quick disclaimer here before we get started -----> now, I really believe that Draco is one the most tricky character to "get right" (speaking of his behavior and thoughts), so I just wanted to say that this is my personal interpretation and could be 100% different from yours so please be kind🥹

Oh boy, it took A LOT for you two to finally get together; a lot of time, a lot of effort, a lot of sacrifice and arguments between both of you and your friends. Just a lot.

I think we can all agree that our beloved boy couldn't care less about girls before during his first years at Hogwarts. Some things changed as time passed by, a lot, actually. He changed in the first place, becoming old enough to finally understand his family affairs and secrets. He HAD to change. He wanted to gain strength to be able to carry this new burden on his shoulders and to show his worth, but it all developed into a self-destruction, never-ending cycle that made him feel left out and alone. You, on the other hand, always seemed to have all figured out, and always looked so calm and caring. Truth is that you also felt like you were missing something, like you didn't really fit in for some reason.

It's not really clear how or why you two got together, but somehow, it happened.

Your caring nature always irritated him. How naive, he thought, but that time you found him crying on the bathroom floor, all alone and desperate, he thanked God that you came.

From this episode, bit by bit, your relationship started to form.

You two are VERY good at keeping it private, very discreet.

At the end of the day, you just have one another to stay with, and you are more than okay with that. People started to get suspicious, though; your friends started to notice your frequent excuses and distance, wondering WHAT ON EARTH they did to make you feel this way. Little did they know about your secret midnight meetings with a boy whose reputation speaks for himself.

Even though you two never show up together as a couple, you actually never feel lonely during the day. It's all about those secretly exchanged gazes, the typical side eye thing from across the room when someone is talking bs, him softly brushing his hand against yours when you are leaving a class and no one can see.

BUT, when you two are ACTUALLY ALONE... Soft touches, hushed words and pleading eyes.

You like to share silence together, there's nothing left to share after your first bathroom rendezvous.

I feel like he smells like wood, like deep forest or something like that, but his smell is kinda comforting (my scent-describing skills are nonexistent sorry😭)

I mean, you can feel his presence even without seeing him.

He has this thing about his eyes, like the way he looks at you. Everyone who played close attention to his gaze could tell it was love and admiration.

LOVES when you run your hands through his hair (sometimes you could swear to hear him purring).

Likes to make flowers appear between the pages of your potion book while taking classes, only to give you a subtle smile and turn his head to read his instructions immediately after.

Your first time together was during the Christmas break, when there were just the two of you in the entire Slytherin dorm. It was the first time he said "I love you" (it's fucking cheesy but I love it eheh). Everything was so slow and sensual. Lips, hands and kisses everywhere. Slow thrusts with your hands intertwined and his head buried in your neck.

His hands are always so cold that he has to keep them in your sleeves (he loves it though)

Likes watching you sleep (not in a creepy way don't worry lol). He'd brush your hair out of your face and caress your face softly.

Would fidget a lot while talking to you, mostly to distract himself from the fact that he gets weak in the knees every time he looks in your eyes, even after all this time. He'd 100% play with your hands or hair just because.

You'd literally yank his hand from his mouth every time he bit his nails or picked at his skin.

He's the type of person who would do hot things without even realizing. He would undo a few buttons of your shirt just to button them up right away just because he thought they looked weirdly asymmetrical, causing you to blush and stutter. And this mf would just tell you to go on and finish what you were saying (okay, maybe he does this on purpose).

You know that the way he behaves around others is just a facade. He is so broken and hopeless that he HAS to act that way around them, but when he's with you, his safe place, he feels so grateful that he gets to get loose from his worries and reveal the real person he is that it scares him how attracted he is to you, how primal his need for you is.

When your friends found out that you were dating Mr Bully Malfoy, they just couldn't wrap their heads around the reason that spurred you to do so. Let's just say that you are not friends anymore. You tried to explain yourself countless times, but they didn't seem to understand nor were willing to do so, and you thought you were better off without them anyway.

He got the same treatment from his friends ngl. It was better this way, honestly. In the end, you just needed one another to feel complete and fulfilled.

He thought about running away with you almost once a day during his 6th year. He knew what, better say who, was coming. He was sure that the death eaters wouldn't spare anyone, maybe himself included. When he first told you, he was sure you would laugh it off and call him paranoid, but instead, you listened to him carefully and decided to plan your escape with him without even flinching.

It was a gloomy night in the middle of the winter. Rushed footsteps were echoing in a corridor, then in the hall, down the stairs. Restless eyes were wandering around the path, occasionally looking back to check no one was tagging after them. A subtle creaking of a rusty gate opening was heard, and then nothing else.

OKAY SO I got WAY MORE carried away than I should and I know this is longer and more serious and dark than what I usually do but I tried my best. Actually, I'm not 100% satisfied with how it turned out and maybe the person who asked it expected something different and more light-hearted, and I apologize for it. Again, writing this character is difficult af.

I do not possess any of these photos, all credits go to the owners.

Love you, B. 🌱🤍

[wordsinhaled]

so after that devastating ask neil answered about morpheus and calliope’s wedding i was suddenly beset by a MIGHTY need for a dreamling fix-it so... this is that. part headcanon post, part fic, entirely more than i was planning on it being. it got just a bit out of hand and is possibly a bit too sappy but i'm not sorry!!!

-

Hob introduces Morpheus to his longtime friends and colleagues after they’ve been together for a year. Morpheus carries the suspicion that Hob only agrees to wait this long for love of him.

He’s so excited about it, because he loves Dream, and it brings him the utmost happiness to imagine his friends, his loved ones, the people he works with, his students, getting to meet Dream—who hung the moon, as far as Hob’s concerned.

Dream is... less than enthusiastic about it. He hedges about going out for drinks with Hob’s friends, and he’s cagey about agreeing to be Hob’s plus one to the first department mixer Hob’s thrilled to invite him to. He still goes to these things, because Hob is his beloved and he sees how it lights Hob up to have him by his side at them. He’s the picture of gentility each time; shows up looking incredible, asks all the right questions, says all the right things, makes the small talk. He even personally ensures all of these people have pleasant dreams for a week following, for good measure.

But afterwards, he’s always a mess. Tense, withdrawing into himself.

After the third time this happens, Hob cottons on and asks him about it.

“What is it, love? My friends, or my colleagues, do they bother you?”

“On the contrary. Your friends and your coworkers are as lovely as you are, of course. Well—I must admit Dr. Halliwell is... not my favorite, but... by and large.”

“Oh, he’s no one’s favorite. Bloody insufferable, he is. Alright, well, is there anything I ought to be doing differently? To help make you feel more comfortable?" "You are utterly blameless in this, Hob." "That's..." Hob sighs. "A relief, I suppose. But there is something. And if it’s not that, then...?”

And little by little, it comes out. How the last time Morpheus was as serious about someone as he is about Hob, the last time he was serious enough to want to bind himself to someone... her friends and family opposed it. Opposed him. Thought him entirely ill-suited for her. And on their wedding day, the happiest of days, he was so excited to share his joy with his own family, and none of Calliope’s side were there.

“That’s awful,” Hob says, with a few choice swears thrown in for emphasis. “And it must have been hard for her, too.”

“I believe it is a loneliness she still carries. One far greater than my own.”

~*~

It comes out that Morpheus wants to introduce Hob around, too. Wants to bring Hob to family dinner with his siblings and have Hob with him to receive delegations. How he wants Hob to sit beside him in the throne room of the Dreaming. And how Dream wants to know all Hob’s friends, his little found family of students, his colleagues at the university, his neighbors. How he wants to belong in the life Hob has built for himself.

Yet surely, this is bound to end in disaster, too. Surely he is ill-suited for Hob as well, and surely all of those closest to Hob can see it. Are thinking it to themselves. Are biding their time to tell Hob I told you so.

“But... you’ve got to know everyone adores you. They’re always wondering when they’ll see you next. My students are always asking after you. Everyone tells me we're great together, actually. Never seen me happier, wanting to bake things for you, insisting I bring you along to the next thing—all of it."

"Then it is only a matter of time." "Until what?" "Calliope's family were not exactly... incorrect about me, in the end."

"So... what—you think you're ill-suited to me?"

"I am ill-suited to love."

And of course Hob can't have Dream thinking that. It just isn't true.

So he goes out of his way to be even more vocal about the things Morpheus does that are appreciated. To remind him he is loved. To remind him he is welcomed. To remind him just how well-suited he is to Hob, and how much he fits into Hob's life.

So-and-so says hello, he tells Dream, multiple times per week. Hob stops politely turning down the biscuits his favorite TA sends along, and they've always got a note taped onto the Tupperware ("For you and Morpheus") that Hob makes sure Dream sees. (If Morpheus secrets the little Post-Its away in one of the inner pockets of his coat and Hob never sees them again, well, all the better for Dream to keep them.)

~*~

Hob brings Dream to sit in on his knitting circle one week at the New Inn. All his friends are so excited to have Dream model their scarves and gloves and shawls and cardigans. Morpheus stands there for all of it obligingly, feeling the dreams in each and every one of the stitches.

"Brigitte wants to know what you'd like for your birthday," Hob says to Dream one day, after he runs into his neighbor, who is also in the group, and is held up ten minutes by her asking.

"I do not have a birthday," Morpheus says. "Not as such."

"Yeah, but they all don't know that, do they?" Hob grins, cajoling. "Let her give you something."

"What should I ask for?"

"Well, she is getting on a bit, so nothing too adventurous. She usually just knits me something every year. We could just tell her your favorite color." Hob pauses for dramatic effect. "...What's your favorite color?"

"You jest, I hope." "Right," Hob says, voice full of stifled laughter. "I'll tell her. Nothing but black as the deepest midnight for my darling."

Morpheus wears the resulting jumper, a drapey, soft comfort, constantly; and when the armpits pill and if it ever even approaches becoming threadbare he fixes it gingerly with yarn woven of finely-sifted stardust; and Brigitte has only the best dreams of exactly what she wishes to dream about for the rest of her life. It is the least gift he can give her in return.

~*~

When Morpheus finally invites Hob to visit the Dreaming, Hob comes with an easy smile for even the smallest nightmare and an ear to bend for every dream he meets. He brings a profound and open curiosity for everything about the place. Everyone is charmed. Hob is so regular that some of them are baffled. But Lord Morpheus' happiness rolls off him in tangible waves when he is around Hob Gadling. The denizens of the Dreaming can feel that their lord is lighter than he has been in literal ages of his existence.

Everything in the realm is in fragile bloom for the first time in a very long time. The sunshine is resplendent. The air is balmy. Birds sing in the palace orchards. Hardly so much as a drop of rain dares to fall for weeks.

~*~

The first time Hob is invited to a soiree in the Dreaming he frets about his outfit for days on end.

Morpheus is privately amused by it. "You do recall this event is being held in the Dreaming," he says, sprawled on Hob's bed, watching him pass the fabric of two of his bowties between his fingers, one tie black as night and one so dark a navy it could almost pass for black as well. "You do not actually have to dress for it in the Waking. Your dream-self will simply manifest your preferred attire." Hob just scoffs at him. "Of course. But my imagination's got to start somewhere, right? I don't want to accidentally manifest pyjamas with ducks on them just in time to meet bloody Oberon because my mind forgot what a good suit looks like. Can you imagine?"

"I would not allow you to experience any embarrassment in my realm," Morpheus says, possibly with undue vehemence.

Hob glances over at him. "I know, love."

And the ties go forgotten after that.

~*~

“I’ve got something for you,” Hob tells Dream, one day. 

They are in Hob’s living room, sitting on the couch together, Morpheus adrift on a veritable sea of throw pillows. He could, he thinks idly, craft these exact pillows in the Dreaming, replicate their heft and the give of sinking into them, and still they would not offer him such ease. 

“Hob Gadling,” he says, disguising his delight rather poorly, he thinks. “You should not have.”

But Hob is already slipping to his knees on the rug in front of Dream, already pulling a small box from behind his back with a flourish, with the sleight of hand of long-abandoned habit. “Shouldn’t I?” he asks. “You deserve beautiful things."

Morpheus stares at the ruby ring, nestled on its little velvet cushion, for so long and so intently that Hob starts to sweat.

"I know it's been a long time," he says. "For both of us."

Morpheus is still staring.

"Fuck, I had an entire speech planned. Rehearsed it and everything. Gideon told me it was brilliant. But now it's like all the good words've been knocked right out of my skull. All I can think is—I hope you don't run off in the middle of me asking you to marry me." "I will not run off," Morpheus says.

"Good," Hob says. "That's good."

~*~

Morpheus is nervous, at first, about telling people. There is a part of him that wants to hold this joy inside his heart, hoard the buoyant sensation of being loved by Hob Gadling like it is a precious commodity that will disintegrate if he lets it out.

But Hob is generous with his love. He reminds Morpheus of it constantly.

“Dream,” Hob says, one morning, propping his chin on Morpheus’ bare chest to gaze at him. “You’re my fiancé.”

Warmth tingles through Morpheus’ body. “I am,” he says.

“I’m your fiancé,” Hob goes on, and now he’s grinning so wide Morpheus is sure his cheeks must ache. “God, am I really?”

“You are,” he promises, with a little swoop of something like fear, or elation, or both. Surely he cannot just have this joy. It cannot be so simple.

“I am,” Hob says, “the luckiest person in all creation.” He says it as earnestly as if he’s saying a vow, right there in their bed.

Hob’s exuberance is contagious, and Morpheus finds that his own smile comes to his mouth unbidden.

Perhaps it could be so simple if he allows it to be.

~*~

Hob is sitting at the kitchen table, addressing invitations to their engagement party, working his way through a stack of fifty laid paper envelopes. Morpheus sits sprawled in his customary chair next to Hob’s, observing.

“That is a great many people,” he says, plucking the pen from Hob’s fingers once he finishes the current envelope and setting it down before taking Hob’s hand in his, kneading the tension from his palm. “Are you certain they should all be in attendance?”

Hob looks up from where he’s scrutinizing his own calligraphy. He must catch something in Morpheus’ tone, because his face softens from surprise into concern. “Only if you want, love,” Hob says. “You know I’d elope with you tomorrow, if you preferred that.”

“Would that bring you happiness?” Thinking on it, Morpheus is unsure it would bring him happiness, now that it is being offered as an option. Strong as the greedy part of him that wants to hoard their love is, there is also the part of him that hungers for it to be known. To be seen. To be shown.

Hob’s brows knit together, then smooth out again. “I admit there’s a part of me that wants to shout about all this from the rooftops.” He laughs softly. “And there are a lot of people who are happy for us, you know. But—” And here he turns his hand in Morpheus’, so he can hold it properly. “I want you to be comfortable. I could marry you in this kitchen and not tell a soul til after—”

“I wish to have the party,” Morpheus announces, because it is, he finds, true. “And I wish to have a ceremony. Here. And one in the Dreaming.”

“Two ceremonies?” Hob’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Now you’re just being extravagant.”

Morpheus huffs. “You have seen nothing yet of my extravagance.”

He feels none of his usual trepidation at admitting it.

~*~

Their ceremony in the Dreaming is an intimate one. The castle is resplendent with flowers, and the twilight twinkles with stars and carries a hint of magic.

Morpheus presents Hob with a crown made of dreamstuff and a mantle lined with stardust much like the inside of his own coat. Lucienne gives Hob his own key to the library. He dances with Gault in the palace gardens, face lit by the auroras rippling through her wings. The new Corinthian swears to protect him. Matthew perches on Hob’s shoulder almost the entire rest of the evening.

Late in the night, Morpheus and Hob excuse themselves to walk together in the fields of the Dreaming, and to kiss beneath the endless sky.

A fraction of the tightness in Morpheus dissipates, having Hob here. Having him welcomed by his realm. Having his own choice so honored, and Hob so loved.

~*~

There are fifty people at their engagement party in the Waking world, and two hundred at their Waking wedding reception. Most of them are from Hob's side. By the end of the evening Morpheus’ hand is sore from being wrung so many times by well-wishers, he is surprisingly tipsy off surprisingly good champagne on which Hob had spared no expense, and he feels slightly effervescent himself, even in this Waking body.

The gifts table creaks under the weight of all the presents—many of them handmade. There is a hand-painted portrait and a hand-thrown ceramic bowl and a hand-knit blanket for his and Hob’s bed and a crocheted sweater for the dog they do not yet have together. There is a queue to sign the guestbook.

He drifts in the pleasant dreams their guests have for them—Hob’s fellow professors, his research assistants, his former students, his neighbors, his knitting group, his landlord, his philosophy discussion club. These people dream of happiness for Hob; of happiness for them; of happiness for him. There is love in their hearts for Hob, and now, by extension, a new love for Morpheus.

The rest of the old weight lifts from his shoulders that night, as Hob beams down at him, and kisses him long and slow, and whispers “I love you” while his patchwork of family—their family, now—whoop and holler and clap.