#have been listening to surprisingly a lot of muse

[prototypelq]

YO DMC fandom, what's your top 5 songs/battle tracks from the OST, and other music/artists do you like listening to

I'm just curious

[hawkinsbnbg]

Eddie Munson wasn’t one who knew when to quit.

Eddie Munson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t one who knew when to quit.

He sold drugs when it was frowned upon because he wanted to help his uncle pay the bills. He did drugs because why the hell not?

He loved music that was too loud, he played games that were considered satanic, he wore his queerness as a badge of honor in the town that hated him.

He headed to hell, sacrificed himself for the kid he loved and people he barely knew, and survived the odds.

He graduated high school by tooth and nail, pursued his dream when everyone deemed he was a lost cause. He worked harder when being pushed down. He succeeded.

He made it big, achieved his dream, got fame and wealth at his disposal. He was notorious for the long list of flings left in every city he visited. He despised the snobs, bigots, and paparazzi.

He—

He tried to quit mooning over the beautiful man who had saved his life alongside the whole world. Who was the object of his desire and obsession. His dream and muse, his pain and yearning.

Who was the bane of his existence, the opium to the addict in his core. Dangerous and yet, lovely, irresistible.

Even so, he could never bring himself to ignore the monthly phone calls with Steve, listening to the warm voice that made his heart ache and flutter, checking in to make sure his boy was still safe in the town that he had left behind to go spread his wings.

Yes, his.

The moment Steve kissed him—shaky, tender, sweet—their souls had intertwined, bounded together for evermore.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to deny it, that he had lost his heart to Steve Harrington since the first time he caught a glimpse of those pretty eyes and soft lips, wishing he could kiss them one day.

And then he did.

Back when their feelings were still new, fresh, tentative. They had done everything any young lovers would do upon having made it through an almost-apocalypse together.

They dove headfirst into each other. Touching, crying, kissing, laughing, and making love. They consumed, they devoured, they ignited.

And they crashed.

Eddie couldn’t stand being the town’s prime murder suspect even after the charge had been dropped.

Steve couldn’t bear leaving the only place he had grown up in, the place he had fought for with his life. He had people, friends who needed him there, who would miss him a terrible amount if he decided to leave.

But Eddie didn’t have such problems. His uncle didn’t rely on him the same way the kids did to Steve. His friends had left long before the ‘earthquake’ took place.

A label had sought him out after seeing his performance at The Hideout, offered him a good deal if he signed with them, and for the first time since his life had been turned upside down, Eddie saw hope.

He had talked with Steve about it. About leaving for a better future. About them making a life together somewhere outside the cursed town they had been unfortunately put in.

But it was a wistful thinking. Because sometimes, love was never enough. And sometimes, Eddie wasn’t the only scared one.

They parted. Tearful but surprisingly civil. They hadn’t been through so much just to lose each other over a mutual breakup.

Because Eddie still loved Steve.

And Steve still loved Eddie.

Simple as that.

"Don’t be hung up on me, Munson," Steve whispered to him, hugging him so tight that his healed ribs might crack again. Eddie didn’t think he would mind if it meant he could stay in this moment forever.

"I should be the one telling you that, Stevie," Eddie sniffled, hugging the boy he loved just as fiercely.

He suddenly didn’t want to leave anymore. Maybe he could apply for a position at the plant, asked Wayne for a recommendation. Or he could make do with the mine at the edge of the town, he heard they were hiring just the other day ago.

"Good luck, Eds," Steve pressed a kiss on his ear. "Don’t do drugs, don’t get in trouble, don’t be–"

"–stupid."

Steve laughed, tilting his head back and offering his pale throat for Eddie’s greedy eyes. The urge to lick, to bite, to leave a mark was strong, but Eddie just tightened his hold around Steve further, because the privilege wasn't his anymore.

"I was going for ‘cute’," Steve looked back at him, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, nails scratching the back of his nape teasingly, eyes light and twinkling with mirth. Eddie wanted to kiss him. "But I guess ‘stupid’ suits you just fine."

"Stop flirting," Eddie chided him half-heartedly, unable to resist it anymore and leaned in to peck the end of his nose.

Steve blushed, pretty and precious, before releasing him and finally stepping back. Too close and too far at the same time.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Eddie was thankful that their friends were considerate enough to give them some semblances of privacy after having said their goodbye.

Before Eddie could do something stupid like falling to his knees and begging Steve to go with him, the final boarding called for his flight.

"So this is it," he shrugged on his duffle and gave Steve a lopsided smile.

"Have a safe flight, Eddie," Steve squeezed his shoulder before stepping aside so the others could do the same.

As Eddie turned on his heels, he could feel Steve’s gaze trailing after him until he disappeared behind the gate.

"He kept asking me when would you come to Indianapolis, which was unfair because how could I possibly know that? And the dipshit just rolled his eyes at me with Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend or something? Then I had to set it straight with him that us being on the phone once a month doesn’t mean I’d know every deepest darkest secret about you."

Eddie felt his chest and stomach warm with fondness when Steve didn’t deny that they were best friends, didn’t insist that the position was for Robin only. Because Steve was cool like that. Because why on earth would he refuse to have two best friends who would go to hell with him?

Eddie bet if he looked at the mirror right now, he would see himself smiling like a lovesick idiot.

There was something so endearing about Steve whining to him about their kids and friends every time they talked.

It was as if they had been doing this their whole life. Talking about mundane things, asking about each other's days, chatting about everything and anything.

It would be awfully domestic if they lived together.

Eddie could imagine it, see it clearly in his mind.

Steve sharing the spaces with him, waking up in the same bed as him, standing in the kitchen wearing the Kiss the Cook apron, swaying to the songs from the radio, giggling cutely when Eddie smothered him with kisses, smiling warmly as they did the chores together, getting huffy and bitchy when they bantered, and humming softly to some random tunes Eddie just came up with.

Perhaps, they would all become his new reality if he took that first step.

Eddie Munson wasn’t one who knew when to quit, after all.

And for Steve, he would take a million steps to make them work this time.

"Are you sure, Stevie?" He asked.

"Sure what?"

"That you haven’t already known every deepest, darkest secret of mine."

He heard Steve take a deep inhale. Eddie smiled fondly. His smart boy, always knew him so well.

"Eddie..."

"I’m an adult now, sweetheart," he chuckled. "Gotta be the one addressing the elephant in the room when my boy is too stubborn to look at it."

"Don’t be silly," Steve said weakly, a bit breathless. Good to know Eddie still had that effect on him even after all those years.

"I can’t, Stevie," Eddie lowered his voice, like he was telling a secret. "Been silly for you since high school. Don’t think I can stop it now."

"I told you to move on."

"And I didn’t promise anything," Eddie bit back a laugh, knowing how frustrated Steve must be right now. "I tried. Haven’t you seen all of that?"

There was a reason Eddie did everything in his capacity to appear on the headlines most of the time. He wanted Steve to see him, to watch him, to be there for every little step he took, to be in his life as much as possible.

"... I have," Steve sighed, sounding more tired than dejected.

"So you know how hard it had been for me to find someone who could measure up to you," Eddie twirled a strand of his hair absently. "They always failed at the ‘having perfect hair’ part."

"Bet they didn’t know what Farrah Fawcett is, huh?"

"They just looked at me blankly when I told them to take better care of their hair," Eddie grinned at the lovely sound of Steve’s giggle.

"So," Eddie cleared his throat slightly and braved on when Steve quieted down. "My band’s final destination is Indianapolis. It’s a two-night stop. After that, I’ll take my well-deserved break in Hawkins for a few months, visit my uncle and our friends, and see if you’re gonna take me back."

"Eddie," Steve said pointedly. "We both agreed that it’s better for us to stay friends. And I don’t– I can’t watch you leave again. I’m not made for it."

"Baby," Eddie said softly, his heart breaking at the sound of Steve’s sharp inhale, like it was too much, like the word hadn’t been on the tip of his tongue every time they spoke. "Everything’s different now. Our kids are all in colleges, our friends have their jobs and families, and I think it’s time you allow yourself to live your life, Stevie."

"What are you trying to say here, Eddie?" Steve asked shakily.

"That I need you," Eddie poured out his heart. "I craved for you, missed you so much that it hurts me physically. All of my songs are about you and just for you. I’m obsessed with you, bewitched by you, my love. You’ve been in my mind for years now and I don’t think it’ll stop any time soon."

"C’mon, angel," he went on as Steve let out a small gasp. "I did everything you told me to. No drugs, no fights, no troubles. Haven't I been good enough?"

"Except you’re still hung up on me," Steve laughed softly, warmly.

"Yeah, I’m still an addict, after all," Eddie chuckled. "It’s impossible to quit loving you, baby boy."

"Me, too," Steve said after a while. "I'm still hung up on you, Eddie," his voice cracked as he admitted quietly, "still in love with you."

"Christ, we make quite a pair, huh?" Eddie chuckled, running a hand down his face.

"Tell me about it," Steve let out an amused huff.

In the next several minutes, they discussed what they would do when Eddie got back. And in return, Eddie promised to send everyone at home tickets and backstage passes so they could go see him once the show was over.

"I listened to them all, you know," Steve said amidst their conversation.

Eddie paused, feeling his heart somersault and pressing a hand on his chest to calm it down.

"I’m glad," he said, crooning, "'cause they’re my love letters for you, darlin'."

"Gosh, you’re such a sap."

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice.

"Your sap," Eddie grinned so much that his cheeks hurt. "Only yours, baby boy."

"Guess you’re right," Steve giggled. "Can’t wait to see you again. My sappy poet."

It had been years since they last saw each other. At least on Eddie’s part, because he knew Steve had seen him plenty on the TV and in those magazines.

Eddie was relieved that they had been too stubborn to let themselves grow apart and still kept in touch to this day.

For being long-distance friends, they didn’t have a lot to catch up with except their pent-up feelings for each other.

Eddie looked at the framed candid photo of Steve on his nightstand.

In the shot, Steve was wearing his signature blue polo and snug jeans. Around his neck was a silver chain that carried Eddie’s guitar pick, tucked safely beneath his shirt.

He was watching the kids fooling around in the pool. Cold beer in his hands as he turned to Robin, whispering about anything he found funny like a cute gossip schoolboy.

Eddie’s boy.

Golden skin kissed by the sun. Hazel eyes sparkled with joy, like gemstones that tasted of warm caramel. Rosy cheeks, pouty lips, freckled nose. All perfect and divine under the bright daylight.

The photo had cost Eddie an arm and a leg when he asked to buy it from Jonathan.

It was worth every penny.

"Soon, angel," Eddie said softly. "I’ll be there before you know it."

Two days later, Eddie stood on Steve’s front porch with his luggage and rang the bell.

When Steve opened the door and saw him, a warm smile graced those pretty features.

"Hey."

There were no questions about why Eddie had returned earlier than planned. Because Steve knew Eddie was never good at the waiting game. And he had waited long enough for both of their sake.

"Hey yourself," Eddie smiled back, taking a couple of steps forward to erase the little distance between them.

As Steve tilted his chin up slightly to look at him, Eddie leaned down to peck the corner of that lovely mouth, resting his hands on the soft waist.

"I’m home, baby."

Naturally, Steve hooked his arms around Eddie’s neck and pressed their lips together—firm, tender, sweet.

Just like their first kiss.

"Welcome home, Eds."

[wrtingsoftheunknown]

Vincent Sinclair HC

Vincent Sinclair hc SFW and NSFW

I’ve haven’t  been seeing my boy get repped recently so I have to do it myself. My first time writing something on here or towards this character ,I promise I will get better y'al,l I made this super quickly not proofread oops.

SFW

-While he can be insecure about his face he definitely has an ego from being the favorite child and having perfected his craft.

Lester drags him out to go for a ride around town or force him to come to his place for some quality brother time (Bo joins every now and then but wants peace and quiet dammit )

‘I know a lot of people have him learn sign language but I think he either writes what he wants to say, speaks as best as he can, or gestures, ( he was born in the south to parents that I don't think cared about communicating with him too much but he could have picked it up later in life maybe in his teen years or middle school era)

More sadistic than Bo when it comes to killing, he doesn't care if they are dead or alive when working on them and takes satisfaction in the result of his work

He prefers to work in silence but you can catch him humming now and then some country song or a guilty pleasure pop song from the 80’s( I see you Vince)

I think he partakes in multiple forms of art besides wax work.We see he’s able to paint, draw, but he also  takes pictures, , sews, writes, makes videos, anything artistic he’s learning and keeping up with new techniques.

Since he takes video of the killings at times I think they sell them as snuff films to make extra cash on top of stealing and selling victims stuff. (At least that’s what I thought when I first watched the film anyone else or just me)

Rarely happens but will keep victims that interest him like Bo ,but dispose of them when they get boring  or no longer match up the ideal version of them in his head.

-Does want a lifelong partner, the white wedding and picket fence, kids,  but knows it might be difficult with the line of work he does.

- He can talk but only does when it’s important or to emphasize something. He does have a southern draw like Bo and I imagine his voice to sound similar but raspier, maybe deeper/ quieter from not using it as much.

-like I said earlier you have to really catch his attention and be able to hold it for more than a week, if that happens then he’s obsessed and protective maybe a little too over protective.

Does indeed have a hair care routine I believe this full throttle and no one can can tell me otherwise I'm not listening.

NSFW

I don't know if he’s a virgin, I don't think he is something is telling me he isn't, but i’m not sure

He has no problem with nudity, bodies are seen as art, there's not as much of a sexual connotation with them as with Bo and Lester .

He wants to be in love with the person he is intimate with, he wants to be worship and worship his muse.

Drawings  of his partner naked as well as in the midst of a passionate night, he might tease them all night to make sure the sketch is as life like and accurate as possible

Good size and thick that's all I gotta say

Praise kink hard core, hearing his partner call him a good boy or how he makes them feel so good he will crumble

He starts slow and sensual, enjoys the control he has and having someone at his power.

I think he will edge you and leave you high and dry when you act out but he always caves by the end of the day and gives you what you need.

Can last a long time surprisingly

Mainly a giver but someone please for the love of god give this man the nastiest had he’s ever received will make the prettiest noises 

Is down to try anything new and more open about sex than you would think.

When he’s horny he comes up behind his partner and starts caressing every inch he can reach, while resting his chin on their shoulder acting as innocent as he can.

[thefallennightmare]

I saw a tiktok where dad was talking to his daughter about how she needs to apologize to her mom and being 'you realize that's my wife right?' AND I LOVE THAT. Cause like part of me is scared that having kids is going to ruin my relationship. But, I just feel like this attitude is so Noah coded, how about a hc?🫶🏻

@thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @lookwhatitcost @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @burning-outx @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee @pathion @flowery-mess @tashka

"God, mom! You're so annoying! Can't you just empty the dishwasher yourself?!"

Noah's head snapped up from the book he was reading and stared directly at your thirteen-year-old daughter who was lounging on the other end of the couch.

You felt the anger fester in your stomach but tried not to explode because raising your voice would only make things worse.

Teenagers.

Your daughter had turned thirteen last week and it was as if a switch was flipped in her brain. She talked back and questioned why she needed to do chores.

"I asked you to do it, Y/D/N," you replied calmly while stretching your arms on the kitchen counter. "You know this is one of the only three chores you have."

Your daughter ignored you, typing away on her cell phone, and Noah's eyes snapped up to yours.

"It's fine," you mouthed to him.

He ran a hand through his graying hair and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Y/D/N, your mom asked you to do something," his deep voice was surprisingly calm.

Noah always had been the fun parent while you were the one to be more strict. But when it came to things like this, Noah was the one to deal with it.

"And I asked if she could do it instead?" Your daughter shrugged, not looking away from her phone. "It's not like she did much tonight. Just worked on the computer."

You dropped the pan you were washing from dinner into the sink and let out a staggered breath.

"Oh shit," your sixteen-year-old son, who was sitting at the kitchen table working on homework, shut his textbook.

"Language," Noah directed to your son before directing his attention back to your daughter. "That's my wife you're talking about. The woman I love. You've been treating her more like a friend than the person who birthed and raised you. She gave up a lot when she had you and your brother."

Your daughter refused to put her phone down so Noah gently took it from her, earning a loud protest.

"You can have your phone back when the dishwasher is emptied, the laundry is folded and put away, and you take Malice out for a walk," he said, still eerily calm.

"But walking Malice is Y/S/N chore!!" She yelled.

Noah shrugged. "You didn't listen to your mom the first time she asked you to do something. I could make you clean up your brother's room if you feel like fighting me some more."

Immediately, your daughter rose from the couch and ran over to you, wrapping her arms around you. "I'm sorry, mom. I'll do whatever you ask me to. Just don't make me clean Y/S/N's room."

You ruffled her hair. "I would never."

Noah came up and left a kiss on your lips to which you muttered against them. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, angel," he mused with a wink.

[lavenderfluorite14]

A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 11: Fun

Summary: Astarion is surprised, in more ways than one, by the morning after. Rating/Warnings: PG, casual murder, poisoning, degradation/humiliation. Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 10❤️‍🔥

Astarion wakes from his trance surprisingly refreshed. He stretches his nude body languidly, enjoying the brief flash of soreness in his muscles. Beside him, Tav still rests peacefully. He openly admires her, his eyes lingering on the bite marks he gave her last night. The mottled petals of the bruises lay so beautifully against her skin. 

The morning sunlight streams through the canopy in golden ribbons as Astarion quietly rises, moving to bask in a nearby sunbeam. His mind goes blank as he lets the pleasure of it all wash over him. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time.

His plan is working. He’s safe and full. The morning sun feels so warm on his skin.

“Good morning,” Tav interrupts his musings, her voice gravelly with sleep.

“Good morning,” he replies. He’s loath to turn around, wanting to keep sunning himself, so he shifts slightly so he can watch her out of the corner of his eye. “You’re up early! I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.”

“Oh, I am,” Tav yawns. She arches her back in a deep stretch, her nipples pebbling in the morning chill. Light purple hickeys dot her breasts, each one a small reminder of their night together. They will take days to fade. “I quite enjoyed myself,” she admits, smiling at him. Astarion preens. Of course she did. All according to plan. Behind him, he can hear Tav get to her feet. “Did you have fun?” she asks, suddenly tentative. 

“Of course, my darling,” Astarion answers, surprised by the question. “You’re a veritable feast.” “Good, I’m glad,” Tav says, relieved. “Towards the end, I was worried that something may have been wrong?” Astarion stiffens imperceptibly. “But I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.” Astarion isn’t quite sure how to explain this. 

“I was holding back a little, it’s true,” he reveals. “I didn’t want to lose control. Delicious as you were, I didn’t want to go too far.”

It’s the truth, it’s just not the whole truth. For the sake of the plan it was imperative that he perform correctly, and that meant remaining in control. But even though their tryst may have been tailored to Tav’s pleasure and tastes, he still enjoyed himself. Even holding back, he experienced more pleasure last night than he has in decades. But there is no need to talk about all that.

“Oh,” Tav says, obviously chewing on his words. It occurs to Astarion that he has never had to navigate a “morning after” before. Not like this. Is it always so awkward? So vulnerable?

“Now let’s go, we have a long day ahead of us,” he prompts. He turns towards the oak tree, where he had left his clothes, but stops when he sees the pensive expression on Tav’s face.    “May I ask about your back first?” Tav asks. 

Of course she had noticed it. Most of the time Astarion tries to forget it is even there. He considers brushing her off, burying his shame even deeper down. But a bigger, louder part inside of him howls for comfort.

“It’s a poem,” he explains, crossing over to the oak tree to gather up his shirt. He had left it carefully folded at the base of the trunk. “A gift from Cazador.” He pulls his shirt over his body, fussing with its fit. “He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas. He composed that one over the course of a night.” Tav just listens, letting him speak. “He made a lot of revisions as he went,” Astarion finishes, his voice soft and deep. He can’t quite keep the pain from those last few words.

“That’s awful,” Tav says quietly.

“Yes, well. ‘Awful’ does aptly describe Cazador,” he replies.

“Are you sure it’s a poem?” Tav asks.

“Of course I’m sure,” Astarion insists, not sure at all now. “That’s what Cazador said, as he was carving it into my back.” Cazador, who of course was a completely trustworthy source of information. 

“It just doesn’t look like any poem I’ve ever seen before,” Tav presses. “Well, I didn’t say he was a good poet!” Astarion cries. “What do you mean, ‘it doesn’t look like any poem you’ve ever seen before?’”

“Well for starters, why did he write it in Infernal?” Tav asks. 

“Infernal?“ Surprise jolts through him, settling in the pit of his stomach where it quickly curdles into fear. He has no idea what this means, but it can’t be anything good. Nothing with Cazador is. 

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what happened. 

“I-Who knows. The bastard was insane,” he says dismissively. “Now let’s go, before I regret my restraint last night,” he purrs, trying to pivot this conversation back into comfortable territory. 

Tav looks at him thoughtfully before silently dressing and gathering up her things. His flirtation falls flat, ringing falsely even to his own ears. Its hollow echo follows them all the way back to camp, where they both quietly slip into their separate tents.

~

They smell the goblin camp before they see it. A miasma of filth blankets the base of the western mountains in a bouquet of smoke, sweat, death, and dung. And, of course, that one singular, arresting note: blood. Old and new, stale and fresh, rotten and delicious. It stinks to high heaven. 

There’s a group of goblin warriors guarding a narrow entrance that passes for a gate. Tav pulls them all aside before they engage.

“Listen, you three,” she levels a serious glare at Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae’Zel. “I know the past few days have been….” She pauses, trying to choose her words carefully.

“Thoroughly frustrating?” Shadowheart remarks. 

“The time of your life?,” Astarion offers, suggestively.

“Bad,” Lae’Zel declares. 

“Bad,” Tav agrees. “And I know this group has had its challenges. But I don’t know what we’re going to find in there, and I don’t know what we are going have to do to make it out alive. Hopefully with Halsin, but we need to anticipate the worst. We can only make it through this together.  I need the most vicious and ruthless fighters of our group to have each other’s backs today. So, can you put aside your differences to make this work?” 

“Of course, darling. I’m a consummate professional,” Astarion vows. 

“Affirmative,” Lae’Zel confirms.

“So long as nothing is said to me, I’ll be fine,” Shadowheart says, turning up her nose. Tav sighs. 

“I’ll take it. Let’s go.”Tav is all business now, already forging ahead with the business of the day. Which is perfect, because Astarion has absolutely no desire to address the morning’s awkwardness. He’s trying to enjoy his victory, but something still feels off to him. Last night was a success, but there’s a nagging voice inside of him that says it was not enough. That he will need to do more to truly secure his place.

Lae’Zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion all watch as Tav bluffs her way past the goblin guard at the entrance. Just as they are about to pass, the guard stops her and points to a gelatinous turd at his feet. He gestures to it with his hand and pantomimes applying it to his face. Tav takes his suggestion, bending down to scoop up the excrement. 

“Oh no,” Astarion whispers to their cohort.

“She wouldn’t,” Shadowheart whispers back, incredulous.

“She had better not,” Lae’Zel growls. Tav looks back at them over her shoulder. Their disgust for this is palpable, magnified in triplicate. Her eyes find Astarion’s.

And she winks. 

Tav flings the poop directly in the goblin’s face, immediately souring any hope of peaceful entry. Astarion laughs a high, whooping laugh as he rushes to high ground. He easily snipes the goblins who try to call for help while Lae’Zel, Shadowheart, and Tav clear the remaining guard with relish and ease. So much for goblin security.

“Did you really think that I would do that?” Tav asks them as she leads the way inside. “Did you really think I would smear shit on my face?”

“I’m never quite sure what you are going to do next,” Astarion teases. Tav glares at him, playing at being insulted. Well, maybe she is a little insulted. “I just meant that you are full of surprises, darling.” 

Tav hums a low, sarcastic note. “Good surprises, I hope?” she replies. There’s a hopeful glimmer in her eye that makes his stomach flutter.

“Naturally. Only the very best,” he promises, his tone low and provocative. Tav disguises her smile with a playful eye roll.

“If you debase yourself like that for a puny goblin I truly will leave,” Lae’Zel warns. Astarion and Shadowheart hesitate at her words, but Tav giggles as if it is a joke and not a serious threat.

“Noted, Lae’Zel. I will not smear poop on my face.”

Once through the gate, no one questions their presence. The goblin camp is utter chaos, and probably more surprisingly, filled with more than goblins. As they cross a crumbling bridge, they spot a familiar face on a makeshift dias across the way. 

“Is that? Volo!?” Tav gasps. Volothamp Geddarm, noted writer, adventurer, and overall smarmy fuck, fumbles his way through a monologue of nonsense as a crowd of goblins jeers and pelts him with trash.

“With fragulous crown and sceptre abrade, Dror Ragzlin short work of the innkeeper made!”

“Bravo!!!” Tav cries, clapping loudly to drown out any booing. The goblins scowl, side-eyeing Tav with annoyance. 

“Come on darling, that’s not the kind of show they want,” Astarion whispers. “They want to mock him.”

“Z’ose friends o’ yours?” A female goblin asks, her voice laden with suspicion.

“Of course not! No funny business here!” A flustered Volo laughs nervously. He shoots a quick glare at Tav.

“What are you doing? I’m busy here!” He says, shooing them away. He begins his screed again.

“Dror Ragzlin….Dror Ragzlin….” Volo tries his best, but he eventually trails off pathetically. A goblin chucks a cup at him, splashing Volo with the dregs of stale ale. 

“If you aren’t gonna perform, you’re goin’ back in tha cage!” The goblin yells. Volo withers before her.

“Of course, ma’am,” he grovels. She shoves him harshly off the stage, much to the delight of the crowd.

“We have to help him!” Tav whispers to their group. Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae’Zel all share a look.

“We are not here for the annoying wizard. We are here for the druid, as you said,” Lae’Zel reminds her firmly.

“It’s true, I did say that. But, we will almost certainly have to fight to free him! Won’t that be fun?” Tav says. Lae’Zel considers this.

“I do not fight for ‘fun.’ I fight to win. I fight for the honor and glory of Vlaakith,” she announces.

“Tav, this is Volo you are talking about,” Shadowheart complains.

“The Volo. Maybe if we save him he will put us in his next book!”

“That’s precisely what I am afraid of,” Astarion says. 

“But then we’ll be famous!” Tav smiles sweetly up at him.

“Make us rich and famous and then you have a deal,” Astarion counters.

“Lady of Sorrows, will you two stop flirting with each other? I don’t know if any of you have noticed, but this hellhole is a temple to Selûne,” Shadowheart spits out the name with vitriol. “Even if it’s appropriately defiled, l don’t want to be in a temple of the Moon Witch for longer than I have to be,” Shadowheart whines. Tav looks away shyly, chastened. But when the cleric turns away, Tav looks at him and pulls a face behind Shadowheart’s back. Astarion stifles a smirk.  

Something between them is changing, which is perhaps why it feels off to him. They have always shared banter, but it seems as though she’s actively trying to make him laugh now. And if he makes a joke, he can depend on Tav to laugh, even in a wry sort of way. It’s flirtatious, but it’s fun.

Fun. Perhaps he should chase that feeling. After the revelation that there may be more to his scars than he knows, a little fun with his lover at the expense of some goblins sounds like just what he needs. Lover. The word sounds so serious. And yet it isn’t. Not really. It could mean a lot of things. 

As they walk, Astarion takes in more of their surroundings. They seem to be in a courtyard, which has been hastily transformed into a feast hall. Meat of some kind roasts on an open spit while goblins fill their tankards from a nearby cauldron of liquor. Merchants haggle with customers while other goblins eat, sing, fight, and make merry in a haze of hedonism.

One voice emerges above the din of the camp, bragging about recent conquests. “Weaker than pixies, humans!” A goblin squawks. A gaggle of his comrades laugh at his harsh words. Even surrounded by admirers, the squat, scarred goblin still catches their group staring. “Wot are you lot doin’ ‘ere? ‘More pests?” he eyes them up and down. “You prolly think you rule the world,” he sneers.

“That’s not true. We don’t think we’re better than anyone,” Tav pipes up. Astarion catches Shadowheart’s eye, then Lae’Zel’s. He doesn’t need the tadpole to know they all firmly disagree with Tav’s assessment.

“Everyone says that, then they spit in our faces,” the goblin snarls. “But no more. Things’re changin’. We got the Absolute on our side.” He gives them an evil look, sizing Tav up. “Ya better learn yer place.” The hairs on the back of Astarion’s neck stand on end as the goblin advances towards them, a look of pure hatred and disdain on his face.

Cazador has given him that look many times, right before he made Astarion do something particularly ghastly.

“Go on. Kiss my foot,” He points to the ground, wiggling his toes. “Or I’ll wipe that nasty look right off yer pretty face.” 

“End him or leave him. But do not grovel to this slug,” Lae’Zel says firmly. 

“Just kiss the damn foot. Worse things have been shoved in your face lately.” Shadowheart is speaking to Tav, but she is looking pointedly at Astarion. Predictably, it seems the others noticed their rendezvous. He gives Shadowheart a quick, saucy wink. She scoffs but fails to completely conceal her smirk of amusement. 

Astarion can see that the goblin is growing impatient. “Well, go on. Give him a nibble,” Astarion urges. It’s horrid work, but it’s one kiss and then she’ll be done. It will be easy and then they can be on their way. Tav looks at him with surprise. He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m waiting, princess” the goblin jeers. Tav rounds on him with a withering glare.“How about you kiss my foot, before I knock that smug look off your face,” Tav says. At the first hint of pushback, the goblin quickly changes his tune. “Look mate, piss off! Yer not welcome ‘ere,” the cretin says, puffing up his chest.” Tav plants her foot in front of him. “Kiss my foot. Now,” she orders, in a tone that demands obedience. Fear flickers across the goblin’s face as the crowd falls completely silent. Tav points down to her foot and a little thrill passes through Astarion as he watches the goblin sink to his knees. He places a surprisingly delicate kiss across the worn leather of Tav’s boot. “There, I done it,” he says, rising back to his feet. 

Tav gives him a final once over as she turns away. 

“Good,” Lae’Zel says approvingly. The crowd parts for them as they leave.

“Arrogant swine,” the goblin mutters after her, but Tav pays him no mind.

“Aren’t you the domineering tyrant,” Shadowheart teases. 

“Only when I’m pushed,” Tav laughs. “I’m not wearing poop and I’m not kissing goblin feet,” she promises. 

Astarion will do what he has to do to survive and he doesn’t begrudge others who do the same, but there’s just something about a person who refuses to be pushed around. Who wields power unapologetically. Astarion snakes his hand around her waist, pulling her close. “You continue to delight and surprise me, darling,” he whispers in her ear. Tav shudders against him and he gives her hip a quick squeeze, releasing her as he playfully retreats out of reach. Shadowheart coughs loudly. 

“Lady of Sorrow guide us,” she prays pointedly. Her prayer is interrupted by a hoot of terror as a small, bedraggled clump of feathers darts past them and into a crowd of goblins, which parts for it as it scampers away. “What are they doing to that poor creature?” Shadowheart cries.

Astarion leans against a stone wall as Tav barges over, inserting herself into whatever that business is. He watches as she crouches down to speak softly to the frightened owlbear cub. Something has definitely shifted between them. 

Funny. Clever. Cunning. Ambitious. Fierce. “It’s no use,” Tav says, returning. “I gave the cub my scent, but it can’t escape so long as the goblins have it trapped.” 

“Well, then it sounds like we have some killing to do,” Astarion says. Lae’Zel grunts approvingly.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind killing some goblins to help that sweet cub,” Shadowheart agrees.

“Same here. But let’s try to find Halsin first. Once we’ve freed him, we can grab the owlbear on the way out.”

“We can still have some fun in the meantime though,” Astartion suggests. “What did you have in mind?” Tav asks. He opens his pack and flashes a bottle of Wyvern toxin at them. “We can cull some of the horde as we go. Watch this,” he grins toothily before swaggering away towards the vat of suspicious booze he had noticed earlier. He thumbs the cap of poison, concealing the flask in his sleeve. He loiters for a bit, watching as goblins meander past. He grabs a nearby discarded cup off of a table, covertly pouring the poison inside. He walks over to the punch bowl, pantomiming filling his cup as he slips the poison into the dubious punch. He takes a few fake sips from his glass as he walks back to the group. 

“Battle is more honorable. But I suppose this is efficient,” Lae’Zel remarks. “That’s absolutely terrible” Tav admonishes. Astarion frowns in surprise, but Tav quickly drops the act. “I love it,” she says, smiling. “Now, let’s go, before they catch wise,” Astarion snickers, smiling back. The group beelines for the heavy doors to the temple, putting as much space between themselves and their crime as possible. “What will your evil little mind think of next?” Shadowheart says as they disappear deeper into danger.

~

Chapter 12: Penance

[fandomwritingbit]

Battered & bruised

nightclub owner/William Afton x (fem)reader

synop: You've struggled getting employment because of your shady past, but the tides finally turn in your favour when a club owner called Henry gives you a job. And you're ready to work your arse off, not only in your security role but also with the other owner, William.

warning: swearing, violence. (reader is described as small)

A/n: Hello! This was my first ever au for William, so the ideas are genuinely 5 or 6 years old but the writing is today's lol. This is gonna be a series because I think the slow burn will work best this way.

A bloke called Henry Emily had given you a job. A security gig. Without an interview, without discussion of your role and without an induction. Just bam. He’d taken one look at you - then looked you up and down again for his own personal enjoyment - then listened to your whole speech about ‘wanting a chance to work hard’ and just gone: okay.

No CV. No experience. Nada. And that was exactly what you were looking for. Rent was due and to be honest you were in great need of some money. Plus it was hard for you to find work, especially given your... history. 

He’s hired you because you’re brazen and easy on the eyes, it’s all a bit sleazy really, you’d thought so at the time too. But at least sleazy men are easy to manage.

He’d grinned at you. “Yeah alright, we’ll give you a try. You seem like a nice girl. Uh why don’t you rock up on Friday and we’ll show you the ropes?” 

“Yeah that’s great, thank you so much.” You smiled at him, offering your hand for him to shake it. God if this fella had looked into you this would never have happened, he’s a sucker in that respect. But you wouldn’t make him regret it. You were after nothing but a regular income and it’d been fucking hard to find acceptance, to jeopardise it would be a fool’s errand.

His use of the word 'we' hadn't crossed your mind, you assumed he was the owner, after all you asked for the owner and he was brought to you. But maybe that’s some just desserts for not applying properly. 

~ 

On that Friday, you arrived early, really using all that punctuality shit that had been drilled into you since secondary school. But a little prickle of anxiety settled in when you didn’t see any cars in the car park. You were only 10 minutes early; your start time at 20:00 ready for doors to open an hour later. But How will you get in if no one is there, for fuck’s sake? Your thoughts manifested in your head tilting the whole way back, a hefty sigh accompanying it.

Doubting yourself all the way, you go to the front doors and mercifully, they are unlocked and you walk into the nightclub you’d now call your home from home.

The lights were on, so someone must be there. Yet no one came to meet you at the door, even though you said hello fairly loudly. You smirked to yourself, walking inside uninvited and musing at how some cleaner was probably going to tell you off. They must be hidden away and now you’d have to tiptoe around trying to find them. Not too bad though, at least you can have a look around.

Moving further inside, you walk down a grey corridor with garish black and white dado rail the whole way down. It was peculiar décor to say the least, though obviously, it would look completely different with people inside. 

Your footsteps were foreign in the quiet building, but you tried to keep a bit of confidence as you began your exploration. It took a while to find your way around - a few doors opened to cupboards stuffed with mops and loo roll, spilling out while you tried to shove all the shite back in. Surprisingly, you’d found a kind of lounge area, a few grey and red sofas, some big arse speakers lining the walls: a lot of money in that room, you thought. A past impulse echoing through you.

Eventually, you make your way to the ‘main area’, if you like. The part with the huge floor for people to dance, a small stage before it, with old looking lights and stuff, maybe you’d get to see a few local bands perform during your tenure, could be nice. You walk over to it, the back of the stage pitch black, so dark you couldn't tell if it was a curtain or not and stood on your tippy-toes like an idiot trying to decide. 

Rustling from behind you, makes you turn to see a brightly coloured poster flitting to the floor after clearly having fallen from a board on the wall. You’ll pick it up, but before moving to do so you glance back to the stage offhandedly; the sight of a huge figure standing in the middle makes the skin leave your bones.

You can’t even help yourself, raising your hands almost immediately, “What the fuck are you doing, mate? You scared the shit out of me!” The figure moved further forward so that you could see him, it wasn’t Henry. This man was overly tall and slender with dark greying hair. Your anger quickly subsides at the expression on his face and you chuckle, the shock catching up to you. “Jesus...” 

The man standing on the stage looked... fuming, to say the least. His brows narrowed and jaw stuck forward. He looked so pissed that you panicked for a minute, ready to backtrack a fair bit. But that feeling didn’t last long, the figure stepped down off the stage and walked towards you. As he stood in front of you, you found yourself stepping backwards, tilting your head to meet the eyes of this ridiculously tall and broad bloke. 

“I scared you?” The man spoke slowly, voice deep and raspy. He wasn’t shouting, he didn’t need to. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing in my club?”  

Well. Oh. Dear. It appears that you’d just been rather rude to someone important. Who’s first impression of you as an employee was now you effing and jeffing at him. Shit.

“Look... I’m sorry, mate. You scared me is all.” You speak quickly, trying to claw back a semblance of civility. Searching his face for some emotion other than boredom/anger, but nope there was nothing.

You think you see a flicker of amusement cross his face but it doesn't last two seconds. “I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh uh, I’m y/n.” You look at him for a look of recognition but he appeared none the wiser. “Mr Emily hired me... told me to come in today.” 

You notice the pinch between his brows got more severe and you pick up on the hostility between this fella and your boss. He looked at you blankly, making no effort to fill increasingly brutal silence. You’re just about regretting ever being born, thinking about walking out and knocking on doors ‘til you find another idiot willing to hire you. But to your surprise a demeaning smirk appears on the man’s face as he looks down at you, and you breathe out slightly. 

“Henry hired you?” He scoffs, moving his hand up and down in front of you to illustrate your height, “To do what? Sit on a pot of gold?” You get the feeling that he was trying to annoy you, make you want to storm out or some shit but you can only smirk at that terrible joke. 

“Security, innit.” You say shortly, smiling back because... yeah you weren’t exactly the typical bouncer. “Uh who are you then?” You ask, half a shrug awkward on your shoulders.

He did not look best pleased by that question and folded his arms, eyes daggers at you. “Henry hasn’t told you shit, has he?” A scoff of a laugh came from this bloke but it looked coated in resentment. 

“No, made me look a fuc.... mug.” You mumble.

“We’re co-owners, for some fucking reason.” He looked you up and down but not in the way that his counterpart had, if anything, it looked like he was sizing you up. And after a moment he just said, “William.” With a curt gesture to himself.

Once such an introduction had been made, he continued to complain, pissed that Henry hadn’t even told you what to do or where to get your uniform. You were thrusted upon him like a shitty diagnosis and he was left to sort you out? Always sorting out Henry’s shit he was.  

And he did sort you out, giving you orders to your responsibilities, going into a store room to get you a uniform, a room you weren’t allowed to enter because of asbestos in the walls. A really comforting thing to hear on your first day, though you'd come to learn that that summed up the whole of this shitty club. 

The whole thing was falling apart, left in this William's hands to sort out. And he was clearly working hard, but it was like trying to piss a fire out.

 ~

You’d thought that the frosty reception from William could have been just because you were new, that he’d probably warm up to you as you got a few weeks under your belt. Well, that wasn’t the case.

From the first day it became abundantly clear that he was just as snippy and unreceptive with everyone else. Be it ignorance, arrogance or plain uninterest, no one really knew, but he went about his role and gave you shit if you dared to overstep into his path. Which was enough motivation for you to put some graft in with the bastard. Fuck’s sake, everyone else was getting on well with you, from security to bar staff, Henry was damn-near obsessed! You’d get him on side, by hook or by fucking crook.

It started with a simple ‘good afternoon’ spoken loudly at him through his office door, letting him know your presence in the building, which was nearly always much earlier than everyone else. Then a smile any time you encountered him, not a suck-up kind of sweet smile but the kind that had raised eyebrows, self-deprecating and the like. 

Yet it still felt like he bloody hated you. Not even a passionate hate, like you’d done something to genuinely offend him or run him over on the way there. A bored kind of vague dislike that he held for everyone else.

That won’t stand though. And you’re determined to fix it.

~

You’d come to learn over your short tenure there that Friday nights were fucking brutal. It seemed fuckers from all over would crawl out of the gutter to get pissed with their mates here. Course, it was good for business but as an employee not an owner you got all the hassle and none of the tassel. You were on duty in the main area and stood a post near the back corridors, watching for any odd behaviour and making sure everyone was as happy as you can be in a crumbling nightclub.

You find yourself clock-watching about half-way in and cross your fingers that the night will go mercifully quickly. Your counting of the minutes ‘til you could clock off is interrupted by a youngish lass coming up to you. Instantly your eyebrows are high, the person on the door dropped the ball on this one, this lass barely looked 18. 

“Hey, do you uh work here?” The girl asks, looking over her shoulder for a second, before returning to you. You almost want to roll your eyes, of course you fucking work there, no one would do patrol for fun, would they? Carry a radio around for the craic of it? But her wide eyes make you bite your tongue and assess the situation more levelly. 

“Yeah, is everything alright?” You smile wryly, hoping it comes across encouragingly, but your tiredness might have prevented that. 

“I uh... there’s this guy, he won’t leave me and my friends alone.” She rubs her arm, “You know, just being real creepy...” You nod, what a joy and sadly not an uncommon one. 

“Where are your friends?” You ask, looking at the young lass in front of you in increasing doubt that she should be here. 

She looked over her shoulder, “Over there, in the red.” she said, and you spotted the two girls she meant instantly, and nod, able to pick out the guy she was talking about who was hanging around these girls much too closely. “We’re uh...” she looked down, shame flickering on her face. “We’re minors, please don’t be mad at me, I just... we don’t want to be harassed.” 

You smile, remembering your similar youth, musing that fake IDs must be fairly fucking hard to find nowadays. And decided to take pity on the lass, it wasn’t nice to turf them out when the problem hadn't been their doing at all and to be frank, it’s above your pay grade, isn’t it? “I’m not going to throw you out, don’t worry... though you shouldn’t be here if you’re not 18.” 

You sigh, “I’ll get him to leave but promise me you’ll stick together with your mates, ay?” She nods and thanks you extensively before you wish her well and go to fulfil your promise. Silently noting to tell Ste the doorman that he needs to get a pissing eye test.

The problem man was a heavy-set guy with a beard and a clearly designer shirt. A complete stereotype that you knew already, would be trouble. You take a breath before going over, mentally doing the sign of the cross over yourself, not that you thought it would do anything, it was more for your own comedic enjoyment, but if a higher power should see it, that’d be nice. 

“Excuse me, sir.” You say, loud enough for the people around him to slowly start drifting away. As if sensing the unfolding scene the man looks at you with pre-emptive annoyance. 

“Yeah?” He says as rudely as you expected.

You sigh, trying to remain as diplomatic as possible. “Your behaviour towards the young girls here is untoward and we won’t tolerate that here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” 

'Ask’ is the customer service way of telling him to get the fuck out and his reaction suggests that he knew that. 

“Leave? I ain’t done nothing.” The question was asked loudly, trying to alert people around as to the perceived ridiculousness of what you were saying. Though the double negative hinted at him having done something, to say the least.

“That’s not what I’ve been told. Please leave, sir.” You repeat yourself, more authoritarian this time, your tone firm and leaning towards annoyance. It was embarrassing having to do this, but you knew that it was worth it to keep the girl you’d spoken to safe. The look on her face was enough to make you despise this man. 

“And what if I say no?” He stepped forward after he spoke, squaring up to you, trying his hand at the old intimidation game. And despite his height over you, you keep rooted, looking at him with daggers.  

“Sir. You’re embarrassing yourself.” You scoff, shaking your head. By this point that second-hand shame had caused the others nearby to either watch intently or move away. “A grown man having to be told to leave young lasses alone, for fuck sake.” Stepping forward yourself, you make your disgust visible. It had the opposite effect than intended and the man before you bubbled with rage. 

“What the fuck did you say to me, you little bitch?” 

“Stop being pathetic-” Your words of disbelief and amounting hatred were cut short when the huge bloke grabbed your arm bruisingly, wrenching you towards him. His larger stature allows him to manipulate your frame fairly easily.

William had a nose for trouble and as he stalked out from his office he caught sight of people leaving the main room. He shakes his head already annoyed at whatever he was to discover. Of all the things that he could have seen, an accident, injury etc... he didn't expect a man to be manhandling one of his employees. Least of all you. You who always smiled at him, even though it got nothing in return. You who shouted ‘afternoon!’ at him through his office door, often making him slosh coffee in surprise. You, who talked to him and engaged with him, unbothered by his reputation or generally unpleasant demeanour. How fucking dare someone put their hands on you. 

“Stupid fucking slag.” The man spat, it landed on your skin. 

“Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me.” You manage, your teeth clenched as you clasped at straws to try and de-escalate this borderline assault, hoping he’d realise how far out of proportion he’d blown this. He didn’t. Instead, your words were petrol on a fire and the sharp ringing of a slap could be heard over the music. 

It was so harsh and crisp, for a moment you were dazed. The attack launches you into the difficult decision of fight or flight. It wasn’t the heat of the print on your face that made you react, however; it was the piggish sneer on his fucking face. 

Punching him hard, square in the nose, you feel the old familiar sensation of pain blooming through your hand. From the point of contact it fizzled like static down your knuckles and up your arm, though it barely hurt over the adrenaline coursing through your system. 

Your attack didn't deter him though, his grip on your arm not faltering even as the other rose to his face in shock. Taking your window of opportunity you strike him again, blood now pouring down his face, it provokes him to yank your arm straight, the grip blue pain on your flesh.

Powerless to do much else, you had to take his revenge, a punch that made you vision flicker, landing hard below your eye. Then another. You were reeling, your standing knocked with the strikes, it hurt but you burned with indignation that you were unable to hit this fucker again.

Straining to get away from the assault of raining blows, you grab his hair, pulling hard, the sensation of it lifting under your grip apparent in his grunt. It was then with a fist full of this cunt's hair that his grip on you failed. You look through blurred eyes to see your boss taking hold of him, pulling him by the shoulder into a balled fist.

The man wasn't going down easy, even though Afton got a strong hit on him, the man retaliated, striking back and you see the impact on your boss and his slight stumble, but it motivated him to take it to a new level. 

He grabbed the man's head, pulling his stance in half, doubled over and raised his knee repeatedly into his face. Not stopping until he was satisfied, then shoving the larger man to the floor, and kicking him hard in the stomach and teeth, to the point where the attackers' whimpers were beginning to subside. You watched pretty horrified whilst other staff tried to herd patrons away.

Yanking the man up by his collar hissed something inaudible for you to his ear, before punching him again, letting him fall back down.

He was pulled outside by William, the bouncers too shocked to intervene and you just followed the display stupidly. You had no idea this man was capable of such... violence. Cause that was no fight, it was violence.

Afton left the man flicking in and about of consciousness on the curb outside, spitting on him when he mumbled a lisped "fuck you" in his direction.

You were watching in awe, when all of a sudden he turned to you, his face bloody and a hesitation for pain in his jaw.

"Are you alright?" He questions.

You blink. "Yeah..."

"You're bleeding?" He points out as though you were much stupider than you are.

"I'm banged up, but alright." You say quickly, searching his eyes for any acknowledgement of what had just happened. You had a nagging feeling that he was about to shout at you, ask what the fuck that was about. Hell maybe even sack you for the beating he just took.

"Nowhere near as bad as you are." You follow up. And that was putting it lightly, it looked like his nose was broken and his jaw must hurt in some way for how he slowly shuffled it, waiting to find where the pain was.

He scoffs at you, instantly regretting it as blood begins trickling over his lip, you wince alongside him as he wipes it on the back of his hand. With a grunt he turns his back and heads back inside.

Taken aback at his nonchalance, you struggle to get the words out. "Where's the first aid?" You call after him, your question stopping him in his tracks.

“There’s one in my office if you need it.” He replies from over his shoulder, continuing to walk away. You throw a shrug and slightly surprised sigh in the direction of his retreating form, before hurrying to catch up with him. You’d laugh if your head wasn't fucking banging. 

Finally managing to reach him, you force your frame next to him on the corridor, walking side by side towards the back. 

“I don’t know if I need it... you need stitches or something though, mat- William.” 

“Says who?” His response is typically gruff and at this point you’re more than used to it. 

Managing a smirk through the high-pitched pain behind your eyes, you don't let his uncaring attitude deter you. “The cut above your brow. Practically screaming it.”

Letting you follow him, he pauses briefly. To be honest, the strike to the brow had wiped itself from his memory, which was not at all a good sign, but the second you pointed it out he became very aware of the crispening blood hindering any movement of his face. Fucking stitches? And what, you were gonna do that, were you? Just what he needed, a headache on top of the one he already had.

“Seriously, this is my fault. Let me help you out, least I can do.” 

“I’m fine, just need a drink... maybe a co-codamol.” He said not another word to you but made no effort to get you away from him and so you followed, half uncertain like a lost dog, all the way to his office at the back. 

The way he moved it was hard to keep up with him, his huge height gave him a stride and a half. But you get there finally, and he doesn't bother to hold his office door open for you, letting it nearly hit you as it swung closed. 

You survive and slip inside the office, just in time to see him slap the first aid kit on a table at the far side of the room. You go over to it and open it up, delighted to see that what once was a bottle of antiseptic was now half a thing of Dettol with a sewing kit beside it. Not a medical one, just your standard hotel one, with different coloured pieces of thread and a blunt looking needle. 

“I see why you said no to the stitches.” You grin, watching the man sit down heavily at the table. He attempted to rub the space between his eyebrows but had to abandon the gesture as it interfered with his injuries.  

“I told you.” He mumbles.

“Yeah well... Dettol will do something I guess.” You sit as well and start pouring the disinfectant on a cotton pad that you hope hadn’t been used before. 

Just as you move to dab it over the hardened gash, he pulls away suddenly, a pissed off look about him that you should have probably been intimidated by, but your reaction time is fucked by your headache.. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He speaks through his teeth, not at all happy with the sudden movement.

“Sorting out your split brow. I have said it a fair few times now, you’re starting to worry me.” You wait for him to start going in on you, shouting or whatever the fuck he’d normally do to anyone trying to be nice. But he doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you, the annoyed expression unmoving.

Over the past month or so he’d become quite used to your... demeanour. You didn’t offer any tact towards him, or just keep your head down like others. You took the opposite route, always had something to fucking say, some comment to make. It had grated on him, but he didn’t mind it really, though you weren’t going to get special treatment just because you don't know when to shut your damn mouth. 

“So...” You prompt, shaking the cotton bud in front of him.

He didn’t dignify you with a response, just a swift nod.

“This is gonna sting, just don’t move so I don’t get it in your eye.” You warn whilst getting closer, it was quite unnerving to be this close to him, god’s sake you could hear him breathing.

As you pressed the fabric against his cut, he didn’t flinch like you would have expected, just remained reticent and staring forward. Though he let himself glance at you, noting how far you had to lean to reach him. God you were small, much too small to have been wailed on by a massive fuck like that. Being honest, he was surprised you were still standing. 

He surprises himself by breaking the silence. “... Dettol doesn’t sting... better than antiseptic.” 

A smirk finds itself on your face, “Had a lot of experience then?” That isn’t shocking news, there was something practised about the way he took down that man.

A small sound leaves him and you almost stop your action. This man can laugh? Could have fooled you. “You could say that. Don’t often get the shit beaten out of me though.” 

Disbelief washes over you. “The shit beaten outta you?” You scoff. “You’re fine.” You blink a little. This was the textbook definition of ‘you should see the other guy’. Seriously, he couldn’t walk and was barely conscious. This cunt? Pretty much fine, minus a few scratches. 

Once you’re done with disinfectant you rifle through the box looking for something better than the sewing kit. A plaster probably wouldn’t cut it, in an ideal world he should probably be in A&E. But eventually you get your hands on a pack of steri strips and right now they look better than gold. “Here, I don’t even have to mutilate you with the needle.” You grin and it earns a small lip twitch from your would-be pin cushion. 

As you lean forward with the strips in hand, he doesn’t flinch from you even though it hurts to fuck when you push the cut closed to seal it. He notices as you're patching him up that your hand is covered in blood, it could be the bloke's at first glance but your knuckles look bust and there's a stiffness to your movement. 

You finish up with the gash and step back a bit, smirking, it’s a fine job you’ve done there. 

“Thanks.” He offers, just as plainly as you’ve come to expect. It makes you halt a second though, his pronunciation was off, so maybe he wasn’t as fine as you initially thought. Leaning forward, you go to investigate but he pulls himself from your grip. 

“Leave it, it's fine...” It started sharp, but softened a bit as he caught sight of your arm. Holy shit. That was a number alright. Clearly already bruised from that dickhead’s hold, there were three distinct scratches down the length of your forearm where the man had evidently tried to hold on to you as he’d yanked him away, that explains the stiffness. 

Looking at him you try to figure out what isn't right and eventually you settle on: "I think your nose is broken."

He reaches up himself, feeling along the bridge of his nose, the scowl on his face telling. "It isn’t." He concludes, briefly thinking ‘somehow’. With that, you start putting the medical stuff back in the box, just ignoring his curtness. You'd done your bit and patched him up, clearly your kindness was too much for him, so off you fucking pop, sheesh.

You hardly even get the equipment back in the box before Afton reaches forward and slides everything out of your grasp. Instinctively your brows raise, unsure of why he did that. “Are we not done?” You ask, uncertainly, maybe this is the part where he bollocks you. 

“Sit down. Your arm needs sorting.” His words aren’t a suggestion. You look down to see what he’s talking about and wince at the sight; how hadn’t you noticed the scratches? They look awful, not that deep but plain ugly and sore now you come to think of it. 

“Shit.” You say in your observation, slowly sitting whilst still watching your arm. So wrapped up in this new discovery that you jump when he reaches forward to grab your wrist, his big hands wrap all the way around it easily, man, this is a scary bloke. He pulls your arm slowly in front of him, not gently but certainly more understanding than you would have expected. 

“I don’t even know how he done that.” You fill the silence, thinking aloud. 

“Rings.” He answers, with a but too much knowledge, “Must have a fair bit of your arm stuck under them.” You almost laugh, but the visual is too grim and likely accurate. Looking up at him you see clear amusement on his face. 

The Dettol is again brought out and when he dabs it too your scratches a cold pain reaches all the way up your arm, making you suck in through your teeth. He glances up at you and all you can say is. “You’re a fucking liar. That stings like hell.” 

The man in front of you grins then, a starling crooked smirk that almost makes him look like a different bloke. It’s a handsome expression that’s made slightly menacing by a missing tooth after his canine above two silver ones. You think to yourself that this man has taken a lot of fucking beatings.

Through his grin, William says, “It’s not that bad.” 

“Yeah alright, tough guy.” You dismiss him, trying to ignore that ache in your arm that makes you want to grind your teeth. 

He looks back down to his task and the unusual expression remains on his face somewhat involuntarily. You notice and soon you’re smiling too, unable to help it, maybe the whole shitshow was catching up to you now, fisticuffs with a man well outside your weight class, only to be ‘rescued’ by your stoic, unnerving boss; and to top off the day of the unexpected, you made the fucker smile. Quite the day.

“So you can smile then?” You ask coyly, it’s a little victory that shows you’re successful chipping away at his frosty exterior, he’ll be a mate eventually. 

He looks up at you quickly, his eyes narrow in that scrutinising way everyone who works here is accustomed to. But where an icy glare would usually have been a cocky, “Must be the head injury.” was. 

~

You’re patched up pretty quickly, the cleaning of the wound taking half as much time as the debate about whether or not you need a bandage. You said it would be fine. He argues it’s necessity. And despite your assurance you’re now standing at his office door with a bandage tightly wrapped around your arm. You notice that the second the door was opened you could hear the dull thud of music, escaping the club and plaguing the managers too; good, you think. 

He follows you out of the room, the two of you must look like a right pair, both beaten to shit. Looking in the reflection of the window to the office confirms as much, you’ve a nasty bruise under your eye, and a swelling that would probably make it difficult to open your eye in the morning. You’ve been in this situation before. As has he. 

There in the narrow hallway you look up at him, feeling confronted by the height difference, now so obvious when you’re both standing. “Thank you for that.” You give him a genuine expression, really meaning it, even though your arm hurts more now than it did before. 

“I only returned the favour.” He answers, pausing for a moment whilst he checks his watch. “You should go home. Obviously you’ll be paid for the whole shift.” He adds the last part as if he thought you’d object, there must have been something about your face that said you might. 

“Yeah, okay.” You smile a little, before you remember that he’s well more banged up than you, his shirt is covered in the blood to prove it, if you get leave surely he should as well. “Are you going-” You begin to ask, but the door to the club opens and a man bursting through it cuts you off. 

“What the fuck?!” Henry’s voice was bordering on hysterical, cutting shrill above the buzz of music and you don’t have to look to see eye rolling of your other boss. “William, tell me why the hell I’ve got 14 missed calls and a voicemail saying all shit has hit the fan?!” You stand awkwardly as Henry comes up to the both of you, there’s daggers in his eyes that are reserved purely for Afton. 

“Easy, you’re a bit late with all this cavalry shit.” William snaps, his head is throbbing too much to deal with the headache that is his co-worker. “There was an incident, some silly fucker got violent. He’s been sorted.” You try not to grin at that, ‘sorted’, that’s one way to put it. 

“So have you, by the looks of it. I swear to God, William, if this bites me in the arse, you’ll look worse than that.” Everyone standing there knows that that’s an empty threat, not that Henry wasn't capable of it, but rather that William towers over him. That seems to resonate with the instigator when he locks eyes with William’s uncaring and hard expression, so Henry moves on. 

“Are you alright, darling?” He asks his voice now sugary, all his attention is on you, as well as a hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah. Just a few scrapes, I’ll live.” You keep all traces of amusement from your face, even as he begins to walk you out of the club in the direction of the car he thought you had, talking to you like you're a kid the whole way.

[voxxisms]

vague wishlist thread ideas sorted by character (types?) i have some thoughts sometimes about things i wanna do with vox, plots && ideas. some of these are vague or more specific, && some are just settings or aus. putting a cut for dashboard sake. might link in pinned, will tag appropriately. might add more later.

general interactions / with anyone

vox at the hotel in either seeking redemption or as an investor

vox being injured or your muse fighting him in some capacity

vox stepping in to protect your muse with the goal of taking advantage of the dynamic. soul contract / employment or even just general favor owing

redeemed vox in heaven?? hello?

overpowered au content. this post sorta explains the vibes. he's super paranoid, very powerful, but surprisingly easy to be chill with if you behave well.

role swap vox with anyone literally. the only real one ive considered is alastor, in depth. he's an old - fashioned box head, perfectly modern inside for efficiency but looks like he belongs in the decades he lived in. very gentle, very empathetic && sweet. contracted to lilith (mine unless someone else wants to contract him) && helps the hotel.

vox being contracted to someone else.

arranged marriages / marriages of convenience

human verse stuff!! from either when vox was alive (1898-1945) or i'm happy to play with timelines in aus

bridgerton au, vox is george taylor, a wildly sickly man with too much money && a rake mostly. a lord by blood.

hanahaki. unrequited love that gives them diseases, any ending.

his self - punishment room being discovered.

vox in therapy lmaoo

fake dating.

with valentino

valentino having to fix vox

their toxic / possibly sweet relationship when they're on

vox being jealous / possessive

a break up?? if they're on / off it feels like something that happens a lot, i find them fun to write

marry each other smh tax benefits or domestic, either

valentino saving vox / vox saving valentino

with velvette

vox saving her in any way

her having to fix him post a fight or something else

vox modeling for her

ship stuff is fine, just as like, qpr stuff or mentorships

vox being over protective even if he really shouldnt be

with charlie

vox investing in the hotel for any reason (be it her askance, his own idea, or someone else's, or even seeking redemption ). might be genuine, probably more for info gathering

vox offering to personally assist in repairing the hotel

vox saving charlie from danger for fun bc its always good to have someone owe him something

with husk

knowing husk in his overlord times ( pre show / au )

vox having invested in husk's casino

vox being husk's contract holder for some reason?? could be fun

vox n husk fake dating for any reason i saw art for it once listen

with lucifer

vox seeking lucifer's creation expertise in early years (he was an entrepreneur once)

vox doing work / helping with lulu world being created as resident like, electronics man

vox making a deal with lucifer in some capacity, not necessarily Big Deal but you know

with angel

vox protecting him

vox saving him from valentino's ire (on acccident or otherwise)

vox having to step in for valentino on set lmaooo

angel && vox bonding over their similar experiences with val

vox caring for angel post a valentino encounter

angel for some reason being under contract with vox (different work/different expectations)

with rosie

the two having been close during vox's active relationship with alastor?

vox doing business with rosie / i.e. providing her with bodies or people from his territory in exchange for allyship

him investing in cannibal town somehow. owning property / providing funds for rennovation

tea parties?? him cooking for her?? her teaching him how to make cannibal - based food??

with alastor

alastor having been a mentor to early - hell vox

au in which the two have always remained working together, i love the concept. very media husbands coded but also not necessary to be romantic.

all the backstory, their friendship pre - show, especially the event that actually led them to split. i like to hc that they several things that slowly pushed them apart until vox invited him to the vee's right before alastor disappeared (this is dependent of course on the alastor / those hcs but)

au where alastor actually joined the vee's

au where vox offered alastor his soul in exchange for them remaining "friends". does not have to be a very sweet dynamic ofc

vox cooking for alastor / other vaguely domestic things

generally reconciling bc yknow

vox dying!! in alastor's arms!! or the other way around!! (not necessarily permanent but yknow)

RadioStatic of all flavors, unrequited/unspoken/QPR/exes/anything.

the role swap from above.

with other vox's i love duplicate interactions

the girls are fighting

playing into the doubling && working together

vox trying to help the other vox get back home properly

other vox (or himself) being a clone on purpose

upgrading / fixing each other

protecting each other

left brain right brain vibes???

au swaps? a role reversal vox meeting a regular vox? timeline swaps? one vox is from the 70's one vox is from modern times? one vox who is still friends with alastor && the other who isn't?

[moodybluezzz]

Deidara x Reader HCs (SFW)

[Another 2am editing session, these have been in my docs for a while and I wanted to wrap them up before starting something new]

[Word count: ≈560]

💥When Deidara falls in love he falls hard, and you truly become his muse. He's very loyal and, as much as he tries to deny it, very clingy. The other members of the Akatsuki will start teasing him about how he's head over heels for you, but considering his experience with clingy people coughTobicough he always ends up fighting them over it.

💥Deidara's feud with the Akatsuki becomes even more entertaining once your relationship becomes official. The team watches as he triumphantly introduces you as his partner, his stubbornness vanishing overnight. The guys will probably start calling you Picasso or some other clever nickname.

💥Deidara is surprisingly sweet and careful with you. He's young and hasn't had much relationship experience (if any) so even though he acts tough, he secretly doesn't wanna mess this up.

💥Deidara will call you a masterpiece, or a work of art. He also calls you baby/babe. He retains his usual smooth, casual attitude when he talks and flirts with you.

💥When Deidara starts gaining feelings for you, he'll struggle to focus on his art as his mind wanders. He spends a surprising amount of time working out his feelings for you in his head. At first it's frustrating, but eventually he gives in and starts sculpting gifts for you, using his feelings as motivation. Deidara is surprised by the unique excitement and nervousness that washes over him as he awaits your reaction to his art. And when he presents it to you (after lots of perfecting) his heart skips a beat as he finally gets to see your face light up with excitement.

💥If you're a fellow artist, he'll respect and cherish your work always, especially when you make it for him! Even though he loves to gush about his own masterpieces, his reactions to your creations are just as passionate. And when you find yourself doubting your skills, he'll fight tooth-and-nail to bring your confidence back.

💥Deidara enjoys his partner’s company while he sculpts and finds it far more entertaining than working alone. He'll even set up a workspace for you alongside his own, if you want to join in the sculpting. If he sees you struggling, he'll jump on any opportunity to help you out. “Hey, hey, I got this. Lemme show you how it's done, hmm.” Aside from the ego boost, Deidara is very patient and reassuring as he places his hands on top of yours and guides them along the clay. He knows it flusters you and that's part of the fun.

💥Deidara takes full advantage of his hand-mouths and finds some creative ways to entertain you with them. If you're feeling down, he'll stick his tongues out and make some silly expressions for you. He also uses them to give you triple the kisses, leaving you a blushing mess. If you're on a dinner date, sometimes he'll reach over when you're distracted and use them to steal a bite of your food, despite this being a comically obvious tactic.

💥Deidara's idea of a perfect date is an evening spent riding on the back of one of his clay birds, watching the scenery as you talk about anything and everything on your minds. He could spend hours discussing art, gossiping about the rest of the Akatsuki, and getting to know you better. He's a good listener and even better at keeping a conversation going.

[merp-blerp]

My Gaylor Journey: A Year Later 🌈

So, I posted about my Gaylor opinions a year ago today, my first (intentional) post about Gaylor after properly looking into the community for the first time and eventually joining it. I can't believe it's been that long, Jesus! Feels both too long and yet too short of a time. Well, I want to commemorate that; hopefully, I'll make sense, as there's so much I feel and want to say. I don't think I'll ever truly get it all out of me. But here:

I've enjoyed my time here so much! This period has been surprisingly influential for me. For one thing, I've gained some lovely mutuals! I've never had so many before, so it's new, but I enjoy you all. You guys are so kind, smart, and welcoming!

I've also learned so much about queerness, the queer experience, and queer history that I just never would've known before. And I was already very into queer history before. I adore how I listen to Taylor's music now. "Wrong" interpretation or not, looking at her music from a queer lens is so interesting and so easy. I had looked at it from a queer perspective before, but it was more through my eyes. How could this song relate to me and my queerness? Never in regards to the possibility of Taylor's. It's crazy to remember being younger, listening to her music, and getting queer vibes, but assuming I was projecting. Nice to know I was never alone in my thoughts. Looking at the potential real muses is fun, but just daring to look at things another way has been fulfilling alone. I had no clue I could get more connected with Taylor's work, but somehow this community has proven me wrong.

Being here has also saved me from a lot of worrying probably. The Swiftie community since Joe ended whatever he had with Taylor has been very much so changed since I discovered it in 2018, so while I have nothing against nice Swifties, I'm glad I mostly stick to the Gaylor side of things these days. This fandom's less crowded and I like experiencing Tay's art this way. Being a fan shouldn't feel so crazy. Not too long ago, I was having a conversation with one of my college mentors, who's a Swiftie, the day after TTPD was announced, I believe. We were both excited and I spouted out several watered-down versions of Gaylor theories (can never be too careful who you Gaylor in front of), cutting out the gay parts, and what I thought they meant for what TTPD was expected to be; theories like the burning lover house symbolizing "a new phase of her career" starting with TTPD, or white symbolizing rebirth, blah, blah, you know. And absolutely no offense to my mentor, she's lovely, but I was a bit gobsmacked when her theories only had to do with Joe. It was so... bare-bones. Dry. Boring. Don't you wonder what this means for Taylor herself, not just some boy she may or may not be dunking on? She also had so much seemingly incorrect info about the Toe narrative, saying Joe has a music career (he doesn't???) and that Taylor herself confirmed, word of mouth, that she cheated on Joe, which definitely would not be very characteristically "cryptic and Machiavellian" of her to just confirm like that. Just saying it would not be how she tells us a detail like that. I didn't realize people truly thought she cheated till that conversation. They were just very hard to believe things, whether or not you believe in Gaylor or mainstream narratives. She said a lot of her theories came from TikTok, so misinformation isn't shocking in the slightest; people rarely give good sources over there, so if you find someone who does they seem to be a needle in a haystack, sadly. But that conversation reminded me just how much things have changed, both in me and the fandom. Having fresh relationship drama for the first time in 6 years made some Swifties feral and I'm glad I'm not in it. Getting swept up in that shit is easy and I fear I could've if it weren't for jumping ship in time. As Taylor's signaling gets louder and louder again, possibly gearing up for another coming-out attempt, I think I joined just in time. The goddess of timing found me beguiling, I guess.

It just makes me sad that for these types of fans, Taylor's music and craft aren't about her anymore, but about the guys. It's so weird to see fans introduce new Swifties by going over all the supposed muses instead of talking about her and how this song or album communicates her emotions about a situation. They are deeply missing out. Even when I was only in the general fandom, despite my jokes about the boys, I ultimately thought Taylor was the most important factor in her songs. And it seemed like others thought that too, until all this new Joe-Travis-drama eclipsed that. Or till some bad new fans came in just for the drama and to hop on the more trendy version of "loving" her that's going on now. Or maybe I was in my own bubble and it's always been like this. She was never simply "Mrs. Alwyn" and she's not "Mrs. Kelce" or even "Mrs. Kloss" and it's strange to see her get called that as if she's not TAYLOR FUCKING SWIFT. That's not enough? Maybe I'm taking it too seriously or literally, but it feels so wrong to boil her down to just that. I get where it comes from, Taylor's music appeals to the hopeless romantics such as myself, but there's more to Taylor, us, and life than just romance and being someone's "spouse".

Many Swifties rightfully criticize the media for only focusing on Taylor's alleged love life, but some of them hypocritically do the exact same thing, only I'd argue it's worse because they seem to think they're entitled to do so because they're fans or feel like her friends. We don't know Taylor. I don't know Taylor. If she's openly talking about her album(s)/re-record(s) and the craft behind creating it, or her emotional journey creating it, maybe don't yell out to her face about some trivial thing connecting to whoever you think the muse is (looking at you TIFF 2022—I'll never be over that). I'm glad Taylor seems to recognize this behavior and has at least tried to remind fans of the distance between herself and them in recent years; I mean, compare the songs she wrote for fans years ago like "Long Live" and "The Archer" vs "Dear Reader" and potentially "You're Losing me" and "But Daddy I Love Him" if you interpret them that way. They're all wonderful, but more recent songs remind us that she's a stranger to us as opposed to just talking about how grateful she is for us (which I'm sure she still is). I've mentioned in the past that I think this is part of why the TV eras beyond the Red TV era and promo for TTPD have been so laid back in comparison; she doesn't want fans getting way too into "defending" her from [insert "ex-boyfriend" here] like they did during Red TV's release, so she's making it less "exciting". 1989 TV didn't even get music videos. She's never dignified invasive questions with a response to interviewers, so why would she for some fan(s)? You aren't any more special or any less of a stranger to her than those interviewers were. None of us are, including Gaylors (that's why we can't out her, strangers can't out strangers with only pure speculation).

I find it interesting to see how differently the two sides of this fandom treat the potential ex-muses of songs. In the general fandom, there's a lot of animosity, where swifties love to joke about hating or destroying whomever (and I'm chill with jokes), but sometimes it goes way too far. Many Swifties hate most potential exes, exceptions being people like Harry Styles or Taylor Lautner because they have their own fandoms that tend to overlap with Taylor's. But Gaylors rarely do the exact same with exes. Potential exes aren't brought up unless necessary and I've never seen anyone even jokingly hate anyone purely because they are an ex and therefore bad; it might be around, but the fact that I can't find it nearly as easily is something. We'll hold ex-muses (and Taylor) accountable for potential mishaps in past relationships and that's it. Say what you will about Gaylors, but I've never heard of any Gaylors sending someone like Dianna Agron death threats like some Swifties have done with John Mayer.

One huge thing I was not expecting when joining this fandom was becoming slightly disillusioned by the Swiftie title. Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with being called that, as I know that's what I am ultimately and it's not terrible to be a Swiftie inherently by any means. But being opened up to the deep homophobia, bullying, and even doxxing in the Hetlor community has really made me feel odd lumping myself in with "Swifties", as they still call themselves, at times. I don't know how I never stumbled across it when in the general fandom, at least not that I can recall (I feel like I would if I did). From what I gather, Swifties have a rep for being a pretty sweet fandom, and many people are, but I can't help but feel sour about it sometimes after seeing what I've seen from some Swifties. I hope one day the homophobia and just basic vitriol with these types of fans can be lightened up by a cultural shift or something. Way too many people are unaware of the layers of the conversation about outing, closeting, speculation, etc. I myself wasn't before entering the Gaylor fandom and I'm glad I am now. I knew lots of history, but didn't properly apply it to how we can see things now. It's very odd, almost embarrassing, looking at some of my old Swiftie posts now, especially ones about Joe and Gaylors, because I don't feel that way anymore. I was never hateful, but I had some wrong ideas. I guess I'll keep them up though, in order to be honest with myself and anyone who wants to maybe dig into my blog. Plus there's not actually anything to be too embarrassed about from what I remember, it's just a very "in my head" type of thing. I'm glad I'm not as emotionally invested in Taylor's supposed exes anymore. Even when it comes to Karlie as an LSK, I'd be fine if Kaylor was broken up or never together. Surprised and maybe a little sad, but I expect to be okay if that were to be a revelation. It feels much healthier.

I even suspect that being here has helped me with accepting my own queerness further, and I thought I had fully done that already. I guess internal acceptance is a forever journey, at least for me. I came out to my grandparents mid last year and early this year, something I was planning on delaying till I went away to college (I'm doing college virtually for now). I think this community helped me.

I deeply wish that both sides of Taylor's fandom could come together, hear each other, and co-exist. I hate that Gaylors are so vilified for simply suggesting a random lady might be queer as if seeing potential hints of queerness in other people and pondering their sexuality hasn't always existed in queer culture and continues to prevail. We still see primarily femme sapphics ask how they can signal that they're queer without saying so, much like what Taylor might be doing with her hairpins and games. Why is it wrong to be on the other end of that interaction, seeing and acknowledging the signals? In my personal opinion, I think it's at least a bit homophobic in and of itself to say that queer people must come out in a loud, upfront, obvious-to-straights way in order to be seen as queer, otherwise they are forcibly slated as the default of straight. Yes, some people have a boundary about speculation, and that should 100% be respected for those folks, but Taylor specifically has set no such boundary as of me typing this out. Why still force her into the straight box when she's never plainly said she's straight, always toeing the line no pun intended, not giving any clear answers for now, which she doesn't owe. Honestly, I feel like it's more likely that if she were straight she would have such an issue saying plainly; straight people don't coyly tiptoe around saying they're straight like that, but that's just my perspective. When the discourse around speculation is brought up, I often see people say something along the lines of, "Well, I wouldn't want someone to speculate on me," and that's completely fine to feel, but that's your boundary. Not everyone feels that way. Some want to be seen without a definitive word out of their mouth beforehand. This is coming from someone who, when offline, sometimes gets a bit internally antsy when people inform me they could tell my lesbian-ness with or without me intending to signal, though not offended. Yet I also sometimes hate to tell people in verbal words. It can be exhausting, not in just a scary way, but in the sense that it can be akin to explaining that you breathe; being queer just comes so naturally for me because it is natural, so explaining gets tiresome, especially since straights never have to. For me, and in general, speculation is not as black and white as "you should never do it" or "you should always do it". You shouldn't cross people's boundaries, but you shouldn't assume people's boundaries either; that can be just as wrong and dangerous.

Gaylors and Swifties are the same fandom, so why can't we act like it, even when we disagree?

Everyone and everything I've involved myself in here has been so enriching and even if all the Gaylor theories were somehow proven wrong, I wouldn't regret my time here. It's meant too much to me. I'm very grateful and excited to see how this progresses for me. I can't find enough words to express it.

To any rude Hetlors out there, I hope you find it in your heart to treat others with kindness instead of throwing shade at those you simply don't understand/agree with. If you're going to hurt others, I don't want anything to do with you. Kindly leave for both our peace of mind.

To the vast majority of you who have been wonderful, welcoming, and kind, especially the ones who were here before I entered the Gaylor fandom, and didn't leave after, I love you all. You can stay. ♥

🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

[autism-purgatory]

Writer questionnaire!

thanks for the tag @the-golden-comet!

About Me

When did you first start writing?

Around 10. I wanted to tell stories and was like “Well, I suck at drawing and I certainly can’t animate, so I guess I’ll write!”

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

If there’s a genre I like to read, but don’t write, I WILL eventually write in that genre.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Most of my inspirations don’t write, so I don’t go out of my way to emulate them. My main inspirations are Yoko Taro, Hidetaka Miyazaki, Red from OSP, Hello Future Me, and Fumito Ueda.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

Usually my bedroom, listening to the same weirdly specific song over and over again, or in the case of my forced vacation, A nice bedroom with a cozy armchair and decent lighting.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Watching or reading the core inspirations of stories. Like if I need inspiration or motivation to write Augmented_Humanity, I’ll watch Kill Bill or Blade Runner 2049.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

I wouldn’t say it did. A boring ass town in Texas doesn’t give much influence, I’m afraid.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Absolutely! a lot of themes of rejection by society and finding solace in those like you is pretty common. A lot of my characters aren’t considered the most well-liked by society because of things out of their control.

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Cole! Full name being Cole Hill since he took his wife’s last name. From Viscered, which is getting another chapter very soon!

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

I’d say Ren! He’s nice and would probably get along with anyone :D

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Hot take…Cambrius. He’s fun to write and it throws me into existential crises but I wouldn’t last a day with that bitch.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

i dunno. I just think of a few inspirations and a cool amalgamation of a character comes from it, I usually then build the plot around them and the genre.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

As mentioned in a previous question, characters who are persecuted for things outside of their control (something I have plenty of experience with as someone who’s both pan and autistic)

What’s your reason for writing?

I want to tell stories and writing is the one I felt most comfortable with :). Writing is limitless, that’s why I really like it!

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Any sort of compliment or feedback, as long as you aren’t a dick about it :D

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

Eh, I don’t really care about that. You could think I’m a nice little writer or a hateful cunt, as long as people like my stories :)

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

World building and dialogue, also making characters that are surprisingly likable (even for characters I was never expecting people to like)

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Same as above. I’m really good at making people sad and writing relatable characters in situations plagued by The Horrors.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

I’m content with it, and I’m happy to make improvements when necessary, but people seem to like it as it is rn.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yeah. I just like doing it, even when nobody reads it.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I learned to stop doing certain tropes or writing certain stories for the sake of pleasing people. I can’t please everyone so I might as well make a story I enjoy writing.

tagging @deanwax @fortunatetragedy + open tag!

[prettyiwa]

12 November 2018 | 09:45 (PST)

(previous) | (next)

Iwaizumi Hajime x F!Reader

Oikawa’s ringtone can be heard in the kitchen where Iwaizumi had left his phone. It’s been two months since you left and a week since you called. The apartment is empty without you, even if all of your belongings are here, promising your return.

For what it’s worth, Oikawa’s been surprisingly helpful, carefully listening to both sides, understanding that it’s a case of frayed nerves, miscommunication, and shitty circumstances. So Iwaizumi wastes no time answering the phone.

“Iwa-chan! How’s California?”

“The same as it was two days ago. Kinda shitty and on fire.”

“Tsk. Always such a downer. Are you sure that it isn’t the absence of—”

“Her absence is exactly why it’s shitty and you know that.”

“Hm. I suppose I do,” Oikawa muses lightly. “Are you still on track to graduate just before summer?”

“Yeah. Spoke to my advisors this past week. I could graduate in two months, if I wanted, but…” if he does, then he’ll be leaving California. Leaving you. You’re nearly done with med school, almost ready to return to Japan.

He has no intention of returning alone. He’ll fight tooth and nail for you, for this relationship. Even if you two are… in a tough place right now, he’s not going anywhere.

“Ah. Well. She misses you. She’s wrapped her pillow with one of your old Godzilla shirts.”

He snorts at the image, at the knowledge that it was you who had taken his shirt, that he hadn’t lost it at the laundromat. “That… sounds about right, I guess. How—how is she?”

“What? She hasn’t called you?” Oikawa asks, sounding surprised. Overwhelmingly surprised.

“No? She called me last Tuesday and I haven’t really heard from her since.”

“That’s—maybe she picked up extra shifts at the clinic? I could ask when I see her tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna see her tomorrow?”

“We were gonna watch a recording of the Adlers-Black Jackal’s game. I wanna watch Ushiwaka and Kageyama lose to Shōyō! Do you want me to tell her to give you a call?”

Iwaizumi hesitates, wanting to talk to you more than anything—actually, no, he wants to hold you more than anything—but he wants it only if you’re doing it because you want to.

“Nah. It’s okay. I’ll, ah, I’ll shoot her a text. Hopefully, we’ll be able to talk today or tomorrow. Hey, listen—”

“Iwa-chan. She’ll come around,” Oikawa states, catching onto Iwaizumi’s discomfort. “It was nice chatting with you, but practice is about to start.”

“Yeah, man. Talk to you later.”

Iwaizumi sinks into the couch, letting his mind wander over what the future holds. With his program coming to an end, will he be able to find work with the V. League? When you return, will you two be able to reconcile properly? Will you want to be a part of his future?

Before he can spend too much time dwelling on the infinite possibilities that lay ahead, he receives a text from you.

Hey. I miss you. A lot. There’s so much I want to tell you but I know you’re probably busy. Please give me a call if your schedule permits? I have two days off, starting tomorrow. I’ll be watching a recording of the Schweiden-MSBY game with Crappykawa tomorrow, but that can be paused... I miss you. I hope you’re well.

over the course of 24 hours masterlist | haikyuu!! masterlist

[sofiiel]

Over The Hills & Far Away....

When he showed up outside waiting on you with that smile as innocent as a puppy chewing your shoe, you knew something was up.

"Let me take you out to dinner," he says with a smile, hopping into the driver's seat.

"I've been craving good diner food," Eddie confesses.

You agree, it'd been a long day and you could eat. Also, it was hard to say no to the smile stretched across his face at the moment.

Eddie pops in Corroded's newest Demo tape. "While I've got you here, give it a listen for me? I know you'll tell me the truth," he says.

It's a little rough around the edges if you were honest, but it worked surprisingly well for the vibe of the song set.

By the time you're done giving Eddie your review of the tape, you've realized....

"Eddie...where are we?" you question.

Out ahead of you is nothing but open road, and you're not sure how far back you'd left Hawkins.

Eddie chuckles, "It's Friday evening," is all he says.

"And?" you push.

"You have no place to be for two whole days."

"And?"

"And there's a great diner, um....somewhere else, over the hills and far away I guess." he reasoned.

You're left in silence, "b-but that's going to take more than two days, Eddie!" you gasp.

"You've been stressed, you need this. Look - Jeff's called your job/school. It's handled." He continued, that smile ever-growing.

"You said dinner." you sighed.

"Yeah, lots of dinners. We'll still find a diner tonight." Eddie said as he shrugged his shoulders high, "We're just going to find several more players for dinner along the way."

You watch him dumbfounded, "I didn't pack." you stammer.

"I did," Eddie reaches around his seat and pats a stuffed duffle bag.

"I picked you out good stuff." he mused with pride.

"I've been abducted by my boyfriend for a road trip," you muttered.

"Hey, hey, rescued. That's the word you're looking for, I'm bringing you back as soon as that stress runs for the hills."

"Eddie?"

He answers with his eyes on the road, "Yeah?" the grin is now stuck as he knows what is next. The reason he does half the things he does.

"I love you."

"Worth it" his mind sighs.

"I love you too, babe." he chuckles, reaching to take your hand.

[igotanidea]

Inspiration: Matt Murdock x fem!writer!reader

request : poet reader who has a blind sister/father, so she publishes her poetry also in braille, she and Matt met in a park and he unknowingly became her muse. He doesn't know about it, that's until Karen takes him and Foggy to some poetry night and then the cat is out of the bag

Thank you for the request @somest1. <3

***

When the words does not fit in my mouth

I found a way to let them out

Without speaking out loud

Just barely above the whisper

Scribbling on paper

“Hi, Dad.” A young girl appeared in the door of the day center room, throwing her backpack on the couch and focusing solely on the person sitting by the table “How was your day?”

“Surprisingly busy” the man answered smiling widely “I’ve been reading your newest works. Good thing those come in Braille now. Otherwise you would be forced to spend all your days here and read it to me.”

 Y/N’s father started losing his sight when the girl was about 15, and three years later became fully blind. With Y/N’s mum gone and her being an only child all the duties and the care responsibility of her dad fell upon her. Those were dark times, when they were both struggling to keep afloat since the annuities were never enough for the expenses. The girl was studying and working, leaving her dad with the unhealthy amount of guilt that were to stay with him forever. However, one good thing came from all that situation. Y/N started writing. Poety, prose, all of it. It was her emotion outlet,  a way to escape the reality. Initially, she kept it a secret, but one day, her English teacher found the notebook she left on the desk, leaving school in haze  rushing home to take care of her dad. With the slight amount of guilt the lecturer read a few paragraphs of her work and got thunderstruck – this girl definitely had talent. The one he hasn’t seen for a long, long time and he made it his personal mission to help his student show it to the world. Knowing her family situation she could use help in the matter.

Next day, when Y/N got to school, tired, stressed and sleepy, much to her terror she was called to the teacher’s office.

“Mr. Thompson? You called for me?” she peeked through the door, concern on her face. She didn’t need trouble.

 “Y/N, yes, come on in please, we have something important to talk about.” The teacher pointed towards the chair in front of his desk and the girl sank in it.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would you think so?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m rather the quiet student. I try to keep a low profile so if you called me here that must mean I’m in trouble….”

“Oh my dear girl. It’s quite the opposite.” Y/N frowned not sure if she could trust the words coming out of her teacher’s mouth. “I think you left something in the class yesterday.” Thompson continued, reaching for her notebook.

“Oh….” She gasped, her eyes growing wide

“I hope you can forgive me, but I couldn’t help peeking inside …..”

“It’s fine.” She muttered retrieving her property and hugging it close to her chest. “Those are just stupid thoughts of a stupid person. A waste of time and paper.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes. I have a lot on my head and this graphomania keeps me sane. However crazy and pathetic this may sound.”

“I can’t believe it” Thompson shook his head “Listen to me, Y/N. This is really, really good. You don’t even realize the talent you have been blessed with.”

“Wha…. What?” she heard the words but somehow she lost the ability to understand the meaning behind them. “What are you talking about?”

“Take it from the person who read a lot in their life. Classic, modern, students’ essays, poems…. Some better and some worse. What you wrote has a huge potential. We may have to work on your grammar, punctuation and descriptions, but apart from that…. Y/N, have you ever considered becoming a writer?”

She did not. But she became one. Putting a lot of hard work into perfecting her creative workshop, improving metaphors and becoming lighter and more fluent with words. It came with a cost of rearranging her own life, making some ground rules for herself and her father and learning to accept help, but due to her persistency and ambition she finally published her first novel. It did not become a bestseller right away neither did it make her famous, but it helped her gather some much needed money to bounce back and cover some of the medical bills. A ray of sunshine she needed, a push towards her next novels  and the very first poetry book. Slowly, yet stubbornly she warmed her places into the heart of readers and started making real money. In her early twenties she had enough to provide her father with professional medical help and put him into special daycare with people who have been helping him during the day, while she was at work. Apart from her creative writing Y/N also had a job as a freelancer, writing for some magazines. She claimed it was giving her inspiration. Her dad was so proud and yet, so sad that because of his condition he was not able to get to know his daughter’s work. He was not a fan of audio recording, so after a while Y/N made it possible in her publishing company that every time her work came out, they made one personalized copy in Braille for her dad. And he loved the idea, using all of his free time to catch up on reading.  He was at the facility for a couple years now, becoming everyone’s favorite patient.

“You know I’m just a call away if you need your own lector, dad” she smiled, grabbing his hand. “I am never too busy for you.”

“Nah. I would never bother you with it. You gave up so much for me when you were a teenager. And now, you build a life for yourself, you should enjoy it. However, I would be even happier if you had someone special in your life….”

“Dad!” she gasped

“What? Is it a crime to care about one’s daughter well-being? I know you are strong, but carrying the weight of the world on your shoulder alone is not good. You deserve someone who will care about you and love you. Not just your characters, even if they are relatable.”

“good thing I did not decide to write fantasy.” Y/N laughed. “Bet you wouldn’t like that.”

“I would love everything coming out of your stable, honey. Speaking of which, are you going to publish something new soon?”

“I don’t know…. “ she sighed “I’m struggling with afflatus lately. Which is bad since my agent is staging a reading night for my fans and without consulting me, promised them I would present something new. A start of a new novel, unpublished and highly involving. I could kill her for doing shit like this sometimes.”

“Seems like you like her.” Her dad smiled, knowing his daughter well enough.

“She keeps me on my feet, that’s for sure” Y/N shrugged “but now, I have like three weeks to produce a few chapters of new book and I’m getting nervous.”

“Maybe you should take a day off from work? From what I remember, a solitary walks in the park were always beneficial for your inspiration.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right…. I mean, what do I have to lose, right? If nothing better at least I will have a free day away from the work mayhem.”

***

Next day she took her notebook and favorite pen, bough a giant and ridiculously expensive coffee and went for a walk. Just letting her thoughts flew though her freely, feeling the spring air and chirping birds, trying her best not to get frustrated.

“Come on….” She muttered aiming at her brain “work…”

Sighing deeply, she sank onto the bench, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead.

“You mind if I sit here?” a deep, male voice came from above her and she nodded. “I need a verbal confirmation” he laughed lightly and those words made her look up, realizing her faux pas.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…..”

“It’s all right. It’s actually a bit relieving knowing not everyone notice my blindness as the first thing. So, may I …..?”

“Yes, please, of course. I was just leaving anyway.”

“Why? Did I startle you?” he asked

“I’m not easily intimidated” she smirked “Just a bit frustrated.”

“And why is that?”

“Lack of inspiration. By the way I’m Y/N.”

“Matt” he reached out and she shook his hand “nice to meet you. Inspiration, huh? So what, you are a journalist?”

“Sort of. What gave me away?”

“You have ink on your fingers. And your wrist is slightly swollen, a clear sign of writing too much on the computer keyboard. And I heard rustling of the pages in the notebook. So, clear conclusion.”

“Oh, wow. Are you sure you’re blind or is that only a way to get girls interested and entice her to your house?”

“You got sharp tongue. Definitely a journalist. My friend, Karen is quite similar.” he grinned “I can assure you, I’m not a creep. I am blind, it just comes with heightened other senses.”

“Let’s say I believe you. I mean, my father is sightless too and his hearing is just incredible. But now let me guess, you are a detective, right? With such perceptive skills I can’t see you doing anything else.”

 “Close enough. I do a lot of detective work.”

“Really?”

“You wanna hear about it?”

***

Both of them believed this was a one-time accidental meeting and they would never see each other again. However, living in the same city, even big, led to another and another and another. Y/N never looked for Matt, never searched his law firm or stalk him on the Internet and Matt did not search for her name in the magazines. They were just meeting in the part occasionally, even if those occasions were more and more often. They just felt good in each other’s company. Simple as it was. What Matt didn’t realize was that those meetings where somewhat helpful in the light of her upcoming reading.

***

“Matt! Foggy!” Karen burst through the door to the office “have you ever heard of Y/N Y/L/N?”

“The writer?” Foggy muttered “meet my ear. Why?”

“Met your ear? Huh. She’s really talented and a lot of people try to reach to her but she just avoids interviews like a plague.”

“Seems like a reasonable person” Matt muttered, not connecting the dots. He knew Y/N, but not her last name and the fact that she was a journalist just slipped his mind.

“She has a author’s evening today and I was wondering that maybe I could get her to talk…..”

“Why do I have the feeling like you will force us to join you?” Foggy groaned

“Cause I will.”

***

Y/N was pacing nervously watching more and more people gather around at the meeting. Up to this point she didn’t realize how many fans she actually had and it sort of freaked her out.

“I hate you.” She mumbled towards her glowing agent “I hate you, Abby. You’re gonna put me in my grave. Or cause all my hair to go grey at my 20s.”

“Stop it. You’re gonna love it. These people here? They came because they love you.”

“Noooo. Correction. They love my work.”

“You are your work.”

“But…..”

“No buts…. It’s time.” She pushed Y/N towards the stage and followed right after her “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome at the very first reading by Y/N Y/L/N!” the crowd cheered and Y/N blushed heavily “Are you excited?!”

“Will you calm down, Abs?” Y/N hissed through her smile “this is not a carnival and I am not a movie star.”

“You are a writing star, honey. Deal with it.”

***

“There she is” Karen smiled wildly and made her way through the crowd, getting closer to the stage.

“Remind me, why we agreed to that?” Foggy mumbled to Matt

“We didn’t. But she’s our friend.”

“A friend who forced us to join.”

“What were you expecting. It’s Karen. Besides, maybe we should catch up with some other kind of writing then statutes and cases?”

“Since when are you fond of prose? Does it have anything to do with that mysterious journalist you have been meeting?”

“I don’t meet her. I happen to cross paths with her from time to time.”

“Yeah, right, whatever you say, Murdock. Whatever you say.”

***

Life is funny.

Sometimes the most important and life changing events happen when you least expect them only because you were in the right place in the right time. Like when you meet a stranger in the park. A stranger who makes you change your view on so many things. Who, despite the fact that you only know his name, and truly cannot be sure if it’s the real one, becomes someone you dare calling a friend.

At some point I found myself waiting for those little meetings. He didn’t know it, but I was walking through that park way too often, wondering if people would consider me crazy for visiting it so often. I couldn’t care less tough. I just wanted to see him.

“Um, Matt?” Foggy whispered turning towards his friend who’s face suddenly became pale “Is there something you want to tell me about?”

“Shit!” Murdock hissed

“Why is she describing the way you have been acting for the last three weeks in a fem perspective?”

“She might be the journalist I told you about…..”

“Wait, what? You didn’t know her name?!”

“I did. Just not the last name!”

“God, Matt. How could you not connect the facts when Karen mentioned the reading by the writer Y/N Y/L/N?”

“I don’t know, all right!”

“You can’t lie to me, my friend.” Foggy patted Matt’s shoulder. “She’s cute and I know you can sense it even without your sight.”

“Stop it, Foggy. She is just making fun out of me there.”

“Is she really?”

***

After two hours Y/N felt like she would never say another word in her life and there was still Q&A session coming up. Thank god, Abby realized what was happening and run onto the stage (almost tripping over her own feet due to the enthusiasm) announcing that Y/N would be only answering a couple of questions because of the lack of time.

“Where you describing real-life events there?” Karen used the opportunity “I mean is the park where the action is placed the park in Hell’s kitchen or is it purely fiction?”

“It’s a mix, actually. Some of those meetings happened in real life. The rest, the rest that you don’t know about is just a variation of possibilities.”

“So, the main male character was based on someone you know?” Karen insisted

“A bit. It was just a nice guy I met. Smart and kind. I think I can call him a friend, but possibly I’m just another unimportant girl to him.”

“I would beg to differ” at this point, the blonde girl knew who Y/N was writing about as much as Foggy and Matt.

***

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” she turned around and her eyes grew wide “Oh… it’s you.”

“So, you are a writer. The writer, apparently. “

“Don’t be angry” she started

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“No. If anything, I would like to know how the rest of the story plays out. Did your characters end up together?”

“I…. I don’t know yet. The book is not finished and …..” she stuttered

“Is it because you lack inspiration?” Matt asked referring to their first conversation from weeks ago.

“Maybe a bit” she smiled “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a writer.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Matt. Matt Murdock. I’m a lawyer.”

 “So much of a detective work, huh?” she smirked

“Detective –like. I told you. But I know a few things about copyright if you need any advice and want to discuss it.”

“Is it your way to seduce girls?” she narrowed her eyes.

“At this point, only one.” He answered making her blush a bit “So? What’s it gonna be?”

“Let’s taste your knowledge Mr. Murdock. You already know what type of coffee I like, counsellor.”

@pinksirensong

[mindeullebe]

hi there!! i'm bear (h/h, 25) and i've returned after being away for many months with a muse i've never written before but am very excited to dig into. cho mindeulle (20011027) is the twin brother of @jindallaebe, however he's very different. here you can find his profile, and eventually i'll have his biography here. i'll leave a tl;dr version and some fun facts under the cut, and as always please like this if you'd like to plot and i'll hop into your IMs, or if you'd prefer, i have discod (upon request)!

min was born premature, and due to this suffers from ongoing health problems. these health problems were much more pronounced when he was young, but now the only things he deals with are shitty stamina, asthma, and a pretty crappy immune system

he spent a lot of time in the hospital as a child for various things from inections to pneumonia to flu's that he should have been able to fight off on his own but couldn't etc. up until middle school he frequented the hospital, though nowadays manages to stay out of the hospital (he likes to attribute it to the fact he takes about a million vitamins and supplements daily)

during his hospital stays he'd fill his time with reading, writing (stories, poems, songs etc), listening to music and watching mainly the music channels on the little tv in his room

despite being ill quite a lot, he managed to keep up with his schoolwork, and genuinely really enjoyed learning and studying, so was always near the top of the class and became class president towards the latter half of middle school and a few times during high school

he never seriously considered music as a career, despite really liking singing as a hobby and writing lyrics to express things he didn't feel he could talk about. instead he decided to pursue literature, since he loved reading so much

he graduated from high school top of his class and secured a place on the korean literature degree course at seoul national university, but postponed it until he'd completed his military service. due to his asthma and shoddy immune system he was assigned a 'civil service' type position, but had to serve for 21 months, intead fof 18

he was discharged in december of 2021, and began his degree in march 2022

the usual places min can be found are coffee shops around snu, or jongno area, libraries, bookstores, cat cafes, or his bedroom

min comes off as calm and polite, and almost a little too agreeable. it can come off as naivete sometimes, and he's very easy to pin as a weak person, physically and in will, but he's really not, he just doesnt play all his cards immediately

mins incredibly smart, which is how he got into a SKY university in the first place, and surprisingly creative

many people see min as a sweet, book nerd who never shouts or gets angry, has every vitamin known to man in his bag, along with hand sanitser and multiple kinds of masks, and has a great love of sweets

[blackjackkent]

Now that we have defeated Arfur's merc squad, he is considerably more deferential.

"All right, you won, you won! What more do you want from me?"

Hector's intimidation check is now only DC10, because it's much easier to make someone listen to you when you just beat up a whole merc squad with your bare fists.

[INTIMIDATION] "I want the family to stay," he says. With the fighting over he has immediately returned to the same calm placidity he had before it. But his eyes are burning with intensity. This has been his first taste of the inequality and cruelty of the city proper and he does not like it much. It is a far cry from seeing the city's crowds from the distance of the monastery, or even from the mad violence of the Absolute cultists. "You have room for them, surely?"

Arfur scowls. "Well, with Zenovia and the others gone, I don't suppose you'll take no for an answer," he snaps. "All right - they can stay. Are you happy now?"

He rolls his eyes. "Now I have to figure out what *I'm* going to do."

Hector debates the merits of pointing out that this house is big enough to house twice the number of people and still have room for Arfur to live comfortably, and then decides it's not worth it. "I'm sure a man of your means can find room at an inn somewhere."

"A room can wait," Arfur says sardonically. "After what you've put me through, I need a drink."

----

We did get an inspiration from Shadowheart there for helping the refugees out, which is nice.

Let's go inside and talk to them.

"Not quite sure why you stood up for us like that, but I won't say I'm not grateful. Thanks. And may Torm keep you."

"You are most welcome," Hector says with a smile.

"You're the first person in this city to have our backs," the man says. "Thank you. Really."

Whew boy. Clearly Rivington (and probably the city proper as well) are not handling the influx of refugees well. Inb4 Hector becomes the local batman figure, swooping in and dispensing justice.

The interesting thing about this, I suppose, is that Hector has been a charitable dude right from the beginning; kind of a fundamental character trait. But it hasn't really had the opportunity to come to the forefront because he has been faced primarily with nightmare monsters and crazy people that he has to fight or die.

If he'd been placed in this situation at the beginning of the game, I don't think he would have opened up on those mercs like that. I think at best he would have tried to smooth things over and given a good chunk of coin to the refugees to try and help them find somewhere else.

But he has spent the last few months faced with problems that he could only solve with his fists; he's become a hammer and I suspect he's going to find a lot of things that look like nails in this city. (Not to say that he will seek out violence if there are other options but I think he's much more ready to take that route where required than he might have been before he started this adventure.)

Went to look around the rest of the house. Arfur's bedroom is locked; I broke into it purely for personal satisfaction and found a book titled "Arfur's Private Musings" under the bed:

Oh my god. >.<

He also had a couple nice outfits we can use for camp, which I stole out of his dresser.

There's also a hidden hatch in what appears to be a workshop on the main level.

Hector opened it up without much trouble. (His multiclass into rogue has given him much more utility in lockpicking.)

The basement looks nondescript at first - but Shadowheart identifies that, surprisingly, it has rigged traps:

Hm. What have you been up to down here, Arfur?

There are actually a LOT of traps down here; walking around triggers a mass of perception checks with every step. Luckily none of them are too hard to disarm.

Disarming the fireworks occasionally gets us these consumables, which is kind of fun:

Hector was also able to just straight up pick this up and take it with him:

Having cleared out most of the traps (aside from the one Jaheira set off >.< ), we can move into the back of the basement, which has this note on a table:

Next to it is a trapped chest which we busted open:

Oho!

I had a feeling we'd find something interesting here; knew there had to be some sort of payoff for identifying how nervous Arfur was in the earlier conversation.

SPILL THE TEA!

Ohooooooo!

"Might be worth checking Arfur's donations," Hector says. "Looks like his generosity's compromised." (His VA, who we don't really hear much out of, made this sound very angry. Hector is not pleased with his introduction to the city.)

This got us a new quest:

*airhorn*

There are various toys we can steal from the basement but none of them seem to be the ones in question so presumably we'll find out more about this somewhere else.

[anancient]

get to know the writer . . . hey there! —

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have? i didn't know anything about final fantasy until a friend of mine who roleplayed in the fandom ( if you see this north... heeeey! ) recommended it to me. i didn't have a way to play the game myself at the time so i spent hours watching various gameplays on youtube and i wasn't surprised that my favorite character ended up being aerith. the majority of the muses i write on tumblr are characters who at their core are always full of hope despite all of the hardships they face. and that is the epitome of who aerith is. it's what she represents. i see a lot of myself in characters like that, and so, when introduced to aerith, i saw a version of me that i strive to be every single day. she's way cooler than me though. and i'm still not 100% sure that i write her well, but i enjoy doing it anyways.

is there anything you don't like to write? not trying to copy-cat ari here, but i've never written smut and probably never will. respect to those who can, but it's just not something i am comfortable with.

is there anything you really enjoy writing? i haven't written much on aerith but from what i have written... i really enjoy getting to delve into her past. aerith, although surprisingly outgoing, is pretty closed off when it comes to talking about what she's been through. when i write i have a tendency to tap into my muses internal monologue. i've never been good at world building, but i love the storytelling. getting to dive into aerith's past and seeing how she carries it with her in the present is always fun.

do you write in silence or do you play music? i write best with no distractions whatsoever. so, i usually don't have any music playing in the background. i can write with instrumentals playing, but if a song has words or is too loud, it can be extremely distracting for me. i can do both but i definitely prefer to write without.

do you plan your replies or wing them? i'm not used to plotting ( shy girl things lol ), so a lot of my threads start out as memes or come from starter calls. when i do replies i usually respond to threads that i have the most muse for first? and when i say the "most muse" i just mean the ones that i already have somewhat of a response in my head for. i don't force myself to write so i only write when i have the ability to do so.

do you enjoy shipping? yes! next question.

what's your alias/name? my alias is just the letter b and it's the first letter of my government name. some people know what it is and i really don't mind sharing it, but i just prefer going by b! i've gone by b for years now and it just feels weird to go by anything else lol.

age and birthday? twenty-four, may 9th 2000.

favorite food, color, and song? i am a sucker for hot wings!!! my favorite color is either a light/pale yellow or baby blue. i don't have a favorite song, but a song i've been listening to non-stop this week is history of men by maisie peters. annnnd favorite season would have to be spring/fall.

last movie and show you watched? my sister made me watch frequency (2000) and it was such a good film. even though it's been 2 years since my mom passed, we're still grieving. so movies like this are very healing for us lol. last show i watched was worst ex ever on netflix.

do you have a tumblr best friend? i consider myself close to everyone that i talk to on a daily basis. i don't like labeling friendships because all of the people i've met on here mean so much to me for different reasons! and i believe that i have many more friends to meet in the future. all of you are my besties. sorry not sorry.

tagged by: @onegil ( ty ari! ) tagging: @lightspeeds, @arachnidbit, @tragicale, @noblehcart, @controlsnature, @cloudvii