#i turn into shakespeare immediately

[oflights]

i am never more creative and ready to write, and yet less able to write, than when i'm getting my hair washed at the salon

[sclappin]

SHOP UPDATE!

The ill-advised Hamlet pins made about 5 or 6 years ago are currently on sale for $5.

I simply have too many of these things in my home. They have stayed with me, mostly unsold, through four separate moves. They're an awkward shape for storing in large quantities. Surely some of you must know a goth or an english major or a theater kid who thinks this is kind of funny.

For the love of god, please take these tiny Danish skeletons off my hands.

EDIT: SOLD OUT!

[rizsu]

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.

[melrodrigo]

friends? p.2

Cairo Sweet x Fem Reader

Summary: A rivalry between you and Cairo has been going on for several months…what does it take for her to finally break?

Warnings: there r literally none they bicker like an old couple and cairos mean

Word Count: 2k+

A/n: helloooo i’m not sure abt this chapter but lmk what u thought, i cranked this out in its entirety last night, enjoy!

part 1

Friendship was not Cairo Sweet's strong suit. Ask her about Dickinson or Austen or Shakespeare—these were all things she could answer. But the ultimate question of friendship was not something hot on Cairo's mind.

She didn't need it, that was her take. And why would she waste time on something she didn't need?

Friends, much less a partner, was something she never saw for herself. The thought of being a housewife, living in a picture-perfect picket fence house, appalled her. The only things that mattered were her, her writing, and Yale.

So when a certain girl had entered her life, she hated it.

You.

You with your stupid face, and pretty hair, she hated you. A burning passion so intense it heated up her heart and made it race. So intense that she wanted to punch you in the face whenever you passed, only to bandage it up with feather light touches so she could punch you again harder.

At first it was nothing; she didn't have a thing to worry about. A blushing face while you stammered and fumbled around trying to give Mr. Miller an answer, she disregarded you as someone she could respect immediately.

But obviously she had caught you on a bad day, because after those first few weeks, you managed to present yourself in a less idiotic way.

You were, surprisingly smart.

Almost too smart, she pondered. It was getting in the way of her own studies. How could it be, that someone was on bar (never better) than her?

Often she found herself seething at you, arguing at every chance she had with your answers; but, you had given her the same treatment as well.

It wasn't strange for your classes to end in heated debate, both sides failing to yield. It bothered her greatly. She went back home and read more than she'd ever read before, studied just a few minutes longer because she could feel you taunting her.

"Sweet." You nodded, as she pushed open the doors to Millers class. You'd made it a habit to arrive early, leaving only you and her for a good thirty minutes before everyone else arrived.

It was infuriating. To have you so close, open, ready to harm, yet she could do nothing. She'd been having a particularly grueling week. Her parents had just come back from Brazil; and, always seemed to be ready to go at her throat. Gone were her lonely but comforting nights on her bed, candle-lit. Now it was just fights and condescending jabs.

"What did you get on the paper?" Your voice piped up, breaking her from her train of thought. You were referring to the paper Mr.Miller had given back last week, one that counted for forty percent of the grade.

She felt a swell of pride. Scores were something she could argue about. This would take off the stress she'd been building.

"99." She smirked, cocking her head to the side.

You whistled approval, nodding adamantly. Even though there was nothing to suggest so, she could swear she felt condescension in your tone.

She was good at picking out stuff like that. The roll of someone's tongue, the way they smack their lips—it all meant something to her.

She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "What did you get?" She asked, brows furrowed.

You didn't say anything, simply holding up a finger and mouthing 'one hundo' and watched as disbelief took over her features.

"You're fucking lying." She seethed. Her good mood had suddenly disappeared just as fast as it had appeared.

You spun around in your seat, stupid smile on your face. God, she wanted to jump at you and claw it off.

"Hey, hey, it's okay to be mad. You can't be the best at everything." You told her, hands behind your head.She gripped the desk harder, knuckles turning a faint white.

She stood up, walking over to your desk."You little shi-"

"Good morning, the both of you!" Mr.Miller interrupted, cheery smile. His enthusiasm radiated off his body like rays radiated from the sun. He stopped short when he saw Cairo stalking close to you, a clear pout on her face.

"What are you doing?" He asked, question directed towards her, voice sickly sweet. He had grown fond of Cairo since the beginning of the term; she was his favorite student.

"I'd like her to be removed from the class. Can't you do that Mr.Miller?" She avoided his question, tilting her face at an angle where her chocolate colored eyes shone bright.

His white brows furrowed, not quite comprehending. "You mean," He started, "right now...?"

Bless him, he had no clue how manipulative Cairo was.

She doesn't let up, doesn't let her disappointment show. You notice it in the slight clench of her jaw--she's annoyed.

"I meant for the rest of the term, I can't stand being in the same class as her." She emphasized her words with a glare in your direction. You send her a sweet smile back.

"Please, flattery will get you nowhere." You winked, smile turning into a real one when you see her get visibly agitated.

"Please, girls. Let's be civil here all right?" Mr.Miller pipes up, trying to stand in between Cairo and you. It does nothing to lessen the tension in the air.

He turns slightly to Cairo, voice firm. "And no...I won't kick Y/N out."

The childish part of you desperately wants to fist pump the air; but, the more serious side of you decides maybe you shouldn't do that in the company of your arch nemesis.

Class turns weird fast. Cairo—normally quick and adamant—stays quiet, seemingly distracted by the simplest of things: a bird singing softly from a window, the great big forests where her house stood, the sound of your feet continuing to scrape against the carpet.

It irks you a little. It has you not listening in class, wanting to focus on the girl in front of you.

You almost don't hear it when Miller announces that you'll be working in pairs for the midterm project, preoccupied with her bobbling head, moving as if she were listening to some imaginary music.

"You will not be able to pick your own partner, that's already been done for...by me." He adds, after hearing the onslaught of voices from the students. It's clear he's not changing his mind.

"Alright. When I call your names, go sit with your pair and discuss how you'll do the assignment. Olivia, Taylor." He calls out the first pair, going down (what seems like) an endless list of names, never quite getting to yours.

You watch as countless people move around, silently looking out for who hasn't been called yet. You needed to get a good grade on this, and a lazy partner was going to be a nightmare.

You strain your ears to hear Mr.Miller over the commotion of students moving, but when you turn to squint at him you're surprised to see he's already looking at you.

A sinking feeling eats your entire being whole as you watch his mouth move. He points his finger at you, then someone in front of you.

Cairo Sweet.

Fuck.

Even though you loved to tease her, you did not need to have Cairo Sweet as your partner. She was likely to ruin you before you even got to starting the thing.

You don't make the first move to get up, instead you sit dumbly in your chair, bracing yourself.

Your peace is disrupted by a huff from above you. There she is.

"Move over. I need a seat." She says, something in her voice making you oblige. She pulls over an extra chair and sits by the other end of the table.

"You can come closer ya know." You say, unsure of how friendly to be. You'd only ever really spoke with her from a distance, a comfortable distance. Now that she's up in your personal space you feel ike you're going to suffocate.

She ignores you, pursing her lips as she listens to Miller explain the project.

You inch your chair closer, prepared to make a sly jab at the way she's being a teachers pet, but her stare—which has now been redirected on you—stops you in your tracks. She looks scary.

Lips downturned, nostrils flaring, you're a bit taken aback.

"Okay jeez. You don't have to be such an ass about it." You mumble, distancing yourself a great deal further than you already were. The mood, if it weren't enough already, turns more sour.

She ignores your suggestions and remarks on how to do the project, scribbling something down on to her notepad every now and then.

"Earth to you, Sweet. Are you listening to me?" You press, starting to feel those tendrils of annoyance grabbing you. It was one thing to be an ass, but to put her own feelings above doing good work was low, even for her.

Especially for her, you think.

"Do you ever shut up?" She growls, biting her cheeks so hard you could see the indent it was making on the outside.

"Okayyy...someone's obviously going through something, but can we just-" You gesture to the sheet of paper on the table, you haven't even been allowed to look at what she's written yet.

"I am NOT going through something." She says again, voice cracking. The sound brings forth a peculiar reaction in you, your mouth hanging open. Her eyes look...watery.

Before you can utter a word she's getting up and storming out the classroom, making heads turn left and right at the loud noise.

"Um...I'll be right back too." You say, sending Mr.Miller a cheeky smile and a wink, hoping that'll lessen his curiousity enough to not come out after the two of you.

You push open the doors, call Cairos' name a couple times.

You eventually find her outside, back pressed against the brick wall. She's lighting up a cigarette.

Her body language looks more calm now, but you're not sure what to do. You shuffle on your feet, twiddling your thumbs.

"Sorry I did that." She speaks, not turning to look at you. It startles you a bit, you hadn't realized she saw you.

"Cairo Sweet saying sorry? I must be dreaming." You try, although you're not smiling and she doesn't laugh. Humor seems to be sucked away in this little bubble belonging to only the two of you.

You move a little closer, then even closer when Cairo doesn't object. Even though you did hate her to the bone, you wanted to make sure she was okay.

"Are you...alright?" You ask softly, watching her face for an answer. She seems to be deep in thought.

She takes a swing from her cigarette and blows. "I don't like you." Is what she says.

The ice breaks. You no longer feel like you're supposed to pity her. This was Cairo Sweet, her heart was made of coal.

"Yeah I think we established that. Anything else?" You sigh, leaning back so you're also pressed up against the wall.

She turns to you, and for the first time, she doesn't seem very mad.

"I don't like you." She says again, moving closer. It's in your natural instinct to step back, why was she being so weird? Was she going to hurt you?

She grips your shoulder lightly, enough for you to get the message to stay still.

"I don't  like you." Cairo mutters for the third time, eyes piercing into yours. She seems to be speaking a little lower, a little raspier than normal. Cogs seem to be turning in her head, debating and debating and debating.

Debating on what you can't be certain.

"I get it, you don't like me. So what?" You mummur, voice lower than normal. The proximity is making your mind feel a little clouded.

You try not to let your gaze drift down to her lips, but when there's nothing around to distract yourself with, they do.

Her freckles, the ones that litter her face. You get the disgusting urge to touch them.

"So...don't get the wrong idea." She says before taking your lips in a kiss.

It takes you a second to comprehend what's really happening. You stand frigid, mouth parting to gasp. You're gasp is swallowed by her own lips, soft and supple.

Once Cairo feels that you aren't responding, she pulls away, frightened look on her face. Pink lips downturned, her cheeks a rosy red. You don't have time to process what the right move is. For now, you don't need Cairo thinking you didn't like whatever that was.

You reach for her neck, pull her in for a second kiss. It's somehow better than the first. She responds quick, hands wandering to cup your face, then down to circle your waist, then up to tangle in your hair—like she's changing her own mind too quick.

You let her take the lead, pressing you into the wall with a strength you didn't know she possessed.

You're too lost in it all, the smell of her shampoo, the feeling of her teeth scraping your lips, biting down only the slightest, her fingers burning traces wherever they go.

"Sweet." You breathe, coming out more like a soft moan than you would've liked.

She breaks apart from you, a wild mess. You think she's never looked prettier, hair everywhere, lips torn from your heated kisses.

Her eyes are soft until they flash and something else takes over. It's as if your voice had brought her back to life.

"I don't like you." She snarls, and promptly turns on her heels, just a slight increase in speed than her normal strut.

You're left breathless, staring out into the green plains. Mind and heart racing, you're not sure which organ you should listen to.

The implication of what you did hits you like a freight train. You groan and press your hands to your head, willing and willing and willing for a solution to come out of it.

Not to anyones surprise, nothing comes. A magic fairy doesn't tell you what to do, and you're still standing behind school panting.

"Oh god."

[lokilokilolki]

Crowley admitted his feelings in Season 1

This specific quote is in reference to Act II, Scene 2 of Shakespeare's play "Antony and Cleopatra." Which canonically had not even been written yet in the series, which IMPLIES that when Shakespeare heard Crowley's words, he interpreted them as what they truly meant and transitioned them into the play. So basically Crowley has been absolutely besotted by Aziraphale from the beginning and Shakespeare agreed so much he put it in one of the most famous romantic plays of all time.

The original quote by Shakespeare read as follows:

“Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety;”

This quote is spoken in the play when a follower of Mark Antony describes the appearance of Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, as she rode her barge down the river Cydnus; and how Mark Antony first lays eyes on her then immediately falls head-over-heels in love with her. "Age does not wither her" means that her beauty and allure do not diminish with the passage of time. It implies that as she ages, she remains just as attractive and enchanting as ever. "Nor custom stale her infinite variety": Here, "custom" refers to familiarity or routine. The quote suggests that even familiarity or habit does not make Cleopatra's qualities or personality seem boring or less interesting. "Infinite Variety" implies that she possesses an inexhaustible range of qualities, moods, and aspects that keep her intriguing and unpredictable---Sound like someone familiar?

Now keep in mind that when Crowley said it, It was never originally about Cleopatra

Crowley said “Age does wither nor custom stale HIS infinite variety” because AZIRIPHALE is the subject.

Crowley has admitted to being captivated by Aziraphale since he first laid eyes on him; since the first ever rainfall. Through thousands of years, Aziraphale has–quite literally never aged nor withered but–remained a consistent and magnetic presence in Crowley's life; Aziraphale company never stales because he is infinite variety, the angel with 100 contradictions, who gave away their sword without hesitation and rebelled against heaven beside Crowley; who keeps surprising him at every turn. Aziraphale himself bends the effects of time and routine because no matter how many years pass Crowley will always find him as gorgeous and fascinating as he did before the light was even born.

Aziraphale obviously doesn't really understand Shakespeare or the depth of poetry at this time, (as interpreted by his reactions to the play) and Crowley realizes this and grasps the moment to confess his feelings knowing that Aziraphale likely would not look too deep past it, you can see the shift in him when he recognizes the opportunity and the sudden morose tone he has when saying it to no one in particular.

The Good Omens writers are absolute saints, nothing they do is lazy in the least and I am positive that effort went into finding a quote that encapsulated the true depth of relations between the two.

[hotvintagepoll]

hotvintagepoll Hot Men Tournament rundown thoughts

I promised a final recap post and here it is! I'll try to cover the questions I saw the most as we closed out the bracket, reveal my ✨secret faves✨, and talk about the biggest surprises and turnarounds I saw in the brackets.

Yes, this will get silly.

ROUND 1

As I've mentioned before, I worked off submissions for who to include in the bracket, so if your fave was missing—that's why. I used submitted pics when I could, but many submissions didn't have one, so I tried to find decent ones in the couple of days I had to prep the first round (I didn't always succeed). By decent, I mean pics where 1) I could see the hot man's face, so not too much moody lighting, and 2) hopefully conveyed something about his vibe, even if it was a funny thing (yes, I showed Howard Keel in full Shakespeare get-up���I'm not beyond putting up a pic because I think it's funny). I didn't know all of these hotties going in, so some I had to guess with, but when I could I tried to pick shots that had a touch of the humor, class, or genre of the hot man.

For Round 1 and Round 2, I grouped the hotties by each decade, so only '60s actors ran against '60s actors, '50s against '50s, etc. Male beauty standards shifted pretty dramatically over the sixty years this tournament covers, and I didn't think it was fair to pit dramatically different styles of beauty against each other immediately.

I pitted hot men against each other based on opposing energies—hot vs cold, elegant vs rough, comedy vs drama, etc.. I wanted the polls to be interesting and I've never liked brackets where everyone is clearly in different "lanes" until the finals! I also wanted to make polls where I couldn't tell which way they would swing, so by setting matchups that felt opposite but equal, I got to be surprised by the bracket results too.

The only reason we had any three-way matchups is because the amount of men submitted didn't round to a nice bracket number. I don't like them generally and find them really hard to balance.

Secret faves from Round 1—I am a James Coburn girlie and knew he would die immediately, so that was not a shock but a bummer. I similarly knew Robert Preston is only magical to people who have seen him do His Little Dance Routines in That One Iowa Musical, but it would have been nice for him to last longer.

Surprises—Jeremy Brett was a last-minute add and I didn't think he really had a shot, so I put him in as a third wheel on the Sean Connery/Dean Martin matchup. Little did I count on the Granada girlies. (Always count on the Granada girlies.) The Elvis/Peter Falk poll was the first one to gain any momentum—Elvis was winning for the first 24 hours but then, my god, did Peter fight back. I didn't expect the Tab/Toshiro poll to make that bad a mincemeat out of Tab—people have different tastes, and I thought the people who like blonde sunny All American white boys might turn out for The Blonde Sunny All American White Boy. Sorry, Tab. I hope you've peeled yourself off the sidewalk by now. And, of course, I was SHOCKED and APPALLED that James Cagney would be obliterated by, of all people, Mr. Bing Crosby.

SHADOW BRACKET

The fervor of the Harold Lloyd and Fredric March people inspired the shadow bracket, and I couldn't be happier at the way it's gone. You were right, the original photos I had for them did suck. Cunty Harold Lloyd in his little life guard uniform was a revelation.

ROUND 2

For Round 2 I'd gotten a better sense of who was doing well and who was not, so a little of that came into play, but I mostly paired on vibes again. (I genuinely think this is a good way to make a fun, challenging bracket.)

Secret faves—Noooo not hot dilf Dick Van Dyke don't take my hot inventor dilf away uwu!!! (He was up against Marlon Brando. I would have been shocked if he'd won but for a minute there, a glorious second, it was possible.) I am also a big old softie for David Niven's particular brand of repression to the point of volcanic rupture, but he is one of many hotties who does not look good without moving and speaking so I figured he would be going.

So much beef—hey! hey you. I ran a poll asking if we are horny for dancers. Yes, was the resounding poll response. Where, then, did all the fucking dancers go? This round we lost Donald O'Connor, Fred Astaire, Harold Nicholas; Sammy Davis Jr., Danny Kaye, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby all sneak into this category as well, by token of having been in the kind of big MGM bang-a-pan-and-put-on-a-show beloved bedlams we all watch at Christmastime. Round 2 voters HATED musical matchups. Except for one.

The one—SOUND OF MUSIC, the voters said, WE LOVE SOUND OF MUSIC. we will KILL the man responsible for salad dressing because of the SOUND OF MUSIC. every other dance man can die but THIS man dances a FOLK DANCE with JULIE ANDREWS in a GARDEN. I did not go into this poll with strong opinions about Christopher Plummer or Paul Newman but my god did I leave having heard all of them.

Surprises—James Edwards/Anthony Perkins matchup was a nail biter! Conrad vs Oscar kept me up at nights. Surprised to see Basil Rathbone survive against Sabu Dastagir—both very fetching, but Sabu had some top-tier propaganda. Cesar Romero put up a surprisingly stiff fight against Cary Grant (an omen for things to come).

Oh horrors—horror heroes surprisingly fell all over the place. I was sure either Bela Lugosi or Turhan Bey would sweep their three-way matchup, but Michael Redgrave of all people carried through; Boris Karloff went down against Johnny Weismuller (while holding hands with fellow fallen hottie Fred Astaire), but at least we got his guacamole recipe before he went. Delighted to see that the Venn diagram of the coalitions who support horror hero Vincent Price and funny lil guy Donald O'Connor is a circle.

Secret faves pt 2—oh yeah, I fucking love Danny Kaye and Donald O'Connor. RIP funny lil kings.

ROUND 3

For some reason this was the hardest one to make matchups for. Oh no, all the men are hot.

Secret faves—Michael Redgrave i love you SO much you're SUCH an idiot, how did you make it as far as round 3. I want you to sweep the whole thing but you should NOT be surviving this. I love you, here's a kiss, go home.

Surprises—Marlon Brando is gone! Errol Flynn is gone! Christopher Plummer exhausted himself beating the organic oreos man to death and goes out with a whimper. Beginning to actually see the roots of #mifunesweep as Tyrone Power, a hot man very different from Burt Lancaster, who was in turn very different from Tab Hunter, also gets swept under the wheels of the unbeatable toshirobus. Conrad Veidt finds that no amount of purring svelte eccentricity compares to the people who will fuck a young Lt. Columbo.

SHADOW BRACKET 2

Cannot believe it but Veidt loses this one too. Perkins sweeps and becomes Prince of the Shadow Realm!

ROUND 4

At this point I've set a formal bracket that I'm following.

Secret faves—this isn't secret anymore, but losing Jimmy Stewart hurt.

Surprises—The Gene Kelly/Jeremy Brett matchup was the diciest one all round, moving back and forth between the two by sometimes .01%. Far more surprising, however, was Cary Grant getting eliminated before the quarterfinals. Grant has never been my type, but he is famous for being THE type, so while the writing had been on the wall the whole tournament—how on earth did Michael Redgrave even get 36% in his matchup?!—seeing Grant go down was a SHOCKER. Other fallen hotties included Gregory Peck, James Dean, Harry Belafonte, and Sessue Hayakawa. Peter Falk finally met his match in Omar Sharif.

QUARTERFINALS

Secret faves—I don't know if it counts as a secret fave, tbh, as my horses in the race really went out with Stewart, but I do have a soft spot here worth mentioning. Here's my childhood dog, Keaton.

The resemblance is truly striking, and yes, he was short, fast, and not prone to smiling.

Surprises—I couldn't predict how any of these matchups would go down, but I was most interested in Keaton vs Sharif, as they are both SO hot in SUCH different ways.

SEMIFINALS:

This was such a good batch of semifinalist contestants. By this point I think we could all tell Mifune was unstoppable (though I thought Sharif might give him a run for his money), but I really didn't know which way Robeson vs Poitier would flip.

FINALS:

I wanted Sidney Poitier to pull a last-minute sweep out of nowhere, but alas, Toshiro is just THAT GOOD (maybe. I will admit that I find Toshiro's domination a little hard to believe, given the variety and hotness of all his competitors; the man is hot but all these men are hot). I'm still happy with how the tournament went.

FINAL MEDITATIONS:

Biggest shock of a dropout: the loss of Paul Newman

Biggest "you people have no taste": the loss of James Cagney

Biggest victory: Paul Robeson making it to the semifinals over often-assumed champion Gregory Peck

Biggest coalition who deserve justice: dancing men

Biggest ask character: vents anon (currently eating Laurence Olivier)

Biggest, uhh, anything: how many of you are here! I genuinely thought it would be me and 10 other people voting for the whole tournament. I'm thrilled it took off like this!

I think that's everything, but I'm happy to answer addl asks. And THANK YOU to everyone for your tags, rants, impassioned propaganda, beautiful pics, and love for the hot men! See you for the ladies!

[bianquitasworld]

could you do one where dave and reader are watching movies and being all cuddly pretty please?

Rest and Shakespeare

Parings: Dave Lizewski x Reader

A/N: I need this man, sorry for not writing as much I’ve been caught up with studies and work. Sorry I kinda forgot to add the movie part I was so tired when I wrote this. 😥

The day had been a relentless struggle, from the demanding classes at school to the never-ending tasks at work. A grueling exam had left my mind in tatters, the pounding headache and the stress of deadlines had drained every ounce of energy from me. But all I could think about as I made my way towards Dave’s house was the comforting warmth waiting for me in Dave’s arms, being in his presence alone always helped melt all my worries away.

The cold air made a shiver run down my spine, I hug myself to find warmth. I couldn’t help but walk faster as I made my way towards his home, minutes away from being in Dave’s arms and in the comfort of his bedroom while he read some random comic to me that I knew nothing about, the way his eyes would light up when he got excited flipping through the colorful pages, I smile at the thought alone, the way he always held me as I slept, I felt the stress leaving my body already just picturing it.

I sighed in relief as I reached Dave’s home. I barely knocked, I saw the white curtains from his room move around as if someone was just standing there moments ago. I heard hurried footsteps rushing down the stairs. The door was pulled open immediately. Dave greeted me with a wide smile, his cheeks flushed with excitement. His glasses sat slightly askew on the tip of his nose, and he pushed them up with his index finger, his eyes sparkling with warmth and affection.

His clears his throat before speaking and leans against the front door.

“S-Sorry I made you wait for so long, I was doing homework?” His statement sounded more like a question as if he couldn’t think of anything to say. I couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Your homework consists of you watching me through your window?” I tease him, you notice his cheeks turning bright red. I couldn’t decide if it was from the cold air being let in to his house due to the open door or the embarrassment. I shiver from the cold air. “it’s freezing-“ I could hardly finish my sentence before he’s reaching for my hand, pulling me into his home, and shutting his door. I slip off my winter boots.

“My dad isn’t home, we can watch a movie-or or whatever-psh I mean movies are lame-unless you want to watch one then we can-“ Dave’s nervous rambling is a little funny, even if we’ve been together for a while he’s still always nervous and second guessing every word that comes out of his mouth. Especially when he’s around ‘the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid his eyes upon’.

“Dave we can do whatever you want as long as I get to spend time with you i’m happy.” I say softly, tiredness kicking in. truthfully, I just wanted to curl into a cave and hibernate till the next year.

A blush returns to his face and his eyes light up in excitement. “We can go read some-some comics if you’re cool with that because if you aren’t that’s like totally cool.” I hear Dave gulp as he stares at me, his eyes falling upon me.

“Sure, that’s ‘like totally cool’ with me Dave” I say mocking him, if it’s possible his face becomes two shades redder. “Okay-okay no need to get rude” He rolls his eyes. I hurriedly make my way upstairs with Dave’s heavy footsteps following behind, after entering his room I take off the thick winter coat I had on, I can’t help but jump on his bed and crawl under his sheets making a mess of his bed, no care in the world for manners.

Dave plops down beside me with a comic in his hand, he sits up and pulls me against his chest as I wrap my arms around him and throw my leg over his torso.

“You tired baby?” Dave’s voice is soft and caring as he notices the lack of noise coming from his partner. “Exhausted, too many responsibilities and deadlines..” a sigh follows, I feel Dave’s hand slowly caress my head soothingly, he puts his comic on his night stand and lays down fully, allowing himself to be the little spoon. “You’re too pretty to be stressed, allow me to help you relax my princess.” Dave says in a British accent “You’re such a nerd babe, i���m taking those comics and weird movies away from you.”

All that can he heard is an overly dramatic gasp, what a drama queen. “Thou shall not-MHm” I shh him by placing my hand over his mouth. “shh..sleep.”

Dave gives in and smiles against my hand, he slowly pushes it down and mutters “fine, fine, whatever..I was just trying to romance you.”

“Romance me? By talking like Shakespeare?”

“Some people find it charming-“

“Name one person-“

“Okay you know what go to sleep, shhh-“

“No, who finds that cha-”

“Shhhhh you’ve fallen into a deep sleep shhh-“

“Dave I swear-“

“Oh can’t hear you, you’re not talking because you’re in a deep deep slumber-“

“Slumber?? Who even says that?”

“I thought you were tired!?”

“I am!”

“then stop talking”

“You keep talking to me! You know what good night.”

[nuttytani]

Would you love me if I were a worm? Featuring ikemen vampire cast. (With gender neutral reader)

(a/n: when you have too much free time and need your hands to be occupied. Some random bullshit begins to form on your notes)

Napoleon

He finds it funny, why would you turn into a worm?

After seeing your frown tho, he says ok ok yes I will love you

Mozart

Makes a disgusted face and turns you down

First of all, you won't turn into a worm. So why should he answer?

"if people can turn into vampires, why can't I turn into a worm?"

He kicks you out of his piano room

Dude has some thoughts to organise

Leonardo

Laughs at you and says, "what will you do if I say no?"

Pretends to forget about it but after some hours, he comes back to you

"no matter how and what you are or will turn into, I'll still love you"

Arthur

"is this some sort of trick question? Well the answer is obviously yes, my love!"

Vincent

Thinks deeply about it and smiles at you

"of course, I'll still love you. I think you'd make a cute worm too."

Theodorus

Scoffs at you and calls you an idiot

Why would you turn into a worm?

And by chance, you DID turn into one, how was he going to take care of you? There's so many worms out there in the world. What if you get lost and he gets some random worm instead and you, are lost and out in the cold, ready to be squashed by big feet.

Dazai

Uno reverses you instead

Now you're trapped

Would you love him if he was a worm?

Gets sad if you don't answer quickly enough

Sebastian

"I am not doing this right now. If you're free, wash those potatoes instead. I'm already busy as it is"

Stays silent for a while and then sighs

"no matter what, I'd love you always and forever"

Comte

Chuckles a bit at the thought and immediately replies yes

He'd give you a good environment to live in. Some really nutritious soil and compost. Maybe a tiny rock for you to play with

"Comte, you just need to say yes... No need to.... Elaborate on what else you'd do"

"Alright. Well, would you love me if I were a worm?"

Shakespeare

Is fascinated that you even came up with such a question

His answer is yes

But at the same time, he's coming up with scripts that include a dramatic romance between worms. For his own pleasure

Vlad

Says yes immediately.

Thinks you'd look like a cute worm

Maybe he'd put roses next to your habitat or in it.

Charles

"of course! In fact, we can both be worms together! We'll be a happy worm couple"

He's actually taking the idea too seriously and goes ahead making worm habitats and gets a book on "how to raise a worm"

Faust

"I'm not sure. Though I suppose researching on a worm wouldn't be that bad"

Seeing you look unimpressed, he just chuckles while patting your head

"I'm only joking. Of course I'd love you"

[moltengoldveins]

@clingyduoapologist made a really cool “what if DSMP were a stage play” post and basically the instant I saw it I was struck by the muse but I don’t want to just chain reblog the dang thing or make one huge reblog with all my thoughts so instead here are all my thoughts on this concept

i don’t think it’s a musical. I think the tone of the story doesn’t fit. But if it were, it would have a Lot of scenes of unsung dialogue, and that dialoge? Would be rhythmic poetry. It’s Shakespeare Appreciation Time baby.

i do however think there would be a live score and an orchestra. A lot of the music would need to be recorded but there’s at least be a few musicians.

different characters speak in different poetic styles at different times to communicate character and plot development.

to elaborate on that: Characters switch from loose ABBA or ABAB rhyme schemes and vaguely rhythmic meter when chatting back and forth to strict perfect iambic pentameter for tense scenes or political speeches.

Techno speaks exclusively in unrhyming dactylic hexameter, an extremely common poetic form for Greek and Latin poetry. It’s what the Iliad was written in. This has the interesting effect of making Techno sound, at first glance, unpoetic. His speech doesn’t rhyme, and doesn’t follow a common English rhythm scheme, so it wouldn’t immediately register as structured. However, dactylic hexameter is actually significantly harder to write in English than expected because of our syllable stress patterns. Speaking like that would be, objectively, a sign of extreme intelligence, but could easily be overlooked as coarse uncultured behavior.

Techno’s chorus - composed of audience members, background extras, and people (in safety harnesses) sitting in the theater rafters - speak largely in Greek and Classical Chinese, quoting sections of the Art of War and Homer’s work. The major exceptions to this are ���Blood for the Blood god,’ ‘no,’ and ‘do it.’ They all wear a hat or some form of headband that has a glowing LED eye, hidden, but activated when they speak. The audience plants are all in dark clothes, and when the lights go down they don medical masks/sunglasses. Anything to obscure their faces.

The Chorus, a group of robed masked people who broke the fourth wall and often entered the audience, was a vital part of early Greek theatre. I am an intolerable nerd, and the thought of sitting in a dark theatre only to hear an low distorted voice beside you start to comment on the play as a whole choir of voices echo around you, then turning to see your seat neighbor is a masked person with a glowing red eye in your forehead? Literally incredible.

Dream is the only character dressed in even remotely modern clothes.

Dream is first seen as someone (again, in modern clothes) sneaking around backstage in a black hoodie: most of the audience probably assumes he’s a stagehand and not meant to be seen. Then, at some point, he moves from behind a set piece and enters the scene as an actual character, revealing his mask.

interestingly, this is really similar to what I believe is a bit of myth about why ninjas are dressed in all black in modern media. They wouldn’t have been irl, they would’ve dressed like civilians. But stagehands in Japanese theatre would dress in all-black, and were often completely visible onstage moving sets - it was common courtesy to ignore them. Then one day some playwright had the brilliant idea of having one of the stagehands enter the story as an assassin, and suddenly every actor in all-black was a threat. For the life of me I can’t remember where I read that but it’s a cool thought :D

Dream canonically can interact with set pieces, lighting, and curtains.

Dream actively directs lighting in scenes he is not in, sitting above the stage kicking his feet.

Dream is often used to hand off props to characters instead of having them pull them from a pocket and pretend they were pulled from their ‘inventory.’ This begins to get confusing when Dream is acknowledged later on as the he person giving, say, TNT to Wilbur, or wither skulls to Techno.

characters address the audience as ‘Chat,’ (English’s first fourth-person pronoun my beloved) almost constantly, especially for comedic purposes- most of their monologues are addressed directly to the audience as well. For Wilbur, it’s a sign of instability when he stops addressing ‘Chat’ and start addressing the sides or back of the stage.

philza enters from the lower audience, right by the stage, probably after pooping up from the orchestra pit and taking a reserved seat halfway through so no one sees the wings.

Tommy has by far the least structured or rhyming dialogue - if it weren’t for how carefully crafted it was it would sound like normal prose.

Tommy speaks to the audience by FAR the most. Wilbur only addresses them when soliloquizing. Techno barely addresses them at all: they address him. Ranboo speaks to the audience only when alone, and it’s usually phrased like he’s writing in his memory journal. Tommy speaks to the audience at first like a loud younger brother. As he gets older, it sounds more and more like a plea for help, a prayer for intervention that will never come. Exile is one long string of desperate begging aimed our way.

Tommy stops speaking to the audience so much after Doomsday. He starts again when Dream is imprisoned. He stops for good when he dies in there, beaten, alone.

Sam and the Warden are meant to be played by different actors, ideally siblings or fraternal twins. They wear identical stage makeup and costumes, but the difference is there. None of the characters acknowledge this.

the Stage would need to be absolutely massive and curve almost halfway around the central audience, largely because it should be able to be split at times into two separate stages to show different things happening at the same time. This could possibly also work if there were two stages, but getting people to easily turn from one stage to the other without loosing sight of what was happening would be rough.

Doomsday taking advantage of the scaffolding in the rafters and using them as the ‘grid’ for the tnt droppers.

actual trained dogs for Doomsday my beloved. Would cost a fortune but could you imagine.

the entire revolution arc ripped off Hamilton, we all know that, I think we can afford to have a stagehand step forward in that frozen moment in time when Tommy and Dream have that duel, grab the arrow, and carry it slowly across the stage right into Tommy’s eye. For morale.

throughout the execution scene Techno keeps slipping out of poetic meter, especially when he sees/is worried about Phil. After the totem (which would be freaking amazing as some sort of stage effect with like lights and red and green streamers or smthn dude-) he stops speaking in poetry. The scene with Quackity is entirely spoken dialogue. Chat is silent. It’s only when he gets back and sees evidence that his house has been tampered with that Chat starts up again (kill, blood, death, hunt, hunt, hunt-) and he starts speaking in rhythm again.

Every canon death, Dream marks a tally on something in the background. Maybe it’s in his arm? Like a personal scorecard. Or maybe it’s on the person themselves, a little set of three hearts he marks through with a dry-erase marker or something.

phil and techno have a lot more eastern design elements and musical influences than the rest of the cast, except for Techno’s war theme which is just choir, bagpipes, and some sort of rhythmic ticking or thumping. Phil’s also got a choir sting but it’s a lot harsher, the ladies are higher and them men lower, and the chords are really dissonant (think murder of crows)

Tommy’s theme has a lot of drums, but its core is actually a piano melody. The inverse of Tommy’s theme is Tubbo’s, but Tubbo’s is usually played on a ukulele. Wilbur is guitar, obv, and Niki’s is on viola.

Quackity is a little saxophone lick. He and Schlatt both have a strong big band/jazz influence.

None of the instruments that play dream’s theme play anywhere else in the music. I’m thinking harp, music box, and some kind of low wind instrument.

[inheartofwinter]

Drarry Fic Rec List: Us Vs The World

The list I want to show you to day is one I especially adore: fics with strong vibe of "us against the world". They could be good, they could be bad, they could save the world, they could destroy it, they could simply go on with their lives. No matter what, they will always have each other.

- Hell & Other Places (M; 2,5k) by @tepre

OR: 9 times Draco said ‘I love you’ and 1 time he didn’t.

Draco & Harry are sent to investigate a haunted Bed & Breakfast.

- Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis (E; 49999) by @vukovich

Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead.

But who's making withdrawals from Malfoy's vaults? How is a death omen-turned-Unspeakable involved? Is an organization known as the Moirai to blame?

Harry brushes it off until he can't. Until The Prophet is flooded with sightings of dead people. Until Robards throws himself on his sword. Until Ron turns on his own family. Until Harry scarcely trusts his own reflection in the mirror and trusts the stranger in his bed even less.

Until all that stands between war and peace is Harry, a name plate, a stadium of murderers, and Draco Malfoy.

God save the Ministry.

- Basement Level 9 (M; 2k) by @fw00shy

Draco was behind the bomb that blew up Level 10, though they didn't talk about it.

- Stay with Me 'Til Morning (R; 8,4k) by Lucilla Darkate

In a once upon a time world, white magic would triumph over black, good would carry the day, evil would be vanquished, the valiant would stand and be true, and always, always, true love would end with a happily ever after.

- Purple Words (E; 67k) by FangirlWolfie

“High five me.”

James immediately put Harry down and gave him a high five.

Huh?

Oh.

- In Grey Worsted (M; 2,8k) by literaryspell

Harry's only chance at happiness is slipping away, one piece at a time. He isn’t about to give up, though.

- Ever Fixed Mark (T; 1,1k) by @shealwaysreads

In which Harry decides to burn the world, and Draco watches on with adoration.

Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken

Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

- Dead Ends (E; 18,8k) by @toxik-angel & @melcarrianna

Head Auror Harry Potter is the best at his job. Head Auror Harry Potter always saves the day.

But someone has been picking off ex-Death Eaters one by one. Someone has been abducting Harry's friends right out of their homes. Someone is fucking the Minister for Magic.

The Minister for Magic and Head Auror are both very concerned about it.

- Because Potter Is Allergic to Poppies (M; 41,1k) by Lomonaaeren

Auror Harry Potter is in hospital being treated for a curse when someone tries to kill him. Obviously it is up to bored, trapped Apprentice Healer Draco, who was only admitted to the Healer Program in the first place to do the menial work, to find out who did it. Because then they will promote him. No, it’s for no other reason, thanks.

- Toujours pur (T; 21k) by Veralynn

"Malfoy would never confess truth to an enemy, and we’re enemies to him. That’s way I made a plan.”

“A rat,” Harry said.

“Exactly. Someone I can trust one hundred per cent about You-Know-Who. Someone who knows well Malfoy and his past. That makes you the perfect candidate.”

- REVOLVEVLOVER (E; 46,3k) by @firethesound & zeitgeistic

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for.

It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

Career Choices: Harry: Hit Wizard; Draco: Anti-Government Extremist

- Who we are in the shadows (E; 99,7k) by @quicksilvermaid

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise?

Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself.

What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

- Draco Malfoy and the Heart of Slytherin (T; 34,9k) by sabershadowkat

At the heart of every Slytherin.

- The Boy and the Sleeping Prince (E; 26,7k) by @phoenix-acid & @writcraft

Harry is miserable and tired of being an Auror, coasting through life until he’s forced to make some changes. Spurred on by his passion for drawing and working with best-selling author Draco Malfoy, Harry develops a charm which gives children a magical, interactive reading experience. But when it’s time to test the spell, the two men find themselves trapped in a nightmarish fairy tale world. Can they escape unscathed, or is Draco right in his assertions that there is no such thing as a happily ever after?

Career Choices: Harry: Illustrator; Draco: Writer

- When Death Comes Calling (T; 2,6k) by @mystickitten42

It’s All Hallows’ Eve and as Harry investigates a string of seemingly related deaths, there’s one he hopes to prevent.

He looks over Harry’s shoulder and Harry turns too. They both see it, the dark translucent figure making its way to shore.

~ Or ~

Getting together in the face of Death. Literally.

- Servile (E; 68,5k) by calrissian18

“I would love anything you gifted me, My Lord, but this,” silver eyes, the same shade as the dragon that marked Harry's arm, glinted in his direction under the Death Eater’s hood, “is exquisite.”

- The Corruption Sequence series (E; 94,2k) by beren

Harry Potter is captured by Voldemort and the Dark Lord has plans for him that involve the essence of many different dark creatures. What Voldemort cannot know is that the presence of Draco Malfoy will affect the outcome of his plots and change everything.

- More Powerful Then Experience (M; 89,7k) by flightinflame

Harry's life changes when he is three, when his parents are murdered and the Dark Lord takes him to raise as his own.

Draco's life changes when he is six, when he finds himself given to a strange green-eyed boy who speaks Parseltongue and casts impossible magic.

Remus's life changes three years later, when a chance meeting proves to him that somehow James and Lily's son is still alive.

- The Gryffindor Prince (G; 6,3k) by @mfingenius

“Do not come near us again, evil Slytherins!” he exclaims, pointing his wand towards them again. Pansy and Blaise look more amused than anything, really, but they hold up their hands in surrender. 

“Alright,” Pansy says, agreeably enough, a smirk on her face. “But Potter, Draco’s a Slytherin, like us. He’ll have to come back eventually.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, and, a moment later, he is throwing Draco over his shoulder, arm tight across the back of his thighs so he won’t fall, and Draco yelps.

Have fun reading!

[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit - part 9

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which it's time to celebrate the holidays

warnings: implied smut

word count: 2900+

author's note: long awaited but finally here

previous part | next part

"Seriously?" Tara asked as she stepped into the living room, a mug of hot chocolate in each hand. Her eyes were trained on the television, which was displaying the Elf title screen in all its fluorescent-glory. "We watch this every Christmas Eve!"

"Exactly!" Chad said, twisting around to grab one of the mugs from her hand. His face was alight with joy, his eyes wide and sparkling. "It's a tradition now!"

Tara glanced at Mindy, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. I wanted to watch Krampus," the girl said.

Chad huffed. "And I told you I'm done with horror movies. We already lived through one." He took a sip from his drink, and his eyebrows raised the moment the hot chocolate touched his tongue. "Tara! This is actually pretty good."

Tara frowned. "'Actually'?"

The boy glanced away sheepishly. "Well, you know, you have the tendency to--"

"Burn things," Sam deadpanned from behind as she exited the kitchen, mugs in her own hands. She handed one to Mindy, who immediately started gulping it down, and then turned to Tara. "The last three times you tried to make anything, our fire alarm went off."

Well maybe we shouldn't have such a sensitive alarm, Tara thought, furrowing her eyebrows. "Whatever," she scoffed, rounding the couch to sit between the twins. She pulled the blanket off Chad and covered herself, ignoring his whines. "Let's just watch Elf."

Mindy reached for the remote, and just as she was about to hit play, there was a knock on the front door. Every tensed slightly--an involuntary reaction none of them seemed to be able to shake--and Sam stood, edging toward the door slowly. She looked out through the peephole, and Tara watched as she sighed with relief, her shoulders relaxing. She undid the locks, opened the door, and Danny popped his head into the living room.

"Am I late?" the man asked as he shuffled inside.

"Perfect timing, man," Chad answered, holding his hand out. Danny dapped him up quickly before settling on the armchair, leaving room for Sam to squeeze beside him. "Okay," Chad started, lifting his legs to put his feet on the coffee table, "Elf time."

Almost as soon as Mindy pressed the play button, there was a thud against the front door. Again, everyone sat up a little straighter. Tara swallowed, her eyes trained on the doorknob as it twisted slightly.

This is it, she thought. Ghostface is going to attack us on Christmas Eve, because why the fuck not?

There was another thud, softer this time, and Danny glanced around the room, resolving to open the door. Everyone's attention was on him as he crept up, looked through the peephole, and then chuckled.

"You've got a present outside, Tara," he said, undoing the locks that Sam had redone and opening the door.

A present? she wondered. It's too late for UPS to be here.

There, in the hallway, beneath the flickering yellow light, stood you, your arms weighed down by bags and a small red spot forming on your forehead. You grinned at the group sitting inside.

"Hi!" you greeted, lifting your hands to show off what you had brought. "I have presents!"

Tara scrambled to stand, hastily placing her hot chocolate on the coffee table, and launched herself into you. You stumbled back a few steps before setting the bags on the floor and wrapping your arms around her waist.

"Hey, pretty girl," you muttered into her hair.

She pulled back, staring up at you with a gleaming smile. "What're you doing here? I thought you were stuck in Zoom calls with overseas family members." She had invited you to the Christmas Eve excursions, but you had declined for the aforementioned reason.

You giggled. "I was, but we ended a bit earlier than normal, so I thought I'd come over." You glanced over the top of your head at the others in the living room. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"The more the merrier, buddy!" Chad exclaimed, holding his hand out as Tara twisted around to stand beside you. You simply stared at him for a moment before taking his hand in your own and shaking it.

Tara couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. Stupid, she thought. Chad seemed to be thinking the same thing as he tilted his head yet accepted the handshake.

As you pulled away from Chad, Tara glanced up at you. "Why did you knock so menacingly?" she asked, and then she looked up a little higher at the red mark on your forehead. "Did you use your head?"

You smiled shyly and nodded. "My hands were too full," you admitted. You perked up, whipping around and grabbing the bags you had left by the door. "That reminds me: I have gifts for you guys."

Tara watched you, sighing dreamily. She's so perfect. She'd be such a good mom. She shook her head. No baby thoughts, Tara. Now's not the time.

"This one's for you, Mindy," you said as you handed the girl one of the paper bags. "This is for you, Chad." He greedily accepted the package you held out to him. "Sam, for you." The bag was small and thin, and Tara didn't have to watch to know that it was another bottle of wine. "Uh, Danny, I didn't know you'd be here."

The man shook his head and waved you off. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh!" You reached for your wallet and drew out a few hundred-dollar bills. Tara's eyes widened. Who the hell carries that much cash on them? she thought, before shrugging and thinking, I guess when your parents have as much money as hers do, it doesn't even matter. You held them out to him. "Here! Merry Christmas!"

He simply stared at you, unblinking, for so long that it started to unnerve Tara. Hesitantly, like you would lean down and bite him if he moved too fast, he reached out and took the money from your hands.

"...Thanks," he said. Sam rolled her eyes and leaned toward him, whispering something in his ear. Tara heard the tail-end of the statement: "....family's rich." Danny nodded his head and smiled. "Yeah, thanks. Merry Christmas, kid."

You grinned happily and then turned back to the twins, waiting for them to open their presents. Mindy glanced at Chad, who shrugged and started ripping into the package you had handed him. He pulled out a pristine, red football jersey that had 'Bosa' on the back. Beneath the numbers was a large scribble.

"Holy shit," Chad said, his eyes practically bulging out of his head as he stared at the jersey. "You got this signed by Bosa?! The Bosa?!"

You nodded, giggling. "Yup. Or, well, my dad got him to sign it, but same thing."

Chad leaned back and sighed happily. "Man, you are such a great addition to his family."

Your smile widened at his words, and Tara thought you might start bouncing up and down as she looked at you, a soft smile on her own face. God, I agree with Chad for once, she thought. It's a fucking Christmas miracle.

"Okay," Mindy began, hesitantly opening her own bag. "I don't think you can top that, but let's see what's in here." With careful hands, she pulled out a framed poster, and her jaw dropped so wide that Tara briefly thought it had broken. "No fucking way! Absolutely no fucking way!" She spun it around so that everyone else could see, and even Tara was shocked to see a Stab poster signed by all of the original cast members.

"It was a little difficult tracking everyone down, but we got there eventually," you said, beaming. "I hope you like it."

"Like it? Y/N, this is the best gift I've ever gotten in my entire life!" Mindy practically shouted. Her face fell quickly. "No one tell Anika that. I promised her that the necklace she bought was the best thing ever."

A chorus of laughter erupted throughout the room, and while everyone was distracted, you turned to Tara. "I have something for you," you said, tilting your head in the direction of her bedroom. "Can we...?"

She caught on quickly, nodding fervently, and grabbed your hand, shouting out a, "Watch the movie without me!" to which Sam responded, "Door open, Tara!" Yeah, right, she thought.

Tara pulled you inside and, much to the muttering complaints of her sister, shut the door behind you. She led you to her bed, where you sat on the edge of it and pulled something from your pocket.

"It's just something small," you started, glancing away shyly, "because your real gift is coming tomorrow, but I just...I wanted to give it to you today." She smiled at your nerves, thinking, She's just too cute. Too fucking cute.

She sat beside you. "Okay," she said. "But, just so you know, I only got you one gift."

You giggled and held the gift out. It was a small envelope, tiny enough to have fit in the pocket of your sweatpants, with your scrawl on the front. Tara furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at it and then took it from your hand. With slow and steady fingers, she opened the envelope, shivers running up her back as she realized what it was.

"It's your museum ticket," you said, watching her carefully, "from the day we met. Or, well, it's a copy of your ticket, since, you know, you have--or, had--the original." You shrugged and bit your lip. "I thought it would be a cute memento, but if it's dumb, you can just--"

She leaned in and shut you up with a soft kiss, trying to put all of the love she felt for you into it. When she pulled away, you were a blushing mess, and your words had died on your tongue.

"How did you get this?" she asked, looking back at the ticket.

You scratched at the back of your neck. "After I realized this was something"--you gestured between the two of you--"I scoured through the computer one day after work looking for your last name. There aren't very many Carpenters, so it wasn't too difficult."

That does it. Official. She's the very best thing that's ever happened to me.

"I love you, you know that?" Tara murmured softly.

You grinned. "Yeah, I do." You kissed her. "And I love you, too."

She grinned at you. "Since my door's shut, let me give you part of your Christmas gift," she said, and you blushed at the implication. She kissed you again and pushed you onto your back, easily hovering over you. "Merry Christmas, baby."

* * *

The sun shining in Tara's eyes woke her up. She turned over groggily, pressing her head into your neck, and you grumbled a little, shifting as you were woken up by her movements. Before even saying a word, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Morning, pretty," you said, your voice low and scratchy and filled with sleep. Tara melted at the sound, just like she did every time the two of you had a sleepover.

"Merry Christmas, baby," she offered, and your eyes shot open.

"Holy fuck." You sat up quickly, leaving Tara scrambling and confused as you reached for your phone. "Fuck, Tara!" You slipped out of her bed and immediately started getting dressed, stumbling around her room.

She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. "What?"

"We're gonna be late!" You pulled your shirt over your head. "Shit, the boys are gonna be so mad that they have to wait to open their presents."

Tara fell onto her back, groaning. This is gonna be a long day, she thought.

* * *

You bursted through the front door of your house, gifts nearly falling from your arms, and were immediately greeted by your brothers.

"Merry Christmas!" you shouted, and the boys swerved around you and headed straight for Tara.

"Tara! Tara!" Eddie cheered. "What'd you get me?"

"Please tell me you didn't get him any cologne. He's been spraying that stuff like mad recently," Nate said, elbowing his brother.

How did I forget how...energetic...they are? Tara wondered. "I'm not telling you," she said to Eddie, and then turned to Nate and said, "But no, it's not cologne."

Eddie frowned. "Darn."

"Oh, thank goodness!" Nate cheered. "Come. Mom and Dad are waiting by the tree. We've been up for hours waiting for you two."

"Hours and hours and hours," Eddie added, grabbing Tara's wrist and tugging her toward the family room.

Hours and hours and hours, she mocked in her head, and then she felt a little bad for mocking a child.

"Why've you guys been up for so long?" you asked as you followed close behind, the gifts blocking your sight slightly. Tara had offered to take some from you, but you had refused.

"Lia woke up early," Nate started.

"So we all woke up early," Eddie finished.

"Plus, grandpa was making pancakes," Nate said.

"And you know how his pancakes are," Eddie added.

When the four of you finally reached the living room, your parents stood.

"The prodigal daughter returns!" your father exclaimed, just as he had when he saw you at Lia's birthday party.

You set the presents down and rushed forward, pulling both of them into a hug. "Hi, guys!" You pulled back and they stepped up, taking Tara into their arms one by one. Even your grandmother offered Tara a hug. "So, presents?"

"Yes!" Nate shouted.

"Finally!" Eddie cheered.

Needless to say, the process of opening presents was chaotic—so much so that, just for a split second, Tara regretted saying yes to coming. You and the adults were calm, carefully unwrapping your presents and ooh-ing and ahh-ing at each one. The boys, on the other hand, left a trail of little pieces of wrapping paper and gift bags and bows, and Lia ended up spitting up everywhere at one point.

This is it, Tara thought at one point as she watched your family. This is every Christmas for the rest of my life. And when the boys opened their presents from her--an edition of an Emily Dickinson book for Nate and a game of COD for Eddie--and basically tackled her as their thank-you's, she thought, Maybe it's not so bad. Yeah, she decided as they cheered and yelled and started bursting out into random Christmas songs, this isn't so bad.

Finally, after everything had finally finished, and there were just two more presents left to give, the rest of the family excused themselves to make lunch in the kitchen. It was you and Tara sitting by the tree alone, neither of you having exchanged your own gifts yet.

"Do you want to go first?" you asked, shifting where you sat, your eyes flickering around.

She's nervous, Tara realized quickly. Awe, she's nervous!

To try to quell your worries, she nodded. "Sure." She grabbed her gift for you, which was neatly wrapped with a little bow on top. Unfortunately for her, she had Chad to thank for the wrapping, but she'd never admit it as you complimented her on how crisp the paper was.

With careful hands, you unwrapped your present, revealing a small ring box. You furrowed your eyebrows as you opened it, and Tara gulped as she watched your eyes widen and your jaw drop.

"Oh my god," you muttered. "Oh. My. God." You pulled the ring from its box. "It's a signet ring! It's Shakspeare's signet ring! I've been looking for one of these for forever!" You slipped it onto your pinky, and Tara sighed with relief when it fit. You brought your hand closer to your face, inspecting the ring. "It even has the heart loop!"

"So, you like it?" Tara asked.

You looked up, a huge grin pulling at your lips and your eyes sparkling with pure joy. "I don't even have the words to describe how much I love it, Tar. Thank you."

She smiled. "Merry Christmas."

You glanced back down at the ring. "Where did you find this?" you asked.

Oh, shit. Should I be honest? God, I should. Damn it. "Uh, I drove up here a few days ago and your brothers and I went shopping. Nate saw it in that antique shop downtown."

You chuckled. "You asked my brothers to help you?" Your voice was light, teasing, and Tara blushed up to her ears.

"...Yes."

You cooed, reaching out to run your thumb along her cheek. 'That's adorable, baby."

"Shut up," she mumbled. "Your turn."

"Okay. Right. My turn." You picked up the little box left beneath the tree and handed it to Tara, breathing out shakily as you did. "I hope you like it."

She was a lot less gentle than you were, eager to know what you had gifted her. She tore through the wrapping paper and tilted her head as a tiny cardboard box revealed itself. When she opened it, she found a gold necklace inside, an emerald pendant dangling from its chain.

"This is beautiful," she said, looking up at you. "Like, seriously beautiful. I don't even know what to say." She lifted it from the box carefully, letting the pendant dangle in the air.

"It was my great grandmother's," you rushed out, and Tara's eyes shot toward you. "It's passed down to each first born in the family on my mom's side, and we're meant to give it to...to the person we want to spend forever with."

Forever. Tara grinned. I like the sound of that.

"I know it's still early in our relationship," you continued, glancing away, "but I'm confident in this." You looked at her, a soft smile playing on your lips. "I'm confident in you."

She shot forward, wrapping her arms around your neck and engulfing you in the tightest hug she could manage. "I'm confident in this, too," she admitted. She pulled back, holding the necklace out to you. "Help me put it on?"

With ease you clasped it around her neck, and when she turned back around, she swore your eyes were sparkling.

"It looks perfect," you said breathlessly. "It's perfect."

You're perfect, she thought. This is perfect. Everything's perfect.

"Hey," she said, calling your attention. "I love you."

You smiled. "I love you, too, Tara. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Y/N."

[gallaggher]

opposites attract || spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: none, just pure fluff

comments: i honestly might turn this into a series. like they could go on a date and fall in love slowly but let me know what you guys think.

also quick thank you to @aperrywilliams for helping me with the story!!

- - -

it was early sunday morning. you had woken up, taken a shower, and put on a light pink sundress that was covered in white flowers. you walk down the stairs and grab your pitbull puppy. you clip her leash onto her collar. “you ready girl?” you ask as you grab your tote bag, which contained all your essentials: a book, house keys, wallet, and your phone and lock the door.

you pick up your puppy as you approach the coffee shop, your bag on your shoulder. you talk quietly to her as you walk in “we’re just gonna grab some coffee, then park okay?” you say, looking at how cute she is. you see a man in line and take your place behind him, still speaking to your dog. as the man finishes his order and turns to walk out he notices you. he admires how sweetly you speak to your dog for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for you to notice. you look up at the man and immediately feel your cheeks flush. he’s handsome, you can’t deny that. you two maintain eye contact for a split moment, but you break it when you feel laila trying to jump from your arms. you rush up to the counter, face still red, and order.

you had finally arrived to the park. your eyes searched for an empty bench as your dog dragged you around, looking around and sniffing trees and bushes. you had finally found and empty bench and settled yourself on it. you couldn’t shake the man from the coffee shop from your head. the way he admired you as if you were a masterpiece, or the way he maintained eye contact. you finally pulled out your book, you were rereading romeo and juliet. you had only read a few pages when you heard a voice.

“did you know shakespeares real name wasn’t really william? it was really gulielmus, which is the latin word for william. he began referring to himself as will in sonnets” you look up at the man, and you smile big. it was the man from the coffee shop. “wow? really?” you ask, nerves sitting in the pit of your stomach. “i didn’t know tha-” your response was cut off by laila jumping up him while wagging her tail. “oh my god,” you say, standing up, “i am so sorry” you reach your arms out to grab her. he begins to pet laila with a soft smile. “no, no, it’s okay i love dogs” he says, looking down at you with a face full of nerves. you build up all the courage in your body before you ask him to sit. “would you like to sit?” you say, anxiety coating your voice. “are you sure? i don’t want to impose” the man replies. “i’m sure!” you say with a smile.

what felt like minutes, but was truly hours, had gone by, you and spencer just sat talking. you had learned all about spencer’s job, his family, his personality, basically everything you could ever imagine. laila was sitting between you two the entire time, and how she was currently asleep on spencer’s lap. every time you spoke, spencer admired you. your bubbly personality outshined everything around you two, and in that moment it truly felt as if you two were the only ones in the park. “but yes, my coworkers do like to say i’m a-” his sentence was cut short by his ringtone. “just one second, it’s a coworker” he stuttered. you nodded at spencer, telling him to pick up. “hey morgan. no im not really busy, i’m just at the park right now. mm, okay i’ll be there as soon as i can” he replied to the man on the other end of the phone before hanging up. “i’m sorry, we just got called in on a case” spencer tells you.

he warned you of this, the constant calls, the constant cases. “it’s okay spence, do you mind if i get your number before you leave? i really enjoyed talking to you” you say, your heart sitting in your throat. “o-oh of course. can i see your phone, i’ll type it in” he says, hand shaking as he reaches out. you hand him your phone and he puts his number in. “thank you spence” you say with a smile as you put your phone back in your bag. “can i walk you home y/n? i just want to make sure you arrive home safely” spencer asks, nervous tones coating his voice. “a walk home from the famous spencer reid? i’d love that” you reply with a smile before you stand up and grab laila’s leash.

spencer stands up right after you. he gestures for you to lead the way. he looked around, seeing the sunset. “hey look!” he says with a smile and points at the sky. you look up and see the beautiful sky. shades of orange and pink cover the blue that was there hours ago. “wow! it’s so pretty!” you exclaim. “i love sunsets!” you say, whilst taking out your phone to take a photo. spencer mumbles, “i know” before smiling at your face. your eyes were lit up like a kid in a candy store.

you two continue walking until you reach your apartment building. “thank you for walking me home spence” you say as you stand infront the door. “it’s not a problem y/n,” spencer says looking down at your eyes “i don’t live very far from here anyway.” you look at spencer’s eyes, the brown shade sucking you in. “goodnight spencer, i hope to see you again soon” you say with a soft smile. this moment was so bittersweet, the both of you could feel it. you place your arms on spencer’s shoulders to steady yourself before placing a kiss on his cheek. spencer’s face flushed red almost immediately. “g-goodnight y/n, i want to see you soon as well. i’ll give you a call when i’m back from my case okay?” he smiled, face still bright red. “okay spencer!” you say and turn towards your buildings door.

just before you hit the buzzer, you turn back to spencer. “hey spence?” you yelled out? “huh? yes?” he says and turns back to look at you. “is it true what they say? opposites attract?” you ask, curiosity showing over your features. spencer stops in his tracks. “well scientifically, it hasn’t been confirm-” he replied before you cut him off. “no, what i mean is do you believe opposites attract?” you ask again. spencer smiles softly, “yeah, i think they do.” you hum and he says as he turns around, mind still full of you.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello, before I request I would like to say that your work is my favorite!!!!

May I request a work that entails Wife Reader getting pregnant by Donna (scene would be appreciated) and both of them going through all of the milestones (finding out reader is pregnant, baby bump, first kick, etc.) Then after baby is born going through a couple of milestones before finding out Reader is pregnant again.

Thank you so much again!!!

Yessss!!!!! Thank you for your kindness and for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Step by step

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, fluff

Word count: 4,488

Summary: It's the beginning of a new stage on your life...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Hey, give me a hand,” you said, carrying a heavy box and entering the workshop.

Your wife immediately turned around getting up from the work table and running to support the weight until she carried it back to a nearby table.

The lady in black bent down to check its contents while you rubbed your sweaty forehead from the effort.

“Did he bring the eyes?” the woman asked, rummaging through that box and taking out a jar full of those objects.

You couldn't help but shiver and frown.

“Brr,” you shivered exaggeratedly as she looked at those lifeless eyes carefully. “That's quite disturbing, Donna.”

She looked at you with a smile and shook her head.

“Dolls need eyes, (Y/N),” she said in a soft voice, opening the jar and looking for two of the same color, perfect for an empty head that was on the table.

“Yes…” you joked, nodding with a distrustful look. “The fat Duke told me… You know, the usual, that it's hard to get the materials, that coming here is a hassle…”

“He's fooled you again, huh?” Donna said amused, giving life to that porcelain head. “You're very naive.”

“Naive? Oh, of course, of course,” you answered, pointing at yourself and approaching her slowly. “Why don't you negotiate with him instead of me?”

“Because I'm busy,” she answered with a concentrated whisper.

“Well, your lei that are at stake,” you murmured, letting yourself fall into a nearby chair.

“I have plenty of lei,” the brunette commented, carefully observing that shiny head, which she left at your side.

You took that piece of porcelain with an amused laugh, placing it in the palm of your hand with a thoughtful gesture.

“Look, Donna, Shakespeare would be proud: To be a doll, or not to be a doll, that’s the question,” you said in a somber tone.

Donna laughed again, shaking her head.

Another day could seem like just one part of a closed circle, of a journey that started over every day. It wasn't, and besides, you were a fervent lover of tedious routine.

For two years your life had stopped being a mix of hard work and unfair business. Like the rest of the villagers, you were nothing but another piece in the macabre chess game of Mother Miranda and the Black Gods.

Macabre, perhaps, but also peaceful.

Work, pray, rest, three essential actions to consider yourself a normal girl, with normal aspirations. But no, you weren't a normal girl at all.

Unintentionally, by one of those coincidences that are mentioned in books, you ended up attracting the attention of one of the Lords, a woman who lived hidden in a valley of mist: the doll maker and disturbing ventriloquist, Donna Beneviento.

Falling in love with her wasn't complicated, finding tenderness and affection within a dark and complexed envelope may have been a little more so. A deformity, a change, things that haunted poor Donna in her nightmares, but, as if for her you were also an opportune coincidence, you managed to navigate through those dangerous waters, dominating the waves of her madness, finding calm in her tormented soul.

When verbal love stopped being enough for her, and she proposed you to go a step further, becoming her wife, joining her in marriage, all her fears seemed to disappear, her fear of losing you faded, becoming only small attacks of jealousy and increasingly less frequent nervous breakdowns.

Definitely losing your boring last name, becoming Mrs. Beneviento, was the best decision of your life, without a doubt.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing? Don't play with my head!” a shrill voice almost made you drop that porcelain to the floor. Donna looked at you amused, of course, it had been her.

“Oh, don't do that,” you said, putting your head back in place while she laughed amused by your reaction. “It's so scary.”

“Are you scared of a porcelain head?” she asked, distracted by a piece of fabric that looked more and more like a dress. “I thought you were braver, tesoro.”

“Ugh,” you protested, shaking your head and crossing your arms.

“Bring me that arm, please,” Donna asked you in a soft voice, with a more serious, concentrated expression.

“Igor, bring me the brain,” you exclaimed ironically. Donna sighed, looking at you with a knowing smile. “Sorry.”

“I see you're in a very good mood today, (Y/N),” the lady commented, with the porcelain arm already ready to become part of another one of those sinister dolls.

You shrugged, watching her work, something that always seemed curious to you.

“I'm always in a good mood,” you sighed, settling into the chair, awkwardly watching the brunette's work. Donna soon turned around to steal a kiss from your lips, that kind of unexpected kisses you loved.

“Mm,” she murmured disinterestedly, shaping that new doll, apparently not very bothered by your exaggerated looks.

You raised your eyebrows amused, and moved a little closer, putting your lips to her ear.

“Hey, Donna, do you know what day it is today?” you whispered seductively, interrupting your wife's work again, who sighed thoughtfully.

“Friday,” she said with a cold voice, trying to concentrate despite your annoying presence.

“Erotic Friday,” you said amused, blinking flirtatiously, running a hand over her black dress, up her leg.

“Erotic Friday?” Donna asked confused, not moving away from your touch, so you smiled wickedly. “For you every day is…”she said with a murmur, stopping talking when your hand went up a little more, getting closer to its target.

You smiled at her reaction, seeing that despite your shameless touch, she intended to continue working, something you couldn't allow.

“If you want, I'll leave,” you said amused, lovingly caressing the bulge between her legs, causing a nervous gasp from the doll maker.

“No, um… Stay,” she said, visibly nervous by your touch, by how her weak body reacted to your lustful caresses.

“I assumed so,” you sighed satisfied, noticing how her incipient erection was becoming more and more noticeable in your hand, which grabbed it through the fabric of her dress.

Donna shifted uncomfortably, but made no effort to stop you from continuing.

“(Y/N),” the lady in black protested amused, unable to focus any longer as your hand caressed her harder.

Your gaze turned dark, moving a little closer, kissing her neck and biting your lip.

“Why don’t you take a break?” you asked seductively, placing your lips on her cheek, moving your hand up and down to continue stimulating her.

“I… Um…” she stammered nervously, giving you more room, looking embarrassed at what your touch had caused. “I, I have to finish this doll, (Y/N), it’s almost time to eat.”

“Are you hungry?” you asked with a mischievous smile, freeing her imprisoned shaft from its prison, hugging it with your hand, which began to move up and down slowly, just as you knew she liked.

“Yes, no, I don't know,” she stammered, closing her eye at your soft caresses, leaving that sinister half-made doll on the table, letting herself go. “Is it a trick question?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head in an exaggerated way, increasing the intensity of your movements. “Does it seem like a trap to you?”

“With you…” she said, interrupted by an involuntary moan, shuddering when your hand stopped at the tip, squeezing it gently. “…It's always a trap.”

“So? Did you bite the bait?” you asked, biting her earlobe, earning another pleasurable moan as she nodded, joining her hand to yours for you to continue.

“What do you think?” Donna asked, moving your hand slowly, burying her head in your neck, surrendering to the pleasure that just your touch gave her.

“Yes, you are hungry,” you joked, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, forgetting about your hand and climbing on top of her, changing that stimulation for a lascivious game of your hips.

She grabbed them firmly, continuing with that seductive dance, with a friction that caused her to say dirty words you didn't understand, flooding your senses.

“Così bagnata…” she whispered in your ear, when her hands slipped into your dress, caressing your incipient moisture through your underwear.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, amore mio,” you joked, moving the fabric to one side to place yourself on top of her, lowering little by little, letting your body slowly get used to the intruder, enjoying that stretch, those movements of your walls.

“(Y/N),” the lady in black moaned, when her shaft entered you completely and you began to move, letting it slide effortlessly as you hung from her neck.

“Shh,” you whispered amused, suppressing a high-pitched moan, playing with your hips to get those expressions you liked that much, those erratic movements that told you Donna was enjoying it.

The moans of both of you seemed to disturb even those inert limbs hanging in the ceiling. Your movements were calm, but carefully studied. It might seem like you were in a hurry, and so, you were. Donna had already run away from your advances that very morning, now she wasn't going to escape you.

“Like that, honey? Do you want me to go faster?” you asked, stopping with her completely inside of you, moaning at the lack of movement.

“Just... Don’t, don't stop,” she murmured, moving you with her hands, making the stimulation of your walls on her erection to continue.

Your release came perhaps too soon, something that was inevitable due to the pleasure you felt, a pleasure heightened by not being in bed, by wearing clothes, by that act of improvised lust.

“Donna…” you sighed, relaxing your body as she took over your movements, unable to do or say anything but moan. “Listen to me, darling.”

“Mm?” she murmured confused, relaxing her grip on your hips, slowing down the pace a bit due to your a little more serious than usual expression.

“I want, I want you to do it inside of me,” you whispered, thus expressing a desire you had been having for some time, something new that you wanted to feel. She looked at you, controlling the pleasure she felt and, after a reflective moment, she nodded, resuming the harmonious rhythm of your movements.

Soon, with a higher, guttural moan, she fulfilled your wish, releasing herself inside of you, caressing your insides with her wet heat, relaxing her body, resting her head on your shoulder as you caressed her, biting your lip because of that overwhelming sensation.

“(Y/N)…” she moaned, sighing, trying to catch her breath, to recover from your merciless attack. “It, it was…”

“I know, Donna, wonderful,” you said in a tender voice, kissing her lips, exchanging grateful smiles.

Some time after that little encounter, things started to get strange. Your body weakened, your mind was a constant delirium of joy and sadness, your stomach was a useless container that expelled everything that entered.

You felt so sick that even, after Donna's insistence, you agreed to let Mother Miranda take a look at you.

“Am I going to die?” you said lying on a sofa, while the priestess studied some tests, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“(Y/N), don’t, don't say those things...”Donna protested, with a sad, worried look. Of course, it seemed that she was the sick one. She suffered almost more than you, just to see you in that condition.

“No, you're not going to die,” Miranda commented, with apparent disinterest, checking the results over and over again. “Tell me, (Y/N), have you had any changes in your menstruation?”

“What?” you asked, shaking your head. “Well, if by change you mean that I haven't had it...”

“Haven’t you? I assumed so,” the witch said sighing, looking at Donna with a confused smile. “Could you tell me how long it's been?”

“Um... No, I don't know...” you said trying to remember. “I suppose that being sick has changed the cycle.”

“Let me clarify your ideas,” Miranda said, walking beside you and putting a hand on your leg. “Eight weeks.”

“That's very precise, Mother Miranda,” Donna commented, also confused, gently grabbing your hand. “Please tell us what's going on.”

“Too precise,” you said frowning, with the nervousness beginning to run through your limbs.

“Of course it is,” the witch laughed, with a sinister smile. “That's how long you've been pregnant, dear, congratulations…”

You opened your eyes in surprise, not finding an expression or adequate words for such exciting news.

“Pregnant?” the lady in black asked, looking at you curiously. “Is, is that true?”

“Of course,” Miranda said, examining you more closely.

“Oh, Gods…” you sighed excitedly, looking at Donna with tears in your eyes. “Donna, a baby.”

“(Y/N),” she sighed, with the same emotion, with her bright eye, bending down to rest her forehead against yours, squeezing your hand tightly. “It's wonderful…”

“Yes, yes, it is,” you said, nodding, crying with emotion. “A baby…”

“So, sono così felice…” the brunette murmured also unable to control her tears.

“I see that it's good news,” Miranda commented, with an arched eyebrow, unfazed by your emotion, as expected.

“Yes,” you said, between sobs, while Donna covered you with kisses. “The best news…”

Time passed faster than you would like. This new member of the family was growing in your belly, making the most basic tasks more and more complicated for you.

Luckily, Donna was always by your side, making your pregnancy as easy as possible. On the other hand, Angie, Donna's irreverent doll, was there to drive you crazy. You couldn't blame her, she was excited too. She would finally have a faithful henchman to cause chaos with.

“Does it relieve you, tesoro?” the brunette asked, giving you a gentle massage on your shoulders, helping your body relax from having to bear an extra burden. You moaned in relief and sighed, caressing your already swollen belly.

“Do you know what relieves me?” you asked in a soft voice, letting yourself be carried away by her soft caresses, by the delicate touch of her hands. “Having a wife as attentive as you.”

“It's the least I can do,” she said, with a shy laugh, leaning down to give you a soft kiss on the lips.

“Hi,” Angie said, interrupting, as usual, one of so many tender moments.

“Oh, no…” you sighed, closing your eyes, fearing another of the constant mockery and approaches of the doll.

“Angie, lasciala stare…” Donna said, looking sternly at the puppet.

“Hey, hey, hey!” the puppet shrieked, with her arms raised in a sign of surrender. “I come in peace.”

“Don't… Yell… For Gods’ sake…” you complained, rubbing your eyes to endure better that squeaky voice.

“Can I touch it? I want to touch the baby,” Angie asked you, climbing onto the couch. Donna growled angrily, shaking her head.

“Angie, go away, leave us alone,” she said in a serious tone, tired of Angie being your only bother all this time. You, who saw no ill intent in the little demon, took Donna's hand, kissing the back of it with a calm smile.

“It's okay, honey, let her do it,” you whispered, extending a hand that the puppet gratefully took. “Isn't it adorable?”

The lady in black sighed, but reluctantly accepted, watching as her doll placed her hand on your belly next to yours.

“Wow, it's moving,” Angie said, surprisingly calm.

You, noticing those same movements, gasped excitedly, quickly looking for the brunette's hand, guiding it to the same place.

“Donna, look...” you said excitedly, noticing a soft kick on your belly, its first kick.

“(Y/N)...” the lady sighed, with the same expression, with her hand shaking as she noticed how her baby moved, how it made its presence known in such an adorable way.

“I think it says… Hi mom…” you said in a sweet voice, caressing her hand with yours, pressing it gently on your belly.

After that moment, many others came, many signs that this baby was growing healthy, and would continue to do so.

After a few hours of pain, contractions and agonizing screams from you in that old laboratory, the baby was finally born, a beautiful black-haired girl, Antonella Beneviento.

To tell the truth, you weren't particularly excited about the name Donna suggested, but you couldn't help but grant her that privilege, without her, nothing would have been possible. You owed her that for all her care, for always being with you.

“How is that precious thing?” the Duke asked, on one of his visits to the estate, greeting your daughter, now one year old, while you held her in your arms.

Little Antonella squirmed in your arms, hiding from the fat man by burying her head in your chest. You laughed amused.

“She's shy,” you said, cradling the little girl while you brought the merchant his usual bag of coins.

“I see... Like her mother, then,” the man said, laughing amused, taking a small toy out of the carriage. “I suppose such a shy girl wouldn't want this gift from her uncle Duke, right?”

“Uncle? Don't make me laugh,” you joked, shaking your head. The little girl turned around, losing her fear and reaching out her small hand towards that little teddy bear. “She already has enough strange uncles... Do you want it, darling? Let's see...”

Sighing, you carefully placed your daughter on the ground, holding her hands and walking slowly towards the merchant.

“She's learning to walk,” you commented when the little girl picked up the small bear, making a baby sound that you thought was adorable. “Do you like it? The Duke is so nice, huh?”

“She definitely looks just like her mother,” the merchant commented, quickly stroking the little girl's black hair. Antonella turned around, puzzled by this strange man.

“I know, I know, that's what everyone says,” you said, picking the little girl up in your arms again, looking at her unmistakable features. “She’s just a clone of Donna.”

“Well... Not quite...” the Duke whispered, pointing at the little Beneviento. “Look, her cheeks are yours...”

“Cheeks? Okay, whatever,” you said, shaking your head. “How much is the bear going to cost me?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Beneviento…” the man sighed, breathing heavily. “It's a gift from the house.”

“Oh, how thoughtful after ripping us off for years…” you joked, waving your hand in farewell. “See you.”

“Anyway…” you sighed, looking at your daughter, who seemed more than satisfied with her new plush, even though she already had an entire army of dolls made by her mother in her room. “Let's go see mommy, huh? Should we surprise her?”

The girl stammered something incomprehensible, with a smile that further evidenced her resemblance to the lady in black. You frowned, running a hand through her hair.

“Cheeks…” you whispered, shaking your head as you walked to the elevator.

Slowly, singing happy songs to the little girl, you went down to the basement, a place that little Antonella didn't particularly like. Something had to be done about all that darkness…

“Donna, look who's come to see you...” you sang, opening the doors of the workshop.

The lady in black, focused as always on her dolls, left a paintbrush on the table, turning around with that same smile as your daughter.

“Ciao, tesoro...” she whispered in a tender voice. “Have you come to see me?”

“Yes,” you said, moving the girl to the floor. “Come on, honey, show mommy what you can do.”

Slowly, releasing the girl's hands, she walked unsteadily towards the brunette, who was waiting for her with open arms.

“Did you see, Donna?” you said excitedly when the girl fell into her mother's arms, who lifted her off the floor with tender laughter.

“Good, my love… You can walk,” she whispered, lovingly moving the little girl in her arms and sitting her on her lap.

“Will she bother you?” you asked, resting a hand on her shoulder, while Antonella investigated the work table curiously.

“Not at all,” she said, kissing her daughter's head while cradling her with her legs.

“Fine…” you sighed in relief for being able to have a moment to yourself, thanks to Donna, as always. “Then I'll leave you two here and I… I think I'm going to take a bath.”

“Okay, tesoro” Donna whispered, concentrating on her dolls while the little girl fiddled with everything she saw.

“Mom, è stanca, mm? Vuoli restare con me?” she asked affectionately. The little girl, now looking at her mother, nodded slowly, stammering something incomprehensible. “Va bene…”

“Okay, well… I’m leaving,” you said amused, quickly kissing the brunette on the lips before leaving the workshop.

Everything was going perfectly. Antonella was a good girl, and the more she grew, the more it was noticeable. It was a shame that Angie always tried to lead her down the wrong path. After another year, you realized that in reality, there was nothing wrong with the doll's attitude, at least for the moment.

“Angie,” the puppet said, playing with the girl on a small rug full of dolls and toys.

Donna and you, who were reading together in a romantic way, looked at each other and then at the doll, frowning, with exactly the same expression.

“Angie, Angie, Angie,” the doll repeated, making the girl look at her confused. “Listen, Antonella, I'm Angie, A, N, G, I, E.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, leaning down to look at the doll, who looked at you sinisterly.

“Silence, Antonella has to listen to me,” the puppet protested, unpleasantly putting her hands on your mouth.

You pulled them away with a growl, looking back at Donna, who was reading again.

“See? Angie, I'm Angie,” she repeated, making you roll your eyes and lean on the brunette's shoulder, who relaxed you with a soft kiss on your head.

“Who am I? The great Angie, the supreme Angie, the wonderful Angie. Aaangie,” the doll hummed, jumping around the girl, who looked at her confused, but amused, trying to reach the puppet.

“What are you up to?” you asked, unable to look away.

“I will be her first word,” the doll said, proud, pointing at herself. “Look Antonella, don't pay attention to that fool, look at me.”

“Of course, of course, because it's much easier to say Angie than mom,” you joked, rubbing your aching temples, sighing tiredly.

“Shut your mouth, stupid,” the doll scolded you. You opened your mouth to return the insult, but you regretted it, crossing your arms.

“Angie…” Donna sighed, closing the book definitively and looking at you a bit worried. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Oh yes…” you said, not very sincerely. “It must be the weather…” you whispered, downplaying it.

You jumped when a dull thud echoed on the wood. The puppet had dropped, leaving little Antonella open-mouthed.

“Look, look, I'm clumsy Angie, repeat after me, Angie fell down,” the puppet sang, followed by soft and tender laughter from the little girl. Well, at least Angie made her laugh, always.

“Okay, Great Angie, it's bath time,” you said ironically, sighing as you stood up, you were a little dizzy.

“No, no, um…” Donna interrupted, pulling you back to sit down. “I'll bathe her, you should try to rest.”

“You're too kind…” you sighed, kissing the brunette's hand, who gave you one of her beautiful smiles before bending down to pick up her daughter.

“A bath, how lucky!” Angie shrieked, making you groan and sob at the same time. “Aren't you saying goodbye to me? Say: goodbye Angie…”

The little girl, tenderly hugging her mother, moved her hand with a charming smile. As Donna turned to take her to the girl’s daily bath, something interrupted her.

“A, A…” your daughter stammered, causing Donna to look at her curiously while Antonella pointed at the doll with her finger, with an expression of effort. “An, An…”

“It can't be possible,” you said, open-mouthed, shaking your head.

“Angie,” the little girl said, with a shaky but clear voice. “Angie,” she repeated laughing, pointing at the doll and looking for her mother's approval, who nodded with an expression of surprise.

“Yes! I did it! Suck that, silly!” the doll scolded, jumping for joy at her sinister feat.

“Great,” you murmured, unable to help but smile at your daughter's first word, one she would never get tired of repeating.

Antonella's third birthday marked a special date in your life. After continuing with those dizzinesses, those sensations that you already knew, you were out of doubt. But you still didn't want to tell it to Donna, you had to wait for little Beneviento to give you some time alone, something complicated.

“That's it, my princess... Now go to sleep...” you said while you tucked the little girl in, who, as always, was accompanied by her particular night guardian, Angie.

“Mom,” she stammered, with pleading eyes, rubbing them with her hands after a day of incessant running and playing with Angie. “I want story.”

“Oh, do you want a story?” you asked amused, sitting on the bed. Donna laughed behind you, leaning against the wall.

“Your stories stink, you cheesy fool,” Angie murmured, pushing you out of bed.

“Angie...” you growled, closing your eyes, too exhausted to argue with the doll.

“Mamma, storia,” the girl said now looking at the lady in black, who had approached to make peace between the doll and you.

“Oh, okay, huh? Very nice of you,” you said jokingly, shaking your head. “Well, come on, mamma, tell a story for the princess.”

“Mom, I love you,” the girl murmured, with an amused expression that you couldn't resist.

“Yes, yes, now fix it with sweet words... You're just like your mother,” you said amused, tickling your daughter. “Anyway, Donna, I think it's your turn...”

Your wife took your place in bed, telling your daughter one of the many stories that you couldn't understand, but that certainly sounded much better than yours. After a while, the girl fell asleep and the two of you slowly left the room.

“She's a sweetheart,” the lady said, with an excited smile. No matter what Antonella did or said, for Donna would always be something unforgettable.

“That's because you're a sweetheart, Donna,” you whispered romantically, kissing the woman in black slowly, sighing, knowing that, unintentionally, you had found the perfect moment.

“What's wrong? I see you're pensive,” she murmured, cupping your face in her hands. In truth, she had been worried about you for too long, and you didn't want jealousy or another of her insecurities to haunt you again.

“Yes, well, it's just that... I have, I have something to tell you,” you said nervously, playing with the buttons of her dress.

“Okay,” she said, with a slightly fake, expectant laugh.

“We... We haven't put the crib away yet, right?” you asked smiling. She shook her head, frowning.

“N, no,” she answered in a cold, trembling voice.

“Good, because, because I think we're going to need it again...” you said, with a smile growing wider on your face, and on hers. “Donna, I’m pregnant.”

[katz-chow]

because you're mine, i walk the line

synopsis: the boys are jealous, possessive even, and damnit, shakespeare was right, jealousy is a green-eyed monster aka how their jealousy manifests as and how they respond

warnings: hurt/comfort, partner aggression (mild), jealous boys, suggestive themes, insecurities, squabbling, slight angst, kinda cheating with gaz? but not really bc he's there and reader never talks to the otehr guy again

a/n: did this as my first ever writing collab and with the very talented @d0youc0py !! go check out their version of a jealous task force as well! this took a lot longer than i thought because of some personal life things. who knew planning a surprise baby shower was so hard?

“Nothing. I just thought you would’ve called, that’s all.” -John Price

It wasn’t normal for you to be out with your friends and come home with a bountiful of stories to tell John. I mean, it’s only normal because you both promised each other that there would be as much transparency as there can be between the two of you. Of course, government secrets and all can be difficult, but those were out of his hands. 

Your arm gripped onto John’s as you struggled to kick off your shoes, and yet you were still blabbing on and on about the adventures you had with your friends. John smiled, only half listening as he focused on your well-being; the way your chest was a bit heavy as you start to run out of breath, the way you stumble slightly, still holding onto him, and definitely the state of your appearance as it wasn’t as pristine as it was when he had sent you off. Really though, the only important thing was your smile, that must mean it was a good time right?

“Oh, and this guy almost mugged us.” You said casually as you take off the shirt you were wearing to wear one of John’s hoodies instead. He choked on his water (he wanted to stay sober so that he can spring into action immediately).

“Love, what?” He said concerningly as he made his way over to you from your shared bed. Arms wrapped around your waist and chest pressed against your back, he lowers his voice. “Tell me what happened.”

Chills immediately ran up your spine and goosebumps laid on your skin as you tried to do your skincare routine. His eyes meet yours in the bathroom mirror, staring sharp and certain. You finally look at him, a sheepish smile on your face as you rubbed the lotion in. “It was fine anyway, this guy stepped in and like punched him before he could even turn away with the wallet. I think he was the only one who got hurt anyway.” 

John’s gaze drooped a bit as he rested his chin on your shoulder, the grip he had on your waist wrapped around you and tightens just like a snake. You tense up. “What’s up with you, Baby? Missed me that much?” You tried to joke, but the slight uncertain quiver in your voice gave you away. 

“Yes, but why didn’t you call me?” He mutters into your neck, his warm breath tingles. He lets his eyes close as he lets the remnants of your perfume become droplets in his lungs. “You know I’m there for you right?”

You hum in agreement and closed the remaining bottle. Twisting your torso over to his, you let your own arms run under his shirt and around his waist. You nuzzle your head against his chest. “I know, Baby…I know.”

Letting your hips sway a bit, you tried to lighten up the mood, letting him rub soothing circles into your back and head. Even with this adorable act you performed, he still remained tense and serious. You detach from his body and lift your chin up to better look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just thought you would’ve called, that’s all.” He whispers, barely above a sigh. 

You twist your face into an amused and confused look and laughed a bit, “Are you…jealous?”

“No.”

He was a proud man, that much you knew. “Yeah, you’re not. Let’s go to bed.” 

Finally, as if all tension had suddenly dissipated, John lifts and throws you over his shoulder lightly, carries you over to your shared bed, and settles you down as you found yourself in a pitful of giggles. He lays down next to you, his beard smells of him and the minty aftershave you got him for his birthday. You press a kiss to his cheek and flicks a strand of hair away from your face.

“Next time you call me, alright?”

“I promise.”

"We need to talk about that little stunt you pulled earlier"- Simon Riley

It wasn’t every day that Simon Riley, a literal dead man, went out for a rather fancy gathering. But who was he to deny the fancies of his dear spouse who had been invited to a rather extravagant wedding of their beloved friends? So, here Simon was, dressed to the nines, engaging…or well, listening to small talk between some groomsmen who decided he needed to be pulled into “The Boys” rather than trail behind you. In all honestly, Simon thinks it’s just because they’re all military washouts who believe that having Simon, an active member, will boost their appearances. 

A sudden question snapped him out of his thought as he turned to the rather obnoxious man on his…nth drink. “You a real SAS lieutenant?”

“Sure.” Simon sighed agreeing and dismissively, not wanting to further egg him on to any conversation. 

“So what’s up with the mask? You sick or sum’?” Another man asks, this one slightly smaller than the previous. He, too, was drunk as a skunk.

Simon grumbles and blinks away his anger just for a bit. “Just a cold.” 

It was a dumb excuse but it seemed to satisfy the men in front of him as they returned to their conversation about cricket. His shoulders relax a bit as his grip on the champagne flute loosens. That was until his pretty eyes lingered around the scene until it got to yours. You, in your magnificent attire, shine in the garden venue's dim light. And then that pretty ring, which cost him a full year’s pay, winking at him playfully as your hand…grips a man’s bicep? 

Simon’s head turned a bit, confused, and rather stern paint washed over him. Who is that? Why are you there with him? Why were you holding onto his bicep, practically feeling him up? As if on auto-pilot he walks over to you, mind nothing but focused on you. Simon was calm, when was he not when you were right there, staring at him with a wide smile on your face? 

“Oh, hi baby!” She grin widely as the hand that was on the man next to Simon retracted from his side and snaked its way around his own arm. The champagne flute, as he now noticed, was left abandoned somewhere in his haze of 20 feet over to you. “Everyone, this is my husband, Simon. He has a bit of a sniffle…” You smile kindly as a hand gestures to the absolute unit of a man next to you. 

Simon waves with his free arm and scrunches his eyes to mimic a polite smile. He turned over to your form and was met with the eyes of his partner. “Love, I need to talk to you.” 

This surprised you, you didn’t expect him to have to talk to you about something so urgent that he had, rather aggressively, pulled you away from the main reception and into the nearly empty garden house lobby instead. You were starting to get rather upset at his shenanigans and ripped your arm away from his grip. 

“What are you doing, Simon? The wedding is out there, we’re supposed to be-” He cuts you off as he cages you in between his hands and the wall that he had backed you up against. Through the small windows that lined the very top of the garden house, you could see the night sky and the yellow lights of the party just through these limewashed walls. 

Simon, his voice deep and low, a warning to you as he leaned to your ear, “We need to talk about that little stunt you pulled earlier…” 

Your body shook underneath as your heart skipped. Simon’s breath tickled against your skin. “What are you talking about?” You whisper, hesitantly and quite nervous as your eyes flickered from his and the wall past him. "What’s gotten into you?”

Simon huffs, the medical mask he adorned on his face was gone, what was left was a devilish grin plastered over his scarred lips. “You really don’t know? You think I didn’t see you feel up that man, hmm?” Lips to the base of your jaw caused you to gasp as he continued to trail his skin on yours. 

It suddenly comes to your mind as to why Simon was acting so weird, so needy for you. “Are you talking about Conrad? The one with the prosthetic arm…?” Your voice shook as you looked up at him through your lashes, his face was unreadable but he was quiet. And with that, you knew the look on his face. “Are you... are you jealous?”

“No,” He quickly whispered, a hand reached up to tilt your chin up to his eye level. He felt stupid, letting jealousy seep in like tea and not noticing the rather obvious prosthetic that you were clearly just checking out.

“Let’s go home, say you have a fever.” You nod at him, your voice quiet.

"The Hell was that?" -Kyle Garrick

You knew better than to make Kyle upset or angry at you purposely, but you just couldn’t help it–especially when you two have been fighting for days. Fortunately, you two decided it would be better if you kept the fighting private, he’s pretty personal with his affairs with you anyway. So when the team asked you two on a night out to the local bar for the typical Friday night stress reliever, you two had to come to shut down rising suspicions. 

To say the pub was loud was an understatement as the sound continued to drown out any thoughts in your head. Your grip on Kyle’s hand was loose and your small smile was the only thing that prevented the awful scowl that would plaster your face. 

Even when Kyle sat next to you the whole time, he had his body turned away from you, rather to listen to Soap ramble on about some show he was watching than pay you any attention. You sat there on the stool, swirling the thin straw in your drink out of boredom. You swivel around the chair and look at the people mingling about. Ghost and Price were challenging each other to a game of darts and, well that’s it. Damn odd numbers…

“Lovely girl like you sitting here alone with a melted rum and coke?” A figure sits down next to you on the barstool. 

You turn in surprise and smile at him kindly, shrugging. Then an idea came into that head of yours, “Date kinda left me here. Might as well just get a drink huh?”

The man laughed, his light brown curls bounced a bit. He was quite handsome. From what you could tell, his hair and beard would definitely be out of regulation, so…civilian. This should be fun. “Well, let me pick off where he left off then hm?”

You nod and smile politely at him, feeling Soap’s gaze on the man in front of you as he waves down the bartender to get you a drink. “You shouldn’t have the rum and coke, between you and me,” He leans in closer to you, “It sucks.”

The bartender sets down two glasses for you both, he pays and tips her, and you two cheer and takes a sip. You feel Kyle’s back bump against yours, both still too stubborn to end this charade of you egging him on. 

Soon the stranger, which is a lovely civilian doctor by the name of James, led you by your hand to the small dance floor that started to form. Don’t know how but suddenly you’re dancing all over him and so is apparently every other couple also on a date. As you laugh and joke with the man in front of you, you feel Kyle’s gaze boring into your every movement, anger radiating off of him. 

The night ends, James leaves after you assure him that you have a friend taking you home soon. You finally have a good time after being so riled up with Kyle, you even forgot that he was the “friend” that’s taking you home.

So you sit down next to him, and as if on cue, Soap leaves to watch Ghost’s and Price’s ever-increasing bar game competition. You gulp as you see his knuckles turn white from his grip on the beer he was holding. 

“Told Soap we’re heading home. Let’s go.” He mutters to you as he downs the rest of the beer. He grabs his keys and walks out of the pub, not bothering to look at you as you nervously trail behind him. 

The car door shut loudly after you climbed into his SUV. Even then, he insisted on opening your door for you. He followed suit. You both sat in his car, the engine was on but it wasn’t moving nor was there anyone doing anything but looking forward at the people exiting and entering the pub.

He spoke. “The Hell was that?”

You gulp and turn to him, your anger was starting to cloud the nervousness that shook you. “That was me having a good time for the first time this week.” You turn to him and snap. 

“Really? Gonna continue that good time streak then, hm?” Kyle said to you, his eyes lingered on your stern expression, from your eyes to your lips.

“What are you talking…Oh. Oh,” You realize as he smirks at you and shakes his head a bit. He puts his arm on the cushion of the seat you’re sitting on, backing the car out of the parking spot. 

You both don’t even remember what the fight was about after that.

"Kiss me." -Johnny MacTavish

Sparring for you was never easy. It wasn’t because you couldn’t spar, it was because it was a hassle and you were lazy. But Price had ordered you all to at least get something in to not lose that particular skill set, that was his reasoning anyway. Truthfully, he just wanted to “break in” the new squad of privates that had just been stationed at your base, really give them that “141 welcome home treatment”.  

It was ass crack in the morning when you limped over to the awfully bright gym-warehouse-sparring building. They had the giant doors lifted up to allow for the cool dawn air to flow through and aerate the damp steel walls. Everyone was already there, except for Gaz, he slept in you guessed. ‘He knows what’s up,’ you snort to yourself. 

“Hey, Love,” Johnny’s voice rang through to your ears as you turn around to him, further away from the both of you stood Ghost and some other sergeants ready to make the line of privates fight for their lives in the Colosseum. Their faces said enough with it drained of color except for the dark circles forming under their eyes. “Better get up there you.”

He smacks your ass and you shoot him a playful glare as you walk towards the action, but of course shouting to him a playful comment, “You’re just gonna stand there and look pretty then?”

He laughs and shrugs as he grabs his thermos of coffee and stands off to the side. You roll your eyes and turn your attention to Ghost who’s pairing everyone up. “Think you handle that one right there?”

You look at where he nodded to, an E-2 who seems like he has better things to do than to be here. Honestly, he probably didn’t given he’s fresh out of basic. You snort and hit Ghost playfully, “Knock him off his high horse? Give me 30 minutes and motherfucker would be crawling outta here.” 

Ghost grunted in what seemed to be a laugh and called the private over. He stood and could look Ghost in the eyes without tilting his head up too much, so you considered that pretty tall. After that, it was you and ass-kickin’ time.

Johnny, however, had finally decided to watch in as he heard your name being thrown around and a string of praises following it, so of course he had to be there to witness. But as he watch you easily throw around this guy, he couldn’t help but also watch his gaze on you. The way he licks his lips and smirks ever so slightly when you’re both on the floor. Or the way he lets you wrap your strong legs around his waist to throw him down. Johnny doesn’t like it. 

He walks over to Ghost and whispers something, a usual grin and a joke thrown in to lighten and cover his facade of the bubbling anger he felt. Ghost knew though, the way his pal was practically spitting out that dick joke threw him for a loop. “Alright, that’s enough. Drink some water, you have 5 minutes!”

With that, Johnny took his cue and jogged over to you after you helped the private up from the blue mat. You pat him on the shoulder and grabbed your hand and squeezed it, your furrowed eyebrows together quizzingly. “Love, I got your water bottle over there,” he said, pointing to the corner the private was. 

“Oh thanks, Johnny, you’re the best.” He leads you over and the private side-eyes him and he glares back. You unknowingly went to just grab your bottle and drink up to moisten your drying throat as you pant.

Johnny grabs you by the waist and pulls you to him, your eyes wide as you try to gulp down the water in your mouth. You lightly toss the bottle away back to its corner and look at your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Kiss me,” he says more demanding than he would’ve liked but they had to do it quickly as the private’s eyes were still on them. 

He pulls you closer and giggly, you push him away. “Johnny! No, not right here!”

“Please?” He pulls out his puppy dog eyes that just frame his baby blues into the cutest thing ever. 

You pout and roll your eyes, “Fine, only because you’re so cute.” Your lips close the gap between you and unknown to you, his eyes peek open to shoot the private, now creepily watching you two, a glare that could set him on fire. The private quickly turns his head and clears his throat. 

Johnny stayed with you the rest of the day and Ghost made the private stay back for some extra sparring since he “wasn’t satisfied” with how you had beaten him every time. 

[b1adie]

did you know that one skill name from Something Unto Death (the skill that summons one of those corpse things when it insta-kills a character) is a line from a song* about a man wanting to run away and die alone so that no one ever finds his grave?

*the song is part of “twelfth night,” a play by shakespeare. perhaps related, the dreamscape is often referred to as “the twelve hours.”

““Come away death”, is about a man who dies for his uncaring love, and wants to be buried far away anonymously. He wants no flowers strewn on his black coffin; nor does he want friends nor mourners present when he is lowered into the grave. In fact, he wants to be buried in a secret place so that no other "sad true lover" will chance to find his grave and find reason to weep there.”

gallagher suspects mikhail died in obscurity where nobody could find him.

the first time we encounter Something Unto Death is in ‘a child’s dream,’ a map which is full of floating text and voices calling out for mikhail, begging him to stay, and then asking where he’s gone. judging by the cutscene when we first enter the dreampool, the child the dream belongs to is Misha. this is the text that immediately precedes the first encounter with the monster.

did you know that the family has the ability to turn traitors into memory zone memes?

and that this transformation traps them in a “never-ending slumber,” which sounds similar to the description of the things Something Unto Death summons when inflicting a character with morbid dream (the instakill atk)?

i am so convinced that Something Unto Death is what’s left of Mikhail.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Five

Summary:

Astarion can barely contain his jealousy when he sees you and Dr. Dekarios having a friendly chat over coffee, and you're really not a fan of how it makes you feel.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.9k Tags/Warnings: possessive Astarion, jealous Astarion, praise kink, rough sex, library sex, I might get too deep in the weeds about theatre in this one, sorry

Y'all we are well on our way to a pivotal chapter. I'm not sure if you're ready for it. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it. But for now, have some flirty banter and jealous library sex.

Both Gale and Astarion screenshots provided by our queen, @zipzoomzaria.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“Ahh, we've given up on life then, have we?”

Astarion's voice pierces through the din of students shuffling and chatting as they settle for class. You're just passing through the hall on your way to get a much needed pick-me-up from the student union.

“C’mon Ank-yunín, it's college, we all wear PJs. Ain't no one cares how you dress.” Mol’s signature twang rises above the rest, and you can't tell if she’s deliberately mispronouncing his name or not. Knowing her, she probably is.

“Hells, Mol, are you positive you're registered for a 300 level English course?” The sneer in his voice is evident.

You poke your head in the doorway to watch him banter with his students before class. He is, in fact, particularly well-dressed today - and gods does he look good. He’s wearing a crisp and well-tailored white suit dressed down with a black v-neck tee shirt. He stands with one hand in his pocket and the other lightly sifting through papers on his desk. He's looking over his glasses with disdain at Mol and immediately your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes flick up towards you and your cheeks flush when you realize you've been caught. His lips curl into a mischievous smile.

“Oh Professor,” he calls to you, voice dripping with honey, “I was so hoping you'd stop by. We’re discussing iambic pentameter today, care to give an impromptu lecture?”

“Oh!” He's completely caught you off-guard and your heart speeds up. His smug little grin reveals he knows exactly what he’s doing. Not wanting to get roped into something you’re unprepared for, you hesitate, “Well, I'm not sure, I'm a bit busy…”

“Nonsense! You're not on your way to a class, are you?” He plants his hands on his desk and leans forward, grinning devilishly. You're not sure if he’s memorized your teaching schedule, but you wouldn't put it past him.

“I'm not, no,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“C’mon miss, you know loads about this stuff,” Mol chirps enthusiastically, leaning dangerously on the back of her chair. “Way more than Ank-yunín over here.” She jabs her thumb at him and rolls her eyes.

“I suppose… I have time for a quick overview,” you say reluctantly, and Astarion’s smile grows. You walk into the classroom and glare at him as soon as your face is out of view of the students.

“That heart of yours keeps giving you away,” he murmurs when you're close enough to hear. You ignore him and turn to face the class.

“Oh, Thaniel, I didn’t know you were in this class!” you say when you recognize your student’s face. “That's a lot of Shakespeare for one semester, isn't it?” The class titters and your face grows hot.

“Unfortunately for you, that's Thaniel’s twin, Oliver,” Astarion says behind you. You clench your jaw in embarrassment.

“I'm so sorry, I didn-”

“No big, it happens a lot,” he waves you off. His energy is so much more confident than the timid kid in your Classical Acting class. You feel even sillier for not having realized it.

“So how much have you all actually done on Shakespeare's meter?” You shift your glance between Astarion and the class, trying to assess exactly what he’s pulled you into.

“None at all, they're a blank canvas,” he smirks, enjoying your discomfort far too much. He sits on the edge of his desk and folds his arms, watching you closely.

Fine. He thinks he can fluster you? You've taught iambic pentameter a thousand times, you can practically teach this lesson in your sleep.

“Fantastic, so I won't need to undo any of Dr. Ancunín's mediocre teaching,” you return his smug grin, a silent declaration of two can play at this game. “How many of you have heard the phrase iambic pentameter?”

A smattering of hands go up in the air. You nod and turn towards the white board. Not a single marker in sight. You turn to Astarion with a blank stare.

“Where the fuck are your white board markers.” It’s less of a question and more of an accusatory statement. He shrugs noncommittally.

“I don't need to write things down, that's what they do,” he says, jerking his head towards the students. You roll your eyes and shove him off the desk so you can rifle through the drawers.

“Does anyone know the first line of the prologue for Romeo and Juliet?” you ask once you've procured a marker.

“Two households both alike in dignity!” A redheaded girl calls out enthusiastically. You nod and write the line on the board.

“Awesome! What’s your name?” you ask.

“Yenna,” she states with a beam of pride that you’re showing interest in her. You feel like you can tell everything about her from this small exchange.

“Any chance you know the next one, Yenna?”

“No, that's all I've got.” She frowns a little, clearly wishing she could show off more.

“That's okay, let's talk about the first four lines.” You turn and write the next three lines of the prologue.

“Dang, d’you have the whole thing memorized?” Another student pipes up, a Tiefling with indigo locs.

“Well, I've been in R&J a few times, and I've seen it many more,” you shrug casually, and his eyes light up.

“No way, didja have to learn the whole thing?” he asks, just as another student chimes in, “Who did you play?”

“No, just my lines, but I heard the prologue a lot,” you say to the first kid, then turn to the second, “I played Juliet in high school, and a few years back I played Mercutio over at the Rosewood.”

Several students start to ask questions at once, and you hold up your hand to stop them.

“Woah woah, slow down, I'm only one person. Gods, do you ever talk to them about how these plays are actually performed and not just words in some dusty old book?” you ask Astarion incredulously.

“Who do you think Dr. Ancunín would play in Romeo and Juliet?” Oliver calls out from the back. 

“I think Dr. Ancunín would make an excellent Tybalt.” You flash him a coy smile. “Just the right amount of obnoxious.”

“Doesn't Tybalt kill Mercutio?” Yenna asks. Astarion looks at you more salaciously than he should in front of students.

“I'm certain I could offer a little death,” he croons in a low voice, sparking a flame deep in your core. You press your lips together, trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl.

“Aaaaaanyway,” you say quickly, moving the conversation back to the text and away from his flirtatious banter. 

You’re surprised by how much fun you have teaching Astarion's class. His students are lively and eager participants, if not to actually comment on the subject then at least to try to get in a jab at his expense. By the end of the three hour lecture, most of them have completed the scansion for the entire prologue on their own.

“Alright, we’ll meet again in a tenday,” Astarion calls over the sounds of everyone putting their books and papers back into their bags. “Don't forget that your soliloquy explication is due next class. And don't bother asking for an extension because you know I won't grant it.”

“I hope you enjoyed using me to slack off during your class,” you say to him quietly as the last few students trickle out. He lets out a throaty laugh.

��I do enjoy using you, it's true,” he hums, and you involuntarily press your thighs together. “Although you cannot deny that you had fun.”

“With you? Always.” You toss your hair and grab your bag. “Now I'm headed over to the student union for coffee because teaching your class wore me out.”

“Hmm, I would've thought you had a little more stamina than that.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips and your ears grow pink. You start to move away to leave but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into a heated kiss. You need to force yourself to push him away.

“Astarion!” You hiss, panting and lightheaded. You whip your head around to see if any students are left, but the room is empty.

“Just wanted to remind you who’s in charge here,” he says with a haughty grin and you roll your eyes.

“Goodbye,” you say pointedly and make your escape, but not before he gives your ass a cheeky little pinch.

***

Of course the student union is swamped when you get there. The long line to the little university cafe is moving agonizingly slowly. The work-study students behind the counter are taking orders as fast as they can, but it's clear they don't have enough coverage for the between-class times.

After waiting for about ten minutes, you’re considering getting coffee off campus when you see Dr. Dekarios crossing the union. Reminded of the conversation he had with Astarion while you were trapped under his desk, you call out to him. He turns and there's a vague note of recognition in his wave.

You glance at the four people in front of you still and the half dozen or so orders hanging off the espresso machine. Deciding it's not worth the continued wait, you bound over to the arcana professor.

“Dr. Dekarios, I'm so glad I caught you. I wanted to chat about your theory regarding bardic magic and the humors,” you say excitedly. His face lights up and then falls confused.

“Oh, I hadn't told you about that, how did you-” he begins and your stomach drops when you remember that you were not technically a part of that conversation.

“Uh, Astar- Dr. Ancunín mentioned that you were looking for me,” you say quickly and your eyeballs feel like they're about to melt out of your head. Not wanting either of you to spend too much time remembering the state he caught you in with Astarion, you continue.

“Tell me a little more about this theory, because I think it tracks, but I want to hear the basis of it first.”

“Oh, but you were just about to get some coffee, weren't you? I feel terrible that you stepped out of line on my behalf,” Dekarios frowns, peering over your shoulder at the cafe behind you. It’s beginning to peter out as the time approaches the beginning of classes.

“No worries, I should probably save my money anyway,” you say with a shrug.

“Well then allow me to treat you at least,” he implores, and he beckons you back into line. 

The wait is significantly shorter, and when you approach the counter he says, “Hello, good afternoon. I'll have a small black tea with just a splash of that vanilla almond milk you know I love so much,” he says with a secretive chuckle and the poor work-study behind the counter plasters a pained smile on their face. Dekarios then turns to you and says, “And for the young lady?”

“I'll have a large iced double dirty chai with oat milk, thanks.” The student barista turns to start making the drinks and Dekarios’ brows pop above his wire frames.

“Goodness, that amount of caffeine this late in the afternoon would keep me up all night,” he laughs.

“The caffeine barely impacts me anymore, at this point I just need it to get through a rehearsal,” you respond with a polite joviality. 

The two of you sit at a small table in the student union to talk. For a pretentious arcana professor, he’s surprisingly easy to get along with.

“Walk me through your thought process, because I think you're onto something here, but I need a little bit more,” you ask, taking a sip of your chai. Dekarios gestures wildly while he speaks, clearly very enthusiastic about the subject.

“Well, we know that Shakespeare was responsible for a massive shift in how playwrights and audiences alike thought of characters, yes? From a balance or imbalance of humors to something more complex?”

“I mean, he wasn't solely responsible, it was more or less an inevitable cultural and technological shift, but yes, he was definitely at the forefront of that shift.”

“Oh fascinating,” he murmurs as his eyes grow wide and he leans forward on his elbows. “So do you think the advancement from from the College of Swords to the College of Lore was inevitable? Do you think they were related?”

“Related, yes, but not in the way you're suggesting, I think,” you muse, absentmindedly pressing your drink to your lips. As you're contemplating your next thought, you're startled by a hand on your shoulder. You look up and Astarion is looking down his nose at you, eyes gleaming.

“Dr. Ancunín, what a surprise!” you say in a strained voice, trying to decipher his body language. “Thank you so much for telling me about Dr. Dekarios’ theory regarding bardic magic, it's really a fascinating subject.” You lean heavily on the lie, although truth be told, all three of you know that you were in his office that day.

“Of course, darling, I thought you might find it intriguing.” As he speaks, he runs his fingers through the hair at the base of your neck, and the shiver that runs down your spine isn't quelled by the confusion blooming in the back of your mind. Why is he being so affectionate? And in public, no less?

He shifts his gaze to Dekarios and his eyes narrow.

“Dr. Dekarios, how are you faring? Well, I hope?” There's a slight venom in Astarion’s voice. Is he… jealous? The realization fills you with conflicting feelings of annoyance and arousal.

You can practically feel Shadowheart’s judgemental stare down from across campus. Possessiveness is not cute.

And yet…

There’s a thrill in the grip of his hand on your neck, the ice in his voice as he speaks to Dekarios, the flagrant PDA almost as if to say “This one’s mine.”

Maybe a conversation for your therapist later.

“Well, I'll leave you to it,” Astarion’s sharp voice breaks through your thoughts and you bring yourself back to the conversation. “Dr. Dekarios, always a pleasure. Darling,” his voice drops into a register that fills you with an intense heat. He pulls your chin up with his finger and plants a kiss on your lips that’s borderline inappropriate for being in public. It's certainly inappropriate for your workplace, but your head is too fuzzy to protest.

“I'll see you later,” he breathes and walks off. At minimum, he's left you flustered and embarrassed, but far worse than that, you are now insatiably horny. You press your legs together for some relief as you shake your head to clear it.

“I'm sorry,” you say to Dekarios, your cheeks unbearably hot. “I don't know why-”

“No worries at all,” he says, holding up a hand. “Far be it from me to get in the way of young love.”

“I don't know if I'd go so far to say love,” you murmur into your drink, but he seems to not hear you, or at least he pretends not to.

“Anyway, where were we?” Your voice returns to full volume as you try to expel the x-rated thoughts running through your head.

Your conversation with Dekarios - well, Gale, he insists - is delightful, in spite of Astarion’s peacocking. He's wonderfully knowledgeable about bardic magic, something you've always wanted to learn more about but struggle to find the time. Meanwhile, you're able to provide the cultural context and connections that are completely unfamiliar to him.

You eventually realize just how much you've lost track of the time.

“Oh gods, I need to go, I have to grab something from the library before it closes,” you say in a rush, picking up your bag.

“My apologies! I've monopolized your time, completely unthinkingly.”

“No worries, I enjoyed our conversation. And I will definitely check out that podcast that you mentioned. Remind me of the name?” You throw away your and Gale’s long empty cups.

“If Books Could Kill. Wonderfully informative, and the hosts are enchanting and amusing.”

You nod and mentally file it away for later.

“Great, yeah, I'll look into it. Thank you for a lovely conversation, we’ll chat again soon.” You wave as you scurry in the direction of the library.

***

You make it to the library about 20 minutes before it closes. You dash up to the third floor and make a beeline for the 800s.

You're scanning through the book titles when suddenly you smell that telltale combination of bergamot and rosemary. Before you can move, he’s pressed into your back, his hands tight on your waist and lips on your neck. You exhale in a long shudder and bite your knuckle to stay quiet.

“Astarion, what the fuck?” you accuse in a sharp whisper. You're fairly certain the floor is empty this late in the day, but you'd rather not take your chances. You grip the shelf as he pushes you into it and try desperately to suppress the moan threatening to tear from your throat. He breaks from his assault on your neck just long enough to put his lips to your ear.

“I don't like the way he looked at you,” he growls and reaches his hand around to grab your breast. You gasp and find yourself grinding into him despite your best judgment. It's like all logic evaporates when you're around him.

“I can talk to whoever I want, Astar- ah-” you manage to keep your voice steady until his other hand slips beneath the waistband of your skirt. You can feel his length along the cleft of your ass and you catch the whimper on your tongue.

“Of course you can, I wouldn't dream of stopping you.” His voice is a honeyed poison and his hand continues its journey south, sliding through the hair on your mound. “Just as I can be jealous of whomever I please.” He slips a finger into your folds and your hips buck into his hand.

“We- hnng- we can't do this here,” you pant even as your grip on his arm tightens, pulling him more into you.

“We can if you're quiet,” he breathes and runs a slick finger over your clit. You let out a high-pitched squeak that may have been mistaken for a mouse by someone wearing headphones. Maybe. He roughly pulls away and spins you around so your back is pressing into the shelves behind you. He hikes up your skirt and pushes his growing bulge into your core. He swallows your moan with a heated kiss and you grasp at the collar of his clean white suit. Which, given the way he’s grinding against your now drenched panties, might not be clean for much longer.

“I've half a mind to bite you just so everyone knows you're mine,” he hisses into your neck and pulls your leg around his waist, giving him unfettered access to your cunt. You let out a cry and he slaps a hand over your mouth, turning the cry into a soft grunt. Your pussy clenches in anticipation, waiting to be filled by him.

“But we don't need them to catch us to find out, do we?” he snarls and you let out another muffled moan. Every controlling grab, every fierce growl, every possessive word turns you on more. You want to let yourself succumb, be consumed by him. A quiet voice in the back of your head tells you “No, this is wrong, he’s being an asshole, don't reward that behavior.” But there is a much, much louder voice that works its way out of your throat.

“Ffkkk, msstrnn.” His palm catches his name from your lips. One of your hands grips onto the shelf above you while the other slides down his front and fumbles awkwardly with his belt. His hand leaves your leg to help you unbuckle his pants and your ankle hooks around his thigh.

His cock springs free and your breath hitches to see its pink bulbous tip already leaking precum. Your voice gets high and needy, your breath coming out sharply through your nose. He grinds his now bare erection into the wet fabric covering your pussy and presses his cheek to yours so his lips are right on your ear.

“Would you like that? Do you want me to claim you as mine? Mark you so everyone knows who you belong to?” With every word you gasp and twist against him more wantonly, rolling your hips to increase the friction.

“Say it,” he rasps and pulls his hand away from your mouth. You gasp and the words tumble out of you in a breathy whisper.

“Yes, gods yes. Mark me. Make me yours,” you plea, gripping the shelves even more firmly so you can arch into him, indifferent to the pain of the books digging into your back.

“Good girl,” he grunts and clamps his hand back over your mouth just in time to catch the loud whine that his praise elicited. He yanks your panties aside and sinks into you, and your slick lets him easily slide up to the hilt. You tilt your pelvis forward to feel even more of him inside you.

He pounds into you with short rhythmic strokes, making the books on the shelves behind you shake. Each thrust lifts you off your toes slightly, your one foot stretched to stay on the floor while the other remains firmly wrapped around his hip.

His breathing grows ragged with the effort, his breath warm and wet on your shoulder. You tangle your hands into his hair, tugging on his curls as you guide his lips to your neck. He sinks his teeth into the marks that have been taking longer and longer to heal. He drinks deeply as you keen into his hand, and it doesn't take long for your blood to reach his cock, making it throb inside you. 

The increase of sensation sends you rushing to the edge. Your arm curls tighter around his neck as the uneven pace of your jagged panting increases. You feel the familiar tightening in your core and your toes curl as heat and pleasure flood your body. You bite down on his hand as you're on the precipice and he unlatches from your neck. His feral growl, bloody mouth, and disheveled hair falling into his glasses send the orgasm rocketing through your body, and you feel him follow moments after. His dick pulses with seed and when he pulls out, you can feel it dripping down your leg.

The only sound in the library is the two of you trying to catch your breath, until, horrified, you hear a timid voice from a few stacks down.

“Um… the library will be closing in five minutes, please bring your books to the checkout counter.” You can hear little feet shuffle away followed by the door to the stairwell opening and slamming shut. You're silent for a moment longer before you both break into a fit of giggles.

***

You sit in your car in the university parking lot as you start and erase about a hundred different texts to Shadowheart. You're so conflicted that you don't even know what advice to ask for.

You finally settle on a simple, “I'm coming to your place. Open a bottle.”