#i assume it's referring to anybodys

[thegroundsofbrooklyn]

disney confirming tony and maria are gay send post

[stoportotouch]

as it turns out, the classic symptoms of dyslexia that i have been having all my life? yeah, that was dyslexia.

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[twizz2256]

OK movie over. I in fact did NOT get gotten by the spookies despite my being alone.

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter One

None of you are used to pack dynamics. Unlike then, it made you near feral. There's nothing more they want than to build you back up.

Lestappen X Reader

Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

Heavy breaths filled the room. Charles laid against Max's chest, pressing kisses against his hand. A bitemark marred his skin, one Charles hadn't meant to place there. He hadn't meant to break Max's skin, hadn't meant to bite him just that hard.

As Charles kissed his hand, Max's attention was on his neck. He kissed his salty, sweaty skin, a small growl leaving his lips. A possessive growl, warning everybody else to stay away. Not that there was anybody else in the room with them.

The other drivers in the hotel heard his warning, heard his claim. They didn't know what it was in reference to, but knew to stay away.

"Max," Charles whispered, combing his fingers through Max's hair. He tugged on the strands, pulling Max away.

He couldn't speak, couldn't release Charles from his hold. No words would leave his lips, just growls and whines. "Max, I need to go," Charles whispered, his breathing steadier than Max's.

Max tightened his grip. No, he wouldn't let Charles go, couldn't let Charles go. His teeth grazed the skin on his neck, almost in warning. Just a few more kisses, Charles would be putty in his hands. Maybe if he bit him, showed everybody that Charles was his, just like he was Charles's.

But no, he wasn't Charles's. And Charles wasn't his. They had no claim over each other. Max released him quickly, before his body could stop him and grab for Charles again.

Charles climbed out of the hotel bed. His eyes were fixed on Max as he got himself dressed. They weren't anything but fucking, weren't in love, weren't mated wolves. They were just fucking, looking for comfort in each other that they couldn't get elsewhere.

That was what happened to wolves without packs. They had to seek bonds in a different way. And those bonds were never permanent. Temporary, fleeting bonds, moments in time.

Werewolves without a pack, without those all important bonds, were a dangerous thing. They were aggressive, with high adrenaline. That was what made them the perfect Formula One drivers.

It wasn't a decision made by the driver. The decision was made before they got to the age where pack bonds became all important, decisions made by their families. For those who didn't make it into Formula One, it ruined them, took them a long while before they could learn how to be into a pack.

Those who made it were kept isolated, alone. To those who didn't know much about Formula One, it was easy to assume that a team made up a pack. But teams were always changing, too unstable to form a pack.

Max said nothing as Charles left the hotel room. He sat there, still for a moment, his heart aching.

Charles didn't need him as badly as he needed Charles. Charles had a family unit. Not a pack; drivers were away too often to form packs, even with their families. But his mother and brothers still welcomed him home with opened arms.

Something Max didn't have.

He laid down and pulled the sheets up to his nose. Charles. But the scent wouldn't last for the entire weekend, he knew. He sucked in another deep breath, letting the scent wash over him. It was calming, the closest thing to a bond he had. But it wasn't a bond, was it? It was a fleeting moment of closeness.

There was a reason Max was the best of the best. He had no pack, and no family to return to. High adrenaline, high aggression. That was how he had several championships under his belt.

For a time, that was all he wanted. He had Charles in his bed and was winning almost every week. He didn't need anything else.

Maybe it was something that came with age, that want for a pack. Other drivers had started families, an attempt at a pack, but there was a reason they weren't performing as well as Max was.

***

You were the only one wearing a muzzle in the paddock. Muzzles weren't common now, neither was the shock collar you were wearing. It didn't stop you from growling whenever anybody got too close. 

The other drivers kept their distance. You couldn't take part in any of the social media activities that Prema did, even when you were a part of Prema. Not without putting your fellow drivers at risk. 

Your future had been decided for you. If it was up to you, you wouldn't have been here, ready to climb into your Rodin Motorsport car and win. 

But you never had much of a choice. The money had been left at the home for you, with one request. ‘Get her into Motorsport.’

Even when you left the home, the money had still been sent to you, to the woman who called herself ‘your handler’. She's the one who took care of you, who made sure you didn't neglect yourself. 

But that was bound to happen when you're half feral. 

Your hands were restrained behind your back as your muzzle and collar were removed. They pulled your balaclava over your head, narrowly avoiding you biting down on their fingers. 

They pushed the helmet onto your head. Your hands were released and you were pushed towards the car. 

Here was the thing, you were a good racer. You took every risk, normally coming out unscathed. On the occasion that somebody else was the cause of your crash, there was no holding you back. 

As good a raver as you were, it wasn't what you wanted to be doing. As a child, you had dreams, dreams you couldn't remember. The typical dreams of a kid, not this. 

You had qualified fifth, giving you room to show what you could do. God help the other drivers if they got in your way. 

You weren't concentrating as you slipped into your grid spot. Your growls from beneath your helmet couldn't be heard as you waited for the lights to go green. 

There were a couple of close calls on the race, a driver not realising who they were getting close to. But they avoided you, keeping you both on the track and keeping themselves safe from you. 

It wasn't a win, but it was a podium. Your chest was heaving as you stood up there with Paul Aron and Gabriel Bortoleto. The muzzle was back over your face and the shock collar around your neck. 

***

Not every driver was a werewolf, just most. It was one of the few sports where being a werewolf didn't provide an advantage. 

Carlos Sainz was one of the few drivers that wasn't a werewolf. He was perfectly content driving alongside the supernatural. His teammate was a werewolf, and that was fine by him. 

But then Carlos broke his leg. 

He fell off his bike, a bad enough fall to break his leg. His spirits were up as he laid in hospital, optimistic he could make it back before summer break ends. 

He wasn't the only optimistic one. 

The thing was that most people didn't realise Carlos was only human. He looked too pretty to just be a simple human. 

“It'll heal quick, right?” One member of the team asked. She was new, she didn't realise that he was human. 

Charles gave her a sympathetic smile. “He's going to be out of action for a little while,” he said and patted her shoulder. Her face was bright red and Charles turned away from her, giving her a break from his attention. 

“Who is going to replace him?” He asked. It was probably Ollie, a young driver, a sweet little pup in most of their eyes. He was talented, deserved to be on the grid with them in a year's time. 

Fred sucked in a breath and looked around the garage. Okay, not Ollie, Charles concluded. If it was Ollie, Fred wouldn't look so terrified. Sweat wouldn't be beading on his forehead like this if Ollie was driving in Carlos's place. 

“We're calling on The Beast.”

next

Taglist: @nurse-floyd @biancathecool

[rumisgf]

“GET MY F**** NAME TATTED SO I KNOW IT’S REAL” - DENKI KAMINARI x BLACK!READER

summary: your boyfriend has it all: tattoos, blonde hair, nice sleeper build, can dress, funny— he’s on the way to becoming one of the top 5 heroes for lord’s sake. but, even with all that, he can’t help but feel some type of way when he sees other dudes trying to get as his girl. he doesn’t know what comes over him, and he always starts thinking a little irritational.

includes: college!au eventual smut, tatted!denki, little plot (i sorry), females pronouns used once or twice, jealous!denki, denki calls reader ‘mama’, denki refers to himself as ‘daddy’ once, penetration, dom/sub undertones unprotected sex, recording, squirting, spit!kink, implied relationship, assumed that denki and reader record themselves fucking a lot, possessiveness, breeding kink if you squint, mentions of potential pregnancy, nasty sex

this isn’t fair. he’s finally got a hot, amazing girlfriend and everybody wants her. it makes him sick.

“woah kaminari, that’s you? how’d you bag that?” all his friends always seem to ask this same question in different variations, and their laughs afterwards seem to be filled with malice in his ears. and what’s worse is that you have no idea. you post all these pretty pictures and thirst trappy tiktok’s for random people in your comments to fawn over you. so, denki could not possibly be seething with more anger right now when someone he only sees in the dorm hallways come up to you.

“hey, um, you… seeing anyone? sorry i just saw you in class and couldn’t stop thinking about you, you are gorgeous.”

he watches as you smile, looking over to where he is as he’s supposed to getting his lunch. “o-oh, uh… thank you but i’m taken.” you shyly respond. the dude follows your eyes, and he only smirks. “well, he doesn’t seem like too much competition.”

you roll your eyes at the corny ass guy talking to you, and cross your arms. as you tell the guy he has no chance, you fail to notice denki look down at his own feet as he contemplates causes a scene at this very moment. but clearly, he didn’t care to think logically. you’re his.

suddenly, you feel a set of haste footsteps followed by two hands slowly find your waist. your movements halt as they massage the skin and pull you closer to the figure’s chest. “hey cutie, who’s this?” your boyfriend asks so innocently, making direct eye contact with the guy who’s face is beginning to flush. “mm, some dude who won’t leave me alone..” the guy furrows his eyebrows as he struggles to open his mouth. “woah, it’s like that, bro?”

“don’t know what you’re talking about.” denki says, responding for you. he softly kisses your shoulder, “she’s mine though, so you should go on somewhere.” with that, the guy reluctantly walks off, failing to hide his embarrassment.

you slowly push denki off of you, giving him a quick peck on the lips as a thank you. then, you both head back to your dorm to get away from the crowd of people at your university’s cafeteria— the habitat of horny, and corny men.

denki closes your door and plops onto the edge of your bed, holding his arms out. “c’mere mama.” you find your way on his lap as you face his grumpy face. he looks down at your body as his hands massage the sides of your waist. “so tired of that, i wish everybody would leave you alone…” he pauses, and it’s the same pause before he’s about to say one of the most outlandish things you’ve heard.

“tattoo my name on your neck.”

you smack your lips, lightly pushing his chest as you roll your eyes. “boy, i am not chrisean rock.”

“well how else are dudes gonna know you’re fucking mine?” he slowly dives into your neck, teasing the skin with his mouth as your lips part, threatening to let out a moan. “kami, you know i don’t want anybody else.” you say shyly, beginning to writhe in his lap as he’s know placing full mouth kisses on your neck. “but they don’t know that,” he mutters. he pulls away and immediately grabs you by your neck, bringing your face centimeters away from his. “if you won’t get me tatted, i’ll find another way to make sure they know you’re mine.”

he closes the space by kissing you fiercely, yet slowly. you drag your hips up on his lap, his hand gripping your waist once more as your back arches with the kiss. you wrap one arm around his neck while your other hands finds his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat. his other hand doesn’t leave your neck as he plunges his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. you moan into his mouth, making him subconsciously buck his hips upwards. with that, you slowly start grinding on his lap and he begins to grind on your clothed crotch himself. you move in rhythm with each other, chasing the burning feeling of lust in your stomachs. then, he shoves his hand under your shirt and you finally gasp into his lips. he fondles with your soft breasts, wishing your bra wasn’t it the way. this makes you grind on him harder, and you’re sure he can feel the throbbing pulse of your now soaking pussy even through his pants. denki goes back to your neck, licking and biting your skin until several hickeys begin to show. he was serious, he was gonna find a way to mark himself on you one way or another. his hands now find your ass, squeezing both cheeks as he moves you faster on his laps and his own soft moans begin to spill out his mouth.

kaminari pulls away, both of you breathing heavy. “i’m about to fuck the shit out of you, you know that right?” he says in a direct tone. looking at him half lidded, you nod. without another word, he lifts you off of him and moves fully onto the bed. you follow him and immediately get pulled under him by his tattooed arms. his lips crash back onto yours, your hands frantically grabbing at his body. he grinds onto you, making sure you feel his hard bulge on your cunt that’s close to soaking through the panties under your jeans. “kami, please…” you whine, not knowing entirely what you’re begging for— you just know you need him in every way possible.

he quickly discards of own your jeans, then his own. immediately, his eyes meet the thong that perfectly displays your arousal dripping out and staining your folds that are halfway shown. he nearly drools, running his finger through your clothed slit. “mm-!” you moan, wincing at the pleasure flowing through you just at how eager you were for him to touch you. wasting no more time, he lifts off the bed and stands at the side next to you, pulling you on the edge of the bed in front of him. he pulls down his boxers and slides off your underwear. you gawk at his long, hard dick right in front of you, and he smirks. then, he reaches over to pick up his jeans, pulling his phone out his pocket.

he unlocks his phones, then points his camera to his dick in front of your sopping cunt. he rubs circles on your clit with his tip, “mmm, so wet baby.” he hums, before slowly sliding himself into your entrance. your walls give him a warm hug as your slick squelches once he enters them.

he wastes no time giving you every inch of him, and you cry out. “oh- shit! babyyy!” the pace is almost too much, him pumping into you like he was mad at you. “uh huh, love this dick don’t you?” he uses his free hand to grips your thigh, pushing it back. instinctively, you hold your legs back for him as close to your head as possible. “good girl, let me see that pretty pussy.”

you’re almost embarrassed, your helpless state on display as he ruins your pussy. your normally sweet boyfriend is deep-stroking the brain cells out of you with a dark, sinister smile on his face. but.. you can’t complain, he’s fucking you too good right now. “ohmygod please… i can’t..” he slaps your thigh, making your body jolt. “yeah you can, c’mon. you got it.” you throw your head back, moaning his name like a prayer. “yeahhh, my good girl.” the praise sends your head spinning as the room grows hotter by the minute. “say you’re mine. *smack* say you who belong to.”

“i’m yours- shitttt- i’m yours! i’m all yours” you say, the command causing a white ring to form around his dick from you creaming. “yeah, you like that shit? love being my good little whore?” he slaps your thigh again, making you whine. he relishes in the state you’re in, completely vulnerable to him. he loves nothing more than showing that he could really dick you down when he gets this frustrated. all the anger he gets from all these guys constantly hitting on you- he takes it out as he examines your soft, sweet body that’s all for him: down from your pussy to your mouth, “open up.” he demands. before you can even fully open it, he spits in your mouth from above you. it takes you by surprise, but he gives you not time to think even if you could…. which, you can’t, from the way he ms fucking you. “swallow that shit.”

you lick the excess spit off your lip and swallow, looking him in the eye when you do so you can see him smile. “such a good girl.. so good f’ me.” denki picks up the pace, the camera shaking with his movements. your voice jumps with every thrust as you moan out for him. his breath huffs with every thrust, sweat beading up on the both of your bodies as you fuck like dogs in heat. your body is littered with hickies and red marks that were intentionally painted on your body by your boyfriend. although they’re not permanent like tattoos, they still holding the same meaning that you belong to him and him only.

he grips your waist as he fucks you into pure bliss. you feel a strong knot threaten to burst in your stomach. “i- fuck! ‘m gonna cum~”

“yeah?” he taunts, immediately rubbing your clit. “you wanna cum already? ‘m fucking you that good?” his ego grows by the second as you become putty in his hands, legs threatening to give out. you let out a drawn out moans as he punctuates his hips, abusing your g-spot over and over. your eyes roll to the back of your head as your toes stiffen in the air, losing control of your body.

“go ahead, nut all over this dick.”

you scream his name as your juices squirt out of you and onto his stomach. he continues fucking you as you making a mess on the floor, the bed on him, and yourself. your body shakes violently as your orgasm takes over you, him pulling out and smacking his dick on your clit as you violently squirt on him. then, he slides back into you, groaning at how soaked you are. “my good little slut… all mine— nobody can fuck you like i do. say you’re my little slut.”

you let out a slurred “i’m your little slut” as you feel another orgasm build up. in a matter of seconds. he pulls your body closer, leaning forward so he can fuck you deeper. in another minute, you’re squirting on him again as he fucks you, moaning so loud your housemates can definitely hear you by now. “fuck baby… so fucking messy.” he moans, now chasing his own high. “fuck- where you want it baby? huh?”

“in me- please!” you beg, looking up at him with doe eyes as he relentlessly bullies your cunt. his eyes spark up, slightly taken aback from your response. “yeah? dick so good you want me to give you a baby?” you nod eagerly, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks from the overstimulation. you both know you’re out your right mind and this is not a logical decision to make on a whim, but you pray that maybe god is on your side just this one time— even though this is such a sinful act. “yes please put a baby in me!”

“daddy’s gonna make you a mama- fuck- gonna fuck my kids into you.” he pants, thrust becoming frantic and rigid. and though he doesn’t wanna admit it, he’d love nothing more than for you to be swollen and soft because of him. the though of you carrying his child with an large stomach that contrasts your smaller figure brings him right to his own orgasm. with a hard, deep thrust, he lets out loud strings of moans matches with the thick ropes of his seed seeping into your cunt. you moan at the warm feeling, eyes threatening to close shut. he pulls out of you, rubbing your clit as cum leaks out of your used hole.

setting his phone down after quickly adding it to his special folder, he grabs a spare towel from his closet to clean the both of you up. then, he lays down next to you after you scoot into your covers, legs still shaking. he looks down at them, letting a chuckle out his mouth.

“damn, i fuck you that good?”

you smack his chest, only causing him to laugh more. “bitch i had you whining to cum in me, hush.”

“oh really? cause if we watch that video back right now you’ll clearly hear you begging for me to-”

another smack lands on his chest, as you hush him frantically. “hey, at least if you have my baby they’ll really know who you belong to.” you sigh, sinking onto his chest. “then, i’ll have as many babies as you need me to.”

@ rumisgf

[angstflavoured]

A little fiddauthor analysis...

Making this post mostly just to get all of my thoughts out about it regarding how I think it is inherently very toxic on both ends, despite people treating it as more wholesome near the beginning when they were both younger… and the fact that I think it’s very incredibly one-sided. I’m strictly going to be talking about CANON events, not headcanons or speculations or AU’s. If you wanna draw Fiddleford and Ford being cute and hugging and dating, I don’t care, I like a lot of the content for them myself. It isn’t canon to the show and doesn’t affect or harm anybody. That’s what a fandom is and I’m not trying to police anyone, I just think a lot of people misinterpret their relationship and thought it would be fun to talk about it because I find their dynamic really interesting. I’m going to be using a lot of direct quotes and scenes from Ford’s journal, TBOB, and the show, so buckle in baby ! This was supposed to be a quicker and smaller one while I work on my Billford essay, but I had a lot more to say than I thought…

First off, it’s interesting to see how Ford thinks their interaction after so long is going to go. In Journal 3 he says he has “no choice” but to call Fiddleford up to work on the portal because Ford just doesn’t have the smarts to do what he wants to do himself, and he thinks he’s going to have to literally beg Fiddleford to join him. But as we see in the journal and in the show, it hardly takes ANY convincing at all for Fiddleford to drop everything he was doing and leave his wife and kid for months on end to work on a project he knows nothing about. All the info he has he got over a short phone call. It seems like Ford, at this point being so close with Bill and thinking he’s the only one who cares about him, just assumed that most people he used to talk with don’t think about him anymore. He’s had Bill whispering in his ear that he’s the only one who understands him, so it makes sense he doesn’t think Fiddleford will want to do this with him. But from what it looks like, Fiddleford either has been waiting every second for Ford specifically to get back to him, or just has been waiting for any excuse to get the hell away from his family which is… yeesh. Either way, not very healthy regarding his wife and kid. He doesn’t seem to really care all that much about either of them, but more on that later.

Obviously Ford cares about Fiddleford, as soon as he comes down to live with him, Ford hasn’t been so happy in a good while. He missed human connection, despite how good things were going with Bill. Having another person there to talk with was nice. Despite Fiddleford having strange quirks that did irk Ford, he found them endearing and genuinely felt better in his company.

But I think the biggest thing here a lot of people overlook is that Ford only ever refers to Fiddleford as his college buddy in the show, and in the journals as “my assistant.” I’ve seen so many people have Ford call him his partner, but he actually only calls him this like once in the show i think. It’s always my assistant, my research, my theory. Which is funny because Ford didn’t come up with any of this stuff with the portal on his own. Bill was the one that gave him the blueprints. Fiddleford even questions Ford at one point, asking if he had help coming up with them because of how complex they are, and Ford decidedly DOESN’T mention Bill and instead tells him “with hard work, anything is possible.” (Btw he does refer to Bill as his partner multiple times… just sayin.)

The way he talks to and about Fiddleford, Ford is always talking down. He does think that Fiddleford is smart and does think he has a brilliant mind, but he still thinks that he’s below him.

Because Ford has Bill.

And oh my lord, do I not see anyone talk about this. Soooo many comics always depict Fiddleford knowing about Bill existence, but I think the biggest roadblock with their ship and a huge point of contention is that Fiddleford never canonically knows about Ford’s relationship with Bill until after he’s already lost his mind when he’s old. He doesn’t even KNOW that he exists until he’s half sucked through the portal. People ignore this, but it’s so important to their dynamic. Ford doesn’t think that Fiddleford could handle it, and he doesn’t think he necessarily deserves to know. Because Bill is Fords thing. Their relationship is special. Ford is special.

Ford claims he doesn’t tell Fiddleford about Bill because he would throw him in a looney bin, despite their research being so whimsical and ridiculous already. They’re literally building a portal to a different dimension, Fiddleford would’ve believed him. And the way Ford talks about it, you can tell it’s less about Fiddleford thinking he’s crazy and more about something else.

Could F ever truly appreciate the complex fates that brought me and my Muse together?

He doesn’t think Fiddleford could APPRECIATE it. The language he uses, you can tell that Ford knows that Fiddleford would see right through Bill’s facade. And Ford doesn’t want that because he wants to be friends with Bill and he wants to be special, and he’d rather hide Bill and stay in denial than tell his dearest friend, just so he can feel special a little longer.

This is why I think as much as Fiddleford’s romantic feelings for Ford were there, it never ended up going anywhere. Ford would always choose Bill over him. When Fiddleford got him the axolotl pet, Ford quickly threw it out and lied about it to Fiddleford just because Bill told him to. And there’s multiple cases of interactions like this, where Bill will talk down about Fiddleford and Ford will just be like damn… yeah. Here’s a journal excerpt from TBOB around Christmas time. For context, Ford got into a huge fight with a monster and tried to contact Bill to help him, but he didn’t come. And then Bill randomly shows up later when Ford’s at home decorating.

I was almost roasted by Krampus, and where was he? Off inspiring some other scientist? Posing for some tapestry? Were we even partners? He threw the accusation back in my face. “Hey, I’m not the one skipping portal work to carouse with a third-wheel hillbilly with second thoughts about our project!” I started to argue--but he had a point. F has seemed less and less committed to work lately.

Which is INSANE !!! when we see that only a fucking page ago, Fiddleford was explaining how he got in a fight with his wife because he didn’t get her a present for Christmas. After spending multiple weeks and making multiple prototypes for a pair of 6 fingered gloves for Ford.

And if we hop back to Journal 3, there’s a particular interaction with them which is crazy to me. While hiking up a mountain to go to Crash Site Omega, they get into a fight with the Gremloblin, which fucking swoops up Fiddleford into the sky. In Ford’s attempt to get him down, they both end up falling down through the roof of a barn, where Fiddleford gets stuck full of quills and breaks his arm.

Despite our fortune, I have become worried about my assistant. I was able to treat his physical wounds, but I fear there are mental wounds not as easily remedied. For the past several nights, he has been unable to sleep, apparently still haunted by the Gremloblin’s gaze. More alarming is his Cubic’s Cube. It has sat scrambled, unfixed, on his desk for days. I myself have survived many monster attacks without trauma, but perhaps F is more sensitive than I realized…

OH. MY. GOD. The way that Ford talks so condescendingly is enough to make any person's blood boil. It’s the same way when Fiddleford gets sucked through the portal, and when Fiddleford gets pulled back, Ford’s first words out of his mouth are “WHAT DID YOU SEE!”

As much as he cared for Fiddleford… he has no regard at all for Fiddlefords VERY VALID feelings about events that would traumatize literally anyone. But he just pats Fiddlefords back and tells him to get used to it because this is just part of the job and he shouldn’t be whining so much. He does nothing to properly comfort him and scoffs it off like “apparently he’s ‘TRAMATIZED’ or something. I’ve been through so much worse and never had a problem, I don’t get what his issue is.” And then ford is SURPRISED AND APPALLED when Fiddleford creates the memory gun.

Which oohhhhh lord, the memory gun. jesus christ. Such a big example of the distrust between them on both sides. Fiddleford literally canonically lied about destroying the gun and then erased Fords memory about it so that he could erase his own memories in secret without him knowing. And also probably fords sometimes! Not completely canon, but like…. Fiddleford did it once, I wouldn’t put it past the guy. And then when they go to the carnival, Fiddleford hands out his fucking card to Ivan (the leader of the society of the blind eye, who was a teen/early 20s at the time) so that he can erase memories for him that he didn’t like.

Biggest thing we can take away from everything regarding Fiddleford’s character, is that he always takes the easy way out. He ran away from his family he obviously didn’t really care for as much as he should’ve because that was easier than talking it out or divorcing. He pushed it aside for later. Bro was literally looking for a fucken Brokeback Mountain situation, but Ford wasn’t giving anything back to him. So instead Fiddleford constantly made a fool of himself doing things for Ford and tripping over himself to show his gratitude when all the while Ford was entirely focused on Bill. and then he just goes around and starts erasing memories, because it’s easier than having to actually deal with things. Which is why I don’t foresee a reality in which Fiddauthor makes sense, in the way they actually end up doing anything together. Because Fiddleford’s too much of a coward to admit his feelings first, and Ford obviously has his sights on someone else.

And here’s the BIGGEST damning thing, like oh my god.

In Journal 3, Ford goes to a fortune teller (which don’t get me fucking started on how judgy he is to her and how much he talks down about her, DESPITE HER BEING LEGIT AND ACTUALLY WARNING HIM). Long story short, she gives Ford a spiel about how someone close to him is deceiving him. She then gives him a mood ring and says “when this is blue, you may pull through. When this is black, you can’t turn back.”

And LO AND BEHOLD!! OH MY FUCKING GOD, when they’re at the carnival and Fiddleford is talking to Ivan and whispering--

Ford. Looks down. To check if the ring is black.

I took one last look down at my hand and was strangely relieved to find that the palm reader’s ring was still blue. I shoved it in my pocket, collected F, and tried to put the whole experience out of my mind.

FORD LITERALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THE IDEA OF FIDDLEFORD BETRAYING HIM BEFORE BILL. IN FACT, HE LITERALLY NEVER MENTIONS THINKING IT WAS BILL ONCE.

He talks about how they got into a fight at dinner the night before the portal test because Fiddleford was having second thoughts about it being dangerous, and Ford told him to be there or he would get left behind. He’d do it without him.

And when Fiddleford gets pulled through the portal and quits the project, Ford says gooooddd fucking riddance, I never even needed you bro.

F, you weak-willed hayseed! Go back to your doting family and a life of fear and compromise! I weep now not for our failed partnership, but for the golden opportunity thrown away. To think I considered him a friend! I know my true friend. It is my Muse.

One of the few times he ever refers to it as partnership btw. Literally only when they break everything off.

And Ford only starts fighting with Bill about everything after it starts directly hurting him. It literally just seems like Ford is less upset about Bill’s plan being evil, and more upset at the fact that he lied to Ford LMAOOOOO he didn’t like the fact that he was disposable and lesser to Bill, despite Ford treating Fiddleford the exact same way.

At the end of all of this… it may seem like I’m really fighting against this ship, but not in the slightest. I LOVEEEE them so much, but in a way where it would be really toxic and not actually end up with anything happening.

Such a biggg theme when it comes to Ford’s character specifically is yearning. He yearns for success and attention and love and acceptance, but he’s constantly never giving other people those things. Which ends in him not receiving any in return. That is obviously until he gets back from dimension hopping and works on being a better person. When he starts towards healing, that’s when he starts receiving what he always wanted.

There’s so much tension between Ford and Fiddleford it's like disgusting, they were so incredibly gay… but, I hate to say it, it was very one-sided. They did have some fun times together and Ford enjoyed his company for quite a bit, but it was nothing like how Fiddleford felt for him. Fiddleford was always thinking about how Ford was feeling and what he was doing, and Ford never really did that for Fiddleford unless he was prompted to. But he was alwayasyayayss thinking about how Bill felt. And he always chose Bill in the end.

I just see so much of all of this get swept under the rug and never addressed, when it's kind of sad because it’s all so interesting and really adds a lot to both of their characters. They were both so morally gray back in their day, and honestly even more so now that they’re older, and its kinda sad to see that all go ignored. I JUST LOVE TOXIC GAYS SM AND THEY WERE SO TOXIC AND I’D LOVE TO SEE PEOPLE EXPLORE THAT MORE. Hopefully maybe this will prompt some people to think about it like this…….. It’s all so very tragic and their relationship was doomed from the start and i loveeeee shit like that. only misery to be had...

[simonisferal]

you said you liked it — scaramouche x gn! reader

synopsis: he doesn't even like you that much. wait...he does. fuck.

warnings: just pure fluff, scara being scara, mutual pinning / not an established relationship, inspired by apple cider by beabodoobee (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

notes: a little shorter than I wanted it to be but i was sleepy / i started playing my sleep playlist and i woke up instantly to write this 🫡 / not proofread but then again none of my works are so

you said you liked chocolates. scaramouche was never a sweets person anyways!

whatever you liked, whether it was plain chocolates or some fancy, expensive ones, he managed to bring them to your hands every few occasions. they were always wrapped in a soft lace, delicately delivered straight to you (he tried to ignore every other person that attempted to speak to him) just so they don't melt, he says.

if you're not picky, he even lets you eat the chocolates others gift him. why? he's not sure but food is food. he notices which sweets you ignore, eat, practically chow down on for future references. you know, in case he needs a human garbage disposal!

scaramouche doesn't stop there; he should've, but he doesn't.

"y/n. i'll leave you to it." he's vague as shit as he sets down a bag of sweets—not just any sweets, flavors and consistencies he knows you'll like—on your lap.

you eye them suspiciously. "what's the occasion? or is it another request for my talent of eating?" you somewhat joke. scara does not find you humorous.

he crosses his arms, already walking away and waving you off, dismissing the question. "you like those, don't you? go on and eat then before i change my mind."

you said you liked handmade gifts. scaramouche was gifted with craftsmanship, fortunately.

he held a sewing needle, slipping the thread in through the small hole and tied it. he ignored your attentive gaze at his hands. he skillfully worked, fixing up a patch on a shirt you had ripped. why was a piece of clothing so important? you had plenty of other things to wear (more than you'd like to admit but he can basically see your closet from his room).

your eyes never left the male's work while he finished. he snaps the thread and places the needle somewhere on his table. "there. you happy?" he lifts up the shirt and you quickly take it in your arms.

"thank you, thank you, thank you!!" you hold the simple clothing item close to your chest and scaramouche can't help but wonder why.

he scoffs, standing up and beginning to clean up after his simple task. "i don't know why you're so stuck up on a shirt; you have plenty of others."

you laugh. folding the shirt and setting it on your lap, you look at scara. "well i don't expect you to remember but this one's actually yours."

"and why do you have one of my shirts?" he refutes.

"because i like it." such a bold sentence coming from a person who ripped the fabric a few minutes ago but scaramouche accepts it. he sighs after a while—and after cleaning up his mess, he waves you off again.

he can't seem to say no to you, it's infuriating. "just don't stain it. i might need it later."

you said you liked nice guys. too bad scaramouche is not that. but hey, a personality change never hurt anybody. besides you deserve it—not many people can tolerate him at his highest.

he, besides giving you simple gifts, gave you words of encouragement. if you ever wanted to pursue anything (as stupid as it may be), he'll support you... even if that said support consists of constant berating and complaints, he's not going to stop your idiotic yet passionate mind.

"go on." he mutters, his eyes only on you as you attempt to do something stupid again. holding a brush up to a canvas, you merely scribble the page with a terrible artistic view. a red sky, a pink tree, a rose ocean—just what was your idea?

"you can't be colorblind, can you? if you aren't, this is just plain embarrassing for us both." you pout, not turning to see his assumed look of 'i told you so'.

you attempt painting again, just adding a few more splashes of color onto the 'ruined' canvas. "you wouldn't get it, scara. it's simply an artistic thing!"

he scoffs, like he always does, before sitting up from his chair and looking over your shoulder. not too many details were added but the pink tree had blossomed quite well and the rose ocean finally looked like a simple mirage rather than an actual pink-colored ocean. "not bad," he mutters.

"could be a whole ton better but who's judging?" scaramouche teases. you narrow your eyes at him with a pout,

"you are!"

you said you liked cheesy, romantic dates. it was a stupid request to fulfill, honestly. you practically bored him on the way there. but like always, he can't say no to such a pretty face.

it wasn't at all what he was expecting. he expected (with someone as terrible taste as you) to be lead towards a fast food chain or a crowded, elegant place.

it was a small picnic at the beach.

you two sat under a tree for a while, just conversing with each other. "what are you planning, y/n?" scaramouche raises an eyebrow and looks at you. you just looked back at him with a smile, a smile he wish didn't make his heart burn by just looking at it. "it's a surprise." so vague. too vague for the male.

he scoffs. it's obvious he wants to ask more questions but he doesn't have the heart to interrupt such a peaceful moment between the two of you. he just sits quietly beside you, watching the sun fade, the chocolates melts, the petals from the tree—a cherry blossom tree, he noted, fall down, and the breeze grow sweeter.

the sun hit scaramouche like an angel. his violet eyes looked like they were glowing like stars. he looked heavenly. his lips look soft, his hair was well-volumed, his presence was so fulfilling. he was so... perfect. "y/n, you can stop staring."

"i know," you whisper back. when did you suddenly become so sentimental? the jig was up.

the chocolates you loved so much, the 'date' you wanted so badly was there. what else did you want, what else did you like? "what is it?"

"you're nice. you're a nice guy."

scaramouche scoffs, "so?"

"i like nice guys." you both stayed quiet for a while. your eyes wandered everywhere, to his eyes to his subtle frown to his outfit while scaramouche didn't dare to look away from your eyes. they had a sense of longing he never knew they could have. did he have the same look? a look of longing? longing for someone who'd be with him forever?

did he have a look of yearning? yearning for someone who'd stay and love him, like all those who promised so distantly in the past? would you stay with him if he asked? would you promise to keep your promises to him, to allow him to trust you as you do him?

so many questions and so little answers, lesser time now as he thinks all these overwhelming thoughts.

"scara?" you call out.

scaramouche didn't dare speak louder than a whisper. "yeah?"

you said you liked him.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Vanishing Act ~ HHJ

⤜WORD COUNT: 1.7K

⤜GENRE: Established relationship, mafia romance, mafia boyfriend! NON IDOL, Arguing couple, fighting, making up, cry baby reader, angst with a fluffy ending

⤜PAIRING: Hyunjin!Mafia x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - April 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

A/N: I lost the original screenshot! But I remembered cry baby reader so I hope this is okay! 

Hyunjin paced back and forth in the dimly lit office he'd spent most of the day in, his mind plagued with worry. You had vanished without a trace earlier in the day. You hadn't answered his calls or messages, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that gnawed at him. In their world, disappearing like that wasn't just unusual; it was dangerous. His anxiety only grew in his chest the more he thought about what could have happened to you.

"Did you find her?" He growled out at your personal guard who had managed to lose you this morning. He'd hired Mark because he was supposed to be the best of the best, an ex-military man who was also a private investigator and you'd managed to get out of his sights.

"No," Mark gulped, looking around at the office and back at Hyunjin who looked as though he was about ready to throw up at the thought of something happening to you. Being who he was in this world meant anyone close to him had a giant target on their back and you were the closest person to him in the whole world. 

As the hours stretched on, Hyunjin's anxiety mounted higher and higher as he thought about everything. He imagined all sorts of scenarios - rival gangs, undercover cops, or some personal vendetta targeting you. He couldn't afford to lose you. You were his anchor, his solace in the tumultuous world they inhabited, you were everything to him and the thought of losing you was tearing him up inside.

Finally, as the evening descended into darkness, Hyunjin made his way home ready to find someone else to try and find you but when he walked through the door he couldn't believe his eyes.

You were sitting calmly on the couch, engrossed in a book, and his anger flared. No one had been able to find you and you'd just been sat there all day?

"Where the hell have you been?" he barked, his voice echoing off the walls. You jumped, dropping your book onto your lap and staring up at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion spread across your face.

"Hyunjin, I was just out for a walk. I needed some time alone." You breathed out, you assumed he was referring to you being gone most of the day. You just needed some time away from everything to relax and clear your mind. 

Something you used to do a lot before the two of you had moved in together, something you didn't think was that big a deal, especially since you'd stuck to the gardens of his mansion and just spent most of the days in there. The place he had once told you was the safest place in the country. 

"Alone?" Hyunjin's voice rose, his frustration bubbling over as he stared at you, how could you not be taking this as seriously as he was? Did you find this all funny? 

"You think you can just disappear like that? Do you have any idea how worried I was? Do you know many enemies we have out there that would love to get their hands on you!?" His voice bounced off the walls and you stood up, wanting to get away from his wrath since you knew he would go on a tangent for a while.

"Hyunjin-" He cut you off by shaking his head at you and scoffing loudly,

"Don't Hyunjin me! You know how worried I get when you disappear on me without a word!" He yelled, his anger finally getting the better of him as he lashed out at you, knowing deep down that it was wrong for him to do so. 

"What if someone had gotten to you? Huh? Kidnapped you?!" You stared down at the floor, feeling the tears starting to rush into your eyes as you did your best to stop it from happening. 

You were so insecure whenever it came to crying in front of anybody but especially someone that you were getting into an argument with. You hated that whenever someone was yelling at you your body's response was to cry, it was the same thing that happened whenever you were angry the tears would just stream down your cheeks. Hyunjin's anger surged as he saw tears rolling down your face, your shoulders trembling with silent sobs but instead of softening, his words only turned harsher, cutting through you like a knife.

"Stop crying!" He barks at you, his voice laced with venom and impatience.

"Is that all you know how to do? Acting like a damn crybaby whenever someone yells at you?!" You flinched at his words, your head shooting up and finding his eyes on you as you stared back at him. your tears flowing more freely now, your silent sobs turning into choked gasps as he turned your insecurity back on you. Something you'd never thought Hyunjin, of all people, would do to you.

You struggled to compose yourself, wiping your cheeks with trembling hands, but the tears refused to stop flowing. Hyunjin's heart clenched at the sight, a pang of guilt piercing through his anger and allowing him to see how much he had hurt you.

He knew just how insecure you were about it, how you saw it as a sign of weakness but his frustration had gotten the better of him and now he'd only added to your pain,

"Yn, I..." He began, his voice faltering as he reached out to you, but you recoiled, your eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. 

"Don't," You whispered, your voice barely coming out, you couldn't believe that he would do this to you.

"Just...Don't," You choked out, walking away from him as he called for you to go back to him but you couldn't. Right now you didn't want to be near him or face him after what he had said to you. 

After an hour or so Hyunjin decided to venture up to your shared bedroom, his anger had completely vanished the second he realised how hurt you were but he'd wanted to give you some time alone before he came up to your room. Entering the room, he found you curled up on your bed, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. 

The sight tore at his soul, a painful reminder that he had been the one to cause all of this. 

"yn," He whispered as he approached you cautiously, his footsteps hesitant as he sat down beside you.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," His voice was barely audible over the sound of your tears. You flinched at his words but you didn't push him away. Instead, you turned over to face him, your eyes red-rimmed and filled with sorrow.

"You always say that." You murmur, "But it doesn't change anything." Hyunjin felt a stab in his chest, he knew he messed up and he knew that mere apologies wouldn't be enough to mend the damage he had created. He reached out to you, his hand shaking as he wiped away tears from your cheek. 

"I know," He admitted, his voice heavy with regret, "But please, Yn, give me a chance to make it up to you. I'll do anything, I swear," He begged. He wasn't below begging you, he would do anything for you, take a bullet, run in front of a car, anything for you.

"What could you even do to make this up to me?" You mumbled, your voice tinged with scepticism and he moved to sit beside you on the bed, looking at you as he sighed softly. 

"I had a whole evening planned you know, I was going to take you out to dinner...wine and dine you," He smiled weakly as you stared at him,

"When you weren't here I freaked out, I got scared that something had happened to you and I let my anger get the better of me," He admits as he looks down at your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing softly. 

"You disappeared all day without a word...I was worried." He admits to you, not trying to get into another argument but just wanting you to understand his side of all of this.

"The thought of anything happening to you kills me inside." He whispered and you stared at him,

"I wasn't in any danger, I was in the gardens most of the day...I just took some time alone," Your voice had a tinge of frustration but you cuddled into your boyfriend's arms. 

"You can't just wander off without a word, in this world, I need to know where you are." He pleaded with you, his eyes finding yours as you bite down on your lip and nod at him. 

"I worry because I love you. I can't bear the thought of losing you." He whispers as you kiss his cheek softly, 

"I love you too," You whisper back to him as his eyes start to fill with tears.

"I...I just can't lose you, Yn. Not now, not ever," He whispers as tears start to fall down his cheeks, your arms wrapping around him and cuddling closer to him. Your chest hitting something hard in his pocket,

"What-" Your laugh cut you off as you felt the box inside of his pocket.

"Oh," He groans pulling the box out from his jacket pocket and holding out the small velvet box. It was something he'd been planning to give to you at dinner that night before all of this had happened.

Slowly he opened the box and revealed a delicate diamond necklace. 

"I got this for you, I wanted to give it to you tonight, but I messed everything up," He laughed softly as you traced your fingers over the intricate design. 

"Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much you mean to me," He begged, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears before you nodded slowly, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Okay," You whispered, kissing him softly as he carefully put the necklace around your neck and made sure it was perfectly sitting on your skin.

@chiisaiblog@sw33tnight@kaitieskidmore97@laylasbunbunny@stayconnecteed@saymyspringrain@toplinehyunjin@katnisspeetaprim@acciocriativity@just-aelia@choisoorin@straykids5star@midnightfrog625@beccaskz@scarletemeterio@halesandy@junhannies@gothic4under4lord@lixie-phoria@soulphoenix1618@aerastus@jin-from-the-block@lensfilm@elizaschuyler18@piratequeen-impact@kpopsstuffs@chaeyoungs@delulu18@xyahrinx@katsukis1wife@anthropologymajorkpopmultistan@blairscott@4-chan-inpadella@niktwazny303@moonlight-the-writer@armystay89@hadassahchan@yxngbxkkie@myyouthdonut@extrhotjne@ca11me3mily@elissasimp@piercedddriver

[a-nicer-picture]

Is Juri's problem really idealizing Shiori in some way? The prevailing interpretation I've seen is that Juri should accept she fell for a snake so she can remove Shiori from the pedestal of her love. Incidentally Ruka also shares this opinion. I disagree and I'm here to be a contrarian about it!

A nonzero number of takes base their "Juri idealizes Shiori" conclusion on the "innocently cruel" line, the interpretation being she's percieving Shiori's personality as sweet and innocent. But that's not what the line is getting at. Juri's emphasis here is not innocence as a synonym for purity, it's innocence as a synonym for ignorance and naivety. Both Utena and Shiori are "innocent" because they are unable to anticipate the queer dynamic, the deviant lesbian desire, that Juri is operating from, and "cruel" because, in their misunderstanding, they step on Juri's toes in unintentional ways.

Even though we, the audience, know in retrospect that Shiori meant to fuck Juri up, the exact way she did it was a freak accident, and at this point in the story she has no idea that she managed to hurt her. Shiori is operating from a different understanding, one that assumes Juri's absolute conformity to and supremacy in heteronormative gender roles. Shiori's whole mission is proving her value over Juri on that axis, obviously because as a suppressed homosexual she feels insecure about her continuing obsession with Juri. She assumes "beating Juri" at attracting men will balance the scales-- render Juri's image less appealing, and hers more. And of course that would hurt Juri, who must value her success with boys so much. That lack of awareness is what Juri is referring to, and she's right here actually, about both Shiori and Utena-- they are unable to conceptualize desire for other women as a potential outcome, and in part it's because of this that they end up harming themselves and others.

Moreover the "innocently cruel" line does not imply that Juri thinks Shiori is an innocent person because, if anything, Juri does nothing but doubt Shiori throughout the series.

At no point does Juri say anything positive about Shiori's personality or their friendship. She is unable to frame her ex-bestie's existence outside of the pain she's caused her. The narrative purposefully never tells us why she fell in love with her in the first place, or what their friendship was like. We don't know why she chose Shiori specifically, and that's part of the mystique of Juri's feelings and of their relationship, that the audience will never see who Shiori is outside of Juri's heartbreak. She could have a vibrant personality, but it's thoroughly obscured by the opacity of Juri's despair, and Ohtori 's miasma. Not to mention Shiori's own internalized homophobia, compulsory heterosexuality, and chosen constructed persona-- just like a lot of other bitches trapped in Ohtori. This is what the place does, it chews up queer teenagers and doesn't spit them out so much as it arranges them neatly into a series of possible stage roles.

Juri's current image of Shiori is of a witch. It's possible she used to think of her as a princess, sure, but then she inverted the role once Shiori acted out. If anybody's idolizing anybody, it's Shiori. She is the master of rendering other people into shining beacons!

I have more thoughts forming on how Juri's "casting" of Shiori plays out through her final duel (does Shiori's mistreatment by Ruka briefly return her to her role as a princess to Juri's gallant prince-- but this proves unsustainable or undesirable, because princehood makes her too vulnerable or liable to corruption?) but they're half-baked at this time.

I do think though that Juri's "miracle" might be "making [Shiori] understand [her] feelings" literally-- not necessarily having Shiori return them (though that idea looms over her including in her understanding of what a man could do in her place, thanks to Ruka for the reminder). The miracle may be finding some way for Shiori and others to understand who Juri actually is without making herself vulnerable or diminishing the ease with which she moves through the world. She doesn't want to get stabbed with those swords of hatred. So many people don't seem to understand her, yet Juri is terrified of embodying anything other than an impenetrable image of excellence...! Girl watch out!! You're just embodying the reason why Shiori resents you in the first place!!! Those swords are coming at you no matter what!!!

[marlynnofmany]

Names Chosen Carefully

I swung into the spaceship’s kitchen with plans to grab a snack before unpacking the bags from our latest supply run, but I paused. Coals was there showing Eggskin a screen of color swatches, and it didn’t look like a menu. Could have been something medical, since Eggskin handled both the feeding and the healing of the crew, though the conversation I’d walked in on said no.

“Vehicles are an option, but I don’t know what kind are popular there,” Coals said. He acknowledged me with a nod. “And an unfavorable skimmer model would be almost as bad as an activity that’s culturally iffy.”

Eggskin was nodding thoughtfully, tapping a claw against their lizardy chin. “The activities are probably easier to research. But I do think that either a generalized space theme or something referring to home would be the way to go.”

“Yeah, but which?” Coals asked with a sigh, staring at the handscreen. “Space might be too common, or trying too hard, and home stuff might not make sense to anyone there, including the kids.”

I must have looked like a confused dog, standing there with my head cocked. Coals took pity on me. “My cousin wants advice on what to name his clutch when it hatches,” he said, holding out the handscreen. Up close, I could see that each color swatch was scales. “This is their best guess about the likely colors.”

“Ohh,” I said. “Got it.”

Eggskin asked Coals, “Are they familiar with nearly-hatched eggs, and color distortion? Many new parents guess wrong.”

I reflected that Eggskin, whose full name was “Skin of the Egg that is Translucent and Ready to Hatch,” had probably thought about the concept pretty often. Their own scale color looked more like boogers than any egg I’d ever seen, but I’d never been privy to a Heatseeker hatching. I assume other colors would show through.

Coals nodded his brick-red snout. “They live near family. Plenty of chances to observe. And he’s been there for brainstorming names on the ol’ home planet, and his mate has too, but that’s not very helpful now.” He glanced up at me. “They just moved to a space station.”

“Are there not many Heatseekers there?” I asked.

“A few, but it’s a very intercultural place. That’s why they wanted my opinion, since I travel around so much. Thought I might have some valuable insights.”

I leaned against a counter, trying not to loom. “What have you got so far?”

Coals sighed deeply. “A lot of doubts. References to home could be great, but they might just be confusing to everyone. What kind of names would you expect to hear with these?” He showed me the screen again.

I was about to object that I was hardly an expert on Heatseeker names, then the palest one caught my eye and I laughed. “Humans would nickname that one Popcorn,” I said, pointing at the white-and-yellow image.

“Popcorn?” Coals looked at it. “What is—”

“It’s food,” I said. “A popular snack from Earth. I wouldn’t expect that to be anybody’s real name though; it’s much too whimsical and silly. Well. At least with my cultural background.”

Coals and Eggskin both looked at the colors without saying anything for a long moment. Then Coals turned the screen to me again. “Would humans of your background have food associations for the others too?”

“Well,” I said, wondering whether I was just hungry. “That one looks exactly like mint chip ice cream. Oh, and that one’s cookie & cream.” They really were; it was uncanny. “I didn’t know you guys had scale patterns with that many speckles.”

“You should see my cousin,” Coals said. “He looks like a starfield. His mate is a simple dark maroon, though. Between the two of them, the genetics are all over the place. What about these other three?”

I looked at the brown-with-red, the yellow-speckled-brown, and the deep purple. “Red velvet cake, dijon mustard, and plum. Or maybe grape. But that doesn’t make as good of a nickname. You aren’t actually going to suggest these, are you? Naming the kids after another planet’s food seems like everyone might expect them all to be familiar with that planet. Pretty sure a couple of those foods might actually be poisonous to you, too.” I flicked a glance at Eggskin, who was thankfully nodding in agreement.

“Naming a child after a toxic foreign food would do them no favors,” Eggskin said. “An adult might wear such a name proudly, but I would fully expect a youth to be pressured into eating their namesake at some point, especially if they lived somewhere it was readily found.”

I nodded too, looking to Coals.

“But,” Coals said. “It doesn’t have to be foreign food.”

I started to ask what he meant, then suddenly remembered a bit of cultural trivia. “It’s good luck to name spaceships after food, right? Does that go for people too?”

Eggskin chuckled while Coals stared intently at the colors. “It can,” Eggskin said. “It’s rather bold, though. An audacious claim that a set of parents can confer enough luck on all their offspring for them to always have food available. Very daring.” They looked at Coals with an amused expression, which Coals didn’t look up to see.

“That fits my cousin surprisingly well,” he said instead.

I smiled. “Are there Heatseeker foods that would fit these colors?”

“I can think of several.” Coals changed the screen to a text field and began typing. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Happy to help!” I said.

Eggskin suggested, “Be sure to remind them they should research any food they’re considering, and find out what associations their new neighbors are likely to have. Some things translate terribly.”

“No kidding!” I laughed, standing up and moving toward the snack cabinet. “I still remember the spaceships Worm Jerky and Raw Flesh.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[what-even-is-thiss]

In English, North America and South America are two different continents but in Spanish they’re just one continent and continents are a made up concept and what constitutes as a continent has no useful definition that fits all of our regular lists of continents and why are Europe and Asia and Africa three different continents in the first place and is Australia actually just a very big island?

Anyways that’s why I don’t type things like USAmerican because in English they’re just Americans but I understand why some people do get annoyed with that but at the same time I’ve seen zero Spanish speakers in my personal life argue for speaking that way in English and I guess my point is that we should probably be more aware of how certain people see themselves and be respectful of that but also at the same time I’m an English speaking person in an English speaking country and if I use America to refer to what we call The Americas in my everyday life people will assume I’ve made a mental typo or that I’m being contrarian and if I tried to make that a thing in my everyday speech patterns I’d come off as a pretentious idiot. If I’m speaking Spanish that’s a different story. Then yeah there’s other words for US Americans like estadounidense. Or famously gringo, more colloquially.

I’m not looking to start arguments here. Like I said I totally get why people make that distinction. But there’s also like the nuances of the lived reality of living in certain cultural contexts that I think people forget about.

I’m not here to tell you to not make that distinction in your speech. I’m not even here to tell you that you’re not allowed to be frustrated about it. I’m just here to explain why I don’t do that and why most English speaking people don’t and why it’s not inherently malicious when people do. Like if someone fully dismisses your perspective on the issue and how you view your own identity yes they’re the asshole. But also generally in English it’s The Americas or North, Central, and South America. And yes maybe that’s stupid but so is the existence of Europe as a concept and we all seem to believe that Europeans are a real thing.

And to reiterate. I’m not trying to tell anybody how to speak or how to feel here. Just trying to insert some nuance into this conversation. Because people I call Americans and you might call USAmericans are only gonna call ourselves Americans. That’s just how we view ourselves, how we understand our own identity as a nation. And some people will be jerks about it. But many of us are also just living in the world we live in, referring to ourselves in the way we always have, not aiming to tell anyone else how they ought to view themselves.

I’m American. Soy estadounidense. Some stuff unfortunately gets lost in translation.

Also continents don’t exist. If we try to get rid of the concept of continents we’d all be too confused at all times to have these disagreements. Confusion superiority. We go by tectonic plates. California is on the same continent as Japan now.

[6esiree]

Ulterior Motives:

Alastor x Reader x Lucifer

Notes: Even if I don’t end up going through with the story, at least y’all got this preview to read 😼 Reader is referred to as she once, and there’s a lil bit of smut in the end, but it’s not detailed.

—————

Among the stench of low-quality cigarettes and cheap booze that contributed to the sleazy environment of the casino, the heavenly scent of your Bourbon Strawberry & Vanilla perfume wafted into Lucifer’s nostrils, his chest rising and falling in silent recognition. Even after six of the twelve grueling hours of your shift and only one break in between, the supposed discounted aroma clung onto your clothes, obscuring anything unsavory wherever you traversed.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?” The sound of your voice suddenly penetrated Lucifer’s ears, much to his pleasure.

“You know, you can just call me by my name, right?” Lucifer said, immediately straightening his back.

“Is that what you want me to do?” You asked with a smile, planting your elbows on the counter in front of him, invading his personal space.

You were met with silence in lieu of a response, and while Lucifer’s mouth hung slightly open, it was as if his tongue prohibited him from formulating any words. You had no idea that he was utterly entranced by the way the dim pending light cascaded down your face, accentuating his favorite features. He would have never snapped out of it if a rather hefty patron hadn’t rattled the counter as they asked for a drink.

“What’cha want?” You slid away with a huff, unhappy over the disruption, but your smile didn’t falter once.

Lucifer’s eyes followed your receding figure, disappointment settling in the depths of his stomach, but at least you tended to work much quicker than you usually did when he asked for a drink. Cocktail, straight shot, or a beer—it didn’t matter, you somehow managed to stretch the seconds into minutes, and nobody but your employer had the right to complain when the King of Hell was requesting your services. That’s the only thing Lucifer loved about himself.

“Sometimes I hate this place, but then this happens,” You said when you reappeared in front of Lucifer, showcasing the tip in between your forefinger and middle finger, “Gotta pay the rent—the prices are unforgiving.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Lucifer chuckled, watching you stash it away under the counter. “Money, it’s important even in the afterlife.”

Tonight marked the third month that Lucifer had started showing up to the casino, but he invested all of his money into your bar, never sparing the 25¢ slot machines or the popular $5 Blackjack tables a second glance. Your knowledge about Lucifer’s personal affairs was severely limited, but the moment you caught him mindlessly twisting the golden wedding band on his ring finger, that was when you figured out what motivated him to come back.

“So, Lucifer,” You said, putting one hand on your hip, the other rubbing away at your chin in mock contemplation. “Are you sure that’s what you want me to call you?”

“Well, only if you want to,” Lucifer shrugged, the next part slipping past his lips before he could think about how strange it sounded. “I’d rather hear my name than what I assume you must call most people here.”

Your eyes flitted down to the man, the embarrassment evident in his face as you stared at him with an arched brow. It was too late to take back what he’d said, Lucifer realized; but if he added anything else, he’d risk making himself look like an even bigger fool. Oh, where had his eloquence gone to?

“Sometimes I refer to other patrons with terms of endearment, yeah,” You admitted, leaning onto the counter once more. “Okay, um, how about Luci? Does anybody else call you that?”

Unfortunately, the very woman who had driven Lucifer to seek comfort in the hands of liquor used to call him that. But as your warm breath caressed his face, your plump lips mere centimeters away from his, he couldn’t help but slowly shake his head. ‘Okay, Luci it is,’ You practically sung, the nickname rolling off of your tongue in such a beautiful way that it infiltrated his mind and replaced the memory of her dreaded voice with yours.

“Oh, and do you want another drink?” You asked. “Couldn’t help but notice how little you’ve had from yours.”

Throughout your entire conversation, Lucifer had been absentmindedly tracing the rim of his half-full glass, the grains of salt collecting underneath his claw. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that he had no desire to drink tonight, because then he’d have to explain his presence, or that you’d whipped up something shitty, because you hadn’t. So, he downed it, and all you could do was watch in awe how Lucifer swallowed the liquid without even flinching once.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have taken any offense if you’d told me you didn’t like it,” You said, taking the glass to clean. “That’s one issue down, at least.”

“Shit, yeah, the salt,” Lucifer mumbled.

“Here, lemme help you.”

You chuckled, slowly reaching towards Lucifer, granting him enough time to decline your advances. When he didn’t, you gingerly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, his stomach digging uncomfortably into the counter as you brought him towards you. The way you whispered ‘I gotcha,’ and grabbed a clean, damp rag to rid his claw from the salt compensated for the feeling, however, his heart touched by the domesticity of the act.

“I, uh—thank you,” Lucifer stammered.

And he would have gladly allowed you to hold his wrist for a moment longer if a certain someone hadn’t made himself known, the distant crackling of static making Lucifer retract his arm, earning a confused look from you. He couldn’t explain to you why he’d done such a thing, though, not when a ridiculously tall man clad in a red old-timey getup, pinstriped coat, monocle, and all sat down next to him in lieu of all the empty barstools.

“Pardon me, but is this seat taken?” He asked Lucifer, his voice reminiscent of an old radio.

“No, not at all!” Lucifer stiffly responded, a large, toothy grin taking over his face. “Go ahead, pal.”

“Excellent—oh! Where are my manners?” He said, turning to you, offering you his hand and an endearing smile. “My name is Alastor! Pleasure to meet you, quite a pleasure, darling.”

You couldn’t tell what Alastor was exactly, but he appeared to have deer-like characteristics. His antlers were substantially small, and his ears looked a lot like hair, so perhaps you were wrong. Nevertheless, your interest was piqued, the energy he radiated from his way of being rather enticing to you.

“Oh, um, likewise?” You said, trying to match his language, accepting his greeting.

A gasp escaped your throat as Alastor maneuvered your hand with a graceful precision, bringing your knuckles in for a gentleman-like kiss. Warmth spread across your features at the feeling of his lips pressed against your skin, and oh, Lucifer was silently seething at that. Even when Alastor finally parted from you, relinquishing your hand with a semblance of disappointment etched onto his brow, he made his displeasure known to him.

“My, no wonder you failed to show up to your dear daughter’s party,” Alastor said, interrupting himself with a bleat as he felt Lucifer kick into the back of his knee.

“Are you okay?” You asked, your eyes darting to Lucifer, but he simply shrugged. “Oh, a party, you say? What’cha doing here then, Luci? Your daughter invited you.”

“Just a slight cramp, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Alastor coughed, swiftly returning the gesture, but Lucifer swallowed his pain rather well. “Anywho, good question. Lucifer here was invited, but he must have somehow forgotten about it, ha! Now that I’ve come here myself, however, I see what has him so…occupied.”

Before you could let the compliment sink in, including the fact that Alastor had made the man next to him out to be a neglectful father, Lucifer quickly added that he’d informed Charlie he’d be late to the party ahead of time, purposely withholding that you were the reason why. Still, that wouldn’t stifle Alastor’s efforts to make Lucifer look bad, irritated that he had to spend his own precious time and effort to fetch him like some wretched servant.

“Hey! I told Char I had some…things to tend to beforehand,” Lucifer said, playfully but not so playfully elbowing his side.

“Why, yes! You did tell her that, but do you realize how much time has passed since then?” Alastor practically spat, his sharp teeth glinting underneath the dim light as he smiled warningly at Lucifer. “I’m only here because I was asked to fetch you.”

“How the Hell did you find me?”

“Oh, I have my ways, dear friend.”

There was an unmistakeable tension simmering between the two of them, and you had no idea that Alastor would grant you the opportunity to find out by inviting you to Charlie’s party, his claws beckoning you. ‘Wait, my shift isn’t over and I can get fired,’ You weakly protested, but he took your hand anyway, materializing alongside you and Lucifer at the infamous Hazbin Hotel, the clanking of glasses, the flitting of cards, and the chattering of people flooding your ears.

“You guys made it, I’m so—who is this?” A tall woman gasped as she wobbly approached you, but all you could focus on was that she bore a striking resemblance to the King of Hell. “I’m Charlie, it’s so, so nice to meet you!”

“Uhh, yeah, it’s nice to meet you too,” You said, interrupting yourself with an ‘oof’ as Alastor seized your waist, swiftly bringing you into his side.

“This pretty little darling is the very reason your father was fashionably late!” Alastor unashamedly announced, his radio-like voice bouncing off the hotel’s walls.

“Ah, yes! I was just telling her about your project here, Charlie, and I guess I got carried away,” Lucifer quickly interjected with a lie, wrapping an arm around your waist from the other side, but Alastor just wouldn’t let you go.

“Wait, what?” You tried to ask, confused and overwhelmed over your current predicament, your eyes darting between the two men.

“That is so…amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. “Oh my gosh, I gotta go tell Vaggie that we have a new resident!”

That was the Princess of Hell? You wondered as she held one hand over her heart, the other occupied by a beer bottle, easily overlooking the contempt on their faces in her drunken stupor. Meanwhile, you were trapped between Alastor’s and Lucifer’s bodies, your face flushed in utter embarrassment as their claws unforgivingly dug into your hipbones, the bruises forming on there foreshadowing your future at the Hazbin Hotel:

A long whine escaped your throat at Lucifer’s slow intrusion between your legs, but Alastor quickly swallowed it. He had one hand wrapped possessively around your neck as he captured your lips, the other massaging you below to soothe the burn of being stretched. They loved you—that’s what they had confessed to you after many painful months, but neither of them could handle the idea of only one of them having you all to themselves. So what was their solution? This, and oh, were you in Heaven.

[lunamond]

The disproportionate hate show!Criston gets is so bizarre. No argument I’ve seen his haters make sofar has made any sense to me.

He is outside of Mysaria the only siginficant lowborn character we meet. He rises up from the son of a steward of a minor house to the position of King‘s Guard thanks to Rhaenyra, who then pressures him into having sex with her, sth that could get him executed. Afterwards she not just rejects his proposal, but laughs in his face.

And when as a result of this experience Criston is shown to be emotional distraught and bitter, people call him an incel? (I assume that they refer to his ideology and not his actual status as a celibate, because not being celibate is literally what started this mess)

It really rubs me the wrong way, when people remove all context from this situation. A lower class person getting a well-off position from a person with authority, who they then end up having sex with is ALWAYS a relationship with a power imbalance (Obviously there are irl relationships like this, who work out and manage to be relatively healthy, but that doesn‘t remove the imbalance of power and the increased likelyhood of abuse).

We see Criston‘s reluctance when Rhaenyra makes her move. It does not matter if Criston was attracted to her or not. The simple fact that he is in a vunerable position makes him denying her a risk. It also does not matter that Rhaenyra had no malicious intentions, the simple fact that she ignores Criston‘s refusal and continues pressuring make this whole scene super uncomfortable. Her ignorance and naivety does not erase the impact of her actions.

Criston growing to hate her afterwards is perfectly justified.

As a man who grew up in Westerosi society, he inevitably holds misogynist beliefs, which is reflected in the insults he uses after this. But compared to the acts of every single character on this show, singling out his character is pretty ludicrous, when we have plenty of male (and female) characters who have done worse:

Like commiting SA (Viserys, Aegon), grooming young girls (Viserys again! I really hate this man, Daemon, Otto, Corlys and Rhaenys because telling your daughter she has to sleep with a grown man when she is 14 is pretty much the same thing Otto does to Alicent) and the only major crime Criston is guilty of sofar: murder (Daemon killed his wife and the servant in Driftmark, also he did large scale police violence which people love to forget about, Rhaenys killed potentially hundreds of smallfolk at the coronation)

Obviously, anybody is allowed to dislike whatever character they want, but a lot of people flatten Criston into just a misogynistic bitter incel who is just mad that Rhaenyra has sex, ignoring every bit of context we get for his behaviour.

This becomes escpecially weird, when those same people have no problem stanning Daemon, who calls his 1st wife a „bitch“, „uglier than sheep“ and then murders her, because he sees her as inferior as a none-valyrian. But Criston calling Rhaenyra, a person he feels personally wronged by, a „spoiled cunt“ is apparently a too far.

It is just really frustating when the character with the canonically lowest social standing gets afforded the least amount of nuance by the fandom (the writers are obvs not excempt from this criticism either).

[leighsartworks216]

Just A Trim

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I had this idea like this morning or last night, I don't remember. And then I was not physically/mentally able to write until the sudden Need To Write hit me and I cranked this out

When writing this, I noticed I kept making references to Tav being shorter, but bc I want this to be enjoyed by everyone, I took them out. Pls let me know if I missed any instances of it tho

Ending loosely inspired by this scene from Big Fish

Warnings: scissors, brief references to low self-worth, anxiety, pure fluff

Word Count: 1,287

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion didn’t trust his hair with just anybody. Pulling on it during sex? Okay. Playing with it while cuddling? It takes him a bit to actually trust someone enough to enjoy it. Washing it? Absolutely off the table. Cutting it? Out of question, and he’d probably insult you for asking.

So when he came to you, frowning and grumbling, and struggled through grit teeth to ask if you would please help him cut his hair? That meant something.

You tried not to let your glee show as you dropped whatever you were working on and followed him into your shared bathroom. He plopped onto the edge of the tub like a pouting child who’d just got a good telling-to after misbehaving. He held the scissors up for you to take.

“If you cut my ears, darling, I’m going to make you regret the day you were ever born.” He glares over his shoulder as you step into the tub behind him, rolling up your sleeves and taking the scissors. “And don’t you dare do anything funny. All I need is a simple trim. I assume you’re capable enough to manage that?”

You smiled as he growled at you like an annoying customer. You lean down and gently kiss his cheek. “I promise I’ll only take a little bit off.”

There’s an unspoken conflict on his face. He’s not sure he actually wants you to go through with this… But he’s sort of out of options. Any salons nearby closed before the sun went down, and he definitely did not trust any of your past traveling companions to do the job. No. He’d just have to trust you. He sighs and faces forward. “Just… be careful.”

“I will, my love.”

It had been difficult to notice during the course of your adventure together, but his hair did grow. Not as fast as yours, but curls that delicately curled around the edges of his ears now almost completely covered them, like strangling vines. You’d heard him cuss too many times when a strand got caught in his earrings and tugged when he went to brush the hair from his face. The curl that lay persistently over his forehead now brushed his upper eyelid. Very frequently, he would huff and fight to push it back, with nothing to show for it.

With gentle, smooth motions, you combed your fingers through his hair. Your nails lightly scratched at his scalp, running from his hairline to the nape of his neck, and carefully untangling any knots all the while. You heard his quiet sigh, and saw his shoulders begin to relax. You pressed a kiss to his head.

Assessing his full head of hair, you figured out where to begin. You separated out a section, trying to determine how long it used to be, so you knew how short to cut it now. He tensed again.

“I’m going to start cutting it now, okay?” He hummed, short and anxious. You pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Relax, dear. I’ve got you.”

“It’s difficult to when you have the means to turn me into a glorified clown.”

“But I won’t.”

He sighed. “I know.”

You wait for him to relax again, and he nods slightly. You take the scissors to the first section of hair. With a shink, a small clump of hair falls into the tub. The sound certainly doesn’t fill him with confidence, but he trusts you won’t mess it up too bad…

You begin talking about your friends, about the letters they’ve sent lately keeping you updated with their lives. Apparently, Gale sent some interesting information regarding potential cures for his vampirism - though most of it was only on temporary remedies. “In good time,” you’d assured him when he groaned. Stepping into the sun again would be nice, but an end to his sanguine hunger would be better.

It takes a while to cut all his hair, especially with how meticulous you’re being. You give special attention to the hair around his ears, making sure not to nick him. You step out of the tub and in front of him while you cut the stubborn curl there, where you catch it before it can fall into his lap, and deposit it in the basin. He can’t help watching you then. You have such determination and focus on the task at hand. Only once the curl is trimmed do you actually see him staring, and you smile and peck his lips. He rather enjoyed that.

As you go through each section, you consistently run your fingers through his hair. It’s the most relaxing bit, and he’s certainly glad he asked you for this. He would die before Gale ever got his grubby mitts anywhere near his hair.

By the time you finish, his eyes are closed. He listens to your chatter, to the random tunes you hum, to the way you hold your breath as you make a cut. It’s rather peaceful, despite the underlying nervousness to it all. He can’t see himself. All he can hope is you make him look nice.

You brush your fingers through his hair to knock loose any stray strands. It falls like snow by your feet. Satisfied with your work, you begin running water for a bath, kicking the hair down the drain before you plug it to fill the tub.

“Done, love?”

“Mhm!” You lean around to kiss his cheek again. “You can take a bath, wash all the hair off, and I can get you some fresh clothes.”

He grins. He stands and turns to face you, taking your hands in his and running his thumbs along your knuckles. He’s worried, anxious, but he tries not to let it show. “How do I look?” he asks with a careful bravado, tilting his head to the side, chin upturned, like a haughty nobleman.

You let go of his hand to cup his cheek. He automatically leans into it, mask slipping ever so slightly to reveal his worry. “You look beautiful. I think I did a rather fine job.”

“‘Rather fine?’ Oh, darling,” he lilts, “for your sake, I’d better look the spitting image of perfection.”

“You always do.” It’s earnest. A solid fact to oppose the teasing of his words.

He cannot prevent the true smile that tugs the corners of his mouth as he leans in to claim yours, tasting and nipping and teasing with soft sighs of content. You are much too good to him, but he doesn’t say that out loud, lest you lecture him and treat him to endless spoils until he believes it himself.

He reluctantly pulls away, but his lips continue to brush yours. “Bathe with me.”

You open your eyes to study his face. “Are you sure?”

“Undoubtedly.”

A mischievous spark glints in the corner of your eye as you grin wickedly. “Do I get to wash your hair?”

He chuckles. “Don’t push it.”

You hum. “Would you wash mine?”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

“I want… to turn off the tap before our bathroom floods.” You pull away and he has to laugh as you wade through the water to stop the steady stream. The warm water reaches just below your knees. You sigh, but the annoyance is dampened by your grin. “Look what you’ve done - distracting me like that. Now my pants are all wet.”

“All wet?” He makes a show of looking you up and down. “I don’t know, love. I see quite a few dry spots.”

Without warning, he steps into the large tub, still in his own clothes, and grabs you, pulling you down with him into the water. Your laughter fills the house. Astarion has never been more in love.

---

Tag List:

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[sniperdadmaccready]

???????? NO????????!????

still can't stop thinking about how Cass phrased it when (presumably) she was asking me how I killed House. girly pop why'd you say it like that </3