#i hate that i have to write the prelude

[unimportantweirdo]

the tragedy of being a writer is that i have so many scenes! so many angsty painful fun exciting angry scenes and i can't fucking write them yet!

[jewishcissiekj]

The Stark Hyperspace War arc is so good I've gotta reread some Star Wars 1998/republic arcs

[pastryfication]

Hiiiiiiii! Could you maybe write something about how Oscar's girlfriend is a BIG autumn girly and wants to decoeate in August and while he'd usually do whatever she asked, he just can't abide by it so they have a little bit of a bicker about it and reader goes out with friends to shop for fall instead and comes back late. . . To find their apartment all decorated spooky and halloweeny bc Oscar feels bad and hates even the idea that he's disappointed her? Thanks! X

spooky season | oscar piastri

note: hi i’m so sorry this took me absolutely forever to write but i have to admit that i’m not the biggest fan of halloween so it was a bit difficult 😭 but i really hope you like it!!

you wake up on an early august morning, the sun barely peeking through the blinds. oscar is still asleep beside you, his breathing steady and peaceful. you stretch and slide out of bed, your mind already buzzing with excitement. today’s the day.

you’ve been itching to start decorating for autumn for weeks now. the pumpkins, the cinnamon candles, the cozy blankets—all of it just waiting to be brought out. you know it’s early, but august is practically the prelude to autumn, isn’t it? you’ve never been one to wait until the actual season to start celebrating.

you head to the kitchen to make coffee, already thinking about where you’ll start. the mantel could use a new garland, and the front door definitely needs a wreath. your mind is spinning with ideas when you hear oscar shuffling into the room, hair tousled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“morning,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“morning,” you reply, trying to contain your excitement. “so, i was thinking we could start decorating today. you know, get ahead of it this year.”

oscar’s smile falters a little. “decorating? for autumn? already?”

“yes!” you say, a bit too enthusiastically. “it’s never too early to start. besides, it makes the apartment feel so cozy.”

he scratches the back of his neck, looking a bit unsure. “but it’s still summer, love. we’ve got weeks before it even feels like autumn. maybe we can wait a bit longer?”

you feel a twinge of disappointment, but you try to push it aside. “come on, oscar, just a few things. it’ll be fun, i promise.”

he hesitates, clearly torn. usually, he’d do whatever you asked, no questions. but you can see he’s not exactly thrilled with the idea of pumpkins and skeletons in august. “i don’t know… can we at least wait until september?”

you sigh, a little bummed. “but september’s so far away…”

“it’s just a few weeks, babe. i’m not saying no, just… not yet.”

you know he’s trying to be reasonable, but you can’t help feeling a bit let down. you’d been looking forward to this, and now it feels like a small piece of your excitement is slipping away. but you don’t want to push him if he’s really not into it, so you just nod. “okay. we’ll wait.”

oscar gives you a soft smile and pulls you into a hug. “thank you. i promise we’ll go all out when the time comes.”

you nod against his chest, trying to shake off the disappointment. but as the day goes on, it lingers. it’s not a big deal, you tell yourself. it’s just decorations. but you can’t help the little cloud that’s settled over your mood.

later, you decide to head out with some friends, figuring a bit of shopping might lift your spirits. maybe if you just buy a few small things, it’ll satisfy your craving for autumn without turning the whole apartment upside down. you text oscar to let him know you’ll be out for a while and head off, trying to shake off the lingering frustration.

shopping helps a bit. you find a few cute things—some hand towels with little pumpkins on them, a new mug with a spooky cat, and a cinnamon-scented candle that smells like heaven. by the time you’re done, you’re feeling a little better. still, there’s a part of you that wishes you could just dive into autumn full force, like you always do.

it’s late by the time you get back to the apartment. you unlock the door quietly, not wanting to wake oscar if he’s already gone to bed. but as you step inside, you freeze. the apartment is… different.

pumpkins line the windowsills, the cozy blankets you’d been dreaming about are draped over the couch, and there’s a garland of autumn leaves hanging above the fireplace. even the cinnamon candle you’d just bought is lit on the coffee table, filling the room with that warm, spicy scent you love so much.

you stare, wide-eyed, as oscar emerges from the kitchen, a sheepish smile on his face. “surprise,” he says softly.

“oscar… what is all this?”

he rubs the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “i felt bad. i could tell you were disappointed, and i hate the thought of you being unhappy because of me. so… i figured, why wait?”

your heart swells as you take it all in, the familiar warmth and comfort of autumn wrapping around you like a blanket. you can’t believe he did all this—especially after your little disagreement this morning.

“i can’t believe you did this,” you say, your voice catching a little. “it’s perfect.”

he grins, a little relieved. “yeah? i wasn’t sure if it was too much, but i figured you would want to go all out.”

you laugh, throwing your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “thank you,” you whisper against his chest.

“anything for you,” he murmurs back, holding you close. “besides, i kind of like it. it’s… cozy.”

you pull back to look at him, a playful smile on your lips. “you know this means we’re doing halloween early, too, right?”

he chuckles, nodding. “i figured as much.”

and as you settle in on the couch, wrapped in one of your new blankets with oscar beside you, you can’t help but think that this is exactly how you wanted to kick off the season. early or not, it’s completely perfect.

[tom-whore-dleston]

Denial and Devotion

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x f. reader

Word Count: 880

This fic contains: preludes to smut, implied smut, amnesia, mentions of squirting and fingering, reader was a Soldier Boy fangirl (like me fr xD), toxic celebrity culture?

Summary: You are in denial that you slept with the Supe you used to crush on.

Notes: I'm just a girl that writes Soldier Boy fanfic at 2am knowing damn well I have work at 9am flksdghk this gif replays in my brain every waking moment of the day I literally hate how hot he is >:( This is my weekly contribution to @flashfictionfridayofficial’s prompt no. 241: Hour of Denial

The moment you rose from your slumber, you knew something was wrong. First off, you woke up in a room that you did not recognize. Then, you realized the cotton sheets of the unfamiliar bed clung close to your bare skin as if you had slept in it before. 

You attempted to lift yourself out the bed, but your muscles were weak, soreness more prominent in your hips and thighs. As you winced in discomfort, your eyes widened upon the discolored love bites scattered over your body. Your eyes finally glanced to the opposite side of the bed, only to discover the person occupying it was none other than Soldier Boy.

When you were younger, Soldier Boy was your first crush. At the time, he was presumed dead, but your father would tell you stories about how he was one of the greatest superheroes to ever live. Your childhood room was covered in Soldier Boy posters and you had a doll of him that never left the box. As you got older, you conducted more research on the man you worshiped, but eventually learned that he was a monster in a superhero costume. As a result, you ripped the posters to shreds and finessed some cash off the doll in hopes to erase any trace of your Soldier Boy phase. 

You stared in disbelief at the same man that lay peacefully asleep. Your mind raced with questions. The only logical answer to all of them was that you were dreaming. To test the theory, you pinched your forearm as hard as you could. After cursing from the pain, you tried another method by poking Soldier Boy in his meaty bicep. Without fluttering his eyes open, he grunted in annoyance and rolled over. 

If your head wasn’t already spinning, it definitely was at this very moment. You slithered out of the bed, making sure not to disturb the sleeping man, and frantically searched for your clothes. In a hurried attempt, you shimmied back into your little black dress from the night before. Regardless of whether this was all a dream or not, you silently vowed that you are remaining sober for the rest of the month. 

“Where you going so fast, sweetheart?” You turned toward the groggy voice that belonged to Soldier Boy, who was propped up against the bed frame with his muscular torso in view. It felt as if no time had passed since the beginning stages of your devotion to Soldier Boy. Your eyes scanned over his physique with a hunger that only he could satisfy. Heat radiated your body and you stood paralyzed in your unzipped dress, leaving enough uncovered for his imagination to run wild.

As Soldier Boy hopped out of bed, you swiftly turned away as his thick cock unveiled from the thin sheets. He began walking towards you, but you ignored him by fiddling with the zipper on your back. You grew frustrated with the zipper’s defiance the closer the beefy supe inched towards you. His intense stare begged for your attention until he took matters into his own hands by lifting your chin up to his gaze. Your heart pounded against your chest as his green eyes studied your face. Except there was no studying necessary.

“I’m a little embarrassed by this,” you laughed nervously, “but I don’t remember anything from last night.”

Soldier Boy smirked. “Want me to give you a reminder?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” You paused. You may not have been as infatuated with the supe as much as you once were, but you didn’t want to come off as rude. “I mean…I’m sure last night was great but I shouldn’t impose-“

“Great? Well if you define squirting on my fingers and cock until you begged me to stop as great then maybe I gotta fuck you harder.” 

You were about to let out a moan, but quickly masked it with a sigh. Every part of you wanted to hate him but the ache in between your legs betrayed your voice of reason.

“You can play the ex-fangirl game all you want, but you and I know you never truly get over your first crush.” There wasn’t a more pathetic feeling than regressing back into that naive girl who treated a flawed superhero like a god. 

Suddenly, your back hit the wall and Soldier Boy towered over you, his arm the only thing keeping him from pressing you against the wall to grind into your core. His free hand hooked under the strap of your dress, slowly pulling it off your shoulder. As the dress pooled around your feet, he lightly kissed the crook of your neck, electricity coursing your blood as his beard pricked your skin.

His hot breath fanned over your ear. “There’s no need to deny me anymore, sweetheart. I’m here for you to worship and fulfill all your pretty little fantasies.”

Fuck it.

All your common sense flew out the window as you desperately smashed your lips against his. Gripping your wrists, he pinned you against the wall before grinding his semi hard cock against your wet pussy. 

Soldier Boy may have been the biggest pain in your ass, literally and figuratively, but he was right about you never fully recovering from your first crush.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Soldier Boy Masterlist

header credit: @saradika | divider credit: @firefly-in-darkness

[bro-atz]

prelude in e minor

in which: your brain tells you to focus on your education, but your heart tells you to focus on professor choi.

pair: professor!san/afab!reader

word count: 4.7k

content: angst, smut, teacher x student relationship (college level, so it's completely legal mind you), san is a cellist, themes of infidelity, soft and sensual, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: ...yes, i know, i write a lot of san angst/smut let's move on... also, i don't recommend listening to the song that inspired the title if you don't wanna cry but if you do, listen to the cello ver

network: @cromernet

taglist: @k-hotchoisan @eyeryis @sinnarols @aaasia111 @sunshineangel-reads @hwallazia @dazzlingstarrs @dutchessskarma @yourlocaljonghoe apply for the permanent taglist here! professor!series: yunho pt. 1, yunho pt. 2, san pt. 1, san pt. 2, yeosang, seonghwa

He seemed too young to be a professor. It could’ve been because he aged beautifully or something along those lines, but he looked too young to be a professor. That was the only logical explanation you could come with as you gazed fondly at the professor you had come to appreciate greatly.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted.

“Good morning, S— I mean Professor Choi,” you caught yourself before you could address him in the professional manner that he hated.

“Still waking up there?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah…”

“That’s alright. I am too.”

He gave you a small smile that made you want to rip your heart out and hand it to him on a silver platter. You had to slap your cheeks to get it together, making the man laugh at your actions— he thought you were trying to wake up, but in reality, you were trying to slap the improper thoughts in your mind.

The thing was Professor Choi San was more than a music teacher— he was an artist. He created beautiful melodies that entranced you. At first, you thought it was the melodies you were falling in love with, but as you paid close attention to him— you had to because how else were you going to learn?— you started to note the little things like the way his well manicured fingers nimbly glided along the strings, the way his hands danced as he drew the bow across, and the way he was so focused on the gorgeous piece of wood between his legs.

Those little things piled on. During your one-on-one lessons with him, you couldn’t help but admire the way a couple strands of his hair would fall over his forehead. You wanted so badly to trace your finger over the constellation of moles on his cheek and neck, and God, you’d do anything to feel his fingers press into you as they explored the exposed parts of your body.

You slapped your face again, startling the man who was busy tuning his cello.

“D-do you need coffee or something, Y/N?” he asked with a look of shock on his face.

“Ah! No, I’m fine. I’m good now,” you declined.

“Alright. Let’s begin.”

The second you laid your eyes on your sheet music, all the dirty thoughts you had swarming your brain about Professor Choi vanished, and you were focused. Your heart may have wanted the professor, but your brain always made you fixate on your degree. Work first, love second.

“Okay, that was a solid run,” he said with a proud beam on his face. “There’s some sections we could clean up… Can you start at the fermata and end at cut time?”

You nodded and did as he asked, your fingers working effortlessly during the first couple of measures, then you struggled slightly when you got to the run. It was only the run that got you, honestly, because the section after was solid, but after fucking up the run, you messed up the rest of it.

“That gliss is not fun,” your professor noted after you muddled through the rest of that section. “Start slowly. Get the fingerings down for it first.”

That was the issue. You weren’t used to the key signature of the piece, and you had marked up the notes that were in the run, but that simply wasn’t enough. You worked through the notes slowly, but you still kept messing up here and there. Sighing deeply after messing up the run for the nth times, you lowered your bow and cracked your neck, hoping that making yourself less stiff would help.

“Here,” Professor Choi finally spoke up after watching you struggle for what felt like an eternity. He set his cello in its stand and walked over to you, your breath hitching at the sight of him approaching you. “Let’s go over the notes together.” 

Your mind was scrambling and your heart was racing when you felt San’s arms wrap around you, one hand over yours on your bow and the other one matching the placement of your fingers. You thought you were going to lose your damn mind especially when you got a good whiff of his cologne, but when you focused on the pages in front of you, your mind returned to work mode.

He ran through the notes painfully slowly with you, his warm touch turning hot and starting to burn a hole through your skin, but you were so hyper-fixated on the run that you didn’t realize how your body was reacting to him. Finally, Professor Choi let go of you, but he stood right behind you as you went through the run all on your own, this time acing it.

“Oh my God,” you turned around and looked at him happily, your eyes sparkling. “I thought it was going to take longer for me to get that!”

“You’re a fast learner, Y/N. Be more confident in yourself,” the professor responded, his body still right behind you.

You gave him a quick nod and turned back in your seat so you could play the run over and over again, your fingers dancing on the strings as you mastered something new today.

Professor Choi returned to his seat, his cello immediately going between his legs before he could even sit properly. He sat and watched as you went through the entire section perfectly. He was in trance until you called his name and asked for the next section.

Those moments when the professor physically helped you learn the sections you were messing up were the moments you lived for. Sometimes, you considered intentionally failing a section just so you could have him near you because you knew that you could never be with him. He was your professor, and that’s all he was ever going to be. And the other thing was that he had that gold band wrapped around his ring finger. It was never going to happen. You just had to settle for these small, stolen moments.

Usually, you were good. Hell, you were fucking amazing and talented; after all, if you weren’t, you never would’ve been accepted into your esteemed college of music. However, you were all sorts of off during this solo lesson.

Why? Because of that man. He always wore a three piece suit that always reminded you of dark academia fashion— he apparently had no idea what that was— but today, he took the jacket and the vest off. The sleeves to his button up were rolled up, exposing his thick, sturdy forearms, and his biceps bulged as he held his cello in place. God dammit, how on earth was his suit jacket able to hide Professor Choi’s insane build?

And so, you were distracted as fuck, and you kept messing up— well, it was a combination of him and the sheet music you were sight reading when you were supposed to have practiced it before the lesson.

“Again,” your professor said, his low voice interrupting the pathetic, quivering notes of your cello.

Professor Choi was a patient man, but you had messed up so many times that you could see the frustration on his face, his eyebrows getting more furrowed by the second.

You took a deep breath and started again, your eyes fixated on the notes on the sheet. You were doing a solid job until you looked up at Professor Choi during one of the rests and saw him standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Your rest went on for too long, and you fumbled trying to get back into the song, only for the notes to come out wrong and really wrong.

“Stop,” he said, startling you so much that you nearly dropped your bow. He took his glasses off— fuck, he looked so good even with his glasses off— and rubbed his temples before sighing and putting them back on.

His eyes met yours, and the second you made eye contact, you noticed the tiny little mole above his eye, your gaze softening as you admired it. “Hey,” he snapped you out of your trance. “Look at me.”

You did as he asked, and your heart skipped several beats. You had never seen this look on his face before, this look of concern with his lips nearly pouting, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes sharp. You could barely breathe normally as he approached you and knelt by your chair.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice a lot softer from the strict tone it was at earlier, making your heart pound faster than the vivace tempo on your sheet music.

Yes. I need you to wear your goddamn jacket before I lose my fucking mind.

“No, Mr. Choi, I’m fine” you replied, your voice nearly cracking and exposing your lie because you were not fine. However, you didn’t have to lie as you continued, “I just didn’t prepare for the piece today. I’m sight-reading it right now.”

“It’s not the piece, Y/N. You’re excellent at sight-reading.” Professor Choi clearly didn’t buy it, a knowing glint shining in his narrowed eyes. “You seem to be distracted. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m just tired, is all.”

“These early morning lessons must be getting to you,” he mumbled, finally letting you off the hook. “We’ll switch your timings to the evening, is that okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Truth be told, you liked the early morning lessons because it allowed you to have the rest of the day to yourself. But, you also didn’t mind the evening lessons, because that meant your lesson could go over time if needed.

“You know,” Professor Choi spoke softly, nearly making you jump as you didn’t realize he was still by your chair. He placed his hand on your knee and said, “You can always come to me if something is troubling you.”

“I know…”

“Good. Okay, let’s just stop here for today. Next week, we’ll meet in the evenings, okay?”

“Okay,” you felt like you could finally breathe the second he got up and walked to his chair across from yours, the knot in your stomach untangling.

“And be sure to have that sheet music perfected.”

Fuck.

“Okay.”

Next week had yet to come, and you were all sorts of antsy in the days leading up. It was just your normal lesson with the same professor, but at least with a morning lesson you were so drained from the night before that it made it easier to focus on lessons instead of fawning over Professor Choi.

You were wandering around campus as you waited for your friends to get out of class— your class ended well before theirs, so you always had time to kill. You decided to head to the campus coffee shop and look over the sheet music for your lesson when you spotted him.

Immediately, your heart tightened. You knew about the gold band, you remember staring at the gold band and thinking how nice it would be if you had a matching one, but you completely forgot that there was a person who had the actual matching ring, and she was standing right next to him.

The woman was beautiful with long, dark, flowing hair that cascaded down her shoulders and back, her looks completely complimenting her husband’s. And then, hugging his waist as he supported her, you saw his daughter, a beautiful blend of both him and his wife.

You knew he had a family. You knew it, but that didn’t stop your heart from weeping. Rather than continuing to wait for your friend, you rushed back to your dorm, and you shut yourself in before leaning against the door and sinking to the ground.

You had no reason to cry. You shouldn’t have fallen for the professor in the first place, and this was the price you had to pay. You should’ve listened to logic, listened to your brain over your heart, and none of this would’ve been happening.

You couldn’t focus on anything at all— it was to the point where you literally just sobbed over your sheet music, your tears staining the pages of the perfectly preserved original sheet. So, you spent the rest of that week throwing yourself a pity party. The image of him, his wife, and his child burned into your eyes and brain, and every time you thought about it, it made you cry all over again.

Why did you have to go fall in love with a married man?

Thankfully, your eyes were not red when you met with Professor Choi for your evening lesson, but your heart still hurt, and your brain was all fuzzy. Worst of all, you didn’t perfect the sheet music as he had asked. Perfect.

You played a grand total of six notes before Professor Choi stopped you.

“Stop lying to me. Clearly, something’s up with you,” he sounded irritated, but his tone was soft, as if he was frustrated not by you, but because of lack of understanding. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

God, you hated when people asked you that. No matter what the circumstance was, the words “Are you okay?” always made you cry. Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked down at your lap in attempt to keep the tears inside without making it clear to him that you were about to start crying just as you had been for the past several days.

But he noticed anyway. He quickly placed his cello on his stand before crossing the room and sitting right next to you. He gently took your cello and bow out of your hands, allowing you to just bury your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey, talk to me,” he said softly. His hands pulled yours away from your face. He held one of your hands while quickly wiping the tears from the corner of your eye with the other, his eyes filled with worry. “You can trust me.”

“I’m just having trouble coming to terms with some things in my life,” you told him, intentionally being vague to protect your feelings. “I haven’t been able to focus all weekend because of it.”

“Do you want to talk about—”

“No,” you refused before he could even finish his sentence.

“I think talking it through would be help—”

You cut him off again by saying somewhat harshly, “I can’t and won’t talk about it with you.”

You shakily exhaled heavily, tears still filling your vision. You got up and tried to get your things and leave, but Professor Choi wasn’t done with you yet. He got up as well and grabbed your arm, turning you around to face him. He had a firm grip on you, but he made sure not to hurt you— he just didn’t want you to run away.

“What do you mean?” he asked you, his voice full of hurt. “Why can’t you talk to me about it?”

You kept quiet and avoided eye contact. You just wanted to get out of there and get away from him before you completely broke down. Yet, you couldn’t because he had both your arms pinned on either side of you, his firm hold on you making it impossible to get away from him.

“It’s because of me, right?”

You pressed your lips together and gave up. You gave up trying to get away, trying to not cry, and trying to deny your feelings. You responded with a tiny nod. Professor Choi let go of you immediately, a sudden realization dawning on him.

“God, uh, Y/N… I’m so sorry— I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. You must be so uncomfortable… No wonder you’re acting like this. I— I thought I was careful in hiding my feelings, but you must’ve realized it… Shit, Y/N, seriously, I’m so sorry.”

His feelings? What? Your eyes dried up immediately and flew wide open, and your brain went from crying to just pure confusion. There were about a million questions you wanted to ask him, but there was only one you could squeak out.

“What?”

“You’re uncomfortable because I have feelings for you, right?”

He… He what? He has feelings for you? He has feelings for you?

“I didn’t… I didn’t know…”

“Then… Why…?”

“Because I’m in love with you, Pro— No, San,” you said his name for the first time out loud.

San exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. He, too, had a million questions on his mind, but before he could utter any of them, you continued.

“But… I shouldn’t be. It’s wrong, and you’re already—”

“Don’t,” San covered your mouth with his hand. “Don’t say it’s wrong. Don’t say what we both feel is wrong.”

And with that, San moved his hand to your cheek, and he guided you to his embrace. He wrapped an arm around your waist and cupped your face as he gave you a tender kiss charged with all of the feelings he had for you right there in the practice room. You clutched the collar of his shirt as you pushed yourself further into his kiss, his embrace reciprocating by pulling you closer to him.

Everything was a blur after that. The two of you packed up your instruments and left campus quickly, only to end up at a hotel, your shoes flying off the second you entered the room. San was impatient the second you got into the room, but he didn’t rush a single thing. His kisses may have been intense, but in the same breath, they were gentle and kind. He hugged you while still kissing you and brought you to the hotel bed so that he could pin you down, his lips unable to get enough of yours.

He kept sighing your name, his husky voice making you yearn for him more, making you lust for him more. You slipped his tie off and tossed it somewhere quickly so you could start to work on his buttons. San groaned as he felt your fingers graze and move down his exposed chest, your hand going further as you continued unbuttoning. When there were no more buttons left for you, your hand cupped his clothed cock, the huge bulge aching to spring forward. You heard a hitch in San’s breath as you stroked him from the outside, and when you worked on his belt, he dropped his head to the nook of your neck and let out a little laugh along with a pleasureful sigh.

“San,” you murmured as he nuzzled his nose into your neck, his lips leaving faint kisses in the process. “God, San… I want you so bad…”

“Is that so?” he responded in the same register.

He raised his head to meet your gaze, the two of you breathing heavily in unison. You gazed at his face and brought your hand to his face as you looked at the moles on his face, the moles you couldn’t help but love, the moles that you wanted to connect. You started with the one near his eye and lightly trailed your nail along his face to trace across the ones on his face then the ones on his neck. Your eyes had been following the path of your finger, so when you stopped and rested your hand on his neck, you looked to see him softly smiling, his eyes exuding affection. He kissed you again, but it was a slow kiss, a long kiss, a kiss that made shivers run from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” you whispered to him when the kiss ended.

Wordlessly, San sat up, revealing just a sliver of his bare torso. He shed his dress shirt and let it fall to the ground. You stared at him in awe— he had such broad shoulders and a tiny waist, not to mention the thickness of his muscles, his entire being making you want him more and more.

The ethereal view of the stunning man didn’t last long. He moved back towards you and pulled your shirt off, then bra, then pants, then panties. His head remained down by your crotch after he stripped you bare, his finger nearing and teasing your clit while his other hand pushed your thigh upwards, your calf nearly resting on his shoulder.

“You’re even beautiful down here,” you barely heard him say, flushing your entire body with warmth and slight embarrassment.

The second you felt San’s tongue against your clit, your entire body reacted. You gripped the sheets with your fingers and toes, and your back arched, the man’s singular action enough to drive you crazy. He then sucked on your clit as he slid two fingers into your cunt, his fingers spreading inside you the deeper they went. You moaned and sighed loudly the more he catered to you down there, the pleasure starting to build up in your stomach.

As soon as he prepped you enough, San moved away from you, disappointment and slight fear seeping into your brain. He got off the bed and pulled a condom out of his wallet before removing the rest of his clothes. You saw his cock spring up, the thickness and length of it scaring you slightly. You bit your knuckle as you watched him roll it on, his hand stroking his dick slowly as he climbed back onto the bed.

San got back on the bed and knelt between your legs. He continued stroking while placing his other hand flat on your stomach. You watched as he licked his lower lip while rubbing the tip along your folds, and he bit his lower lip when he started pushing into you. He exhaled long and lowly as he fully entered you while you opted for a quiet moan. You could feel his every single movement the deeper his cock drove into you, his girth alone starting a fire in your belly.

His thrust following, however, was not as kind. He had moved his hand from your stomach to your waist, and he was gripping your waist in a way that made you have feelings of desire, a feeling you hadn't felt from another man in a while. He didn’t rut into you with his full force, which made you scared for when he did because the feeling his waist hitting yours already made your thighs sting. Plus, every time he pulled out, you felt like you could feel your walls being ripped out, making your eyes watery. You grabbed the pillow behind your head and tore holes in the pillowcase while you squeezed your teary eyes shut as San started speeding up, short, labored breaths leaving both you and the man.

You felt his hand over yours, making you open your eyes to a tear-blurred sight of San above you. His neatly styled hair was now slightly wet with sweat and shadowing his eyes, and you could see him gritting his teeth as he looked at you with narrowed, lusty eyes. His hands moved to lace his fingers with yours. A tiny bubble of his perspiration rolled down his nose and dropped to your cheek, the heat from the sweat making the blush on your cheeks deepen.

“You…” San sighed as he continued rolling his body into yours. “You’re so beautiful… Exactly how I imagined you would look— Hnngh— under me…”

“San— Ah!” You wanted to respond to him, but he finally used the entirety of his strength to ram his cock deep inside you, the action completely taking you by surprise. You flung your head back and cried his name loudly as he relentlessly thrust into you.

White filled your vision when you felt him hit your cervix, and you could only continue to see white as he leaned further into you, making your back leave the bed and his cock rut into you at a different angle. You came hard, your walls clenching, your fingers squeezing his, your tears escaping your eyes, your arousal squirting out of you.

You thought he would cum, that the experience would be over, but San wasn’t about to let this moment end so fast— he only had the one condom, and he wanted to fuck you longer, harder. He grabbed your waist and lifted you so that he was sitting on the bed and you were sitting on his lap, his cock still inside you and somehow filling you up more than it had when he had you splayed on the bed.

His hands guided you. They went under your ass, and he did most of the heavy lifting for you were still recovering from your first orgasm of the night. You held onto his shoulders and looked down at his face as he looked up at you, the two of you sharing your thoughts wordlessly. You brought your lips to his and let his tongue violate yours. Your hips moved slightly, your body rolling into his as he continued to assist you riding him.

You pushed San’s shoulders back, making him lay on the bed and you on his chest. His hips were still moving, still going, still ramming into yours, and his large hands were holding, groping, squeezing your ass. You, meanwhile, started leaving kisses on his beautiful, olive toned skin. Your hands wandered over his chest, your fingers running over his nipples and making his breath hitch. He groaned deeply and spread your asscheeks as he moved your waist forcefully, his hips continuing to ram his cock into you from below.

“S-San,” you whimpered as you started to see stars cloud your vision. “I’m a-almost—”

San brought one of his hands up to hold the back of your head and bring your face to his so he could kiss you as the two of you came. You moaned and cried softly into his mouth as you felt a deep sigh rumble in his chest. Your pussy and his cock both twitched and throbbed, and when he pulled out, you felt as though you were empty, that you needed him to be inside you to make you whole again.

You wanted to tell him to fuck you again, but before you could, he got off the bed. He helped you to your feet and said quietly, “Go take a shower first.”

There was something ominous about the way he said that, but you listened to him regardless. He showered shortly after you finished yours, and while you were sitting on the bed trying to situate yourself, he emerged fully clothed, a dark look painting his face.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone curt but sorrowful. “We can never do this again.”

“W-What?”

“I made a mistake… I’m sorry. You can stay here tonight since the room is paid for, but make sure you check out in the morning.”

San tried to turn to leave, but you grabbed his arm before he could even take one step towards the door.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who told me not to say this was wrong, so why are you all of a sudden changing your mind?!” you didn’t want to yell at him, but you felt so wronged that you couldn’t help it.

He removed his hand from your arm and looked at you, the affection in his eyes now fully replaced by disappointment and regret.

“I know… I did say that. But, Y/N, I shouldn’t have… It was my mistake, and I don’t want to make it again.”

San turned to leave again, but you hugged him from behind, making him stop in his tracks. You buried your face into his broad back and started crying, your tears staining the fabric of his dress shirt. “I love you, San! I love you, so please don’t do this to me,” you sniffled. 

He remained motionless in your embrace, slightly defeated. But, he managed to wriggle out of your arms as he said. “I love you, too; but I also love my family, and I shouldn’t have done this to them. I’m sorry, Y/N. We never should’ve done this.”

The words rang in your ears long after San had left the room. You buried your face in your hands and bawled your eyes out as regret filled your body.

He was right. You never should’ve done it. At least your heart wouldn’t have completely shattered if you didn’t.

[fallstaticexit]

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Next

AN: Prelude to a WIP untitled mini story featuring a quick look into the life of the infamous Nancy Landgraab. I've had my nose buried in my computer screen this weekend working feverishly to get this out my system (affectionately of course). Pretty excited for what’s to come! I'll likely start this up sometime towards the end of Missing Moments, but knowing me, I'll probably work on them at the same time since they're stand alone stories. 😌 I will take the moment to list the trigger warnings for this story below the cut. Pretty heavy themes but I am expanding my writing and will always handle with care. TW + Transcript Below

Trigger Warnings:

Homophobia / Religious Trauma / Death via Car Accident/ Drugs / Alcohol / Infidelity / Sex & Nudity

Source where I found Nancy’s parent’s name. Her brother, Nathan is an OC :

Landgraab Family Tree

Transcript:

Nancy Narrating: [I was always good at hiding]

[I’d hide from the maids, the cooks, the nannies. No one could ever find me]

[I could hide for hours, completely unseen, as if I were invisible, as if I had never been there to begin with.]

[Among the maids, the cooks, the nannies, and even my own parents, it was Nathan who would always come looking me. Nathan was the one person in the world who truly noticed me ]

Nathan: Oh, I wonder where little Nan is.

Nathan: [chuckles weakly] There you are. I’m glad I found you.

Nathan: I’m sorry you had to hear all that, Nan. I know you don’t understand...but- maybe things will be better for you than they are for me.

Nathan: I’ll come back for you one day, Nan. I promise. Just...please don’t hate me for leaving. I-I can’t stay here anymore. I’m so sick of fighting them. Sick of hiding. [sniffs]

Nancy: [whispers] Bye-bye.

Nathan: Goodbye, Nancy.

[If only I knew better. I would have begged him to stay]

Queenie: [choked sob]

Officer: We’re sorry, ma’am.

[I never really grew out of hiding ]

[A part of me hoped Nathan would come back and find me]

[What a childish thought]

Queenie: [on the phone] I don’t care what you have to do- fix it. I want this problem gone. All of it. [tsks] This child will be the death of me.

Queenie: [on the phone] She’ll stay until all the fuss is over. Rest assured, I will see to it before Chester becomes a laughing stock. [call ends]

Queenie: This is for your own good, Nancy. I’ve already lost a son, and I refuse to compromise the honor associated with our family name. When you marry a good man and raise his children, you’ll understand.

Vanessa: [snorts] Oh shit. Busted.

Vanessa: You’re not a narc, are you?

Nancy: Fuck no. Can I bum one?

Vanessa: Sure.

[After all those years, I thought I had forgotten-]

[what it feels like to be seen]

[fatuismooches]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 - 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫.

"hmm...? you have something you wish to discuss with me? i suppose i can put my research on hold, just for a bit."

♡ dottore brainrots tag

♡ dottore child segment/zandy tag

♡ dottore + playable reader tag

♡ dottore + fragile reader tag

➥ this tag contains many, many brain rots and writing with dottore and his lover who is sick and fragile. i wish i could link them all, but there's too much! please enjoy.

♡ princiipis amoris

➥ five times dottore swore he hated you, and the one time he realized it was the opposite.

♡ natalis numerus ???

➥ dottore celebrates your birthday with you.

♡ puer et monstrum

➥ you attempt to help the adult raven reconcile with his younger-fledging self.

♡ cor monstri

➥ you try to understand one of dottore's most elusive segments.

♡ bene quiescam, dilecte mi

➥ you help zandik destress during exams.

♡ amandus est videri

➥ dottore takes you to sumeru for your birthday.

♡ cor meum, manus tuas

➥ dottore gives you foxttore when you're feeling down.

♡ fabulam diu oblitus

➥ the tale of the raven and sparrow has long been forgotten by most, but some will always remember.

➵ prelude

➵ first interlude

➵ second interlude

➵ postlude

➵ sequel

♡ dottore's lover turning into a kid

♡ poly relationship with dottore and sandrone

♡ poly relationship with dottore and pantalone

♡ dottore being soft for his lover

♡ aftercare headcanons

♡ being his lover from sumeru akademiya

♡ comforting tired lover

♡ taking care of sick lover

♡ platonic caretaker headcanons

♡ heartwarming flowery fluff

♡ poly harbingers all falling in love

♡ platonic older sibling headcanons

♡ comforting crying lover

♡ fragile/weak lover

♡ fragile/weak lover - they find your letter

♡ voicelines about you

♡ fragile reader concept

♡ comfy snowy day

♡ comforting fragile reader

♡ what they notice

♡ christmas with them

♡ first kiss

♡ childhood crush

♡ boyfriend texts

♡ when they're drunk

♡ when they're jealous

♡ normal dottore behavior

♡ dottore + non-transactional relationships

♡ you die

♡ thoughts on marriage

♡ skipping class with him

♡ when they're sick

♡ when you name his clones

♡ creaturettore au

♡ arguing with him

♡ giving him a haircut

♡ he comforts you

♡ he comforts you on your period

♡ when you're physically affectionate

♡ dominating him

♡ an experiment in beauty

♡ omega soft thoughts

♡ omega + photo-taking

♡ being the segments' first

♡ together in all universes

♡ he finds you beautiful

♡ he teaches others a lesson...

♡ the fatui's handbook

♡ when you're scared of needles

♡ birthday letters

♡ getting closer to omega

♡ sleepy cuddles

♡ getting closer to webttore

♡ fragile reader voice lines

♡ fragile reader voice lines but it's you

♡ you give his speech for him

[nikethestatue]

Having been in this fandom for a long time, I think what's become apparent--and I think that's where most of our problems stem from--is that PERSONAL INTERPRETATION has become the default thing to fall back onto, and consequently, it's been used over and over again to negate or disregard the author's INTENT, because it doesn't align with personal preference. Consequently, people began being duped into believing that a reader's personal interpretation of text is 'right' and that canon doesn't matter and that SJM's own intention don't matter as well.

Here are some examples:

Did SJM INTENDED for Cassian to be a terrible mate who will sell Nesta for a chicken nugget if Rhys tells him to? Was the intent to show how poor Nessian pairing is?

OR

Is it just that Cassian did not live up to the readers' own expectations of what they wanted for Nesta? And is their interpretation of Cassian as an awful match for Nesta, who doesn't care about her, only cares about sex, and would never stand up for her or support her, actually correct?

Did SJM INTENDED for Gwyn's scenes in ACOSF to be romantic towards Azriel? Was her cutting the ribbon or climbing or running a prelude to the great Gwynriel romance novel?

OR

Is it that Gwyn was created to be a springboard for Nesta's self-discovery and healing? Someone who accepted, supported and encouraged Nesta when Nesta was at her lowest? And did many readers' animosity towards Elain's characters drove them to willfully interpret absolutely non-romantic scenes as romantic in a futile hope that somehow, their personal wants would translate to page?

Did SJM intended for Rhys and Feyre to be viewed as ignorant despots who hate their own people, only care about wealth and power, and don't give a damn about anyone but themselves and their five houses?

OR

Is Rhys's love for Feyre the driving force behind many of his decisions? for example giving her an extravagant house? Does Rhys really want to trample on everyone's rights, or is he allowing some of his subjects the freedom of autonomy and self-actualization? Is the intent to show that he is a thoughtful and imperfect leader, who cares about the welfare of his people, or is that he is a dictator who gave his lover an empty title?

While SJM's execution of certain topics isn't perfect, I think that wilful ignorance and the desire to see something that isn't there, and something that SJM didn't intended at all, is really the cause of all the shipwars and the IC hate.

Is SJM REALLY in love with Lucien and is excited to write his book, or is that the fantasy of his stans? Whereas SJM's never been particularly complimentary towards Lucien and his character in interviews or in canon?

Will Tamlin's elusive 'redemption arc' REALLY be something that SJM is interested in writing? Or her calling him a 'douchebag' is kind of indicative of her feelings towards him?

"Elriels are obsessed with canon'. We heard this again and again and again. Being obsessed with canon' simply means that we are paying attention to what SJM's intentions are and what she wants to convey through her words. Elriels, just like everyone else have headcanons about Elain, and Az, and Elriel. But we don't discard the actual books and writing in favour of our headcanons.

I feel that lack of consideration towards 'intent' is really leading some people down a very slippery road, where at the end of it, they'll find a lot of crushed dreams. Because most of the time, 'black' is just....black. It's not white. It's not even opaque. It's just, black. I think people should remember that when they do their 'analysis'.

[acontrariis]

the prelude.

pairing. Aemond Targaryen x OC word count. 1.3k warnings. mention of miscarriage and death.

summary. Aemond Targaryen never intended to marry, much less fall in love. But fate has a way of flipping a coin, rewriting the stories we thought were set in stone. Bound by a union neither expected, Aemond and Vienna will navigate through the treacherous sea of love in hopes they might just be strong enough to defy fate. In a world where history is written by the victors, "Veiled in Fire" reveals the untold story of a love that could change everything.

History remembers names. 

Rather, whoever’s writing it does. Little does anyone say about the ones that got lost in time. Patches of ink on crumpled paper that have been turned to ashes. 

Pieces of a forgotten past. Buried under the retellings of a deceitful memory.

After all, only those who win get to tell the stories. 

Teach the lessons. 

Erase the failures. 

This is what this story is, a recollection of failures . The black sheeps of the family. The little branch that got cut from the tree. The letters that were burnt. The passages only some knew and even fewer remember. 

This is a journey through the cracks, the secret tunnels that threatened the perfect foundation we now stand on. The remnants of a life that grows in the fissures.

For all it takes is a single ray of sunlight to bring us back to life. 

⸺

Our story begins a few years in the near past. 

History books tell us that Viserys I Targaryen’s reign was decided at the Great Council of 101 A.C. Having yet to produce a male heir, Daemon Targaryen was the closest heir the King had. A young, wild and hot-headed man, unsuited for the throne. 

The two brothers served as two sides of a coin, night and day, the heirs of the Targaryen Household. 

However, what most ignore is the thin line of blood wiped from the records, a reckless child, the third brother, Daeron Targaryen. It is said that with his birth, he took what little life was left of Princess Alyssa. Hated by his father and resented by his brothers, the child grew prone to aversion and hostility. Those who knew him would whisper of the Prince’s indiscretions. 

A privileged child, who had everything but his family’s love. 

From a young age, the little Prince showed excellence in all areas. A lover of arts and a skilled swordsman. 

Perhaps the previous statement should be corrected, he was excellent in all areas that could be taught .  

A quick learner that despite his talents, was not blessed with the natural gifts a Targaryen should possess. 

Perhaps the only true gift his blood had given him, along with the white hair and amethyst eyes, was madness and, as he stared at the egg that never hatched, this one only worsened. 

As he grew, the main pleasures of his life came from sex and death. He controlled the powerless in a way he wished to control his own fate. 

Once he was old enough, he made it his goal to know the Seven Kingdoms. Never staying in one place for a long time, his days passed in a constant turmoil. 

A maid once heard him say if he stayed still for too long, the voices would surely eat him inside. So he kept moving, an enemy to silence and a lover of chaos. It is said he rivaled his brother Aemond in mischief. 

Daeron’s life was a constant loop, a whirlwind of emotions overflowing the body of an unstable young man. 

In a makeshift throne, at the heart of the harvest celebrations, the young Prince was said to meet his match. 

Time stops in the eye of the hurricane. 

Ebony hair reflected the red fire that engulfed her movements.  White pearly teeth shining under the veil of a golden mask, accompanied by deep black orbs that swallowed his soul. 

Elaena. 

Her name came like a prayer, a sip of water to a dying man. 

⸺

Five springs their love bloomed in a long forgotten castle, neighbors to House Arryn on the eastern lands.

Devoted and faithful, their eyes only saw each other and knew no one better than the other. 

Despite the insistent disapproval of the family, the lovers married soon after that first night. 

The Prince was said to happily adjust to married life. Leaving his wandering days in the past, he committed himself to the newfound happiness he had so desperately craved. 

Their days were filled with a peace that came from building a life together.

As their household bloomed with love, it was not to say it didn’t suffer its own hardships. 

Many losses were suffered through the years, the Princess agonizing cries ringing through the castle walls as yet another life was lost. 

Some thought it was a curse, “Perhaps the Princess is not meant to bear children”, the Maesters would say. 

Still, despite the Prince's protests and fears, the new Princess’ attempts didn’t waver. She wanted to give him a family, she would say. 

He deserved that . 

A dried up egg arrived from the Red Keep, as a final effort was attempted.

This time, a Priestess was called. An old friend from another life. 

Seeing the fragile state of the Princess, her first thought was to terminate the pregnancy as soon as possible. The only thing that refrained her from expressing it was the hopeful look on Elaena’s face. 

The once rosy cheeks now hollowed and pale served as proof of the pain she was desperately trying to hide inside. Her swollen belly was too big for her worn out body and yet she caressed it with such devotion, one might think her a saint.

It is said the Prince became a shell of what he once was, consumed with worry and fear for his wife, he would not leave her side if he could help it. It took a nudge and a sleeping remedy for the women to have some privacy. 

There are some things, in a marriage, one must keep from the other. 

Whether that is to protect them or to protect themselves, that is of little importance when dealing with the consequences, which is why the Priestess didn’t flinch when hearing the Princess’s confession. 

- “I won’t live much longer, and neither will my husband.”

A blood curse is not easily, if ever, truly broken, for there’s no curse more twisted than love. 

On the third night of a cold winter night, a black haired babe was born with wine colored eyes, shining full of life as her cries echoed through the castle. And as her father had done before, her birth sealed their parents fate, for the hex was impossible to crack.

The pale complexion of the Princess covered in sweat, showing something close to a smile.

The Priestess, Marmee, held Elaena’s hand in hers, as the latter silently cried, her strength long gone. 

- “I will take care of your child. Whatever the course, I swear to look after her.” 

A promise.

A vow. 

A sentence. 

The Princess’ cries, begging for forgiveness and regretting making their daughter an orphan, echoed through the castle.

Three nights the new Mother bled, the pain driving her to delusions. Her husband held her through it all, and by the time her last breath was exhaled, with it went his. 

For their lives have been joined as one, as only true lovers could be. 

At last, as the couple held each other, their final goodbye was lost in the cries of their newborn child.

⸺

The bards would sing of the Prince’s madness. 

Tired of his brothers’ mistreatments, he took out the rage on those weaker than him. His wife, an unfortunate victim. 

Stories tell they killed each other in a fit of rage, the witch, tired and resentful, made sure that was the last bruise he put on her face. With a dagger in hand, the desperate wife launched her attack, the precise aim of a killer striking the vital points of her lover. 

It is said the wench, covered in the warm blood of her husband, took the knife to her neck, bidding one last farewell to the crying infant in the crib. 

⸺

Rumors said an egg was stolen from a baby's crib. Blacker than the night sky, covered in amethyst jewels, the unclaimed dragon from the hatched egg was a vision in itself. 

Many tried to tame it, their flesh served as fuel for the creature to grow, forever without a rider.

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[sighed-the-snake]

Gun LOADED!

Many people are looking to the bullet catch scene to theorize that Aziraphale is going to fake Crowley's death in the next season, but I think there's another compelling scene from S1 that we should be looking at.

The one with the paintball guns, from S1.

Norm, from management, has a YELLOW cloth tied around his arm, as does the rest of his platoon. Yellow is known to be associated with Aziraphale, and by extension, angels. But I don't think this manager is representing Aziraphale. I think he is meant to represent Crowley.

"I wanted to be a graphics designer," he says. "Design LPs for the Rolling Stones."

Crowley was a graphics designer, of a sort. He made beautiful nebulas. I also think Crowley worked for management and held a high position.

"But the careers teacher said he hadn't heard of them. So I spent 36 years double-checking form BF-18."

The careers teacher is probably God. I get the feeling people in Heaven did not understand or appreciate Crowley's cleverness, didn't understand his work. Crowley was more of an artist than a bureaucracy guy. I wonder if becoming friends with 'Lucifer and the Guys' afforded him some professional freedom, a way to get away from form BF-18, as it were. Maybe Lucifer was his boss and allowed him to do whatever his little heart desired because having a clever subordinate who pulled off such complex work made him look good.

"They couldn't just say, 'Oh, Norman, we're giving you early retirement. Have a watch, bugger off and tend to your marigolds."

The mention of tending to marigolds is interesting here.

The British have something called gardening leave.

From wikipedia, "Garden leave (also known as gardening leave) is the practice whereby an employee leaving a job – having resigned or otherwise had their employment terminated – is instructed to stay away from work during the notice period, while still remaining on the payroll."

It's a sort of limbo period between leaving the company and no longer working for them. You don't go into the office, you're not allowed to contact your former business associates, but you're still getting paid, and you're expected to respond if they call you for assistance. Gardening leave could be a short period of weeks or months to let things calm down before you return because you screwed up, or it could be a prelude to getting fired, or forced into retirement.

Gardening leave sounds an awful lot like what Crowley has on Earth. He was literally sent to a garden to do a job, and he does not return to Hell after. He remains. He lives a posh life with a expense account and a lot of freedom compared to other demons. Furfur remarks on the unfairness of it. Crowley appears to be given assignments once in a while but otherwise I don't think much is expected of him - again, compared to other demons. We've seen the way they're crammed in down there.

(Why he's on gardening leave is a speculation for another day.)

"Well, if they want war," Norm says, knotting his RED necktie around his head, "we're going to give them war. Okay, guys, let's get the bastards."

Clearly, this is when Crowley in Heaven says to himself, "Fuck it, I hate these guys, let's brawl."

And then he turns around and is promptly shot in the heart by the RED team.

He staggers dramatically. He falls. We see the life leave his eyes.

Except it's a trick. One that Norm is not privy to. He thought he was dead as much as everyone else.

But Norm raises his head and looks, bewildered, at the bullet hole in his pocket. He's made a miraculous escape. It mirrors the age-old TV trope of having some hard metal thing in his pocket to deflect the bullet.

In a way, I think this is supposed to represent Crowley's fall from Heaven that he did not see coming, but with S2 and the bullet catch adding context, I think this entire scene holds more meaning.

The thing is, part of writing a good story is including echoes of your theme.

Every single romantic relationship in Good Omens mirrors Crowley and Aziraphale in some way (I'll write more on that later, probably).

Adam and his friends being reflections of the Four Horsemen.

The bookshop being an echo of Eden. The repetition of the "leaving the garden" theme at the end of both seasons, with S1 burning down the bookshop, and S2 with Crowley and Aziraphale leaving it behind.

Twice now, once in each season, there has been a theme of bullets, of getting shot, of miraculously not dying, and no one expecting it.

I'm pretty confident that in S3, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale is going to have his hand forced. He's going to have to execute Crowley for something he has done to meddle with Heaven's plans. And I think Aziraphale is going to have to pull a fast one with very little planning to fake his boyfriend's death.

I can picture it now, with Aziraphale saying something ridiculous to the crowd of witnesses like, "FLAMING SWORD LOADED!" to drop the hint, and the crowd sighs inwardly over what an idiot Aziraphale is, but Crowley looks at him like, "What the fu- oh, we're doing a bullet catch."

[celaenaeiln]

is the dickbabs romantic relationship always as bad as in Tom Taylor’s run or is it actually enjoyable in other runs? i want to read more of dick’s og nightwing run but ik dickbabs is a recurring thing and i strongly dislike what i’ve seen of it in modern comics (absolutely no offense to anyone who ships it!!)

also sort of related, but have dick and babs really been BFFs since grade school or is that new canon? i remember the initial new 52 run referencing him and babs as on and off but nothing about being childhood besties.

finally- what would you consider to be key dick grayson runs?

Surprisingly Dickbabs is pretty nice to read in other runs. I know this sounds weird coming from someone who hates Dickbabs as a ship but really it's only bad like 85% of the time and the majority of that is because of the Batgirl comics. Batgirl comics treat Dick like shit and it's a losing tossup whether he's treated well in Oracle related comics.

But to get to your point, Dickbabs in Nightwing (1996) was originally pretty good. Tom Taylor's run of Nightwing is the weird one because in every other run you have Dick + relationships whereas in Taylor's you have relationships + Dick. That being said, I highly, highly recommend reading the og one. At one point it does get toxic but Barbara leaves almost immediately after that and aside from that the ship was pretty nice for the most part.

Dick and Barbara have NOT been BFFS since childhood or whatever and this gets on my nerves that Tom Taylor and Hope Larson did that. This is one of the problems I have with the Dickbabs ship. Writers who write them love changing the story to erase Dick's friendships with the Titans. They literally love to pretend Wally, Donna, Roy, and Garth don't exist. BARBARA IS NOT HIS CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND!! They literally keep deaging her and for what?? First she was like two decades older than him, then she's five years older than him, and now she's the same age?? Just let her be older! Barbara being the same age as Dick makes no sense because it takes away her maturity to turn her into this childish, selfish character she has no business being. She's not even enjoyable when she's deaged this far. I'm still on the she's 5 to 6 years older than Dick canon timeline and there is no way she was childhood besties with him.

The way I picture Dick and Barbara's relationship is this:

DC should've just let it at this, this was peak Dick and Barbara relationship.

Very narrow starting out list but some must read Dick Grayson runs are:

Nightwing (1996) - If you don't feel like reading anything else just read this

Nightwing (2016) - Really good up until Tom Taylor's run

Batman: Gotham Knights - pretty good and lots of cute Tim and Dick!

Titans (1999) - This is a must read if you're not interested in the original Teen Titans comics

Outsiders (2003) - Love him so much in this

JLA/Titans - Important for understanding his relationships with Titans and Batman

Nightwing (2011)

Justice League (2011) Issue #25 and Forever Evil - Same arc

Batman: Prelude to the Wedding: Nightwing vs. Hush

Robin era

Batman - One Bad Day: Mr. Freeze - If you want to skip the medal ages but still want to know what Dick was like as Robin, this comic is all you need to understand his character and personality and beliefs.

Batman Chronicles: The Gauntlet - Dick's gauntlet test!

Robin: Year One - For fun :)

Dick!Bats era

Batman: Battle for the Cowl - To get into Dick's batman

Batman (1940) Issues #682 to #713 - Batman Dick. Incredible. Dick was such a good batman and so fun to read.

Batman and Robin (2009) - Dick and Dami!

Batman: Streets of Gotham - Also Dick and Dami <3

Justice League of America (2006) Issues #41 to #60- Dick leading his own JLA team as Batman! SO FUN!!

Detective Comics (1937) Issue #864 to #881 - Honestly Batman Dick was so good I can't tell if I like Dick more as Nightwing or Batman. Obviously it's better for his mental health if he's nightwing but he just did such a great job as Batman.

Spy era

Grayson - YESSSS. Just everything about this.

Batman and Robin Eternal - It was really good up until near the end but then it got better again

Dark Crisis - Definitely, without a doubt, no question

Additional: The ones above are focused on him but if you finish reading this then Tim's Robin (1993) Comic is a fantastic one. He doesn't appear in every single issue but he appears a lot and it's a lot of Dick and Tim characterization. Also Teen Titans (2003) for more Dick and Titans relationships.

[xoxoskai]

Things that got overshadowed in RKverse.

Alternatively, things Rina Kent characters still haven't gotten over completely.

I was thinking about Rina glossing over the very traumatic experience that Cole went through at the end of Ruthless Empire, and it got me thinking. So, I wrote a little something to show that yes, love conquers all, but sometimes you still struggle with battles where you've been defeated too many times.

I won't exactly say these were things that were overshadowed as much as these things being experiences one doesn't simply get over in a couple of months. Experiences as traumatic as the ones some of these characters have faced might take years- if not, decades, to get over and I just wanted to bring them to light a little bit.

Silver can't look at dolls.

Ronan probably used to hide in his closet, trembling and shivering, and hated physical contact for a long, long time.

Cole sells his family's mansion and buys the rights to his mother's books so he can unpublish them.

The marks on Kim's wrists still give her phantom pains sometimes.

Jonathan and Aurora always make sure Alicia's grave has her favorite flowers.

Somedays, Teal feels so dirty that she spends hours in the bath trying to scrub herself clean of the demons of her past.

It takes Cole a long time to be able to enter a pool again and whenever he has a nightmare of his mother trying to kill Silver, he drains the pool out and leaves it dry for months.

At some point, Asher and Reina take their sons bungee jumping but after Asher nearly loses his mind when Gareth and Killian are getting geared up, the family decides to go home and indulge in other fun activities.

Sebastian develops claustrophobia after he loses Naomi for seven years.

Gwyneth makes it a point to hug both her parents as much as she can. She needs reassurance that it won't be the last time she gets the chance to hug them.

Kyle obsessively keeps track of his children after Mia's kidnapping. He has cameras installed everywhere near the twins' apartment and Nikolai's penthouse after they move to Brighton. He knows it's unhealthy, but he does it for his peace of mind.

Knox has days when he's away from Anatasia that he functions on autopilot to repress his demons.

Daniel still can't eat food on selective occasions. He prefers munching on peach flavored lollipops instead.

The first time Lia is teaching Annika different ballet stances, she has a breakdown and curls up on the floor and cries. Yan has to take Annika away and Adrian holds Lia and rocks her back and forth for a while.

It takes Sasha a while to not flinch at loud sounds/noises that are like a prelude to bombs blasting.

Anton has a hard time looking in the mirror because he stole someone's identity and hasn't made peace with it.

Jayden wakes up in cold sweat, scared that his father will finally catch up to him at some point. Once he's of an acceptable age, Daniel sits him down and tells him why his father will never show his face around them again.

It takes Astrid some time to get her driver's license. She mostly prefers to have someone else drive her around.

Xander has recurring dreams about waking up in a puddle of Kim's blood for years on end.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Thank you for reading! It hurt my heart to write this, but it was still exhilarating in a way to shine some light on the not-so glamourous parts of some of our beloved characters.

[brabblesblog]

Ch 9: The king hath brought me into his chambers: we will remember thy love more than wine.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

With the party over, Ban and Astarion share the rest of the night together. Important conversations are had.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The party had ended a little while ago. The remainder had gone by quickly, with Astarion refusing to bring her anywhere near Vel and his spawn. She had fulfilled her usual end of soirée role, standing by the door and seeing the guests out, but the Ascendant had made sure to stand by her as Vel and his retinue left. He’d become particularly protective once he’d realized his focus had faltered during their tryst and all of his summons had been returned to the ether. Thankfully, there had been no further incidents, and he’d relaxed somewhat once the doors had closed behind the last of the guests.

Writing the letter to Gale was hard. Ban frowned, quill in hand. She wanted to slam her face on the table and be done with it.

Said Ascendant was now slipping out of his suit, leaving it a crumpled mess on the floor. Ban winced a bit at the sight. She had always hated him leaving his clothes everywhere, especially when they were always ridiculously expensive.

“A letter?” He quirked an eyebrow, amused. He wasn’t really sure what she was doing, and curiosity won out. Leaning forward, he saw Gale’s name written on the top line.

His expression darkened. “Gale? Really?” He pushed on before he could stop himself. “I came inside you mere hours ago, and you’re already thinking about another man?”

Stop lashing out, you fool. You’ll ruin everything. But he couldn’t help it.

Ban sighed. “I’m actually letting him down, if you must know.” He opened his mouth to respond but she continued, wanting to get her words out before he said something that would escalate the situation. “Had you asked me nicely, I would have told you that right away.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, then his mouth snapped shut. He moved behind her instead, standing at her back. His hands gently worked on her braids, undoing them one by one, a routine he’d always maintained after every event they’d attended. It had usually been a prelude to sex, but tonight, he did it as a nonverbal gesture of apology, which was all his pride would allow.

With her hair free and loose, he gathered it up, draping the ebony locks forward, enjoying the way the silken lengths cascaded over her collarbone. He leaned down, affectionately biting the swell of her shoulder.

“Would you care to join me for a bath, pet?” he whispered into her ear.

She reached back, finding the back of his head and scratching his scalp. “Sure. If you stop calling me pet, at least in private.” Ban understood all too well the need to keep up appearances in the presence of others.

Astarion stopped mouthing at her neck. “Done.” In truth, he hadn’t considered what such nicknames implied. It had begun the moment he’d ascended, his burgeoning ego making it seem all too natural that she’d be fine with it. After all, wasn’t it cute, being someone’s pet? He didn’t think about the deeper implications of it; she didn’t want to be called that, and it was an easy request to grant. That was all there was to it.

He straightened up to undo the clasps of her dress, letting them fall over her shoulders, exposing her small, firm breasts. The sight sent a shiver of arousal through him, but he didn't act on it.

“Let’s bathe together, and then we can retire to our bed,” he said, elated that she’d decided to sleep over. She stood, letting her dress fall to the floor, but unlike him she picked it up.

Ban headed over to his pile of clothes, gathering them up as well, carrying everything to a basket she used to hold sullied clothes for the servants to wash the next day.

That done, she headed for the bathroom, where Astarion already had a bath prepared. The strong smell of lavender wafted towards her, and Astarion smirked as he lowered himself into the tub.

“Join me, lover,” he purred, adoring the sight of Ban climbing into the tub and settling in front of him.

Astarion gestured and she leaned back to let him wet her hair. Reaching for the shampoo, he dispensed some onto his palm and lathered it up, beginning to massage it in with a tenderness bordering on reverence.

“I can have you sent over to the Elfsong tomorrow with a servant to help you gather your things.”

Ban raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m moving back?”

She leaned back into his touch, but his hands stilled mid-scrub at her words.

“I thought-“

“Only tonight. I said I’m willing to try, not that we’re already there.”

The hands in her soapy hair tightened for the briefest of moments, then loosened and resumed their ministrations, scrubbing the shampoo into her scalp.

“I suppose I misunderstood the terms of what trying meant.” The edge in his voice was back, haughty and unwavering.

She barked out a humorless laugh. “Did you think one or two good days and a good fuck was enough?”

His hands kept working as he considered this. The silence stretched, and Ban could almost hear him trying to figure out the right response. Eventually, he murmured a quick “Tilt your head back, love,” and began to rinse the shampoo out.

Finally, he answered, “I knew it wouldn’t be enough. But for a moment I had hoped it was.” A foolish thought, he was aware. “Are you worried you won’t be able to leave the palace again if you move back?”

“Yes,” she replied immediately. “I have wards against you and your summons. But against your staff? No.” Before, the belief that she was his spawn had kept her in line. But that ruse was gone.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Astarion gritted out. “I want you to do whatever it is you want.” That second bit was harder to spit out, but he needed to say it. It needed to be true, or she’d inevitably abandon him again. He finished rinsing her hair, picking up the scented soap next. Draping her hair over her shoulder, he proceeded with washing her back.

“Then why did you lie about me being a spawn?”

Shit. He wanted to move past all this. Why couldn’t they do that?

“I did say you would have a different experience than a spawn, love.” A half-truth.

“But you also never told me what I was.”

Astarion felt bile rise in his throat, a mixture of fear and anger bubbling in his chest. He finished scrubbing her back, turning her to face him, beginning on her front. As he soaped her chest he cupped a breast, then met her gaze.

There were a lot of things he could say here. That he had hinted at the truth, when he’d told her he’d given her a drop of his blood. That she’d been allowed, even encouraged, to bite him was another hint. He could say he hadn’t even been sure if the ritual had worked. He’d given her less of his blood than was usual, hoping to circumvent the danger of madness inherent to the ritual of turning her into a bride.

None of these were what she was looking for. He gathered what little courage the Ascendant had left, and opened his mouth.

“I figured you would leave me were you to find out the truth. And was I wrong? You did leave me. You left me passed out in a cup of wine, left me like I was just a used up plaything you no longer wanted.”

At his core, that was what Astarion feared most - that he was still a toy. Something to be enjoyed and then discarded once his usefulness had run out. For a time, Ban had worn down fear, and he had started believing in their love. But the moment he had ascended she had turned cold, as though she refused to accept who he had become, and wasn’t willing to try to. As if the moment he’d displeased her, she had punished him by withdrawing her affection.

Then that old fear had come roaring back, and he had needed to ensure she didn’t leave.

He looked down at the breast cradled in his palm, absently swiping a thumb over her nipple.

“Was this all I was good for? To be your sweet, kind Astarion? The Astarion who listened to your every word, who walked a step behind you? The one who needed your help, who stroked your ego, who gave you every pleasure you desired, who needed saving?”

He released her breast, returning to soaping her arm. His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“The moment I wasn’t that, the moment I was free - strong, confident - the moment I was no longer afraid, Ban, you changed.”

He remembered that invisible barrier between them in the last days of fighting the Absolute. He remembered bedding her every single night after the ascension, desperately trying to use what he knew best to regain what was slipping away, even though he hadn’t been exactly sure what it was. He’d finally been able to make love to her without being haunted by the horrors of his past, something he’d wanted so desperately for them to revel in together, yet each time, he’d felt her growing more and more distant. He had buried himself in discovering his newfound powers instead of dwelling too much on that distance - that cooling in their relationship, deciding it was a problem that was best not unearthed, perhaps it was something she would come to him with in time. After all, she was still with him, so it was fine. Everything was fine.

Ban shook her head vehemently. Of course he had misunderstood everything. “Astarion. You changed. All of a sudden you were megalomaniacal, narcissistic, and just - evil! Of course I’d pull away. You were distant. You were suddenly all haughty and there was none of the you that only I knew.”

He stopped soaping her arm. “I was finally strong, finally free! I finally had something to offer you! Don’t you understand?!” His temper got the best of him and he growled, “The rite made me this. Made me better. Stronger. Gave me the chance to claim my due. What I was owed.”

He leaned in close. “After two hundred years of torture and slavery, Ban, I think I deserved it!”

He didn’t tell her that he had also thought ascending would please her. That he could finally be a partner equal to her in strength and prowess, that he could protect her as she had him and provide her with everything she would ever need, immortality foremost amongst them. That she’d be his queen, his right hand, loved and pampered for eternity. The moment she had shown displeasure over that, he’d had to double down on the hedonism and the callousness to protect himself.

Centuries without anyone to care, to know him, to love him. Endless years of bodies and cruelty and pain, with no hope of reprieve. He’d given up hope of ever finding freedom, or happiness, or love - and then she’d come along. She’d seen him and chosen him, had claimed his withered heart, though he had nothing to offer in return. She’d thought him, simply him, to be enough. The idea of losing her, of losing that which had been bestowed upon him like a benediction was unthinkable. His mind had recoiled at the very idea, refusing to accept something so painful, and so he’d hidden himself away, behind layers of extravagance and ego, in a desperate effort not to fall apart.

“The world doesn’t owe us anything, Astarion. And I know you’ve suffered. So much more than you ever deserved.” Ban took the soap from his hand and put it away. He took a moment to wet his hair, the curls sticking to his forehead. She grabbed the shampoo, reaching for his hair, hoping he would allow it.

To her surprise he did, leaning his head forward so she could reach him.

“But just because you’ve suffered doesn’t mean you can inflict the same suffering onto others. Onto the people you would’ve made your spawn had I not put my foot down. Onto… onto me.”

Her hands scratched his scalp gently, and he was thankful that with his head lowered like this, she couldn't see his face. He cried silently, a trick he’d mastered early on in Cazador’s custody. The tears mixed with the water, lost before she could notice.

“I started avoiding you, yes. And maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have talked to you instead. I’m sorry I didn’t,” she continued, “But I was scared. I thought you weren’t you, that maybe the ritual had actually fundamentally altered you. So I did my research first, took my time. And by the time I realized it was indeed still you…”

By that time, their love had been so tainted she’d felt like her only option was to run.

She slid behind him, gently nudging him to tip his head backwards so she could rinse out his hair. He did so, his eyes closed. The water sluiced down his silvery curls and she couldn’t help but play with them, running the strands between her fingers.

“You could have talked to me, you know? This isn’t just on me,” she finally said.

“I couldn’t.” His voice threatened to crack, and he forced it to steady. Couldn’t, because he’d been terrified of being weak and alone again, the panic had strangled him before he could give voice to his fear. He’d known she was unhappy and self-preservation had taken over. To preserve his heart, he’d needed control; telling her would have relinquished that control. He would rather have lived with that farce of a relationship and suffered than risk it all on a gamble that could go sideways and leave him worse off than he’d been even in slavery.

“I couldn’t risk losing you.” He forced the words past his lips, enunciating everything slowly so that no cracks appeared in his voice. “I’d much rather just suffer. I am used to suffering. The whole of my life has been suffering.”

I’d rather suffer than be alone again. He would rather endure all her barbs, all the coldness she’d shown him, if it meant she’d be there.

“And how about my suffering? Or did that not matter to you?” She finished rinsing his hair, grabbing the soap to scrub his back. She ran her hand over the scars carefully, remembering to touch them in a way that he found acceptable. He melted into her touch, his shoulders drooping as he relaxed.

“It mattered. I knew you were miserable.” He hesitated. “I thought everything else would make up for it.” His voice finally cracked. He winced at the sound of it, but he pushed on.

“I wanted to give you the world.” His voice was small, another layer peeled from his core. “You deserve the world, but instead I made the world hell."

Ban froze, hand stilling in the middle of an infernal rune. She fought the instinct to hug him, unsure if that would be welcome right now. He was still the Ascendant, but he was also the spawn she loved. She understood now, he had always been both.

“I never wanted the riches. Not the clothes, or the jewelry, or the influence. Even the sex, as amazing as it has always been.” Other than tonight, every single time they’d had sex had been marred by something - from his initial plans of manipulating her, to all the times when she’d just lain there and gone through the motions because she’d hated who he had become. She kissed the back of his neck, a gentle press of lips that left them soapy. “I only ever wanted you, Astarion. The real you.”

The Astarion who had accompanied her in her journeys, the one who hadn’t been afraid to trust her with his heart. The one with whom she’d cuddled in that dirty tent night after night, swapping stories and enjoying each other’s company.

The Ascendant covered his face with his hands. He didn’t want her to see his tears, and even if he was silent, he knew it was pretty obvious by now that he’d started to cry.

He was so afraid. He’d always known, deep inside, that that was what she wanted. The bigger question, however, was whether he’d be able to give it. Was he brave enough to let the last layers fall at such a tentative time as this? When she could just leave again?

I’m a coward. The Ascendant knew this; he knew he would never be as brave as that spawn. This, after all, was why he loathed that version of himself - so powerless, and yet stronger than the Ascendant had ever been. He wanted to draw away from Ban, to bring the walls up, to hide behind them and peep through the windows of his defenses. To be safe.

But he owed it to her to at least try.

“If I fail, Ban-” he began, “If I stumble-“

“I’ll catch you. I’ll be here.”

Her hands roamed his back, still cleaning him, and he realized he wanted to ask her to hold him. He longed for the shelter of her embrace, the shield that protected him from the world.

A broken, stifled sound broke through the Ascendant’s lips.

“Hold me.” It was a broken whisper, he half hoped she hadn’t heard it. He hadn’t asked to be held since that fateful day when he’d condemned thousands to their end. Hadn’t felt like he deserved it, really.

But he wasn’t above asking now.

She responded immediately, gathering him in her arms and letting him settle against her, his back to her chest. He positioned himself to hide his face in the crook of her neck. He could feel her every breath, her undead skin, the slow beat of her undead heart.

The frantic pace of his own heart began to slow. He closed his eyes, the two of them utterly still for a few heartbeats, until Ban began to wash him again, allowing him time to collect himself.

This is why I love her. She always knew exactly what he needed, when he needed it, even when it was something he wasn't aware of himself. He let her bathe him, focusing solely on the sensation of her hands on his body, the gentle glide of her touch soothing him. He hadn’t had this type of intimacy in far too long, and he realized he’d rather die than lose it again. He’d been thinking that a lot, lately, he realized; about the things he’d rather die than go without. Perhaps it was time to start behaving accordingly.

All too soon she was finished bathing them both, and he was wrapping a towel around his waist. Ban sat on the bed, drying her hair with a towel. Astarion walked back into the bedroom and nearly reached for his pillow and blanket to curl up on the floor again, out of habit.

But Ban’s words echoed in his mind. The floor never did wonders for your back, Astarion.

He sat beside her on the bed, searching for something to say, just to break the silence.

“That whole time you were with Gale,” he began. The fact that she’d chosen to begin writing to him immediately after their evening together had struck him as odd and made him more than a little jealous. “Did you ever consider actually being with him?”

She looked over, a little surprised by this line of inquiry. It did make sense for him to ask, she supposed. The truth was that she’d felt nervous being around Astarion again, being in the same bedroom - actually sleeping together. Writing that letter had felt like something to do, something to keep her occupied while he bathed. She hadn’t really expected him to ask her to join him - that wasn’t something they’d done often when she’d still lived with him. She didn’t see any reason to tell him that, though, since that wasn’t what he asked.

“I did consider it.” It wasn’t a lie, and he knew exactly what had transpired between her and Gale physically. “He’s-” she tried to continue, and he cut her off.

“Everything I’m not. I know.” Tamping down the urge to get angry and to push her away yet again, he took a moment to calm down. Did she really mean it, when she’d said she wanted to try? Why had she been writing a letter to him so soon after? He was aware there was probably a perfectly reasonable answer, and that he could simply ask, but the insecurity won out.

“Is that what you want? Someone like Gale.” He was relieved that it hadn’t come out angry, although his jaw was clenched.

“Didn’t I just tell you I want you?”

He wanted to protest. Sex made things complicated, made people say things they didn’t mean. He knew that better than anyone - he’d heard it all, professions of love from countless people in various stages of bliss. He’d known not to believe a word of it, known that in those moments those people did believe their own words - he’d known exactly how to twist that belief to serve his master’s agenda, too.

“If it’s true, then say it again.” Shit. That came out wrong.

She narrowed her eyes at him, meeting the challenge in his gaze. Her mouth opened for a scathing remark, but then she noticed the way he looked.

The challenge was there, but there was more. In the set of his lips, in the way his jaw was clenched - there was fear. He was bracing himself, as if he expected her to change her mind and to leave him again. Ban looked down and sure enough, his hands were fisted into the sheets. She covered his with her own.

“I want you,” she said slowly. “I want to try again.” She kept it simple - not promising too much, but also hopefully giving him what he needed to hear.

Astarion looked away from her, staring at the wall. He eventually nodded sharply. “That’s all I ask. You can finish your letter now, if you want, and I’ll have the servants send it out first thing tomorrow.”

Ban nodded, placing a quick kiss to his temple before leaving the bed. As she settled herself at the desk again, Astarion forced himself to lie down on his side of the bed, watching her work. He took the opportunity to revel in her presence, in the quiet domesticity of it all. His eyelids began to grow heavy and his body relaxed comfortably, sensations he hadn’t felt since she’d left. He let the contentment wash over him, slipping into trance, his last thoughts of her.

He didn’t see her finish her letter and slip onto the bed beside him, nuzzling into his chest. He didn’t hear the whispered “I love you,” nor feel the soft kiss against his sternum. It made a difference, though, his rest was undisturbed by nightmares or by dark thoughts for the first time in months.

When sunlight finally streamed through the bay windows, Astarion opened his eyes and reached out for Ban.

His hands met empty air.

[enmi-land]

to do list. ୨୧ WORKS IN PROGRESS

📌 PRIORITY WORKS

XO, MiLA PT1: CUPiD iS SO STUPiD . . .

PLANNiNG (⌛️) ; WRiTiNG (⏳) ; EDiTING ( )

MLiST · Mila has been in love with her seven co-members probably since even before their debut. Do they know about it? No. Does she want them to know about it? Also no. But it’s kinda annoying to see so many women hitting on them, so now she’s wondering if she should just cough up a confession. But how does she get them to say yes to her?

iNCLUDES · Mila getting jealous of a girl group hitting on Enha, a new older sister figure who tells Mila to get her men, and a lot of (allegedly) one-sided pining.

DRUNK WORDS, SOBER THOUGHTS . . .

PLANNiNG (⏳) ; WRiTiNG ( ) ; EDiTING ( )

Mila gets drunk while talking about her nonexistent love life and maybe says a little too much.

iNCLUDES · A very drunk Mila on Youngji’s show, Mila and Youngji talking about dating, Mila exposing herself for wanting a boyfriend(s) very badly. (Connected to ‘XO, MILA’; Prelude.)

DEAD OR ALiVE . . .

PLANNiNG (⏳) ; WRiTiNG ( ) ; EDiTING ( )

You hated me, and I hated you. But somewhere alone the way, that all changed. A vampire and human… We should never have been friends—we should never have fallen in love. (But we did, anyway.)

iNCLUDES · Mila and Kiara’s scenes in the Untold Cinema, an enemies-to-lovers type romance plot between Mila’s character and ‘Hunter’, and of course Hwang Sejun.

📌 WAITING LIST

TO THE BOY i LOVED BEFORE . . .

Eunjoon was someone Mila would remember for years to come. He was her first love, and her first heartbreak.

iNCLUDES · Mila in the EN-Drama, Mila falling for her best friend (Eunjin)’s older brother, and Mila as the typical clumsy female lead.

BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK . . .

Mila does damage control with her boyfriends after her hot performance in the Untold Cinema.

iNCLUDES · Request for actress!Mila and jealous!Enhypen, EN-react video, funny Engene response.

DREAM HiGH . . .

Heeseung, Mila, and Jay go back to school, do a K-drama love triangle skit and talk about Mila’s first love.

iNCLUDES · Mila interacts with delusional teenaged girls, dodges questions about who her favourite Oppa is, and surprises Heeseung and Jay with a story about her first love (childhood crush is actually the better term for it).

[favouritefi]

If you’re happy to, please could you drop the lore for sexual mores of the catboy AU?

And a Happy New Year!

happy new yearrrr

ok so when i first tried to write this i ended up regurgitating foucault and david halperin and rictor norton and then i was like "oh my god im not gonna write a history essay as the prelude for lore about my catboys au thats a crazy thing to do" so im just gonna assume ppl know about the established literature on victorian sexuality and the pathologization / invention of the homosexual and jump right into how i think catboys fit into that:

legally cat/dogboys cannot be prosecuted for their actions because they lack moral agency. they can't be charged with buggery, that would be like charging a horse with buggery, but on the flip side of that they can be put down without trial or just cause, you don't trial a horse for trampling someone to death, you just kill it. which is all to say that homosexual acts between cat/dogboys are generally permitted and permissible EXCEPT if it causes what humans might consider to be harm. eg. your annoying orange catboy keeps seducing my guard-dogboys and distracting them from their duties if you do not control him i will shoot him the next time he is on my property etc.

theres also a patronizing element of "aw look how cute they are trying to mimic human courting" and the idea that cat/dogpeople aren't capable of the depth of love humans are capable of so their samesex relationships aren't a threat to society because their relationships generally speaking aren't taken seriously. i mean, this is a world where you give birth to children knowing you won't get to keep them and you get studded out like a turkey baster, its fucked up to the nth degree. before you start worrying about "will they hate me for having a boyfriend" first you gotta wonder "will they acknowledge that i am capable of having sexual autonomy and forming meaningful relationships that are not based on animal instincts" (the answer is no).