#i hope she doesn't mind that i posted this

[seungcheorry]

Ot13 reaction on how many kids SVT would have?

how many kids svt would have:

seungcheol probably wants to have two at least. i can picture him having a baby girl and then getting too excited once his partner is free from the whole post partum thing and getting them pregnant again right afterwards. he would really wish for a baby boy then.

jeonghan would love to have two as well, and i can see him having twins - i don't know why, something in him just screams FATHER OF TWINS to me. probably two girls? it's a lot of work though, he'll be done with having kids, would probably even do the surgery so he can't have any anymore.

joshua is very similar to seungcheol to me, would probably have a boy and then get too excited and have a girl because his dna is just good like that. the prettiest kids to ever exist actually, and he's so in love with them that it can be quite easy to talk him into having another one after a few years.

junhui screams boy dad to me, so yeah. i can see him having only one child, a really savage boy just like minghao was back in the day? weird but in a good, chomical way. he would be really good friends with his kid, like a partners in crime type of relationship.

soonyoung... oh, soonyoung. he says he wants to have lots and lots of kids because he loves having his house full but after the first one - a baby boy -, he gets so tired that he actually apologizes to his mom. might slip or be talked into having another one (he just wants his kid to have a relationship like the one he has with his sister); would really hope for a girl then, would probably get another boy though.

wonwoo is a definitely a girl dad too. he would really hope for a boy (i don't know why, i just feel like he would) but then it comes a baby girl and he turns into mush for her. such a goner, i can't even begin to describe - she can tell him to stay put for 20 whole minutes while she pretends to make tea and he won't move a muscle, just stay there and watch her because she told him to. would probably just want one.

jihoon is a girl dad and i will die on this hill. he's also a goner for his girl, he's very strict with things but also he doesn't like to be rough to her so he's just, i don't know, the perfect balance? most likely to be the favorite parent and learn about his daughter secrets before his partner because she just trusts him like that. would also just want one.

seokmin would love three - the first one (a boy) is probably planned; the second one (a girl) is probably an expected accident as he doesn't mind having sex without protection even though he knows the risks; the third one (another boy) is probably an unexpected accident that he cries in joy when he sees for the first time. he would definitely tell his partner "i'm so glad we got drunk that night" while seeing his two oldest children ganging up to change the new baby's diaper.

mingyu definitely wants two kids, he loves his sister too much and knows how a sibling relationship can literally save someone. most likely to have two girls, and his partner might ask him if he isn't sad that they didn't have a boy but he's too busy to answer as he's teaching the girls how to make ramyeon :(

minghao already said himself, he's not the one who gets to decide how many kids he and his partner will have, but he wants two - and can be bend into having a third one. i can see him having a boy and then a girl, and if he and his partner decides for another one, then it would be another girl, probably.

seungkwan would have two girls and his dramatic ass would say it's karma because what do you mean he grew up with his older sisters and now he has to take care of yet other two girls who will bicker and gang up on him just like his sisters did? behind that facade though he would love to take care of them and to see them grow together. most emotional dad, for sure.

vernon is a boy dad to me and he would say he only wants one kid but then he sees him growing up on his own and don't get me wrong, the kid is totally fine with it, but vernon can't stop thinking about how sofia changed his life and he would go "yeah, we might need another one" to his partner. makes a whole deal about it when he finds out his second child is gonna be a girl. "REALLY, WHAT ARE THE ODDS?"... but it's not that hard, vernon. i'm glad you're happy though, i know you love your kids.

chan is also a boy dad and he would probably want another kid but once he realizes how much work and effort it takes, he's sticking to just one. if his partner ever wants another one they would have to really talk him into it, might even need to ask seokmin for help, because chan would stand his ground and say no. but honestly? he's a loverboy, at the end he might just say yes and then meet his cute little daughter and be like "oh my god, why didn't we make her sooner?"

[namgyunation]

Hi, absolutely love your writing style and that you not oversimplify characters.

You wrote before, that Nam-gyu and y/n (I’m not sure if she is even y/n) are fighting fiery and a lot. Could you write about one of those scandals and the behavior of both after it.

It can be your headcanons or a full drabble, you choose. Though I’d love to see replicas of both during the argument and afterwards.

Once again, love your works 💋

addicted to the drama

— pairing: nam-gyu x f!reader — summary: a relationship with someone like nam-gyu isn't easy, or peaceful. far from it, but you're in this shit for the long haul. OR; three fights with nam-gyu and three ways it gets 'resolved.' — warnings: suggestive moments, a littleeeee gross, he's especially gross in the second fight i'm sorry :(, mentions of sex but no crazy explicit smut, 18+, the girls are fightinggg, there's a little fluff in here, nam-gyu is veryyy not nice in the third fight and uses rather mean language, drug use, not proof-read! — word count: 11.3k — a/n: hiiiiii thank you so so much for the request and the kind words omg (seriouslyyy thank you :*)) <333 this is my first time ever doing one, so i hope i didn't stray too far from what you wanted, haha. i think nam-gyu is definitely a petty little shit when it comes to arguments with his s/o and definitely more than a little emotionally constipated. i went ahead and included 3 different fights, all with varying levels of seriousness lolol. i'm sorry it took so long, i got a little carried away LMAO. there's a bunch of my headcanons sprinkled in here ofc, but maybe i'll make a separate headcanons only post in the future TToTT I hope you like it!!! <3

In a bad mood, baby, come work me out.

You don't ask for much. You don't think you do, at least.

A tidy space meant a tidy mind meant a tidy life. It doesn't seem that hard of a concept to grasp. To you.

Nam-gyu's shoes are strewn lazily across the floor in front of you, shoe prints outlined and punctuated by a wetness that traced their path from start to finish. Rain water pools beneath the soles, dripping like a damn crime scene. You let out a deep sigh, swallowing your anger as you hung your jacket on the rack.

Your eyes flick over the apartment, taking a mental note of every offense and sorting them in the framework of your mind as you built your case. A discarded glass of iced tea on the island, half sipped, then forgotten. A stray sock on the floor, far from its home in the laundry bin overflowing with Nam-gyu's unfolded clothes. A cup of ramen with the chopsticks still in it. You step forward, grabbing a box of snacks on the coffee table. It was too light, nothing but cardboard and air as you shook it. Empty. You slam it into the recycling bin with more effort than necessary.

Your anger simmers, about ready to spill over as you push past the door to your bedroom. He's exactly where you knew he'd be, splayed out lazily across the bed in shorts and a loose shirt, one hand pillowing his head while the other gripped his phone.

"Nam-gyu."

He hums in vague acknowledgment, eyes still trained on his phone. You swipe at it, knocking it out of his hand, watching his face bloom with a mix of confusion and anger as it tumbles onto his chest, narrowly missing his face.

He curls his lip. "The hell is your problem?"

"Your shoes."

"My shoes," he responds flatly.

You suck in a breath. "In the middle of the floor. Dripping."

He rolls his eyes at you and puncutates it with a scoff. "My god. You're so dramatic."

You throw your arms out. "Is it that hard to wipe them and put them on the rack?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. Dismissal. "I'll do it later, relax."

"You will not do it later."

He exhales, a hand dragging down his face like you're the one exhausting him. "Shit, you're so uptight sometimes. It's just a little mess."

You scoff. "A little mess that you leave sitting there for days!"

He grunts, the only sign that he heard you, before turning over onto his side to unlock his phone again.

Your eye twitches.

Fine.

The next morning, you don't put your makeup away after getting ready for work. Your cups populate the apartment, gathering on every surface like a small village. Your jackets find homes on the couch, the floor, the backs of the few chairs you two had. A stray sock joins his on the ground. Then a shirt. A pair of underwear. Fuck it. You add another sock for good measure.

It only takes two days for Nam-gyu to break. He catches you on the way to the bathroom, his hand digging into your waist as he whips you around, interrupting your plans to continue building the ongoing crime scene of makeup in the sink.

"Cut it the fuck out."

You smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. "Oh my god, you're insane. I get it, okay? Fuck." His hand goes up to rub at his temples for a moment before dragging slowly down his face in defeat.

He points past you at the bathroom sink surrounded in puffs of eyeshadow and smears of foundation. "Deal with... that. I'll get the rest of it."

You stand there, biting back a smile as he lets out an exasperated sigh, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his bangs behind his ears before leaning down to tackle the mess—half you and half him. You're about to tease him when his eyes zero in on something on the ground. He picks it up with a smirk, holding it up in the air in front of you. It's your underwear.

"Honestly?" He looks away from you for a moment, his eyes dragging over it for too long, as if inspecting every twist of the lace. "I don't really mind if you keep leaving these around." He raises his eyebrows at you as a grin stretches across his face. You roll your eyes with a disgusted scoff, but you don't care, not really.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but you're already shutting the bathroom door behind you with a click.

You lean against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble as you let out a sigh of relief. Victory.

---

The next time you fight, it's under the pretense of something fun. You'd complained about how little time the two of you had spent together in the past week. Every time you were home, he was at work. Every time he was home, you were at work— or too exhausted from said work to do anything.

So he proposed a compromise. A night out together at the nightclub, he'd said. A nice way to spend time with each other even when he was on the clock. Like 'take your kid to work' day, except the 'kid' was his annoyed girlfriend. And the 'work' was a shady nightclub filled with too many loud, intoxicated people. And the 'day' was actually a night choking on smoke and sweat and too much noise that stretched way too long, like a guest overstaying their welcome.

You lean against Nam-gyu, staring out into the crowd of people as he tangles in conversation with another one of the club's regular VIPs. You found your head spinning from the revolving door of people that he'd spoken to all night. You wonder how someone as naturally introverted and—rough as him could stand this job.

You listen in, attention flitting in and out as they spoke. He says something so out of character that it catches you off guard. You let out an amused puff of air. He's too animated, too bubbly, too eager to please people that barely know his name. For what it was worth, he was certainly one hell of an actor. Anything to get the guests—and the drugs—coming over and over again, you suppose.

It's not long before you feel his warmth inch away from your body. An alarm. You look up, and his hands are already on your shoulders, rubbing quickly up and down in a way that signals 'hey, I'm about to do something that you probably don't want me to do, but I'm gonna do it anyways'. Your mouth is already opening to complain, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gonna step out for a second, okay?" He's not looking at you. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "This guy is offering me some good shit. Gotta take it. He's real important."

He brushes the ghost of a kiss to the back of your head, no doubt an attempt to placate your already building annoyance, but it barely registers. His hands pick up speed on your shoulders, rubbing the last bit of warmth into you before he's pulling away, smiling with enthusiasm as he leaves to pump more chemicals into his body.

You let your head tip back as your eyes shut. Nam-gyu never ceases to amaze you with just how many bad decisions he can make in one night. The air around you hums with music, closing in on your little spot by the bar. You drum your fingers against the counter, trying and failing to convince yourself that you're having fun.

You're about to stand—go outside to get some air maybe—when someone slips into the seat behind you, filling Nam-gyu's spot.

"Hey."

You startle a bit, not expecting the sudden conversation.

It's a man dressed in all black, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He smells like smoke and beer. Based on his attire, it's not hard to deduce that this is one of Nam-gyu's coworkers, another promoter, you were sure.

You nod at him politely, not really sure what to expect but not wanting to be rude, either. It'd be best not to cause problems with anyone working alongside your boyfriend, you figure. "Hello."

He's nice enough, asking you about how your night was going, what other clubs you'd been to, what kind of drinks you like.

Your face softens into a smile as the conversation continues, your initial suspicion simmering down and settling into something resembling ease as you realize he's just another guy on the clock doing his job: promoting the club.

He leans over, taking his phone out to show you something, and that's when you notice just how close he'd gotten to you since he sat down. You inch away slightly but still listen politely as he pitches one of the club's themed parties.

You nod your head with a vague interest as he scrolls through his photo gallery. Although you were never much into clubbing, you could admit that some of the events looked kind of cool. As he continues going through the photos, one in particular—a Valentine's night—catches your eye. You lean in, and your shoulders brush at the movement.

"That one's cute," you say, pointing at it as you take in the background details. Pink strobe lights, heart balloons, and rose bouquets. A small smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Nam-gyu in his work outfit, his sleeves rolled up and hair tucked behind his ears, knee-deep in a pile of cutesy, pink decorations. The thought brought some color to your cheeks. You'd have to bring it up to him later. Maybe that would be a more fun night for you to attend with him.

Unbeknowst to you, the man beside you was in the middle of taking your statement the completely wrong way. He raises his eyebrows, studying the pink dusting your cheeks and the way your face focused in on his phone screen. He scoots even closer, testing. When you don't react, he reaches out an arm, slowly draping over you as his hand finds its way to your shoulder. His grip on you is light, not forceful, not trapping, but you still stiffen at the contact.

"You think so?" he says, a smirk on his face. He ducks down so he's eye level with you. Too close. "Hey, if you promise me you'll go to our next one, I'm sure I can get you a discount," he brings his phone up again, tapping quickly until he's at the 'contacts' screen, "here, let me get your number so you can—"

You shrink back sheepishly, realizing that you have to nip this interaction in the bud. He looks at you, confusion written across his face, but he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Uh, sorry—do you know Nam-gyu?" you ask, thinking it was as good a time as any to bring him up.

He raises his eyebrows at the sudden shift in topic. "Nam-gyu...? Yeah. I work with him." A flash of recognition. His eyes widen. "Oh. Shit—are you the girl he came in with?"

You nod, a polite smile returning to your face as the man immediately retracts from you, an apologetic look on his face.

You open your mouth to speak, "Yeah, he's my—" Boyfriend, you try to say, but you're cut off by a rush of hands looping at your waist, tugging you backwards into a tight hold.

The familiar rumble of Nam-gyu's voice fills your ears as he leans over you. You twist around, looking up to see his face, both startled and relieved at his sudden entrance. He's staring down at you lazily through half-lidded eyes, and you can see how blown out his pupils are, even in the dim light. You barely have time to react or make a snarky comment before he's pressing his lips to yours, earning a small noise of surprise.

The kiss is welcome until a hand drifts to your chin, tilting you upwards, deeper, drifting into something that felt a little too intimate to be doing in a public space.

Remembering your audience, you pull away, a gentle hand on his chest acting as a barrier between the two of you. His coworker is looking at the two of you, his expression both sheepish and embarrassed, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be— and honestly, he kind of was, what with the way Nam-gyu was glowering at him.

He stands up, giving Nam-gyu an apologetic nod as he clears his throat, hands flying to his pockets as he prepares to leave.

Nam-gyu smiles, nodding curtly back at him, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the ingenuity in his smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He looks off to the side and then back again. "My bad, man. I didn't know she—"

"I think I can handle this one from here," Nam-gyu says, cutting him off with a barely disguised edge in his voice. There's a squeeze at your waist, a hand on your shoulder. "You can go find some other chicks to bother, right?" He cocks his head to crowd of people gathered in the center of the club, a small, mocking laugh leaving his lips. "I'm sure one of them will fuck you."

You recoil at his tone—and his gross implication, hand going up to lightly smack at his chest. You wonder if the drugs were cutting off the circulation to his brain.

"Nam-gyu!" you hiss, but he doesn't look at you.

His coworker curls his lip, eyes narrowing. "Jesus, dude. I said my bad. I didn't realize she was with you, alright?" He shook his head, turning around and promptly removing himself from the situation. He shot one last look at the two of you over his shoulder, returning the glare that Nam-gyu was still giving him.

Once his back fully disappears into the crowd, you stand up, knocking Nam-gyu's hands off of you as you fix him with a stare.

"What the hell was that?" you deadpan, arms crossing. "He literally said he was sorry."

"'What the hell was that?'" he mocks, his voice climbing a few octaves to match yours. He snorts, ignoring the frustration coloring your face. "I could ask you the same damn thing." He leans down, a hand drifting to the nape of your neck as he crowds into your personal space. "So. What were you two talking about? You seemed real interested." His tone dips low into something icy, accusatory.

You scoff at him, explaining how the conversation was friendly, how he was unaware of your status as a couple, how he instantly backed off at the first sign that you were uncomfortable—

But Nam-gyu ignores you, his hands travelling over your body until they find a home at your shoulders. He spins you around, and you let him, exhaustion hitting you as you realize that your statements were going in one ear and out the other. He rubs at your arms yet again as he pushes you forward, making you walk with him as he leads you to one of the side rooms—a VIP room, you come to realize.

"C'mon," he says, voice thick with whatever drug he'd just taken, "got s'more guests to entertain in here, and you get to come with me."

You roll your eyes. "Yayyy." You continue to count down the minutes left in his shift, but something told you that he was in the mood to clock in some over time.

The lounge is nice, spacious. It's at least a bit quieter than it is out in the main area, a perk you're somewhat thankful for as you adjust yourself on the couch. The guy from earlier is there too. You'd nodded at him when the two of you entered, small and polite and slightly apologetic. He ignored you, presumably for his own sake. You don't blame him.

The night continues, and you're silent, not really wanting to get in the way or be dragged into the conversation. You lean closer to Nam-gyu, craving his contact despite how annoying he's been. It wasn't exactly easy for you to relax in a room full of supposedly 'very important people' that you didn't know, all smiles and raucous laughter as they smoked and drank and huffed whatever came their way.

You were never the biggest fan of the world your boyfriend operated in, surrounded by substances and fast people with fast money that seemed to move quicker than their minds could make decisions, but it's what you signed up for when you got into a relationship with him, after all.

He's chatting it up with a particularly loud, and—unique-looking guy to his left, two girls practically melted into him at both sides. Goes by 'Thanos', you come to find out. A famous rapper with a lot of status and—from how he was speaking—a whole lot of money. His purple hair draws your attention, making his presence impossible to ignore in the confined space, that and his peculiar way of speaking, puncutated by random bursts of english.

You carefully snake a hand around Nam-gyu's arm, wanting to be closer but not wanting to interrupt. He gives you a small glance before brushing you off, you shoot him a look but then his arm is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. He adjusts your legs so they're draped over his lap, and you redden, feeling like it was the slightest bit too much.

The others at the table didn't seem to mind, though, too caught up in their own conversations to care about your inner turmoil.

You slowly relax as he returns to his conversation. His hands are warm against you, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other rubbing light circles into the exposed skin of your leg. Nam-gyu was a touchy guy, something that you'd gotten used to in your time together. Always a hand at your shoulder, fingers ghosting against your hip, an arm slung lazily across your lap. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

It was fine at first, a comfort amidst the torturously long shift. His touches were soft, subtle, light, a welcome feeling.

Then, it escalates. He laughs at a particularly stupid joke from Thanos, too loud, too eager. It sounds fake. Whether it was due to the drugs or his desire to get into Thanos' good graces, you weren't sure. Either way, you don't have time to dwell on it before he's pulling you again, closer, until you're on his lap, his arms locking against your middle.

This, you conclude, was most definitely too much. You're quiet for a few moments as Nam-gyu's laughter winds down and Thanos turns to accept a joint from one of his lady-friends, a momentary calm falling over the room with the distraction.

You take the gap in conversation as an opportunity, fidgeting in your spot as you try to inch off of his lap. "Nam-gyu, can I get down?" you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes blank as a playful smile creeps onto his face, but there's a tinge of something else there.

"What?" He lets out a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows. His fingers ghost over your waist, your ribs, the slope of your neck. Then, he's tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ears, smiling at you like a lovesick fool. You balk at the attention. He wets his lips before biting down on them. Eyeing you with a sudden razor-sharp focus. His voice comes out even, "You bored of me all of a sudden?"

You stare at him, incredulous. "What is with you right now?" He's not normally like this—touchy, yes, but not this... animated.

Nam-gyu just chews on his cheek, thinking for a moment before ultimately choosing to ignore your question. He pulls you closer until you're flush against his chest, your face burning red with embarrassment as he continues to hold you, his touch skimming dangerously close to indecency. You turn to the side, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. At least he was warm, a silver lining.

Across the table, Nam-gyu locks eyes with his coworker, a silent battle still simmering in the weight of their stares.

This—his performance—was for everyone to see.

For him to see.

It wasn't even about you anymore. Just Nam-gyu's pride, his desire to win, even when no one else was playing the game.

A small misunderstanding, of which an apology had already been issued, it's fairly easy to let go, but Nam-gyu was never a fan of 'easy'.

The night pushes on, as does he. He whispers things you'd deem not very appropriate for company, much closer than necessary as he breathes against your neck, lips skimming the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. You mumble back a response, his fingers toying with the strap of your dress.

His behavior finally comes to a head a few moments later. Everyone at the table is chilled out, seemingly in a haze, likely from the weed and whatever else was spread out on the table. You wonder if it was finally about time for you to shove Nam-gyu in the car and go home.

Then, his hand is on your chin, guiding you to look up at him and fixing you with a stare that lasts a few beats too long, and then he's leaning down, closer, too close, pressing a kiss to your lips that he tries to deepen. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and entirely unlike him. You quickly break the contact, not giving him the opportunity to up the intensity. Not in front of all these people.

Thanos whistles from his seat, long and drawn out. It makes you want to melt into the couch.

Your face is red as you stand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say, voice coming out in a flurry as you turn away from him.

Behind you, he meets eyes with his coworker for the last time that night, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

He picks up the jacket that you'd left on the couch, throwing it over his shoulder before tossing a lazy 'goodbye' over his shoulders as he follows you. The performance was over.

The silence on the car ride home is suffocating, the engine humming beneath the tension. The energy shift is palpable—one second he was all over you, whispering into your ear and raking his fingers over every expanse of exposed skin, and then, nothing.

Nam-gyu had sobered up enough to drive, thankfully, because you were in no mood to do so. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning out the window. His posture is lazy, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread out in a way that appears casual, but the way his jaw is set, the tension in his knuckles where he grips the steering wheel, the effort he expends to not meet the stare you're boring into the side of his head—it all betrays him, how he really feels.

His lips are set into a thin, irritated line as he drives. His eyes flick to the radio, and his hand leaves the steering wheel for a moment as he turns it on, upbeat pop music filling the car but doing little to mask the fact that he was simmering, barely keeping his temper in check.

You ran out of patience from waiting for him to speak first. "So. You done being weird now?"

Nothing.

"Nam-gyu."

Still nothing.

You let out a small huff that trails off into a laugh. "Wow. So you can run your mouth all night, but now all of a sudden you're quiet?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel at that, his pointer finger twitching as he taps against it, the subtle clinking of his ring against the wheel queueing you in to how close you were to getting a reaction.

You roll your eyes. "You're such a fucking child, sometimes. You know that?"

"Shut up."

Your eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he hisses, eyes narrowing as his grip on the wheel tightens, "shut up." There's something in his voice that makes you listen. It's low, firm, clipped in a way that tells you he's barely keeping himself from snapping.

You study him, taking note of the way he bites at his lip, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard, and the way his hand flexes against its resting spot by the window.

You huff, turning to face the window and mirroring his posture.

Fine.

Soon, he's shifting the car into park, but he doesn't move. Doesn't turn off the engine.

Just sits there.

You don't turn around to face him. He doesn't ask you to, either.

The low rumble is the only sound between the two of you.

You didn't want to be the first one out of the car, and clearly, he didn't want to be either. It was like you two were in a standoff—a childish, petty standoff.

The silence is pointed, buzzing under the weight of all the things you weren't saying to each other. He lets out a sharp exhale, and you feel his stare on the back of his head. You refuse to turn around, refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You feel it, the way he's sitting there waiting for you to break the silence, as if this was somehow your fault and it was your responsibility to rectify it—waiting for you to sigh and grab his hand or say something snarky to give him an excuse to argue with you. It doesn't come.

He's the first to break, clearly tired from his shift, not to mention hungry for something to put in his body other than drugs ands cheap beer. He lets out a scoff before finally shifting the key in the ignition, shutting off the comforting thrum of the engine. He throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he fishes the apartment keys out of his pocket, not sparing you a glance as he walks towards the building.

You roll your eyes as you follow him, not like you had much choice.

The apartment is dim when you step inside, the only light coming from the fridge where Nam-gyu is standing, his body haloed in white as he pulls out a few snacks.

You flick on the light, ruining the dramatic environment he was building. You hang up your jacket and kick off your shoes, shutting the door behind you with a click as you fix him with a stare.

He turns, popping a few bites of something in his mouth before he leans against the counter, not meeting your eyes and instead staring at the wall across from him as if it had somehow become the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion swirling inside you. In all honesty, you just want to go the fuck to sleep.

"Nam-gyu."

Nothing.

Fuck, you hated this. Hated when he clammed up and backed himself into a corner, turning his nose up at you and forcing you to drag the issue out of him like you were pulling teeth, like he was a damn child. Because why would he ever just tell you what the problem was so you two could talk it out? That'd be way too easy for the both of you.

You drag a hand down your face, pushing past him and moving towards the bedroom, your patience running extremely, extremely thin.

"Jesus, you're exhausting."

His lip twitches at that. "What, running away again?" he says, voice indignant as he steps in front of you, cutting you off.

"Ohhh." You throw your hands up at him, a mocking smirk on your face. "Now you wanna talk."

He closes in on you, so close that you can smell the smoke and chemicals still clinging to his clothes. He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just presses his lips into a tight, thin line, his expression laced with irritation.

You roll your eyes at the silence. He has no room to talk, and you know it. He knows it too, clear in the way he won't open his mouth.

"If you're gonna throw a temper tantrum every time a guy speaks to me, go ahead. Just leave me out of it." You step back from him, finding your way to the couch. If he wants to act like a dick, fine. Let him.

"I threw a tantrum?" he says, voice laced with something icy as his jaw ticks.

"Yes, Nam-gyu," you say, voice going high as if you were speaking to a child, "a whole fucking scene, actually."

He watches you with silent anger as you fluff up the couch pillows.

You hear a snort behind you. "Oh, sleeping on the couch, huh? Cute."

"Better than sleeping next to you right now."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want."

He stomps into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stare down at your lap, brows furrowed in anger as you gave yourself a moment to calm down. Then, it dawned on you that you were still in the dress you'd worn to the club with makeup still on your face, the only change of clothes being in the room now occupied by your angry boyfriend.

Dammit. You lay against the couch. It's too lumpy. Too cold, without your thick blanket and Nam-gyu's shared body heat. The dress is tight against your skin.

Still, you lay there for a good ten minutes, refusing to fold.

When your efforts to wait him out prove to be fruitless, you let your eyes flutter shut with a sigh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but knowing that there was no way you were going to get a good night's sleep out here.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and shuffle quietly to the bedroom door. You linger there for a moment, steeling yourself.

Behind the door, Nam-gyu is laying in bed, clad in only his boxers as he stares up at the ceiling in the dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he drums his fingers anxiously, angrily, against his skin. His work clothes sat in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket, taken off and dumped in a flurry as he waited for you, refusing to get ready for bed before you cut the act and gave in, like you always did. He knew you'd kill him if you found out he'd laid on the bed with outside clothes.

He reaches over to his phone on the night stand, quickly clicking it on before shutting it off again.

Ten minutes. Fuck. How long were you gonna keep this up for?

His body twitches in reluctant defeat, and he's about to get up, swallow his pride to scoop you up from the couch and drag you into bed so he could get some goddamn sleep—but the sound of the door creaking open saves him. He swallows, body going still against the bed as you step inside.

A wave of relief washes through him, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath since the two of you had stepped foot in the car. He quickly recovers, though, a smug expression replacing his initial relief, hiding the fact that he was waiting for you.

You slink across the floor, refusing to make eye contact with him as you push the closet open and search for your pajamas.

"Oh, look who it is," he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Miss me already, huh?"

You don't respond, eyes narrowing as you stack your clothes in a pile next to you. After gathering everything, you stand up and make your way towards the door without shooting him a glance.

You pause, curling your lip as the smell of the nightclub reaches your nose.

"You stink. At least have the decency to shower after the club before you roll around in our bed."

His expression sours behind you as you make your way out.

You shower quickly, half convinced if you took too long that Nam-gyu was going to bust in and try to argue with you again. You dry your hair, pull on your pajamas, and brush your teeth. When you open the door, he's there, sitting on the couch in his boxers. He doesn't look at you as he gets up, nudging you with his shoulder as he makes his way inside.

"Took you long enough," he scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

His shower is quick, rushed. When the door to the bathroom opens, all the steam escapes. He stands in the doorway with his towel clinging loosely to his hips, hair dripping as he shuts the door behind him, his skin pink from the scorching water.

You quickly still on the couch, shutting your eyes as you pretend to be asleep, trying to play it off like you weren't listening intently, waiting for his shower to be over. Waiting for him to crack so you didn't have to actually spend your night on the damn couch.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, squinting as he zeros in the outline of your body. Then, you hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way over, the sliver of light pouring in from the bathroom being his only guide as he towers over you.

"I know your ass isn't asleep," he says, eyes narrowing as he crouches down next to your face.

You don't react. He wets his lips, mind reeling, searching for his next move.

Then, his hands are gently resting on your side. You swallow, holding your breath in anticipation. The heat of his skin prickles against you, still steamy from his shower, the damp scent of his shampoo filling the space between you.

And then—his fingers press into your sides, and he's tickling you.

You yelp, eyes flying open and body jerking violently as his fingers dig into your ribs, mapping over every ticklish spot on your body that he'd come to know in the time you two had been together.

"N-Nam-gyu!" you try to yell at him, but it trails off into shaky laughter, his touch relentless.

You can't hold it in, after all, who could? And then you're a red, laughing mess beneath him, your hands coming out from where they were pillowing your head a few moments prior, trying-- and failing, to get him off of you.

You try to twist away from him, but he follows, grinning now.

"Oh?" he says, his voice mockingly sweet, "I thought you were asleep?"

He clambers on top of you, water dripping from his hair and onto your dry, warm pajamas. You want to yell at him for not drying off completely before he came out, but you can't get it out between your laughter.

He's laughing now, too, his grin growing wider, and this time, there's no venom there, no smug satisfaction, no anger. It's just him and you. Giggling in the almost-darkness on your lumpy couch in your small apartment, tucked away in your own little pocket of the world.

"You—asshole!" But you can't stop laughing, grinning so hard it hurts, despite how badly you wanted to be mad at him. "I hate you!"

He shakes his head, eyes not leaving you for a second. "No, you don't." He smirks, pressing one last ticklish squeeze in your side, before relenting and taking a seat at your legs.

You're breathless, gasping and heart racing, still half-trapped beneath him.

He stares at you for a moment. His grin softens. Yours does, too.

He knows he'd been an asshole this whole night. Knew it before and after the drugs had worn off.

And though he still doesn't say it—I'm sorry—as if his body won't allow him to say it—he leans forward, hair still dripping onto your face, and he nudges his forehead against yours. Just once.

You let out a shaky, exasperated breath, finally able to compose yourself.

Your hand goes up to rest on his bare shoulder, a beat passes, and then you're tugging him gently down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," you say, shutting your eye as a droplet narrowly misses it, "are the biggest fucking baby alive."

He grunts.

You laugh, amused. In that moment, you know you'd won.

"Jealous little freak."

That earns you a huff.

The two of you sit there for a while, coming down from the moment. Once you can no longer stand the water dripping onto you, you shove him off.

"Hurry up and get ready for bed. I'm tired."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face as you push past him and collapse onto the bed.

Soon, he flops down next to you, the bed shifting under his added weight.

Silence.

He turns his head. A beat.

"So. You wanna fuck? Or..."

You exhale sharply through your nose in lieu of a response, rolling over to curl into his chest.

You press a kiss to his jaw as he drapes a hand across your waist, your voice sweet and laced with sleep as you lean into him, breath brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Go the hell to sleep."

He snorts, and soon, you're both drifting off into your own worlds.

---

The third time, it's not petty, not over a bout of jealousy.

It starts over money.

Of course it does. It always does.

You stand over him, trying to rub away the tension in your temples as he scrolls through his phone, ignoring you like he has all the time in the world.

"Seriously? You spent how much?" Your face is hot. "Are the drugs that good? They have to be, with how much money you throw away over them!"

Nam-gyu doesn't even look up at you. He's slouched, legs spread against the couch as he scoffs. "Why the fuck do you care?"

Your eyes widen. "Why do I— Nam-gyu, are you actually serious right now?"

He exhales sharply, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, as if this wasn't an extremely important and serious conversation. The sight makes your blood boil. He shuts off his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table with a clack.

"Look. I made the money—so I spent the money." He looks up at you then, his expression screaming that he'd rather be anywhere ot her than here. "I don't think it's that hard to understand."

"Yeah? With what fucking rent money, genius?" you spit back, your pulse quickening at his condescending tone.

He narrows his eyes at you, jaw flexing. Dangerous. "I said." He stands, looking down at you now. "I'll handle it." He presses two fingers to your chest, shoving you back lightly, a warning. "Now can you get the fuck off my back?"

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Really? When? Before or after the landlord's knocking on our door?" Your voice rises, the anger bubbling in your chest, getting ready to spill over. "Fuck, Nam-gyu! You always do this! Blow through your money—our money—like it's nothing and then act like I'm the problem for calling you out on it!"

"Oh yeah?" he says, stepping closer. His neck is tense. "And you do what? SIt there and bitch at me like you're my fucking mother?"

The words sting, but you don't back down. You open your mouth to fire back, but he's already speaking, practically yelling now.

"I was working. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Working?" You bark out a laugh, mocking, incredulous. "That's what you call working? Getting fucked up and blowing your money on drugs for people that won't even remember your damn name?"

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he bites his lip. You're sure he's about to explode. It doesn't scare you.

"It's my job!" he yells, lips curling into a sneer. "What, you think you're an expert on my job now?"

"Your job is to promote the club, not snort half the fucking inventory!"

His face darkens, and something ugly twists in his features. You can't deny the way your hands shake at your sides.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," you spit back.

The air shifts, the silence hanging between you two heavy and suffocating.

He shakes his head, looking off to the side like you were being ridiculous as he runs a hand through his hair. "You love doing this shit, don't you? Acting like you're so much better than me, like you've got everything figured out." He juts his chin out at you. "I bet you were just waiting for a reason to fucking lecture me again, huh?"

"Oh my god, Nam-gyu, this isn't about me. This is about your reckless spending habits—"

"And there it is! It's always my fault, isn't it? I'm always the villain, the big, bad piece of shit ruining your life. A screw-up that you have to fix." He smirks. "Go ahead. Call me a screw-up. I know you fucking want to."

You groan. "Do you hear yourself right now? I've never called you a screw-up! That's all in your head."

"Oh, yeah, but you sure as hell think it," he sneers, taking a step towards you. You don't move, determined to stand your ground. "You're always talking down to me like I'm an idiot. Like i'm just some loser that you have to babysit, because you're such a saint for putting up with someone like me." His eyes flash with anger. "You just wanna control me."

"Oh?" you huff, eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is about? Your ego?" Nam-gyu's jaw flexes at that, daring you to continue. "I don't wanna control you, Nam-gyu! I want to build a life with you! But you just keep sabatoging yourself—blowing through our savings on useless shit and poisoning your body while I try to save you!"

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound. "I knew it!" He turns around and walks away from you, hands going up to tug at his hair as he paces across the floor. "You're just like every other bitch I've ever met. Always running your fucking mouth—acting like you know better. Acting like I need to be saved."

Your anger comes to a head, simmering and simmering until it was at the edge, just about ready to boil over. You step forward, cutting him off. "Maybe because you fucking do!"

He pauses, his face going blank as he stares at you. For a second—just a second—he looks wounded. Like you'd slapped him.

Then— "Oh, fuck off." He spits the words out like it's poison, hands falling from their place in his hair and leaving it a tousled mess. "You wanna 'save' me? What are you, my fucking mother?" His fingers twitch at his side. Then he scoffs, shaking his head at you, and a bitter smile stretches across his face. "No. You're not like my mom. You're worse. At least she knew when to shut the fuck up."

That did it.

Your anger boils over finally, coursing through every vein and artery until your body moves faster than you can think.

You slap him.

The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot.

He stumbles back, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. He says nothing as he brings a hand up to his cheek, fingers pressing against the red mark blooming against his cheek. He's quiet for a moment.

Then: a laugh. Sharp and cold, slashing through the silence.

"Oh. Hah. There she is." He grins, but his eyes are wild. "The real you. The one who pretends to be so mature and understanding, but the second I hit a nerve, you turn into a hysterical, emotional bitch."

Your heart is slamming against your ribs now, and there's something hot pushing behind your eyes.

"I hate you." Your voice was shaking.

He doesn't flinch, just stands there, staring at you, but his fingers twitch, something cold taking form in his chest like a stone.

"Good." His voice is low, cold. Fake. "Then why the fuck are you still here?"

Something inside you snaps. Because underneath all the anger, you can hear what he's really saying.

Why haven't you left me yet?

But you're too furious to give him the reassurance you know he desperately wants���the reassurance he's waiting for with bated breath and clenched fists.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

You push past him, throwing the door open to the bedroom, one hand grabbing frantically at your clothes, the other clumsily fishing in your pocket for your phone. He follows you, suddenly silent.

You hear his breathing from the doorway. Heavy. Unsteady. Panicked. You pretend not to notice.

You dial your best friend, quickly bringing it up to your ear to hide the screen from Nam-gyu, hands trembling with anger.

"Hey," you say as soon as your friend picks up, voice shaking, "can you come get me?"

Nam-gyu's blood runs cold, something icy snaking through him and squeezing his chest like a vice.

Despite it all, he still finds a way to be an ass, another sharp laugh clawing its way out of his throat. "You're serious? That's all it takes?" He steps forward, his indifference betrayed by his breathing, fast and raggedy. "What, been waiting for an opportunity to finally be rid of me, you whore?"

You turn to face him, your hands going still as you lock eyes with him, eyes burning.

"You don't mean that." Your voice comes out so, so small.

Nam-gyu's breath stutters, disarmed by the way you're looking at him.

You see his face rewind before you, and for a second, he's the boy you met back in university. Vulnerable, unsure, timid, scared—and you saw it. A flicker of panic and regret across his face, knowing he'd pushed it the slightest bit too far. Knowing you were at the edge. It was up to him to pull you back.

And for a second, you really believe it. That he will.

But then—

Ego.

His pride.

His biggest fucking downfall.

"Nah," he scoffs, looking away as he feigns indifference. "I meant every word."

Your stomach twists. You grab your bag and pull yourself to your feet. You won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe and forcing you to watch his back while his face goes slack, teeth grit behind his lips as he holds his breath. "So. Are you leaving, or not?"

You push past him, bag in hand as you make your way to the door. He follows you, watching as you pull on your coat. He doesn't reach for you, doesn't stop you. His expression doesn't change, but the way his throat bobs—the way his hands shake despite his best efforts to hide them in his pockets—it tells you everything.

And this time, you don't have it in you to read between the lines, to decipher the stupid act he's putting up. All because he can't be an adult and say what he really means.

You grab your bag from the floor, a ding popping up on your phone: a text from your friend saying that she was outside.

Your hand is resting on the door knob, twisting, when his voice comes out—low, cracking.

"You're really gonna do this?"

You don't look at him. Just push through and slam the door shut.

He doesn't follow.

And just like that, Nam-gyu was alone. He lets out a shaky breath that he forgot he was holding, gripping at his sides like it would keep him from falling apart.

Suddenly, despite your absence, everything is much too loud. Louder than before. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the wiring in the walls. The padding of his footsteps against the hardwood as he threw himself onto the couch, his legs suddenly too shaky for him to stand.

"Whatever," he says to the oppressive silence. "She'll be back." His voice cracks, unsure. Like he doesn't even believe the words as he's saying them.

Tension crawls up his back, settling into his limbs like a concrete block. He sits there for longer than he should've, an invisible weight pushing down on his shoulders. He won't say it, but he's waiting for you.

You don't come back that night.

The next day passes by him in a blur, thick with alcohol and chemicals. He's in the bedroom, his phone on the floor next to him. He pushes his palms against his temples, quick gasps burning his lungs.

His fingers twitch, exhausted with the effort of keeping still, but he won't do it. He won't text you. Won't call you. He won't let himself. His heart pounds craters into his chest as he sucks in a deep, labored breath.

His own words from the day before echo in his head. He'd wanted to push you, break you down, make you feel as small as he did. And it worked.

And now?

Now you were gone.

It was fine. It was fine. He pulls himself to his feet, something icy creeping up his spine. Nothing some weed couldn't fix.

As he stumbles to his feet, he catches himself wishing that he'd been scheduled for work today. Something to distract him. The thought makes him laugh, hollow and flat.

His hands shake as he struggles with his lighter, trying and failing to get a flame. He curses, arms dropping to his sides as he leans against the couch. Fuck this.

He slides down the couch until he's spilling onto the floor in a heap. There's something hot and wet pushing behind his eyes now, betraying him as it finally falls. He swipes at his face, biting back the frail noises threatening to spill from his throat. He doesn't want to hear it. His hands make fists in the material of his shirt, and he hardens his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly as his mind short circuits.

It was fine.

You'd be back tonight. He was sure of it. He tries the lighter again, and this time, it catches.

You crash at your friend's place. She doesn't ask questions, and you don't offer answers. It wasn't like this was the first time you fled to her house after a fight with Nam-gyu had gone sour. Your friend's guest room was practically yours, at this point.

The bed is comfortable, warm, but it does nothing to calm the threads of anxiety twitching through your limbs. You grab your phone, checking for the fifth time to make sure that it wasn't on silent.

It wasn't, and as you thought, there was nothing new. No text, no call. You let out a puff of air and continue to pretend like you don't care.

A few moments later, you turn over, fumbling for another pillow in the darkness. You hold your breath, lip trembling as you squeeze it tight, biting back your tears. He didn't deserve it. To make you cry.

"Fucking asshole."

Unfortunately for you, he was right.

The next day, you do your best to stay away. Enjoy your friend's company. Calm the images of Nam-gyu's limp body flickering through your mind like a cruel recording on loop.

Then�� "I'm sorry," you say, ducking your head at your friend. She pauses the movie the two of you are watching, and she doesn't startle, as if she already knows what you're going to say next. "Could you drive me home?" Your voice is sheepish, embarrassed, as you keep your eyes on the floor.

You can almost hear Nam-gyu's voice. 'How typical. Knew you'd come crawling back.'

Your friend just nods, keeping her thoughts on the matter to yourself. For that, you're thankful.

Soon, you're rounding the corner, fumbling with your keys before finally pushing past the door, betraying yourself yet again.

And he was there, right where you left him.

He’s half-slouched on the ground, his back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. He'd shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for himself. His limbs are outstretched on the floor, loose and lazy. Like a cat, you think. It would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances.

A joint burns low between his pointer finger and thumb, dangling dangerously close to the rug at the foot of the couch. He brings it to his lips and takes a long drag. A stray piece of ash falls from the end and burns black into the plush fabric. A permanent stain. A reminder.

The room reeks of weed, a cloud of smoke floating lazily around the ceiling in a slow-motion circuit. The smell curls in your lungs like the argument still lingering between you. You don’t even care.

He didn't look at you when the door opened. Not when the door shut. Not when you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve, quickly throwing the window open and ushering the hazy cloud outside as if it had the agency to listen.

He doesn’t blink when you come to a stop at his feet, your shadow falling over him like a blanket. He continues to stare up at the water stained ceiling, regarding it with a calm indifference, like a painting he couldn’t understand.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in every inch of his sorry state. He’s in the same clothes you last saw him in, shirt wrinkled and pants twisted low on his hips. His hair stuck out oddly like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are red and swollen, but you know it’s not just from the weed. He barely acknowleges you, save for a lazy flick of his eyes.

You kneel next to him and and press a palm to the warmth of his chest. His face is blank, even, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but his heartbeat betrays him, hammering beneath your fingers like it was trying to get out. A bird making panicked circles on the floor of an open cage.

He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s weak and tired, bordering on something desperate.

"You stink," you mutter.

Nam-gyu lets out a humorless snort. "Then leave." But he doesn't mean it, not really. His heart quickens beneath your fingers, no doubt scared that you actually might.

But you don't. Instead, you pluck the joint from his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

He blows smoke into your face. You don’t blink.

Your fist closes around the fabric of his shirt just above his heart, the soft cotton spilling out between the gaps of your fingers as you clamber on top of him.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t meet your eyes. You lean down, tilting your head forward so that your foreheads touch. Your hair falls from behind your shoulders, draping over the two of you in a gentle curtain.

The smell of weed is thick as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly before straying to the nape of his neck. His lips part weakly, as if he's going to say something snarky, something mean, to remind you of the other day.

Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear as you speak, voice barely above a whisper, “Just... Shut up, okay?” You press another kiss to the top of his forehead, pleading. Soon, your face finds its home in the crook of his neck. You breathe him in, the smell of his skin grounding you, still managing to reach you through the haze of smoke and chemicals. "Please."

And for the first time in a while, he listens.

Nam-gyu says nothing. Not when your fingers comb through his mess of hair. Not when you're tugging his limp body up, up, pushing him—stumbling and dazed—into the shower. Not when you're peeling off his clothes and yours, switching on the faucet and rubbing circles of soap onto the gentle slope of his back as the shower fills with steam.

He won't tell you how much he appreciates it. He won't tell you a lot of things.

He's quiet as he pulls on his pajamas and sinks into the bed like a stone. Relief washes through him as the bed shifts beneath your added weight. His shoulders ease up for the first time since you'd left, though he won't tell you that, either.

The next morning passes like any other. There is no sorry. No kisses pressed to your neck or hands looped around your waist. You weren't expecting it, anyways. You don't dwell on it. Not like you had the time, to. Instead, you roll out of bed, shake the sleep from your body, pull your work clothes on, and start your day.

Later that day, when your key clicks in the lock and your legs cross the threshold, the apartment smells different.

Not weed, not chemicals, not the lingering smell of smoke.

Your eyes trail across the apartment, taking note of everything. The counters are wiped down, the floors swept. Even the clutter that usually lingered around—his clothes, empty bottles, dirty dishes—gone.

You raise your eyebrows as you hang the jacket by the door.

You lean against the counter, unable to keep the look of pure surprise off of your face as you watch his back. Nam-gyu is cooking, a novelty from when you two first got together. Before he'd sunk deeper into his drug habit.

"What's this?"

He doesn't look at you. "Food."

"Wow," you press, testing. He looks at you over his shoulder before turning back to the pot on the stove. "You? Cooking?" You lean in closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Am I dreaming right now?"

He shrugs, stirring the pot. "You always bitch about me eating. So I'm eating."

You purse your lips, deciding not to comment on his wording.

You can't remember the last time he'd cooked. It was always you. Or takeout. Or you reminding him to eat, that drugs and alcohol weren't enough to make up a healthy diet.

He flicks the stove off and grabs a plate from the cabinet, wordlessly spooning a scoop of freshly cooked rice onto the plate, still steaming. He shoves it into your hands before grabbing another plate for himself. He moves out of the way, gesturing at the pot like it'd inconvenienced him.

"It's still hot," he says blankly. His voice is tight, clipped, but you know it's just his way of masking his nerves. Tiptoeing around you like one wrong word might send you flying out the door again. "Now shut up and eat."

The food was delicous.

It tasted like nostalgia, bringing you back to the early days where he'd always cook for you, butterflies blooming in your stomach as your legs bumped against each other under the table, flirting under the warm kitchen light.

Back when his job was just a job. A 'for now'. Before it tangled and spiraled with his being, melting into him until you weren't sure where it ended and he began, the fuel for his fire, stoking his addictions and anger and insecurities until it grew big and ugly and distorted.

The thought made your chest tighten a bit, so you push it out of your mind, hands readjusting in your lap as you refocus on the movie playing in front of you.

The two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering dimly across the walls.

Nam-gyu is beside you, sprawled as usual, his legs spread wide and taking up an offensive amount of space. His fingers drum absentmindedly against his knee, his other hand fidgeting with his ring. He hasn't reached for you all night, but every now and then, you feel his eyes flick toward you.

Like he was waiting.

And then, without a word, he pushes something into your lap.

You startle a bit at the sudden movement. You look down, and your mouth falls open.

A plushie. It's a chubby, white bunny. Soft and cute.

You wonder when he went to the store. You picture him walking up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves and chewing his lip nervously as he decides what to get you. You imagine him checking out, slamming the plushie down on the counter before roughly tapping his card.

Then, you notice the small, black box sitting on its tummy. You almost didn't notice it, blinking down at it in shock.

You pick it up, face incredulous as you turn to him.

"You bought me something?" you say, breathless, as you turn it over in your hands.

He doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes trained on the screen. His leg bounces restlessly, both hands fidgeting with their respective rings.

You sigh, and it's soft, so soft, as something wells up in your chest. "Nam-gyuuu..." you start, leaning towards him.

"Just shut up and take it," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you. "Or don't. I don't care."

You stare at him for a long moment. His ears are pink, just barely hidden behind his long, black hair.

You decide to give him a break and open the box. Inside is a silver chain, dainty, shiny, and exactly your style. It's also real. You lift it out with a gasp.

Nam-gyu doesn't turn his head, but his eyes flick to you for a moment, taking in your reaction. Something in him unclenches.

The pendant hanging off of it is small, but it's beautiful, sturdy. You let it fall against your palm, the silver catching the dim light from the television as you inspect it. It's a star.

You pout, eyes going wide and glossy as you turn to look at him. He exhales sharply. Then, you notice something else in the box, a baggie tucked away in the corner of the velvet lining. You hold it up to the light, trying to see what it is.

It's another star, just as dainty as yours, except somehow smaller.

"Is this an extra one in case I lose mine?" you ask, genuinely curious.

The moment he sees what you're holding, his whole body tenses. His knee stops bouncing, and his fingers freeze. Then, without hesitation, he snatches the bag from your grasp.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving it deep in his pocket.

You blink. "Did you—" your voice trails off, realization dawning on you. Your heartbeat picks up. "You bought a matching charm?"

Nam-gyu glares at the TV like it'd personally offended him. "Oh my god. I said it's nothing."

You stare at him stunned. He was never the type to do this—sweet, thoughtful things. No, that was too corny for him. And yet he had. He'd gotten two of the same pendant. One for you, and one for himself.

Maybe to add to his own chain. Maybe to turn into a charm for his keyring.

Either way, it meant something. And you knew it.

"Nam-gyuuu," you press, all discretion gone as you cuddled up to his side. You watch his jaw clench as you rub his side, all smiley and starry-eyed. "You wanted us to match?"

"Okay. Shut up." He's tensing up, leaning away from you as he leans into the armrest, but you know for sure that it's all an act now. The plushie at your side and the necklace gleaming on the coffee table was enough proof of that.

But you can't. You can't stop staring at him, at the way his fingers dig into his knee like he's resisting the urge to snatch the whole damn box back from you. He's sulking like a kid caught red-handed.

Your grin widens, head going loopy with love. "Ohhh my goodness," you say, voice dripping with amusement, "you're so cute, Nam-gyu."

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he finally makes eye contact with you, but there's a color to his face that wasn't there earlier. "Don't start."

But you do start. You lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. "You wanted us to have matching charms? So that even when we're apart, we'll always have a little piece of each other?"

Nam-gyu gorans, tipping his head back against the couch. "Shut the fuck up." But there's no venom in it, not even a drop. Something tells you he might even be enjoying this, in his own way.

"It's like a promise, isn't it?" You sigh dreamily, pushing through the excitement in your chest, but also because you can't help but relish the way he squirms under the attention. "A silent vow that no matter where we go, we'll always be connected. Like two stars floating through space, spinning in a galactic embrace of eternal love—"

"I'm gonna kill myself," he mutters, rubbing his temples. The movie drones on in the background, completely ignored.

You laugh, finally letting up as you nudge him with your shoulder. "You're so romantic," you coo. "Who knew you had such a soft heart under that shitty attitude of yours?"

"I will throw you out that fucking window," he threatens, but it's weak. His ears are red, so red, and he won't meet your gaze.

You let the moment linger, then tilt your head, lowering your voice to something softer. "Thank you," you say, genuine this time. "I love it."

Nam-gyu scoffs, but his knee starts bouncing again. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

But later that night, when you finally slip the necklace on, the bunny plushie sitting gingerly in your lap, you catch him staring.

When you lay down next to Nam-gyu, there's something between you two. Something charged, electric. You don't say anything, but you know it's coming.

When his hand drifts over to you, lingers on your waist, you let it.

Then he's on top of you. His weight presses you into the bed, and you stare back up at him. His touch is soft, gentle, as he brushes the hair away from your face, from your neck. The necklace he bought you is cool against your skin. He stares at it again, touching it gingerly and turning it over in his fingers.

Your breath catches, and then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. It's gentle, soft.

It's not like him at all.

That night, it's like a race. Except there’s only one pedestal, and it's a spot reserved just for you. So he's grunting, biting down on his lip as he presses his fingers into the dip of your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the finish line. There’s a ghost of his breath on your neck, a graze of teeth at your collar bone, something sickeningly sweet in your ears— something you likely wouldn't be hearing tomorrow.

Then, you reach the edge, and he’s staring in your eyes, gripping your chin so you can’t look away. He dips low and smashes his lips onto yours. The ribbon snaps, and you tip over, breath being ripped from your lungs as you gasp, sighing his name like it's a prayer.

It's been a couple minutes since he'd rolled over, your skin still slick with sweat as you continue to catch your breath, heart drumming steadily beneath your skin.

His hand is heavy on your waist, his breathing steady. He was practically half-asleep already once he'd finished.

"Fine," you breathe into the silence, eyelids growing heavy as you swallow. You push your hair out of your face and roll over to cuddle into his side. Defeat. "I forgive you."

Nam-gyu, even in his exhausted state, smirks weakly in the dark. He slowly turns to press his face into you, rubbing slow, possessive circles into your skin.

He feigns ignorance as he smiles against your hair, because accepting your forgiveness would be an admission of guilt, and he couldn't— wouldn't do that.

"For what?"

© to @namgyunation on tumblr; do not repost

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: omggg i had so much fun writing this! obviously, a lot of this is my interpretation / speculation of how he'd act 'normally', so when he's not crazy hopped up on drugs and locked up in a life or death situation, but hopefully it's somewhat believable. i'm like rushing to get all my writing out before season 3 potentially crushes all my hopes and dreams and imagination and/or my motivation leaaves me haha. although school's still been kicking my ass, as always please feel free to send me any thoughts / suggestions in my inbox <3 i'm in this shit for the long haul, y'all.

[its-luna-noel]

your obstinate charge | astarion ancunin

Astarion has never been allowed to say 'no' before. When he does, he realizes who he wants to say 'yes' to. You realize that he could kill you here, right now, in any number of ways. He could slit your throat, drive a dagger beneath your ribs & pierce your heart, bleed you dry until you're nothing but a memory upon this land. You realize this, and yet your body relaxes in his hands. You trust him completely.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, afab reader but any pronouns, durge reader, act 2 spoilers, previous abuse, smut, oral (f! & m! receiving), blood drinking

word count: 5.3k

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hello! i wrote this last year and posted on ao3, and i wasn't going to cross post since my blog is mostly jjk, but i reread it and was really proud of it, so here it is on tumblr! ty for reading & hope you enjoy!

Everyone at camp can see that Astarion is in a foul mood.

You arrived back at Last Light after your first journey to Moonrise Towers, finally having arrived at your end goal to destroy these tadpoles, and before you could all share your discoveries with the rest of the party, Astarion strode off towards the waterline, ducking into darkness before you could grab him.

You stare after him for a moment and shake your head. Then you turn towards the fire, folding your legs under you as you ready yourself for dinner.

Gale passes you a wooden bowl of the same stew you'd been eating since arriving in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. "How did it go?" he asks.

You shake your head again, shoving food in your mouth, and lift your shoulder in a shrug. "We found Ketheric," you explain, offering the memory of your meeting to Gale through your tadpoles. He grimaces as you share the images of Ketheric pulling the axe from his chest. You withdraw your mind from his and continue to eat. "We've convinced them that we're True Souls, for now. We'll see where it takes us."

Gale begins to speak over his own meal, airing his many ideas to the party as the others gathered around the fire. But your thoughts drift, and you aren’t even lucid enough to feel guilty for ignoring him; all you can think of was how you know Ketheric was somehow involved in your previous life, that life you can't remember. Determination begins to burn deep in your chest; you must find out what this all means.

Before you can try to sort out your disordered thoughts, Karlach plops down beside you, the heat of her warming you on all sides as she digs into her stew.

"Hey," she says through a mouth full of food, "what's wrong with Fangs?"

You shrug, pulling apart your warm roll of bread. "How am I supposed to know?"

"'Cause you're all cozy with him, or whatever." She looks at you, her bright eyes keen and knowing. "Whatever happened today, you know what must be bothering him. Maybe you should go check on him."

You almost laugh. "He doesn't want to see me," you tell her.

She gives you a stern look before returning to her meal. "Just think about it, soldier," is all she says.

You all finish your meal and talk about your plan for the next day before retiring to your own tents for the night. You change out of your armor and clean it, rubbing off stubborn stains of goblin blood. You try to lose yourself to sleep, but it does not take you, with your many worries for the next day. And, even though you don't want to, you can't help but think about what Karlach said.

"Maybe you should go check on him."

So, unable to sleep, and unable to think of anything else to do, you leave your tent and make your way towards Astarion's.

You walk over, the chill of the night making you shiver. You almost hope to find the tent closed up for the night, to find him already trancing for the night, but the entrance is still tied open. You peek inside, expecting to find your companion reclined and reading a book by candle light; you try to prepare yourself for whatever sly flirtation he has for you.

Instead, you find the tent empty.

You frown; you know that Astarion hasn't been able to find suitable prey since you'd arrived in the cursed lands, so you can't imagine that he's out prowling. You stand there for a moment, at a loss and trying to decide whether or not to just go to bed. But you sigh, as whatever blackened heart inside you pushes you forward.

You, thanking your lucky stars that he wasn't trying to hide when he skulked away, follow Astarion's tracks down towards the river.

—

You find him propped up on his elbows across the river, staring out across the water. You don't bother to try and hide your footsteps; you simply cross the river, taking care not to lose your footing on the loose stones along the way.

"Come to collect your obstinate charge?" Astarion sneers without looking at you as you approach.

You sit beside him, tucking your knees against your chest. You try to keep your dirty shoes off his cloak that he spread out on the ground beneath him.

Those words are familiar enough; that dreadful Drow called him that to your face when she asked for him to bite her. "She really got to you, huh?" you ask, resting your cheek on one knee as you turn to look at him.

He's still in his armor from the day, and he'd found a bottle of wine somewhere in the crates surrounding Last Light on his journey over. It's something cheap, something you're sure he finds repulsive, even as he drinks. He stares across the river towards the inn, and he's silent for so long you resign yourself to the fact that he's ignoring you. Then, as you're deciding if you should just leave him to his thoughts, he shakes his head and says, "I can't get it out of my head. The way she leered at me."

You watch him, waiting for him to speak. He swirls the bottle of wine and takes a drink, then grimaces at the taste and lets the bottle hang loosely from his fingers. He doesn't look at you as he thinks.

Eventually, he sighs, the sound light and airy. "I was being too precious, wasn't I?" You can tell he's trying to convince himself, to talk himself back into some dark line of thinking he'd grown accustomed since being turned. "We could have used her potion. A moment of unpleasantry doesn't matter if there's a fine reward. I should have just gritted my teeth as always and let her have me for a bit."

You feel your heart sink at his words. "Astarion," you whisper, unsure of what to say next.

He barks out a laugh, a short, derisive sound. "Oh, darling, I don't need your pity." He throws the bottle of wine towards the water, and the glass shatters against the river bank. Wine starts to spill into the river, spreading like blood.

You shake your head, confused by how quickly his mood shifts. You struggle to keep up. "Astarion, I don't pity you," you tell him. You turn to face him properly, to take this conversation seriously. He still doesn't look at you. "But you have the right to say 'no.' You don't belong to anyone anymore."

At those words, he shifts his gaze from the waterline to finally examine you. His eyes are narrow, the expression behind them inscrutable. "You really believe that, don't you?" He laughs again, but he's not amused. His voice is bitter as he continues, "Yes, well, I must admit, a part of me feels sick when I think about getting on my back for breadcrumbs again." He tilts his head, suddenly curious. "But you, you could have convinced me to take the deal. To just push through and get the potion, and we would've all just moved along with our lives. Why didn't you?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Your voice is slightly incredulous. "You said 'no,' and that's your right. I'm not here to force you to do anything." You, now, laugh without mirth. You know enough about not having a say in what you do, with your strange visitors haunting your every move.

Astarion is still watching you. He has to admit to himself, he doesn't understand you one bit. No one in this life or his last ever showed him any ounce of kindness; even the gods couldn't be bothered to look his way. But here you are, some insignificant wanderer with gore for brains and a strong propensity towards gruesome violence, sitting beside him and telling him he had a choice. "But you could've," he pushes, and he suddenly reaches forward, dragging aside your neckline to reveal bruised teeth marks from where he'd last fed. You stiffen slightly, caught off guard by his quick movements. "What have I done to deserve any of your grace? I deceived you, tried to hunt you in the night, have taken everything I could from you with no promises to give any of it back."

"Astarion," you whisper, and for the first time, you think you are finally seeing him. "What makes you think you have to earn it?"

And that, finally, is what breaks him.

He rises up on his knees and takes your face in his hands, and there's a frenzy there, a desperation that makes you tense. You think he might shake you so hard your ruined brain will rattle around in your skull, and you watch the thought form behind his eyes. You realize that he could kill you here, right now, in any number of ways. He could slit your throat, drive a dagger beneath your ribs & pierce your heart, bleed you dry until you're nothing but a memory upon this land.

You realize this, and yet your body relaxes in his hands.

You trust him completely.

The look in his eyes is suddenly wild, confused, exasperated. Of all the prey he's ever hunted before, why did you have to be the one he showed the monster to? Anyone else would've run; you should've, too. Yet here you sit, on this riverbank beside him, looking into his blood-red eyes because he's led you right where he wanted you. Surely you aren't too stupid to see that.

Yet here you are, staring at him with those big, trusting eyes as he holds your life in his hands.

There must be something wrong with you, he decides then. Beyond the parasite in your head, and beyond the spells of very bloody memory loss; there is something fundamentally, elementally, seriously wrong with you. It's the only way he can explain to himself why you're still sitting here, prey in its predator's sight, unwavering & unafraid.

At that look in your eyes, that brave, corruptible expression, he leans closer. He says your name, and it's like the last prayer he'll ever speak. "Tell me what you want," he whispers, and he's almost begging.

You lean in, too, until the tip of your nose brushes the slope of his, and you breathe, "You."

And then he's kissing you, and you let out a small gasp, because you can't believe this beautiful elf has chosen you. He breathes you in, his hands still cupping your cheeks, and you thread your fingers into his silvery curls, beckoning him closer. One of his hands traces down your side, wrapping around your waist and holding you closer so you can feel the lines of him through your camp clothes. You gasp again, surprised by his unyielding grip, and his tongue slips between your parted lips, searching, exploring, tasting. You groan quietly, low in your throat, and his other hand traces from your cheek to your neck, fingers searching for the source of the sound. They find it, and they squeeze…

With his hand on your throat, feeling your pulse through the delicate skin, Astarion is nearly hypnotized.

He wishes that hunger deep in his belly would fade, would disappear and leave him to enjoy this, to lose himself in the moment like he hasn't in two hundred years. But it burns hot, and he can hear your heart beating strong in your chest, quickening as he moves against you, presses into you. It gnaws at him, spurned and getting harder to ignore, and you feel him bracing, beginning to pull away because he shouldn't do this to you— he can't—

You pull back from him, and he wonders how you could have possibly known his thoughts and braces for the impact of a stake in his heart—

Instead you tilt your chin and arch your back, and your hands in his hair lead him right to where he needs to be. His mouth brushes the pulse at your throat.

His vision flashes red; he can feel your blood thrumming against his lips, feel the seductive brush of each pulse against his mouth. He groans, and he wants to fight it, because gods he wishes things were different, but his lips part and his jaw opens, and he's biting into your throat.

A breath hisses from between your teeth at the sensation, at the ice traveling down your spine and chilling you to the bone. His mouth on you is unyielding as he cradles you in his hands, drinking you in in every way possible. Your eyes fall closed, and you begin to float, your thoughts becoming lighter than the clouds. You smile, because you can still feel him grasping at you, wanting you, needing you.

You trust him completely.

That hunger inside him pushes him to drink you dry, to tear your life from your hands until it burns in his chest instead. But he pries himself away from your throat, mouth dripping with scarlet and breath stuttering from between his lips. You can feel his chest heaving against you, can feel air fanning against your neck. You're still smiling.

"You," he gasps, easing you back down against the ground beneath you as he licks his teeth clean, "you ruin me." And then he kisses that smile on your mouth, and he's hovering over you, holding himself above you. It feels like a question.

When he pulls away, you open your eyes to see the stars painted over his shoulders. He looks predatory, like he's standing over the tattered remains of his latest hunt, but you see the softness in his expression, the vulnerability. He doesn't want to hurt you; he doesn't want this to be like all the other times, and he surely doesn't want this to be the first of its own terrible kind. He wants you, you realize. Not your blood, not your power, not your protection or your loyalty or your allegiance; he wants you.

You're ready to let him have you, if he'll take you.

"Astarion." You whisper his name, and he leans closer, his curls brushing your cheek. It tickles, and you giggle under your breath.

He tries not to stiffen at the sound. He forgets how soft you are sometimes, how gentle. It creates an air of innocence, though he watched you tear through goblins and cursed undead only hours before, and he knows without a doubt you can handle yourself. For a moment, he feels like the monster under the bed again.

But you touch his face, so very gently, and kiss him. Softly, sweetly, you call him back to you.

"I'm yours," you breathe, "if you'll have me."

And oh, it’s not even a question.

He’ll have you, he decides, pressing you back against the ground until rocks dig into your shoulders. He’ll take whatever you will give him, and when you’ve had enough, he will probably still be on his knees before you, begging for more.

Before that thought can scare him away, he trails his touch over your thin, casual clothes, grasping at the hem of your shirt. He pulls it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up. He pulls back to look at you, to admire you, but you — suddenly cold and bashful — wrap your arms over your chest.

You hide from him, and he’s suddenly confused.

He examines the nervous look in your eyes, the way you're flushed in embarrassment and trying to hide beneath him, and all the little puzzle pieces suddenly click into place. This is new to you, he realizes. Maybe not truly and entirely; maybe you were taken to bed in whatever life you had before, but you don't remember that now. For you, with your absent memories and shattered persona, this was your first time.

It's suddenly all too much for him, and he shrinks away from you, leaning back into his heels. He holds his face in his hands, and he shakes his head ever so slightly, because it's too familiar a sight, to pin down bright innocence beneath his hips and drag it into the darkness. He wants to run away, to curse you for ever asking him to come to your camp and join your little band of misfits.

For a moment, he wishes he never met you; at least he wouldn't have to question every action he takes.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as he recedes from you, and very slowly and gently take one of his hands in yours. He's shaking, just barely, but your throat seems to close with a flood of emotion.

"Astarion," you whisper, and you gently pry his hand away from his face. His eyes are shut tightly, his lips twisted in a grimace. You bring his hand towards your lips, and you leave a kiss on his palm, feather light. "Astarion," you say again, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Of course, you have to be the first person to say those words. The first person to encourage him to say no, when all he wants — for the first time in two hundred years — is to say yes.

For a moment, he’s bitter, and you can see the flash of frustration in his eyes when he finally opens them. But it’s gone in a moment, and he grins, flashing his teeth as he leans back in. “My dear,” he says, his silver tongue and honeyed words his only protection against the overwhelming confusion that’s threatening to settle over him, “I want this, trust me.”

He moves to catch your mouth with his, but you put your hand on his chest and stop him before he can. Your brows are creased, pulled together in concern.

The message is clear; you won’t let him use you to destroy himself.

His eyes flutter closed once more, and he breathes deeply, reminding himself where he is, who he is with. When he opens his eyes, they are gentle, softer than you’ve ever seen. You think, for a moment, maybe he has grown to trust you, too.

Slowly, without that same underlying malice, he leans in, close enough that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “I want this,” he repeats, his voice so quiet you can almost convince yourself you’ve imagined it. But then his mouth is on yours again, and he returns to his work removing your clothes.

His movements are slow, now, methodical. Like he’s trying to shake off decades of ghosts as he slides your pants down your thighs; maybe he is, you think. The fabric reaches your ankles, and you help him wriggle you free, and he tosses the clothing aside. Your underwear soon follow. Then, for one long, languorous moment, he looks at you, naked under the moonlight. Your mouth is red and sinful from kissing him, and the chilly breeze of the ever-present darkness raises goosebumps along your skin. Your nipples grow hard and pink, and you shiver. His gaze continues lower, to where you nervously squeeze your legs together in one last attempt at preserving your decency.

He wants to ruin you.

He brushes your thighs apart with one commanding swipe of his hand, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. Pupils blown wide with desire, he stares up at you through his lashes as he dips down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the valley between your breasts. He settles his body between your legs, and he veers to one side and licks a line towards one nipple, catching it between his lips. The wind cools his saliva until you’re shivering, and you’re not sure if it’s the cold or the pleasure as your head tilts back, your body arching against the ground.

Astarion suddenly sucks, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulls at your nipple. You gasp, and he relishes in the sound, watching you bare your throat to him. He gazes up at you, admiring the sight, as his hand slips between your thighs.

Suddenly, you gasp when fingertips stroke against your core, revealing your glistening slick. Astarion groans, the mound of your breast still in his mouth. “All this talk,” he teases, reaching up and grabbing your jaw in one hand. With the other, he rocks his touch back just slightly, barely brushing against your clit. “You should be the one telling me how much you want it, desperate little thing.”

Your face burns at his words and his casual tone, but you can’t even argue with him before he sweeps his tongue into your mouth. He licks your teeth, and at the same time he presses two fingers inside you, and you let out a broken moan against his lips. You can feel his wolfish smile as he pulls back before pumping back inside you.

You can feel how wet you are, can feel it dripping down the inside of your thighs. He moves slowly, though, allowing the gentle stretch of his fingers as he kisses you. His thumb draws lazy little circles over your clit, and he catches each of your moans with his mouth, learning exactly what you like with a few strokes of his expert hands.

Then, just as your breathing starts to hitch and break, he pulls away, taking his hand from the wet heat between your legs.

The sound you make almost comes out as a whine, and Astarion laughs, watching you flush deep crimson. “Someone needs to mind their manners,” he chastises playfully, and then he lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Your flush impossibly deepens, and you almost look away in embarrassment. But you can’t tear your eyes from the shameful scene, and you can tell that he knows how much it turns you on to see him like this. He grins again, and then he dips his head, disappearing between your thighs.

Before you can process his quick movements, you feel him lick molten heat up your core, and you throw your arms out to the sides, scrambling for purchase. You gasp his name, and you feel him chuckle more than you hear it.

”Yes, my dear?” he asks before running the flat of his tongue against your clit.

Your body stiffens, and your face lifts to the heavens. “Don’t stop,” is all you can muster.

And he doesn’t.

He eats you out until you’re shaking, falling apart under him. He presses his fingers back into you, three this time, and sucks on your clit while he strokes you from the inside. He stares up at you while he does it, watching you writhe in breathless, beautiful agony. One of your hands finds his hair, brushing through his curls with a touch that’s much too gentle for what you’re suffering at his hand.

You can feel your pleasure mounting, tightening like a coil deep in your belly while heat flames between your legs. Your moans are coming out in pants, now, barely intelligible noises that break against the riverbed. Your hand in his hair tightens, gripping for dear life and holding him there and pushing him away all in the same movement, and your back bows off the ground, your eyes nearly rolling back into your head as he pushes you higher and higher—

Then, like a band snapping, your orgasm rocks through you, and your vision goes black while your hips stutter and your core clenches and quivers.

Bliss washes over you, and you slowly come back to earth, and you find Astarion unbuckling his armor, nearly frantic in his movements.

”Astarion,” you croak, reaching for him.

He leans over you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips, his tongue. His hands tug feverishly at the buckles.

”Astarion,” you sound like you’re begging. “Astarion, please—“

He huffs playfully, still pushing off his leather armor one layer at a time. “What is it?” he asks, sparing one hand to stroke gently at your throat. “Do you need some attention? Aren’t you just obsessed—?”

”No,” you whine, finally rising up on your knees and reaching for his hands. “Let me— I want you to feel good.”

By now, his chest is bare, and he’s kicked off his boots. “Sweet thing, the thought of being inside you is driving me insane.” His leather pants slide down his thighs. “Do you want—?”

”Astarion,” you say again, your voice emphatic. You take his hand and bring it to your mouth, parting your lips against his fingers. “Please.”

Astarion freezes suddenly, staring at you with an expression of recognition. His eyes trail from yours down to your mouth, where his fingers sit. He can feel the heat of your breath, and he grows impossibly harder at the thought of what you’re asking.

It’s something he’s so rarely done since being turned. A pleasure he’s so rarely accepted.

Your lips brush his fingertips when you speak. “I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, and then you take two of his fingers in your mouth.

His stomach drops as he watches you, and his cock twitches at the sinful sight of your lips wrapped around his long pale fingers. You watch his pupils dilate, and his lips part slightly as you slide your tongue down, swirling gently. Your own desire pools in your belly, watching him watch you.

Please.

He nods, his breath starting to hitch slightly at the idea of filling that mouth. You smile, and you draw back until his fingers leave your mouth with a pop. Then you ease him back gently onto his elbows, picking up where he left off by dipping your fingers into the band of his underwear. You look up through your eyelashes, watching his chest heave up and down.

”Tell me to stop,” you say sternly, and he nods, understanding your meaning. So, having his confirmation, you continue.

You slide his last layer of clothing slowly down his strong thighs, watching every reaction your movements elicit. Watching for any sign of trepidation, of apprehension. But you only see desire, and one of his hands goes to your hair, knotting in your tresses. Encouraging you further.

You move your hands lower and lower, and your mouth begins to water as you follow the shaft of his cock. He’s gorgeous in every way, and when you finally reveal the pink head, glistening with precum, you have to hold yourself back from devouring him.

You tug his underwear the rest of the way off, and then you kneel in front of him, sure that whatever gods may be listening have placed him here in front of you.

You dip your head forward, wanting only to touch him with your mouth. With his hold on your hair, hopefully that would give him enough power to say no if it became too much. Tentatively, and watching for his reaction, your tongue slips out from between your lips and licks a gentle line along his shaft, giving you your first taste of him.

Astarion’s entire body stiffens at the sensation, and you do not move again, waiting for some sign that this was okay. After a moment, he tugs at your hair and very gently touches your cheek, and the look in his eyes is clear direction for you to continue.

You brush your lips against him, leaving gentle kisses, and then your tongue follows to the head of his dick, tasting his precum before swirling and bobbing deeper.

Astarion throws his head back, and he keens as you take him into your mouth. It’s a broken sound, but his hand in your hair pushes you deeper, and you obey. You drool when his hips cant forward, and you match his movements by swirling your tongue and pulling back before sliding all the way back down. He almost can’t believe the skill of your mouth, with how innocent you looked not five minutes ago, but then his thoughts scatter again when he hits the back of your throat.

He wants to press you down until you’re choking on him, wants to cum in your mouth and make a mess of you—

But he stops himself, pulls you back by your hair and kisses you, because he needs to fuck you.

He’s panting when he grabs you by the throat and lowers you onto your back. “Say it again,” he tells you, half delirious with the need to be inside you. “Say you’re mine.”

”I’m yours,” you respond immediately, eyes shining in the moonlight.

He groans your name, cupping his hands under your thighs. He wraps your legs around his waist, lining himself up at your entrance. Your cunt is still dripping for him, and he presses his fingers against your clit, watching you jump as he touches the swollen bundle of nerves. He laughs, a breathless sound, and then he places one hand beside your head, staring into your eyes as he slides inside you.

Thank you, he wants to say. Thank you for saving me.

But that’s much too vulnerable a thought to share, so he simply rocks his hips into yours, watching your mouth fall open in pleasure.

He’s perfect, you think as he slides back out of you before slamming back in, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. He’s perfect and he’s here and he’s yours, and you want to tell him so, but you can’t even speak, so you squeak out moans and scrabble at his chest as he fucks you.

He watches you quickly come undone beneath him, and when he decides he needs more, he lifts one of your legs and props it over his shoulder. The new angle lets him hit a target inside you that has you seeing stars, and you’re a drooling mess beneath him, eyes glazed over with pleasure. His fingers once again find your clit, and he rubs those practiced circles, just like before. He watches your chest heave, and your lips try to form his name, but he’s knocking the wind out of you with every thrust. You feel him inside you, on top of you, all around you, and you know that this is dangerous, that this is the sort of magic that will keep you coming to his tent every night.

And oh, how you both want to tear each other apart each night.

You feel your second orgasm building, so much faster than the first, and you gaze up into his eyes, watching him fuck you, and it quickly becomes too much.

“Astarion,” you finally gasp, your voice pitched so high it almost breaks, “pleasepleasepleaseplease—“

The sound of your voice threatens to send him over the edge, and his thrusts begin to turn wild, frantic. He shoves himself into you until you come apart, unraveling at the seams. Your cunt clenches over and over again, pulling him closer from the inside, and before he can pull out to empty himself on your stomach, you grab his shoulder and tilt your hips forward, begging him to stay there.

Begging him to cum inside you.

The thought shatters him, and he moans into the crook of your shoulder, thrusting erratically as he rides out his own orgasm. You feel his cock twitching inside you, and you hold him close as his thrusts slow, then stop.

As you hold him, you press gentle kisses to his face. His forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his chin. His lips. He kisses you back, slowly, deeply. Then he pulls himself out of you, and you almost regret the sudden emptiness. But you can’t think about it for too long before he lowers himself to the ground beside you, and you follow him, still kissing every inch of him that you can reach.

”I’m yours,” you remind him. And even as you both start to clean up and head back to camp, he remembers those words.

He belonged to no one, but maybe one day, he wouldn’t mind belonging to you.

thanks for reading! -luna xx link to ao3

[theiaphage]

This is a really well worded post and I generally agree! However, I think I got another angle of this same conclusion based on the idea that Amy's original redemption arc never really concluded only to backslide -- rather, that her expectations about redemption fundamentally change what that redemption arc means in-text

Like you say, it absolutely falls well within the typical narrative-trope parameters of the expected 'redemption arc,' she hits all the core points -- but, like with a lot of tropes related to pain, trauma, healing, forgiveness and so on, the typical narrative portrayal isn't often a realistic one. In that way I think Amy acts as both a good example and, with further context, a deconstruction of the redemption arc, because under further examination a lot of the arc itself isn't necessarily as positive as it first came off. In so many of her attempts, she's trying to do better according to all she knows when surrounded by the worst influences possible. She doesn't have a solid safe role model, and hasn't for her entire life. Someone to tell her that sometimes you just won't be forgiven, that not every fight ends with a hug and back-to-normal at the end.

In that way, Amy's attempts at doing the right thing in Worm, though absolutely noble in conscious intent, still betray a few of her failings and the places she was failed. Like you say, she really does try to get better, she does the things she may know broadly lead to healing or help or forgiveness, but a lot still ends up being more about her than her efforts.

The tattoo here absolutely stands out to me -- even before Ward went and had her all but explicitly say that the tattoo holds a different meaning now, even in Worm it still seemed imperfect, questionable potentially, but with heart behind it. It was a memorialization of pain and a reminder to do better -- but like so many pieces of art about pain or failure, it could inadvertently romanticize the subject just as much as it condemns it. Amy is, in a very real way, actively working this tragedy into a part of a narrative -- one she tries to use for growth, but ultimately fails in.

I'm trying not to be too harsh on Amy here, but vibes-wise I'm reminded somewhat of something like an ex-boyfriend, leaving flowers at the door of someone who dumped him, or cry-singing a song about how they were a bad boyfriend on the car drive home. Sure, the pain is real, the acknowledgement of failure likely is as well, but at some point the gesture becomes more about the boyfriend's pain than the actual relationship, or even the breakup. In this moment Victoria, a victim who literally cannot speak for herself in this instance, is 'memorialized' in a very real sense, turned into a symbol by a person that already as a base nature of their power and life can feel so disconnected from the humanity of others.

So many of these choices by Amy center her -- her attempted growth, her attempted retribution, her attempted change. It's the kind of thing that in real life really can be done for the right reasons, but can also be done for worse ones -- that ex-boyfriend working out thinking of their ex, getting a job thinking of their ex, hanging a picture of their ex above their bed to motivate them to get up in the morning. Amy's actions aren't even this extreme or pointed, but I view it as them sharing a sort of kernel of trying to do better because they really want (or even need) better in turn -- and thus, Amy's arc in Ward is what happens when the textbook redemption arc doesn't work.

When all those acts of memoriam, distance, betterment, health, are done with the kernel of hope in your mind that it means you'll be forgiven, that it all will be fine again and you can go back to how it was.

And that's why I see her redemption arc as never having completed -- she's trying, she's hitting the right steps, but ultimately at the conclusion of this redemption (which I would argue is a long period of time, starting with Vicky's new body and coming back up again for a while) would come when those attempts were tested, when Victoria refuses to forgive her and she's forced to either accept her betterment without Victoria, or let go of it and keep pushing for her -- she begins to choose the later.

In this way it's less of a backslide and more of a recontextualizing moment. She is backsliding in behavior, but it's not that she got foundationally better and then became foundationally worse again, and more so that she tried to get better, put in real effort, but ultimately failed. This version worked for me because it seems to be what Amy acts like right out of the gate; annoyed that Vicky won't accept her, continually trying to do things 'for' her or based on her happiness when Victoria wants nothing to do with any of that.

These give some context to her past actions, allow you to re-examine Worm in a way that both provides answers and adds a new layer in a way many readers (myself included) missed at first simply because yeah, Amy's arc does have all the pieces of a redemption arc, and it takes Ward to get people thinking about whether or not those pieces add up.

I do want to state to conclude that yeah, her portrayal (and especially the initial choice to tell this story surrounding Amy of all people) has its issues, many major, but the portrayal of someone who falls into toxicity and abuse because they thought they were doing everything right and still didn't get what they wanted out of it; A person who still didn't get that one selfish prize they latched onto in a moment of pain that they tried to be a saint to deserve or make up for wanting? Yeah, that's pretty unique and powerful, and despite its flaws it really hits home as an accurate-to-the-point-of-painfulness portrayal.

Okay, fuck it, I've built up enough goodwill with this sideblog - let's risk it all by sharing my opinions on how Amy is handled in Ward.

It's kinda complicated I think.

Okay, now that I've resisted the urge to immediately hit post for the bit: I think the way her interludes are written substantially flattens her character in a way that I find distasteful and unpleasant, but I find the overall shape of her arc and her role in the narrative compelling. The things I dislike have been well-covered by plenty of other people in the fandom, so I'm going to focus on the things I like.

To talk about Amy's role in Ward, I first need to talk about my interpretation of Ward as a whole. To me, Ward is, above all else, about trauma and recovery. Society is traumatized by the end of the world, the shards are traumatized by the death of Scion and their loss of purpose, individuals are traumatized by all the things individuals are traumatized by. As an aside, this reading is a big reason why I'm not too bothered by a lot of the world building choices that other people frequently (and fairly) criticize - I think many of them serve this theme effectively.

One specific facet of that reading that I find particularly compelling is Ward's interest in people who are traumatized not just by the harm done to them, but by the harm they've done. Characters don't just regret what they've done, they don't just want to be better, they are traumatized by it, and their reactions to that trauma are as messy and complicated as any other traumatized people. I don't always agree with the stances the text takes on how to deal with having done harm and been traumatized as a result, but I find the exploration of the topic compelling.

Enter The Altruistic Amy Dallon.

Amy's arc in Worm was, to a degree, a prototype of this kind of storytelling. She is repeatedly and horrifically traumatized, the actions she eventually takes in response to that experience inflict equally horrific trauma on her victim, and she is further traumatized by her own actions almost to the point of ego death. She removes herself from the environment she was in, begins rebuilding her sense of identity and ethics, and reemerges having grown, prepared to do better going forward and to make reparations for her past actions as best she can. Arc done! It's satisfying and cathartic, and we leave content in the knowledge that the part she's on will take her to better places. It's the quintessential appeal of a redemption arc, and it's a strong example of its type.

There's something people like to say a lot when talking about mental health and personal growth in real life, and that is that progress isn't linear. It's an important truth to understand.

It's rarely true in fiction. Very often, in redemption arcs, in personal growth arcs, after a series of false starts and setbacks, the character reaches a critical point where they resolve their conflict and either overcome it or succumb to it. From that point on, their nature or behavior is fundamentally changed - if they've grown they never relapse past a certain point, or do so only fleetingly, or else never improve past a certain point. This makes sense from a storytelling perspective, but it doesn't map to how growth often works in real life.

In Ward, Amy occupies the very rare narrative position of being who completes her arc of growth and redemption, who crosses that critical threshold of lasting, meaningful change... but backslides anyway, to the point of essentially losing all that progress.

It's an outcome that I find very believable for her, honestly. Her newfound worldview and conviction were forged in the very insular environment of the Birdcage - of course they would be impacted by her new environment. She says at the end of Ward that she had been able to excuse all of her worst behavior because she had convinced herself that she could fix anything - and at the end of Worm, I can see how she would come to think that! She's been pardoned and released from Forever Prison, she overcame her old aversion to brains to create Khepri and thereby saved the world, she's formed a positive relationship with the father she never thought she'd meet, she's receiving love and support from parents she never felt good enough for, she's using her powers to help people in a way that doesn't make her want to die, and she even "fixed" Victoria, when failing to do that before was the final nail in the coffin she just finished clawing her way out of! The sheer number of seemingly impossible things she's accomplished, of apparently irreversible failures she's seemingly put right, is mind boggling! It'd be the easiest thing in the world to let that go to your head!

Her social circle is also a perfect environment to enable her worst tendencies - there's no one left in it whose opinion she trusts that's willing to call her on her shit. Marquis doesn't see anything wrong with her behavior, Carol is trying to make up for a decade of neglect and unwarranted criticism, Mark just wants everybody to get along and be happy, and Riley and Rinke are pretty shaky on this whole human decency thing themselves! With a (not unjustified) pride in how far she'd come, a circle of willing enablers, a complete lack of moderating influences, and a bulletproof get-out-of-moral-culpability-free card, and two years to spiral, I find her backsliding to be completely believable. And given that Victoria is the fly in the ointment to all of this, that her continued refusal to have anything to do with Amy gives lie to Amy's belief that she can fix anything, and thereby puts the entire edifice of her self-rationalizations at risk, it also makes perfect sense to me that Amy would become fixated on her, on proving that she really can fix anything.

Of course, being believable isn't the same thing as being compelling. The thing that makes all this so resonant for me is that, at the end of Ward, after being this grasping spectre that haunts Victoria the whole book, after rejecting countless opportunities to demonstrate a hint of self-awareness or the slimmest motivation to change - Amy does. She sits down with a therapist. She rips off the band-aid - both the metaphorical one and the literal one made out of Victoria's skin, jesus christ Amy - looks at what she's done, at how she went awry, and resolves to do better. And we end with her in essentially the same place she was at the end of Worm: prepared to do better going forward and to make reparations as best she can. But the journey she has taken to get there gives the destination entirely new meaning for me. She's already fumbled her chance at redemption! But her journey gives lie to the idea that you only have one chance, or two, or any finite number! Every moment you draw breath is a chance to do better.

To me, Amy Dallon's arc in Ward shows that the most important step you can take is the next one, and no matter how many times you walk up and down that road, it never stops being true. And I find that compelling as hell.

[itsrlymine]

Hi, I hope I'm not being nosy or anything and I'm sorry if something is not understood since I'm using a translator. I wanted to say that I met you since you appeared at the beginning of tumblr, I think it appeared in one of the first posts you made, but I didn't understand it and I reread it many times and not understanding better I took a screenshot and said to myself "I'll try to read it later and understand" a few days passed and then a video of a girl appeared that said the same thing as you, but it should be noted that I had forgotten about your post, a few days passed and I decided to delete some images from my cell phone then I found the screenshot of your post and I read it, it seemed familiar to me with that of the tik tok girl, well maybe she asked your permission to translate it into Spanish and for others to know this information, but the strangest thing was that she made a document that said that everything she wrote had come out of her mind and that if some people used that content without giving credit it would be sued, but I read your entire master list and it said the same things, only it changed some words, at At first I thought that some of the demonstrations that she mentioned in her document were hers (she mentions climate change, but she doesn't mention the hurricane) I hope I don't cause any problems, I just wanted to let you know.

????? um wtf no. pls send me all this info so i can send these girls to court lmao wtf. that's actually crayy lmao

[babyjinsu]

[r/TooAfraidToAsk] my girlfriend never eats the last bite of her food. ever. why??

003 of 002 !! ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[r/TooAfraidToAsk] [UPDATE] my girlfriend never eats the last bite of her food. ever. why?? posted by u/braciocell • 2h ago

hi guys. i didn't expect my original post to blow up like i did, but thanks! i know it's been like a few weeks since my last post wondering about my girlfriend's questionable eating habit but i finally have an answer!

so last night, we had dinner over at my apartment and as usual, she didn't finish her burger. so i (once again) asked her but this time i tried guessing why she never finishes her food. using the theories about siblings sharing and the bad luck one and all that were commented by you guys.

she laughed and finally admitted the real reason:

she feels guilty and sad when she finishes a food she really enjoys (or just food in general).

my girlfriend said that finishing the last bite makes her feel like she's saying goodbye to it forever. so she kind of just leaves the last bite as a coping mechanism. (and the reason why she never tells me is because she's embarrassed of it)

i found it to be so cute and so ridiculous. we made a deal that from now on, i'll eat her last bite so it doesn't go to waste. she said it'll make her feel better knowing the food gets a proper send-off.

anyway, thanks to everyone who commented and replied! turns out, i'm just dating someone who is emotionally attached to her food, and not a girl who performs strange food ritual (i don't think i mind that either). i think i just fall in love for the nth time. thanks guys, again.

Top Comments:

[u/webearbear] glad to hear that and that's really cute of her. wishing both of you the best!

[u/braciocell OP replying to u/webearbear] thanks man! hoping she won't see this lolol

[u/webearbear replying to u/braciocell OP] she has reddit?

[u/braciocell OP replying to u/webearbear] nah but i think her friend does.

[u/webearbear replying to u/braciocell OP] what are the chances?

[u/worms4brains] rare that you see a wholesome post on reddit lol. a proper send-off is funny tho

[u/cerealkiller88] love how instead of asking her to break the habit, you became a part of it. respect

[u/foldedclothes] thats a nice ending! im glad she eventually told you. be happy always op and girlfriend!

💭 and that's the end <3 i hope u guys enjoy this as much as i do. i'm planning on writing more reddit au's for other members too so please look forward to it! thank you so much ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

[bananaactivity]

Davenport Family Headcanons and portraits for shits and giggles

There are 8 of these mother fuckers so buckle in. Some background info is in another post but ill probably add that part in as re-blog thing... anyways enjoy my yapping

Davenport Family

Donald Matthew Davenport ( 44 ) January 8, 1971

The Daven-family figurehead and oldest Davenport son. A genius who works well with tech related to transportation, communication, personal protection, training, security systems, and helpful but basic AI ( think eddy). His work was praised heavily within the market that Davenport Industries existed in. He noticed his brother getting in with some shady investors and tried to stop him leading to a huge argument and a few months of not being able to reach him he found out that Douglas had been horribly injured and killed. He took the time to gather his brother's possessions finding the bionic children and taking them in. He raised them keeping them sheltered so that the government would stop messing with them. Eventually, he married Tasha and had a stepson in Leo who convinced him that it was safe for the kids, and he's had a kinda stressful but great love-filled life since. Eventually, his brother returned and after being mad for a bit he soon got right back into the swing with his baby brother. He was so happy to have his brother back after eleven years. Still bullying him of course but it's all love. He is kind and smart and very nervous. He isn't stingy with his money either, he does a lot of charity events for struggling kids who wanna do S.T.E.M. He looks at some kids who remind him of his brother as being a bit strange. He doesn't discourage them but helps them move in ways that won't hurt them in the long run. You can be an alternative scientist without getting dropped in like his bro. Sadge :( Sometimes he crashes out but it's a nervous crash out. Sometimes the kids really mess up and you really gotta step back and be like… okay guys bsfr. His little brother was a mad scientist and a handful, he was stressed. And his “death” made him sad. Rose is also a stressor she thinks he's a wimp :(. He was a Hippie, a “playboy”, a big goofy nerd, he's gone through many phases. He loves all his children. I never minded them calling him Mr. Davenport. Though I will say mostly Chase does it in my AU. Not for trauma reasons he's just silly. They all call him Dad and Leo calls him Big D. Marcus and Dan call him Uncle D.( For a long time he would just talk to Eddy instead of people before he met Tasha. Eddy is just a helpful assistant with a personality he always made me mad as a kid. He can keep some personality but I don't like the Tasha disrespect keep it P with my queen. )

BI- curious for a while ( He had a fling with Peirce Harrington way back when they were in a fraternity together at some fancy Uni. You know Frat boys, I do. Freaks.)

Douglas Patrick Davenport ( 42)

April 6, 1974

The Daven-family emo child and youngest Davenport son. A genius who is a bit unethical and does crazy work related to human enhancement, cognitive modification, bioweapons, and biotechnology, really pushing human and technological capacities while blending them. His work was highly controversial of course, it was kind of taboo when talking with people interested in Davenport Industries. Though many “darker” people were interested in his work, Doug hadn't received much praise due to the macabre of his expertise. So he entertained these investors getting himself into a dicey situation, leading to a blowout with his brother in 2002. Doug's situation was a little dire so he faked his death having to leave behind ABC. He could only take the Androids. He stayed in his dark angry hole. Mad that his brother was still thriving while he kept up this new evil stuff. Hoping that the children he had to leave were okay. He got into it with some more dicey figures eventually meeting Krane who was interested after reading some of Dougs old Highschool blog posts about bionics. Doug had already lost a lot of money so he planned to get his kids back but ended up defecting back to his family… he loves them.

Douglas loves his kids. They don't call him Dad, he’s Douglas. Sometimes Uncle Dougy. Leo calls him Lil D. He told him to stop. He didn't. He understands he made choices and that resulted in them being left. He had only come back to exploit them for money… bros, not the dad. He is to his android boys and that's great. He loves um. He enjoys going to Dons charity events. Seeing kids like him with alt ideas. And he sees his brother helping and encouraging them. He'd take back some of his choices if he could but he's glad of the few positive impacts they had. He's still alt, maybe a freaky idea here a crazy thought experiment there. But he knows to reign it in now. He was getting a bit too crazy perhaps, may have broken many moral rules there but he loves his family. Perry thought he was a butch lesbian when they met but then they became friends and she was like ohhh. 

Bro doesn't care if he likes you he likes you, I think Perry is the same but she has some preferences. ( What if I shipped him with agent Graham what then? You can't stop me lol)

Tasha Francine Davenport ( 44)

April 6, 1974

A mother, a businesswoman, the baddie. She divorced Leos's dad and they don't talk about that bitch who cares. Her son is her baby she loves him. She loves Donald a lot too when they met he was pretending he was a Donald Davenport look-alike who worked at a coffee shop. He called himself Conrad Shadingfort. ( Bro is supposed to be a genius wtf)  they ended up hanging out. He bought the coffee shop she frequented just so he could continue working there to see her. She knew the whole time and thought he was just being silly,. He hung out with her for 2 years and got to meet Leo too. When he wanted to ask her out he told the truth and she was like: “Huh? You thought I believed you?? Well, you’re so cute and silly and I like you so I will go out with you!” He kept the coffee shop as a business also having made a bunch of cool gadgets to help the employees. It was a cool spot lol. And then they got married later yay! Now she loves all the Davenport children even the androids lol. She doesn't have the baby yet (I'm bad at drawing babees) She is sweet and caring and knows when to do things for her because it isn't selfish. 

Tasha is Demiromantic yayyyy

Adam Robert Davenport ( 19) July 7, 1996

Good ol’ Adam. My fav, my boy. He is so relatable, I relate heavily. I'm the older sibling I'm the silly sibling (I stand by Adam is just into absurdist humor with a heavy commitment to the bit, and isn't dumb. Bro says stupid shit on accident and on purpose and you'll never know ) When he Bree, and chase bully each other its normal sibling level. He never uses his super strength with his siblings; it is just his normal strength. Which is a lot mind you but it doesn't hurt it's just irritating. He's still a Taylor fan, but if this took place in 2024, he would add Chapplle Roan to his playlist quickly. I'm not a big Tay or Chapplle enjoyer, but I won't ever let that affect Adam’s truth. You know what he likes Billie and Sabrina too, Laufey, Solange, Nicki, Doechii, he loves women's music artists, all of them. They're all baddies who slay according to him, Even if they didn't make music in 2011-2016. He's super chill no stress on his bones unless someone touches his siblings. Yall should know how he gets when they're in danger. “ I can call my sibling a dusty bum bitch, but if you even look at them wrong I'm beating your ass.” Adam is a big animal lover he's been asking Donald to branch out with animal charity events and he's working on it yay ( Adam and Douglas began to bond over animals. Especially dogs)

He's isn't labeled like I said he's chill, I relate bro, love him. His preferences do align with aroace ( so relatable bruh) He's just silly yayyyy!

His abilities are under the L-P Chip: Lasers, strength, lung capacity, “big blue fart that blows shit up” as he calls it, and durability.

Bree Downy Davenport ( 18) November 22, 1997

Bree. another Baddie. Bad-bree. Sorry. She's silly, not a super slob like that one gross-ass episode but she's a bit of a fem-tomboy ig. Catching frogs and lizards carefully here, painting nails, and putting on baddie fits there. Finding interest in environmental issues a big fan of ethical tourism. She's been all across the earth. She's good at clocking her brother's tea ofc. She and Leo talk a lot, Leo has been in tons of AP classes and introduced her to AP Environmental Science she loved it and they joined the environment club together. She is obsessed with the island ecosystem as it is a man-made one. She's glad her brother Chase talked with Donald about making sure if he did this island thing that he made it as safe for the environment as possible and he did a good job. ( She and Douglas began to bond because while Douglas was “dead” he went to a lot of places, they talk about them and history all the time) She's not gonna get superpowers. Now that's something I'll get mad at, she has more bionic abilities they're just locked. If she was really feeling that useless (she's not) she could have asked Doug about unlocking another one.

She’s a bi queen. Also an elite-level fumbler. Not because she's a bad partner. Just so bad with expressing feelings so it never gets to that level.

Her abilities are under the S-S Chip: Super Speed, invisibility, wall stick, durability, and voice replication. She got rid of Spikerella she hated it.

( I don't like most of these portraits but this one just pisses me off like wtf happened to his face)

Chase Junior Davenport ( 18) August 5, 1997 Chase Chase Chase. He's on the case. He's very logical and often uses his computer brain for most tasks. It's like that one time they had a boys vs girls for no reason and he used his bionics immediately. He's always using his bionics just because of the computer brain. He's super lucky he can use two bionics at a time otherwise he'd be a dumbass while fighting. He also downloads apps to do most advanced tasks or hobbies, except guitar and martial arts which he learned on his own. ( He loves Radiohead, thats how he and Douglas began to bond heheh ) He pretends to hate Spike but also declines to get his app deleted. Spike always has his back even if he's a bit… dramatic and violent. This Chase is a bit more unsure and less cocky due to this Donald not being as cocky too. (That was def a learned behavior.) His identity took a while about to season three. When Leo first helped them assimilate into high school Chase thought he could download a bunch of teen movies to get ahead. Introducing him to a concept he literally never thought of. Having a partner. It always ended badly cause he just thought it was what he was supposed to do and he wasn't ever into it. This changes that one episode where Chase was tryna impress a girl and Adam was tryna stop him to Adam being like “ Bro you don't even like her stop before you hurt her fam..” Anyway, eventually he figured it out and told Adam who was like I coulda told you that fam..,

He's labeled Aroace and is very repulsed by everything. Leave his ass alone.

His abilities are under the I-S Chip: Computer brain that can do all computer stuff at elite computer speed, Laser Bo, Force field, telekinesis, Magnetism, durability, Spike, and enhanced senses

Leo Francis Dooley (17) May 7, 1998

I don't have many headcanons for Leo. He's perfect bro. Silly, perfect comedic timing, smart, and caring. He loves hanging out with Doug. He didn't need as much time to be bonded with him as ABC for obvious reasons. He and Marcus have beef most of the time though. That's how cousins be. He and Daniel are cool tho they love bullying Marcus together. He and Gordo though had a massive falling out ( Break up). Never again. He dated Jenelle, he had a tiny nemesis crush on Taylor. He’s single now.

He's a pan-king.

He doesn't have a chip but his abilities are plasma, energy-sucking or wtv, shields, and a strong leg,( his eyes are just aesthetic)

Marcus Julian Davenport ( 18) December 14, 1997

I don't have much to change about Marcus either. He's still a little freaky butthead. He loves his brother and he loves playing the guitar as well ( Radiohead enjoyer yayaya). He also does a bit of boxing, why not? His Archenemies are his Brother and Leo still, but in a goofy way not a murder way. He and Daniel were like the goofy duo tryna trick ABC and Leo. Marcus was intimidating while Dan was just being silly bonding with Leo. I just think it's funny if we just add Daniel to Marcus and Leo moments where Leo is clocking Marc's tea and Dan is just like “ Lol yeah Marcus is trash hehe”. He has a much better relationship with this Doug as Doug lets them be them and has never abandoned him. Doug was goin crazy when his sons got missing. He's so silly.

He's not super interested in relationships not in an aro way but just like not that interested. If he sees a bad bitch though who's to say lol

He has no chip; He has all Adam Bree and Chase's abilities both hidden and not.

Daniel Moore Davenport ( 13) March 21, 2002

When you look at the timeline you may see the name Danielle.( This is also a reference to Bree asking about why Doug never tried making another girl. He did here but Dan was like nah fam) Yah originally Doug was tryna do one female and male design. The female took a little longer which is why Dan is so much younger. After a few years tho Dan wasn't fucking with that. Doug was just like: Ya know what this is fine and a win. Bro is so sentient and observant he got body dysmorphia :(. He's just a silly boy now. He bullies his brother with Leo butttt... He has a lil crush on Spencer. (That's Spin's name that he uses with his non-friends but I think its funny to say) I think it'd be funny if Dan and Leo are bulling Marcus, but Spin comes in and bullies Leo causing Dan to turn around and swap sides. Then both Leo and Marcus side-eye him like: aw hell naw. I also think it's funny if they have that moment in the wimpy kid movies where Marcus is Rodrick looking at what Dan (Greg) is looking at ( it's Spencer ( Holly)) and he busts out laughing: “ BROOOO NO WAY WILL THAT EVER HAPPEN! AHAHAH” I gotta draw that lol. Unfortunately, if you've read that one fanfic of mine you know that Spin is the leader of a team comprised of Daniel and Bob. And you also know how I feel about writing inter-team relationships. It would piss me off if my teammates started being all goo goo-eyed while we're on a mission like stopppp. So Bob has to watch his oblivious bestie and a dumb-ass android get themselves into avoidable shit. Bob went on a sabbatical from having crushes and now he's a chill guy ( he learned from Adam that hot babes aren't everything and to take time for himself, bros 15 he's gotta chill) Anyways…

Dan does identify as trans and hes another guy whos chill unless he has a crush ( he thinks Spin is so cool bro awww he just wants to hold handsssss )

He has no chip and his ability is the replication of all tech not just bionic. Like if he touches a megaphone he can amplify his voice or record things and amplify them. can save up to two bionics in a folder to use without touching someone. If he wants to use a different two he has to clear his folder.

Back Ground Info for shits and giggles

How Bionics and Androids Work

There are three levels for Bionic Humans and five for Androids, here they are in order of Rank

Bionic Levels: Superior Bionics, Partial Bionics, Soldier Bionics

Andriod Levels: Superior Bionic Andriods, Superior Androids,  Androids, Basic Androids

There are only three Superior Bionics. Guess who? You never will… It's ABC, obviously. Subjects A, B, and C. They were the first to have chips, with so much care and passion put into them over the years Doug worked on their chips and embryos. They're irreproducable. Their bodies can handle the toll of bionics well, as they were grown and raised as embryos to do that. Yes, the chips can be fixed up if pieces are smashed but brand-new ones that have the same strength of capabilities can't be done. That's why they have the glowy-eye things in my art. Leos a special case shut it. The chips are called Lazer-Punchy, Intelligence-Smarty, and Speedy-Sneaky. L-P, I-S, and S-S, chips respectively. Doug is shit at naming things. This exclusivity was done so that the 3 are extra special I wanted as much separation from the super soldiers as possible. It was a little irritating back when that season aired to see how all these new bionic people made ABC less special but I didn't want to get rid of them. So now it's a spectrum. They can activate 2 bionics at a time more if they train super hard.

The Super Soldiers and Krane are Soldier Bionics. Significantly less strong and durable than the Superiors. They had bionics implemented later in life. (Super soldiers were orphans or homeless children taken by Krane with no family to return them to and also another reason) A lot of them in the case of Krane. Little did Krane know, but even if he wasn't defeated and destroyed or wtv, his excess of bionics would have killed him eventually. His body was deteriorating rapidly and he took a bunch of shit to cover up the pain like an idiot instead of realizing the actual issue. The amount of abilities he put in is what made him so strong and formidable but again his body would've completely collapsed eventually. That's actually what Geis was waiting on cause she wasn't as much of a dumbass. The island also provides a lot of health care to the super soldiers after saving them. That's also what got the government to back off again, How much care they needed and how “useless” they would be without this constant care and upkeep. Again they just are like an iPhone 8 to ABC's iPhone 11. if that means anything lol. They can only activate one bionic at a time.

Leo is the only Partial Bionic, again the tech was something Doug spent a while on. Bionics that can be used later in life without causing trauma to the receiver. He was preparing to sell it to Krane but he didn't which is why Krane did that worse thing. After Leos's severe almost fatal injury Doug had to try something. He used his plans on the injured areas (his legs, arms, and head) and this makes Leo Bioincs less strong than Superior Bionics but more stable than Soldier Bionics. Doug destroyed these original design books ( superior and partial) as he knew Krane would do anything to get his hands on something like that. Chase however has a file saved in his computer brain that can be accessed even if his bionics have been compromised. He can activate one bionic at a time, more if he trains.

There are only two Superior Bionic Andriods. Marcus and Daniel. M.A.R.C.U.S: Modular Android Reactive Construct Utilizing Sentience. D.A.N.I.E.L: Dynamic Android with Neural Intelligence and Emotional Logic . Again trash names dunno what Doug was doin. They have a level of sentience and intelligence that's pretty much like… Vision or Ultron ig. They have this humanity to them and I treat them as such thats why they're ‘bionic” androids. They are conscious completely, they have personalities completely. There are technically no limits to their use of bionic abilities as it relates to LR universe. Minus cooling systems and child locks ( on Daniel) that stop overheating. They can eat, drink, and sleep. They're anatomically accurate to humans as well. ( Not for freaky reasons ofc just Douglas trying to replicate human processes again this is what makes them bionic, they replicate humanity very well) Any fluids that a human can have are simulated by special liquids that need to be replaced once every 10 years. That being things like sweat, digestive fluids, tears, and blood. These are all simulations though, and if they aren't replaced it's no big deal just means they can't do any of that stuff like eat or sweat. It's all aesthetic that stuff, just Doug showing off. They also grow like a human again Doug being a show-off. Doug started them before ABC meaning technically Daniel is older than Adam lol, but he finished them at different times. Daniel wasn't conscious until 4 years after Marcus and 7 years after Adam. The reason is that it was much easier to leave Androids as a WIP than actively growing bionic children. (The androids start out toddler size cause it is easier to work with. just what I think seems reasonable not any science all of this is what I deem reasonably possible in a fake world, it's not even pseudoscience) They can use as many abilities as they want with consequences if they overdo it.

There is only one Superior Android, Troy. T.R.O-7:Tactical Robotic Operative 7. Troy is not a bionic android; he only looks like a human. He doesn't replicate any human functions, and he is not anatomically correct. He can't eat, sweat, cry, bleed, sleep, or grow. He looks exactly the same as when he was first finished. He does however have a complex personality, similar to the Bionic Androids. Hes like the… Friday to their Vision. If that means anything lol. Hes very vain ofc but he misses a lot of social cues and has a harder time empathizing. Gies didn't bother to fix these for reasons that'll be clearer in the next level. Geis started Troy in secret back in college after Doug first started Marcus and Daniel. She had 6 versions before he was functioning how he does now. He still is very pervious to water, overheating, and a wide variety of things that happen to machinery. The reason hes less advanced is due to Gies not caring about the intricacies of accurately replicating humane behaviors. She thinks of androids as an easier way to do bionics—easily controllable weapons without waiting for growing embryos that can use bionics. My Doug was more of a human bioscientist with dubious ethical and moral codes. Troy can use up to 3 abilities before he begins to shut down.

Any other Androids in Gies army are Androids. Different from Troy. Troy took all of her college and 5 years after she graduated. Again the only reason she was doing this was for convenience and a leg up in this world so she used Troy as her money maker and all of the others are even less human than Troy. They were all destroyed with no hesitation while Troy was jailed. 

Basic Android are things like Robo Perry and EDDY. Like the Siri and Alexas of our world but with a little more spice.

Timeline for shits and giggles

1992- Creation of Davenport Industries ( Don was 21 Doug was 17) 1994- Begins 2nd year of college for Doug ( 20) and the beginning of Marcus and Danielle ( Daniel) and the prototypes of the L-P, I-S, and S-S chips/ first meeting of Geisel 1995- Geisele begins work on the first Troy. T.R.O-1 1996- Doug Graduates and Davenport Industries begins taking off, making both Davenport's millionaires and affluential inventors and scientist 1996- Gisele and Doug break up 1996- T.R.O-2 1996- Adams embryo is now a baby boy 1997- Brees Embryo is now a baby girl 1997-T.R.O-3 1997- Marcus is sentient 1997- Chases Embryo is now a baby boy 1998-T.R.O-4 1999- Donald builds the Penthouse in Centium City 1999-T.R.O-5 2001- Geisel makes a breakthrough in the movie industry and ceases work on T.R.O-6 in favor of working her way up the industry 2002- Danielle ( Daniel) is sentient ( a few years later Danielle is Daniel) 2002- Doug (27) and Dan (31) fall out and Doug fake dies ( Adam 5, Bree 4, Chase 4) 2002- Dan finds ABC and Raises them 2006- The Gov tries to tack ABC for “science” but fails because I said so 2008-2013- Doug works with shady people to get money and he is fairly rich, he also meets Krane during this time who promises him a big payout for the tech of human bionics and partial bionics he left behind in his young adult rage 2011- Geseil completes T.R.O-7 and becomes an Industry Titan with her breakout hidden star Troy West ( if this were a big thing you’d hear about the movies hes is as sly ref across all the seasons) 2012- Dan ( 41) and Tasha ( 41) tie the knot and Leo finds out about the Rats 2013- Doug Returns and does his evil stuff but he and the android bros get redeemed 2014- Krane does all his evil stuff and teams up with Geis but also does a solo thing so he dies 2015- The Island is up and running for about a year 2016- Geis finally comes in and gets her ass handed to her 2017—- Elite force stuff

I hate everything including all these fuckers. Ignore all the rats lookin crazy as hell i was tweaking when i drew that i promise

[not-too-many-eyes]

Regarding Bella's Existence

(Also Known as: Nott is really tired of people repeating a very big misconception regarding their relationship that gets denied in the text itself, and decided to make a post about it in the hopes people stop repeating it)

I've been planning to write about Semmelweis for a while now. She's one of my personal favorite characters, and I have a lot of thoughts regarding her, her background, and her beliefs. However I was waiting for a future Series of Dusks update to happen before writing that post so that I could write something comprehensive and resolved.

However, I've been routinely annoyed in seeing the same misconception be repeated again and again about Semmelweis and Bella's relationship whenever I look into here, YouTube comments, or having the misfortune of deciding to look at the Discord for some reason.

That misconception being the idea that Bella is just a very sentient hallucination.

The Report Now, let's get the easy part of this explanation out of the way as to why Bella Isn't a Hallucination. That being this is something that gets directly addressed, and denied in text, multiple times in fact! The first is in A Series of Dusks Part 2 "Second-Class Citizen:"

Semmelweis: Whoever you are. I have a poor opinion of things that try to interfere with my mind. Bella: Ah, so you think I'm a result of the Beyond Disease? Just another hallucination, a nightmare Bella: But you've read the reports. So you know what this really is, you know that Miss Klara's Arcane Skill lets you glimpse at your inner self Bella: Your not a fool, my dear. Do you still want to deny the truth right before your eyes? Semmelweis: ... Bella: It is an extraordinary ability, wouldn't you agree? Bella: And for one so accustomed to deceiving everyone, even yourself. It proves dangerously effective.

This is a direct denial of the idea Bella is a hallucination. Kakania's Arcane Skill lets one look into their inner world in great detail. As it so so happens, Semmelweis' inner world has her and Bella as the main tenants of it. Bella might have even been there since she was a child. We don't know, we just know she didn't come into existence because of the Beyond Syndrome.

However, Semmelweis is In Denial that Bella is real, and has been inside of her for god knows how long at this point, which leads to me to the second time that the text denies that Bella is a hallucination. Which is in Part 6 of A Series of Dusks, Fate in the Mirror:

Bella: The Storm Syndrome this time is so much more fun that the previous ones, wouldn't you agree? Bella appears at Semmelweis' side, she seems so much more real than ever before. Semmelweis: I wish I could share your perspective. However, uninvited hallucinations are not included in the symptoms of the Storm Syndrome this time. Bella: If only it were that, no, you can see me precisely because the Beyond's bloodline is already altering your mind. Bella: It's a change that brings tearing and reorganization. And it seems like I am one such part that is being torn out. Bella: And as a part of you. I believe I have the right to object to your behavior.

Semmelweis calls her a hallucination again after this, because both her and Bella have a really bad case of Internalized Ableism, but again, Bella denies that she's here because of the Beyond Disease. Actually quite the opposite, she says she's here because the Beyond Disease Wants Her Gone. She's a part of Semmelweis that is being deemed "unwanted" by the disease.

Which leads me to Part 7, Waves and Notes. While it initially seems like Lorelei's words here about how Semmelweis is "talking to herself" would destroy the idea Bella isn't a hallucination and it's actually Bella who's in denial of her own existence. It doesn't really.

There's two possible explanations to it actually, the worse, boring one that I don't like as much which is "The Bella here is a hallucination" which tracks if you take Semmelweis meeting Bella in the therapist room as the actual Bella based on her going "I didn't expect we would meet again under these circumstances," and tracks with Semmelweis Actually Hallucinating Bella in her Ancedote and using her as a soundboard for her fears (we will get to this later.) However, this goes against both how that is Visually showcased in her Ancedote, how Semmelweis' hallucinations Usually go, and causes more internal hiccups with what happens before that scene, and Lorelei says Afterwards, than the second, more fun explanation does, which is that it acts as a resolution to Semmelweis' own denial of Bella's existence, and Bella's own internalized ableism.

It's not something that's drawn much attention to, but Bella Really Hates the idea of seeming "insane" and trusting anyone who seems "insane."

Bella: You don't believe these two lunatics, do you? Bella: You think you're taking back control. But all your doing is handing over your fate from the Foundation to these two crazed Arcanists.

It's a fear Bella expresses in Fate in the Mirror. That ultimately Sememlweis is losing the safety provided by the Foundation for something that won't help her at all in the end.

This might seem contradictory with how she acted with Semmelweis in Second-Class Citizen but it's actually internally consistent with Bella's two main goals. Which is that she wants Semmelweis to be Honest with Herself about what she actually wants, and she wants Semmelweis to be Safe. To Bella, the Foundation is safer than the two "insane" arcanists. So she roots for Semmelweis to go back to the Foundation.

Due to this mistrust in the mentally ill, and possibly other reasons such as Semmelweis repressing and not acknowledging her existence, and calling her a hallucination at every turn even though Bella Knows she isn't, lack of proper medical care and literature (we know Very Well Semmelweis has had bad experiences with Doctors,) etc. Bella has checked the two of them out of the "insane mentally ill people" box.

Despite Semmelweis actually experincing hallucinations, despite being able to recognize that people usually can't see or hear her, calling her and Semmelweis "the same person" like- 30 minutes ago in the game's time, and despite knowing that her existence resembles that of a hallucination. Bella is acting as if her existence is just a normal part of life and not- I dunno- the most well known symptom of a dissociative disorder.

So when Lorelei outright says that Semmelweis has been talking to herself. It disturbs that perception. It's a logic error in her perspective of herself and Semmelweis that she's only noticed due to it being called out and it freaks her out.

Notice, Lorelei never says that Bella is a hallucination. And actually she acknowledges Bella as a Person, or at the very least "A Part" of Semmelweis.

Lorelei: You must learn to accept all parts of yourself, rational and emotional. Both... Lorelei: Semmelweis and Bella. (...) Lorelei: How else could I know your names, my dears? Semmelweis & Bella: No, that can't be! Lorelei: Why do you refuse to accept what you are, my little musical note? Lorelei: You are a beautiful composition. Why should you tear yourself apart?

She wants Semmelweis to reconcile the divide between herself, her mental state, and her and Bella. Which finally resolves at the end of this part where Semmelweis goes:

Bella: I see. Then no one can change your mind. You're always like this. Semmelweis: We're always like this.

Semmelweis uses Plural Pronouns here because she has Acknowledged Bella as an Actual Person and Not a Hallucination. Thus showcasing her coming to some terms with her mental illneses- so can I call Bella an alter already? Have I convinced people enough that Bella is not a Hallucination? ...Okay not yet, because there is still the elephant in the room.

The Third Circumstance

In the The Third Circumstance we get to see Semmelweis actually hallucinate Bella! And also Valentina! They are here trying to goad her into drinking the blood of innocents, and to do murders.

Now, this seems kinda bad for my arguments on two levels, that being Bella is here as a hallucination, and the second being that if I Say this is Bella and not a hallucination then it feeds into the idea of Bella being an "evil alter." But I actually have a very simple argument that cuts through that.

They don't use Bella's sprite to represent here here.

This is a really weird detail. They have Bella's sprite, they've been using it for every single one of her appearances, and Valentina's sprite is being used.

So why not use Bella's sprite?

Well it's simple, that is actually hallucination Bella, and her sprite is deliberately not being not being used to showcase that Semmelweis’ fears still haven’t been fully quelled.

Because Semmelweis, despite choosing to become a vampire, is still afraid of what that could Mean. The Ancedote is showing her denying her actual dietary needs out of fear of what that blood drinking could represent.

We know she gets over this fear, after all, she jokes about it with Vertin in the Suitcase.

Semmelweis, Bond-Morning: I admit, I am glad to find you seldom invite others to share breakfast here. Personally, I find myself more comfortable drinking blood when you and I are alone… Oh, do relax, I prepared a salad today, no blood bags involved.

And her uh- entire fighting style is centered around blood. She's grown accustomed to herself, and has learned how to manage and take care of herself.

Similarly, Semmelweis is at the point where she’s resolved to accept her “madness” but is afriad what that could mean. Her hallucinations are written to reflect that fear, beforehand they were mostly persecutory hallucinations involving her in danger or being treated badly in some way. Now she’s afraid of what she might do to others, her poor diatery habits making the problem worse.

The point we see Semmelweis in at her anecdote is her at a regression. She's made the choice but the implications of that choice are now weighing on her. We even see Semmelweis repersent herself as "The Field Agent" as the first hallucination ends.

Plus, the portrayal of Bella is just- internally inconsistent.

Again, Bella's most important goals is for Semmelweis to be Honest and Safe, and she was actively against Semmelweis becoming a vampire. Bella has been shown to Not Like Valentina much, and is not exactly someone who would:

Valentina & Bella: You need blood, just a little taste. Then we won't bother you anymore, we'll lie at your feet like faithful hounds.

When Bella is acknowledged to be as stubborn as Semmelweis is.

At the very least, I distinctly doubt she'd encourage Semmelweis shooting a child, and drink his blood in the middle of the day where people can see her. She'd tell her to do it in secret where the Foundation wouldn't notice-

Though, to just put another nail into the coffin into that idea. We actually Meet Bella in the suitcase.

When you play the audio for Semmelweis' Insight 2 Voiceline she has two different animations depending on whether it's her or Bella.

Indicating that it's a different person talking.

The first part of the voice line is actually a reference to the base ending of A Series of Dusks "A Wish Granted." And in that first part Bella says that she's finally back, and is glad to see her wish (Semmelweis being honest and safe.) Having come true. Implying that she hasn't been talking to Semmelweis much since A Series of Dusks.

Really it's implied that usually Bella and Semmelweis don't communicate much with each other, which is part of why Semmelweis hasn't acknowledged her 'till now. But that goes into some stuff that hasn't been revealed in Global yet so I won't discuss it in detail.

So...yeah! Stop calling Bella a Hallucination when the game has stated and shown Multiple Times that she isn't! Semmelweis has Hallucinations but Bella is Not One Of Them!

[lunameimei]

New talking post!

Thank you very much for your comment @marcysredmoon! And this one is for you!

But before I begin, I want to remind you that this post will have the same TW/CW warnings as the drawing (violence, dark content, Partial Nudity, body horror, horror, Implied abuse, abuse, SA, pregnancy), so read at your own risk!

And one more clarification, all the text below is just my personal theories, headcanons and interpretations of Amelie's life based on what was shown in the show in the first five seasons, I haven't watched the sixth season yet. So if you disagree somewhere - THAT'S OKAY, but please, don't come to me and start fighting u_u You can always just pass by the content you don't like. But I'm not against discussions/questions (after all, there is a block button lol).

So here we go!

Amelie had always been an obedient and convenient daughter for her parents. She didn't mind being "second" (considering Emilie was the heir Initially), and it didn't seem like she could do anything against it when all the weight of responsibility fell from her sister's shoulders onto her own.

And since neither of the twins was a boy, of course, the parents saw in Amelie only a future object that would give them offspring and an heir, provide them with a son. For the parents, Amelie was nothing more than a tool, a beautiful toy.

And in the art, the strings, like those of a puppet, hint at such a life for Amelie. Just as she was a weak-willed puppet in the hands of her parents, she remained in the hands of her husband.

Colt, the man who took Amelie as his wife only to increase his wealth, also expected to receive from such a beautiful girl an equally beautiful heir. As a tycoon who made his fortune in weapons, he was not a very empathetic person. He has a wife. And that means she has to be convenient and beautiful. And she has a "marital duty". And no right to say no.

In the art, Amelie's naked body is COMPLETELY covered in bloody male handprints.

We know that Amelie, like Emilie, struggled to have a child for a long time. And we know that both couples tried literally everything in the hopes of changing the situation. And we also know that even despising "magical intervention", Colt forced his "normal" wife to carry and give birth to their "normal" child naturally.

It was never about Amelie's wishes and feelings, only about her parents, about the husband imposed on her. But not about her. Colt was the one who paid for Felix's creation, but Amelie was the incubator who had to carry him inside her body.

In the art, we see a peacock peeking out as if through a broken shell, which was placed inside Amelie without her permission. "Broken shell" - a bleeding wound on the stomach, the "child" cannot help, but causes pain. (But we know that in the end, Amelie doesn't hate this little baby bird. He didn't ask to be born and he's not the root of all her endless suffering.)

The red colors are chosen to emphasize the pain and agony that Amelie is in. And only the peacock, the child, has another color in her life...

aaaaaand I think on that dark note i'll leave you!

in the future i would like to draw more art related to this topic (and i like to reveal the story through drawings more than through such a text-post), but i think it is better to share ideas at least in this way, than to always put it off for later and in the end never draw anything at all~

The Burden of the "Good Princess".

[beyondglass]

The train poem

I watch my guy best friend leap across the gym.

He looks so stupid.

I snicker as he falls flat on his face.

He'd be the perfect boyfriend for my family.

Me.

I meant he'd be the perfect boyfriend for me.

My friends whisper about their crushes at lunch.

It feels as if I can't breathe as they ask if I have one myself.

I glance around the room saying the name of the first boy I spot.

My brain instantly flatlines as I realize the name that just came out of my mouth.

My boy best friend.

I come back to life as my friends giggle and cheer.

They tell me it was obvious I like him.

They tell me that we'd be so cute together.

There's no surprise for me when he asks me to be his girlfriend the next day.

Yet part of me is surprised when I say yes.

I take him to meet my family.

We sit at the dinner table watching my family snicker at us.

"Glad you finally brought a boy home

Thought we were close to kicking you out of the family for being a lesbian"

Everyone laughs.

And I laugh along with them.

There's no reason for me not to laugh.

Me liking another girl?

That's impossible

Stupid even.

I watch my aunt getting married to her husband at their wedding.

I'm happy for them but there's something else.

My mind races as I clap for them.

I feel my eyes getting watery as I stare.

"You'll find a husband one day,

Your boyfriend seems pretty wonderful"

The people behind me say gently trying to comfort me.

But that's not why I'm crying.

The words ring in my ears.

They're being screamed so loud I can't hear what's happening around me anymore.

Is this really my fate?

Will I end up marrying a man?

My momma talks to me about boys on my way to summer camp.

I tell her there's nothing to worry about.

Beside I have a boyfriend.

My phone buzzes with texts from him

Wishing me goodbye and saying he'll miss me for the week that I'm gone.

I tell him that I love him.

I tell him that I'll miss him too.

As soon as i get to camp I enter my cabin.

My heart stops beating as I see my roommate.

Her ocean colored eyes stare back at me.

And I can already feel myself getting lost in the waves.

We spend all of camp together

As if we've already known each other forever.

We even hold hands as we dance around outside in the grass.

I feel things I shouldn't

My brain feels as if it's been turned into exploding fireworks and she's the one who lit them.

I've never felt this way in my life before.

Is this what love is supposed to feel like?

It's the last day of camp.

I kiss her in our cabin.

I actually kiss her.

And she kisses me back.

And there's a pit of shame in my stomach

Even though every other part of my body is telling me how good this feels.

I can't go home.

I can't live a lie anymore.

And neither can she.

She tells me about the jokes her family makes too.

I feel so connected to this girl I just met.

So we make a plan.

We sneak out together in the middle of the night.

We run through the forest as the camp counselors scream at us to come back.

But it's no use.

Because we get away.

The forest is dark and my heart is pounding.

She draws a heart on my arm with a pen

And I draw one on hers.

"I don't care if we go to hell we're supposed to be together" she says softly.

"Ill go to hell if it means you'll be the one dragging me there" I say, my voice breaking as I start to cry.

This is my fate.

Marrying a man was never my fate.

It was this.

We lay down on the ground together

Desperately grasping at each other's hands.

"I love you"

I tell her.

And i mean it.

"I love you too"

She says.

At least I think that's what she said.

But it was hard to hear her over the sound of the train bolting toward us.

- @secret.tikt0k.account

Tiktok

[godlygivenanxiety]

look, not to be a hater but the whole ekko/jinx alternate universe situation only proves that jinx was only ever loved entirely and completely by silco, that's kinda the point of how tragic jinx really is as a character,

vi either only sees her little sister out of guilt/sense of duty mixed with a desperate need to come back to something or as consequences to her own actions(taking away agency from jinx in the process);

ekko sees her through the eyes of an idealist which is exactly what he is and that's not bad by itself, but it makes her either A Problem or Someone That Needs Saving, that's what's going on in his head after that AU he transported to. he's comparing jinx to powder and he likes powder much better, so he wants jinx to be powder or to reignite the powder in her - basically, he thinks how vi used to think;

isha is a complicated matter because she did show kindness and affection towards jinx that wasn't equal to anyone else's, it was pure and idolizing, she loved what she knew of jinx.

the people of zaun don't love her, not by a long shot. she became a symbol to some(as we can notice in the reunion by vander's statue) and overall the assumption that she would get involved more after her attack and silco's death is a fair one; that doesn't mean they like her,

sevika maintains a connection to jinx through grief and a sense of helplessness along with familiarity, silco's death affected jinx's psyche but it also affected sevika's dream of zaun, they feel left behind by him;

vander... well, he only got to see powder and warwick quite literally just had the memories,

the ONLY character we see that meets her as powder and stays with her as jinx is silco; yes, he isn't a good guy and he does cause the whole separation, he sharpened her edges to make her into a weapon, he lied to her and manipulated her at times, none of these things exclude the fact he does love her so strongly, with zero conditions.

she fucks up in missions, she does as she pleases around zaun, she kills their people, she stabs him in the eye, has psychotic episodes and breakdowns, she kidnaps him, ties him down, SHOOTS HIM, she doubts him and his love, keeps running after the past when he's done everything to strengthen her and she was, at a point, the only thing keeping him from his dream of an independent zaun - none of these perceived sins and flaws made him wish for anyone other than her, as she is.

all silco wanted was to keep her, while everyone else either wants another version of her or none at all. that's the tragic part, even if she suddenly decided to be good, she would feel like a burden for not being entirely like people want her to be.

[epicfirestormer]

Guess who's playing Steamworld Heist 2 and isn't being normal about it

[samstarium]

OK. yes i will try to explain to the best of my ability. i love mindbound vrissy and i hope (not that kind) u will consider the possibility after this ramble.

i talked abt omega kids classpects a little bit in this post, including vrissy, but i realized i didn't rlly articulate the "why" for her, so let's try to do that now. i'll try to source stuff when i can. this'll be kinda long, so i'll put it under the cut.

we do know that vrissy HAS a (dub)canon classpect, so that's a start in looking at how she's been coded, at least. its highly likely she's going to follow in the classpect footsteps of her predecessor like the trolls have in the past, but i think taking (haha, cuz thief) vriska's class instead of the aspect would b a good subversion. i always think of how hsbc, especially candy, feels a bit off-- the pieces are there, but everything is just a little weird. and a great way to show that is in how ancestral titles work for the new generation.

hsbc page 465

when vriska suggests she use her thief of light powers, ik vrissy says she doesn't have "anything like that," but i think that's a bit of a red herring. vriska mentions the two of them having luck, and specifies her own classpect, but vrissy's reaction doesn't necessarily read as non-thief to me. i also think she might be over-exaggerating how different they are to avoid the comparisons.

hsbc page 463

to me it always feels like aspects are the primary identifier for homestuck characters; even when they haven't reached their full class potential or even godtiered yet, they are liable to view the world through their aspect. class is something that characters are less comfortable with expressing, and often they try to downplay their own class or even attempt to imitate someone else's for one reason or another. i don't agree w/ everything from od, but i think his roleplay theory is relevant here. classes are weird.

as stated, i think it's pretty obvious she's not a light player, but the way roach specifies she doesn't have thief of light powers, and that her powers are just a "little different" (countering vrissy's "anything like that" retort) leads to believe that the thief role is here to stay.

anyways, enough about thieves for now.

the mind aspect is weird. i mean, most of the aspects r weird one way or the other but mind seems to be fairly hard for even veteran classpectors to pin down (the ez didnt help, "remaining rational" is not the phrase id use for mind but whatever). a lot of ppl think mind is abt facades, but in one of my favorite classpecting docs tamago describes it as filters, deliberate ways of shifting one's appearance to other ppl for one reason or another.

hsbc page 60

^ this image isn't a citation for anything i just think it's a cute intro

everyone can act different around different ppl, but for the mindbound its something they r consciously thinking abt quite a lot... that is to say, mind players are often fairly concerned with how they come off, moreso than most other aspects. as the classic heartbound embraces themself with their whole chest, the mind player is deeply concerned w/ adapting their mannerisms to what's needed.

she has some of her ancestral namesake's insecurity, for sure, but also some of the tact and awareness that the original vriska seems to lack. when they first meet and vriska begins to waffle on about reality and nonsense like that, vrissy knows exactly what to say to snap her out of it. she picks up the vibe and adjusts.

candy 37

she can also see through vriska's bullshit just as quick. i love this line man. vrissy is rlly good at figurin out when someone isnt being honest w/ her, or w/ themself.

candy 37

after vriska checks in with terezi, vrissy also understands, w/o exchanging any words, that her ancestor needs distance. she's very perceptive, honestly.

hsbc page 57

the rest of their interaction has some mind-y elements as well. vrissy immediately accepts the nickname placed upon her (names and renaming are very mind-related, given the emphasis on the outer presentation of one's self)

for all of her teenaged hangups, she is hyperaware of the larger situation on earth c and the fact that... actions have consequences, basically. tavros is under the whims of the elder vriska, harry still thinks the clown escapade is a joke, vrissy knows the reality of what might happen to them

hsbc page 75

and she's very concerned with the Plan (her own capitalization). all about the plan with those mindfolk. she brings up consequences a few more times as they fumble the clown and hide, giving her much more of a level head than even the fretfulness of her kismesis tavvy.

you are right that running into an active warzone is not the behavior of someone very concerned w/ consequences, but i think that has mroe to do w/ her still needing to grow and develop than it does a dismissal of the mind aspect. even terezi had her irrational moments, n balancing out the opposing aspect is often just as important to a homestuck character's development as mastering their own (grimdark rose and void is a good example). so i definitely get where you're coming from but i think enough characters act "out of aspect" to justify it.

also i think vrissy becoming a sort of mind foil for vriska like terezi was as opposed to another light player would b cool. balancing out her rashness with some caution bc skaia knows she needs it.

there's probably also some tidbits during the vent escape shenanigans, but i've run out of steam to cover that w/ a play-by-play so uhh. yeah that's it

so well plenty of this is absolutely up for debate and her arc hasn't even gotten started rlly i hope at least some of this makes sense as to why i think vrissy could b a thief of mind. ok byeeeeeeee

Can anyone give me a good explanation as to why so many people think Vrissy is a mind player? Because to me it really seems like a completely random far-off guess than an actual simplification of her role and character.... After seeing so much of her dialogue I'm pretty sure consequences are the furthest thing from her mind especially when considering the fact that the last thing we saw her do was mindlessly run into an active warzone because her boyfriend and sister were one-upping her by doing some cool shit.

Like am I seriously supposed to think that the girl who trusted Harry Anderson to assist her in a plan involving bringing a celebrity's CORPSE into a SCHOOL would be the aspect commonly associated with choice, foresight and tact????? It almost feels as though the fandom is playing some elaborate prank on me and me only

[butwhatifidothis]

Still baffled that Hopes so blatantly wrote Claude as the typical Evil Vaguely Middle Eastern Man set on destroying the Good White Nation for his Evil Vaguely Middle Eastern Nation that is often seen in fantasy settings - complete with him being seen as worse than a white woman who does many of the same evil deeds he does in-verse, even by his friends (should it be the bad ending route of SB) - and so many in the fandom were so eager to gobble that shit up. INSIST that "Clearly A Racist Stereotype" is LEAGUES better than "Subversion Of A Racist Stereotype" even. Like I don't think I'll ever get over how supremely fucked that is

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

My Tumblr followers. If and when you see this. Just don't look at twitter man

This year is cooked

Sorry for the vent but omg this year man THIS YEAR UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (read tags for context)

[thedrotter]

as a little treat i am sharing with you little Aya doodles I've done over the last few days to unwind ww just little expressions based on lines in-game because those are always fun to draw. nothing too special just biscuit

it's Aya because upon doing bizarrely throughout playthroughs of the game for still unspecified project purposes I've gained a soft spot for her she's my daughter now my mental tier list on my favorite characters is so confusing right now