#i like to imagine that he’s the friend that straight up disappears from the group when you go out and manages to go unnoticed for a while

[ifyougiveuptoday]

going to college for writing to fulfill my true purpose: writing planes fire and rescue fanfiction

[whereforarthur]

So Much Restraint

Request: george (dom) smut where we have been on a group holiday and stopping ourselves from having sex cos of the other ppl (staying in the same villa/b&b) but once we get home its like practically clawing at each others clothes

Pairing: George Clarkey x Gf!Reader

Category: Smut

Word Count: 3.2k

*****

Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained. - William Blake

George leaned against the railing of the villa balcony, his gaze following the boundary between the sea, which was as blue as the ocean, and the sky above. After daybreak, the warm hue of the blazing sun engulfed the clouds, displacing the surging sea below that had looked so blue at the break of dawn. The warm wind blew through a coconut palm, and one could detect the smell of the sea and tropical cream. He sighed and glanced at the heavens, taking in the final moments of solitude before the party commenced.

The past week was a rollercoaster of enjoyment and annoyance. He and his girlfriend, y/n, had to restrain themselves from giving in to each other so as not to disturb their mates on vacation, just nodding and winking at each other as they walked around the living spaces with their friends—Chris, Arthur Hill, and Arthur TV. The villa was very nice, but with people constantly around them, there was no way of giving in to the passion that had been threatening to ignite ever since they set foot in the villa.

As the sun set that evening, George was weak, wanting to give in to his desires. It was a standoff, a power struggle that had been going on all week, one that was palpable yet wordless. As he got up, he saw Y/N standing at the door as she looked straight at him, suggesting that she was fighting the same battle as him. She wore a light summer dress that hugged her curves perfectly.

“It's time for dinner,” Y/N whispered, her words resonating melodiously. ”They are waiting for us downstairs.”

George nodded, yet neither of them looked away from the other. “I know,” he said quietly, the roughness in his tone giving her goosebumps. "I can only imagine what we are going to get up to once we get home."

Silence filled the space between them when he moved closer, and despite the heat in the villa, he only wanted her closer. As if in response, Y/N’s hand slowly extended, touching his chest lightly and causing his spine to tingle.

George saw her looking back at him, and for what felt like hours but could only be a few seconds, an incredible sensation engulfed his entire body and mind. He pulled her closer, the touch of his lips on hers hard and passionate. This was the kiss of love, of desire, the kiss that had been waiting to happen and which was ready to unleash after being pent up for this long.

But as soon as they started, they stopped. Hearing the boy's laughter from the pool below pulled them back into reality. They separated hesitantly, both attempting to calm themselves down. “We can’t,” Y/N whispered, her cheeks burning red.

“I know,” he said, calming her down as he took her hand. “When we get home, I will show you exactly how much I’ve missed you.” It was in his voice that she found the assurance she needed, and with that, she pulled him closer, her arms around his neck as they kissed.

They disappeared from each other for a while; the sound of their pulse echoed with the thump of the sea waves. They were able to keep it to themselves, and the anticipation of the arrangement made it seem like a couple’s promise.

At dinner, they had to wade through desire, circle it like a choreographed dance, sit across from each other at the table with friends, laugh, and chat about the delicious meal and wonderful company. But every time George cast his gaze at Y/N, he could see the same desire in her eyes.

After the meal, they made their excuses, claiming jet lag and the need for an early night. The boys raised their eyebrows in amusement but said nothing.

In their room, George and Y/N took turns in the shower, the sound of water a tantalizing backdrop to their stolen kisses and gentle touches.

Once Y/N emerged, her skin dewy and smelling faintly of coconut, George found his resolve slipping once more. They were both sitting on the edge of the bed; their legs were entangled; they felt the insatiable desire to strip each other. “We can do this,” George whispered, his fingers rubbing through her wet hair. "We can wait; we’ve made it this far."

Y/N breathed in deeply and exhaled, nodding her head slightly. “We have to,” she repeated, her voice a little weary as desperation began to creep in. "If we start now, I don't know if we would ever be able to stop."

They stretched out on the bed, their naked bodies rigid with the agitation of unsatisfied desire. The villa was silent apart from the faint sound of the sea in the distance and laughter from the party in the streets. They could feel the adrenaline pumping through their veins and could virtually hear the sound of their hearts beating.

George’s fingers lightly touched Y/N’s inner thigh, lazing dangerously close to the line of her shorts. "The boys are already complaining about the noises we make at home," he said, though he couldn’t fully hide his amusement. “What would they say if they only knew we have been holding ourselves back?”

Y/N blushed at the thought, gripping the sheets beneath her tightly. “We’ve got to be so much louder at home,” she said, though there was obvious affront in her words. "It will make them think that we have gone mad.”

They smiled at each other, and the tension reduced for a while. But the underlying current persisted; it was an active, waiting-to-detonate-at-any-moment kind of omnipresent tension. George looked down at her and then placed his hand softly over her thighs, delicately tracing lines on her skin. He immediately stopped his movements and faced her as he whispered, “It doesn’t matter what they say.” He smirks at her, “As long as you’re screaming my name.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with delight, and she couldn’t help but gasp at what he said. It was a familiar move, a classic sign of affection, but she went further to touch his face, specifically the line of his jaw, a touch that seemed to power through him like volts of electricity. ‘And what about when we get home?’ she whispered. For many, a dangerous question is the provocative “What do you want to do to me?”

George squeezed her thigh gently and looked at her with lustful eyes. “Everything,” he said, his voice turning into a growl. ”I wish to devour every part of you, have you quiver in my embrace, and hear you scream out my name until your throat gets sore.”

Y/N felt her heart racing just at the thought of it, her pulse rate rising through the roof as high as it could go. "Won't the boys still be home?” she asked, her fingers tracing over his hand.

George chuckled darkly. “Oh, they will hear us alright,” he responded, his eyes alternating between naughtiness and amusement. “But it’s ‘our’ house and ‘our’ rules.” The words slither through the air like a sultry whisper before he continues: “And if I remember correctly, you enjoyed 'screaming’ my name without a care in the world before.”

The atmosphere in the room became oppressively heavy, and the tension was palpable. Y/N moved her hand up his chest; she ran her nails along the surface and felt him shiver under her touch. ‘I have missed you, she murmured lustfully.

But just when George was about to surrender to this desire to strip her naked and finally feel her, a sound from the next room brought them to a halt. It was the Arthurs' unmistakable, slurred laughter as the duo clumsily barged into the room.

“Maybe we should try to get some sleep,” Y/N said quietly, waking up with concern in her eyes. ‘I don't know what I would do if they ever walked in on us.’

George let out a long-suffering sigh, his limbs trembling in protestation for not giving in. “Alright,” he agreed, even though he felt an overpowering urge to demand more. They kissed one more time and then lay gently beside each other, their limbs touching in the darkness of the bed where they slept.

The night was full of insomnious, restless whispers and secrets of lips pretending not to ache for each other. They found themselves lying side by side, and the distance that separated them seemed enormous.

Each time George moved in the bed, it made a squeaky sound, and this made them realize the importance of keeping quiet. They would go to bed and only wake up in the wee hours of the morning with the air between them pregnant with desire.

The next day, like all the previous days, the vacation by the tropical sun had arrived with no special warning, different from the fact that it was the last of the vacation, and the day felt weighty with the expectation of what was to come.

They packed their bags, the mundane task feeling almost erotic as their eyes kept darting toward each other, silently acknowledging the unspoken tension.

On their way to the airport, George’s hand lightly touched Y/N’s thigh in the back of the taxi, which sent a spark between them. She gripped his hand tightly, her knuckles white, and he knew she felt the same desperation. The flight home was torture; each minute seated in the plane was a silent plea for satisfaction.

The feeling only grew more intense once they got to their flat in London that they shared with Chris and Arthur Hill.

As soon as they both stepped inside and the door shut, George pushed Y/N against the wall and went in for it, kissing her fiercely as he had been wanting to for the past two days. She moaned, overly aroused, the suppressed passion of their vacation reacting.

”I need you,” George repeated softly in her ear, his teeth lightly touching her tender skin.

Y/N immediately grabbed his chest and shoved him backward with such force that it made him stumble. “No, not here!” she replied with a passion that radiated throughout her body.

George stared at her, his expression feral and filled with desire. “Let them hear,” he whispered, the possessiveness clear in his voice. “Make sure they understand that they belong to me.”

Y/N’s breath caught at the blatant demand in his voice. She realized he was correct; they had to give in now; they couldn't wait anymore. They fumbled down the hall, their clothes torn off in a frenzy as they moved. The door to their room banged shut, making the flat resound with the sound.

Their kisses became more passionate as they collapsed onto the bed, desperate to make contact and to take possession of each other. George’s hands traveled all over her, familiarizing themselves with every bump and hollow, every plane and line. It walked its long fingers up her dress, past her hips, his eyes locked with her the whole time.

In his mind, George was already preparing a symphony of sensation for them to get erotically lost in. He wanted to feel her completely, hear the moans of passion, as he thrusts in her. The idea of giving into their desires, giving in to their perverse passion was like a drug to his mind; he became dizzy with all the feelings that stirred his inner conscience.

Y/N’s legs tightened around his waist as he placed her on the bed; the springs of the mattress squeaked gently. He did not mind if the whole house heard them; what mattered to him the most was the present, the touch of her body. Their lips met once more; this time he reached down near her hips and touched the softness of her thighs through the delicate material of her underwear.

“You are stunning, so, so beautiful,” he murmured huskily, running his eyes over the curves of her figure. " I dreamt about this every night."

Too excited to breathe properly, Y/N stared at him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. "I wanna know what you’ve been dreaming about." She whispered seductively into his ear.

George tried to hide the darkness in his eyes as he whispered against her ear, leaning closer to her. ”I’ve dreamt of you open and spread for me, begging me to take you,” he said as his hand traveled higher up her thigh. “I have dreamt of your sweet cries echoing in the room as I continue to fuck you until you cum all over my cock.“

Y/N’s core tightened at the sound of his voice, a thrill of desire pulsating through her. She reached out her fingers around his hard erection, the warmth of it pulsating with his carnal need. “And what do you want now?” she whispered, her lips quivering with lust.

Obsession blazed in George’s gaze, his eyes fixed fiercely on hers as if he desired nothing else in this world. “Now,” he growled, the desire saturating his voice, “it is time to turn these dreams into reality.” Placing himself at her pussy, the head of his cock lightly pressing against her moist lips. “Are you ready for me?”

Again, Y/N’s eyes rolled back, and she let out a small moan. “Oh, much more than ready,” she exclaimed, burying her fingers into his muscles as he thrust deep into her. The feel of him inside of her was something she was yearning for. She moaned as she felt the fullness in her stomach.

The room was filled with their lovemaking: the sound of skin against skin, the creak of the mattress, the ragged panting. It was sweet music that only the two of them heard—an opera that unfolded within the confines of the room they both occupied. The zeal of their love deepened with every touch, with every kiss and every murmured endearment they exchanged.

”Scream for me,” George encouraged, his words heavy with passion as he thrust into her. His large palms were covetous, grasping her, possessing her, as if he had to stake out his claim on her.

Y/N closed her eyes, surrendering to his dominance effortlessly. She threw back her head, her nipples rubbing against his bare skin, and cried out as he hit the spot within her that seemed to make her shudder with delight. It was a sound that rang through the silence of the flat, a proclamation of happiness that appeared to shiver the pillars of their existence.

At the sound of her moans George began to rotate his hips even more exaggerated. He could sense it constricting around him, her thighs clamping around his middle as she clung to him. The pressure was intense, the tension that had accumulated on their trip was finally being set free, and George felt that he was close. He stretched one hand towards her, and his fingers quickly located her clit, pressing on it firmly but lightly.

"You are so wet," he whispered with a throaty growl that revealed how much he desired me. "So fucking wet for me."

Y/N blinked slowly, and her eyes were wide with desire as she gazed up at him. “More,” she pleaded, sulky and breathy, her tone sending a bolt of pleasure straight to his cock. "Tell me what you want to do to me, George."

Panting heavily, George followed the demand to release, his voice turning into a deep and monstrous growl. “I want to fuck you until you cannot walk straight,” he whispered, his hips thrusting into her with renewed vigor as the bed frame creaked. “I want to tear you apart and hear you scream my name as if it is the most important thing in the whole wide world.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back in her head, her body reacting to his every word. "Harder," she begged, digging her nails into his back. "I want it all, George. Every inch of you."

George felt his stroke become more strained, his words dirty to the rhythm of their bodies. "You take it all in," he told her, his voice a whisper. "Every fucking inch." She felt him stiffen against her, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You'll come so hard, you'll see fucking stars."

Y/N’s moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of her pleasure. "I'm so close," she admitted, her voice shaky and hoarse. "I'm going to cum all over your cock."

George's eyes darkened with desire at her words. "Do it," he demanded, his voice a rough command. "Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you need it."

Y/N’s body reacted to his command, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. She screamed his name, her walls clamped together, her nails driving into his back. The feeling was too much, too perfect, and he knew this was just the beginning of their reunion.

"Yeah," George sighed, letting his release run out. "That's it, baby. Take it all." He leaned over and captured her lips in a crushing kiss, drowning out her screams as their bodies moved in perfect unison. The words that left his lips were a mixture of love and lust, a promise of all the dirty things he wanted to do to her.

"I'm going to fill you up," he whispered, his teeth brushing against her earlobe. “I want to hear you beg for more. Tell me to never stop fucking you.”

Y/N gasped, the words sending shivers down her spine. “Yes,” she gasped. Her voice was barely audible over the sound of their bodies clashing. “I need you, George.”

He moaned, and his voice echoed in her chest. “You are so fuckable,” he muttered, his hips thrusting deeper into her with every thrust. “I love how you feel this way, so wet, so hot, so perfect.”

Y/N's eyes rolled back into her head as she felt the pressure increase again. With her core tightening around him, "Come on, darling," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies slapping together. “I want to feel you fill me completely.”

Those words were like a catalyst for George. His body responded to the primal urge to fill her up. To mark her as his own, he thrusted one last time. His cock throbbed as he released his seed deep inside her. The feeling was almost overwhelming. A sense of ownership that sent shock waves through his body.

Y/N felt it too. Her body trembled with pleasure as he poured into her. It was a time of pure connection. Moments that seem to last forever.

"Fuck," George said to himself, planting his head on her shoulder. "That was…"

"Perfect," Y/N told him precisely. Her body was still trembling with the shivers of pleasure. Together, they lolled there for a moment, their hearts beating as one, their breathing the only sound in the room.

The following days raced by in a haze of lust and gratification; every opportunity they got, George and Y/N would find a remote spot to give in to their insatiable lust for each other. It could be a quickie in the kitchen or a marathon in their locked-door bedroom listening to music. Whatever it was, they made the most out of it.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @kneelforloki

[ataraxixia]

hiii can you write abt ratio and sunday w a reader who gets overstimmulated at parties or just hanging out with friends and they get really mean when overstimmulated <3 like how would they help their partner out yk

  ❦  𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. how they help you out when you're overstimulated ❧ tags. Ratio x reader, sunday x reader, fluff, comfort, sfw ❧. a/n. of course, and thank you for your request, love <3 btw i'm not familiar with what it's like to help an overstimulated person so I did some research before writing- I apologize if I wrote something wrong

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎

"By the Aeons, do you people ever shut up?" you spat to a group of young students, meaner than you intended to, but you couldn't really help it at the moment. The hall was full to the brim- packed with endless members of the Intelligentsia Guild. There were just too many- bragging loudly about their scores of their last exams or simply discussing different subjects with no end. Without saying anything to the students, you quickly walked to one of the corners, covering your ears to shut out the noise. You had difficulties focusing, and the discomfort was creeping up your whole body. You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths and imagining being back home in your cozy and quiet living room. Yet, the constant talking, laughing and arguing made it entirely impossible.

You slumped down the wall, sitting down and resting your head between your legs. You groaned as you shut your eyes, not noticing the person standing beside you.

"―? What are you doing?" they asked. "Why do you care?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend, obviously."

You let out a noise of confusion before you lifted your head and looked to the side, seeing your boyfriend, Veritas, leaning on the wall and focused on you. He crouched down beside you and placed his hand on your forehead, a frown appearing on his face. Your face was pale yet your forehead was quite hot.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier? I would've brought you home." he said, removing his hand. Your gaze shifted to the side, your fingers twitching a little. "I didn't find you. There were a lot of people." it was the truth. From the moment your senses became a bit heated, you looked around, walking from venue to venue to find Ratio, yet it seemed like he just disappeared into thin air.

"I was looking for you as well. Figured out you didn't like it here." Ratio held you by the arms and helped you stand up straight, steadying your body with his from falling down. "Let's go home now." You thanked the Aeons as you nodded, and the two of you made your way to the exit.

"Ah, Dr. Ratio!" one of the members shouted. "I wanted to tell you about the integrals of inverse tri-"

"Your integrals of inverse trigonometric functions exam, in which you barely passed with 71%? I'd rather not. Now excuse me, we're making our leave."

Well that shut him up quickly, you thought.

-

"..." Veritas stayed silent when you were back home. The two of you sat on your shared couch and he massaged your back gently, never pressing anywhere too hard to help you relax. he also made something to drink and some snacks for you, but you simply stayed still as you relished in the massage. It always seemed to calm you down.

"Thanks, I feel better now."

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

"I'm fine, I already told you!"

The other members of The Family looked at you with wide eyes as you snapped at Sunday. He noticed you behaving rather different today and wanted to make sure you were okay, but after asking if you were feeling well- that was your last straw.

You quickly made your way, left through one of the many halls in Dewlight Pavilion and shut the door behind you vehemently. When you weren't hearing any chatter anymore, you relaxed a tiny bit, yet you couldn't stop fidgeting with your fingers, the voices of The Family lingering in your mind, still.

Being the lover of the head of the oak family was no easy matter by itself. Doubt amongst The Family members and the locals of Penacony occurred overnight and the feeling it left you with wasn't pleasant- not at all. Now, a gathering with all members of The Family, where the majority didn't like you and talked behind your back, was too much. You lost your focus at the very beginning already and the meltdown just now was what you needed to actually leave.

You sat down on one of the many couches that were scattered across the Pavilion and took a deep breath, focusing on you, and you only, your head hanging low. You had noticed the Origami Birds on the railings and thanked them in your mind for not chirping- or making any noise at all, actually.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to make you feel angry."

You recognized your lover's voice and sighed, shaking your head softly as you mumbled, "don't. I was just..."

Sunday sat beside you and draped a blanket over your shoulders. A weighted one, you noticed. He took your hand in his softly as he traced some circles on the back of your hand, the gesture making you actually quite calmer.

You focused on his hands and let relief wash over you with time- it must have been at least 10 minutes since he arrived and yet, he didn't stop, nor did he say anything in the time. You smiled to yourself as you felt your mind becoming clearer, shifting your gaze from your hand to his face.

"Thanks, I... really needed that." you said and he shared your glance, a small smile plastered on his lips again. "Just tell me if you need more time to relax. I'll give you all the time you need."

[ironstrange1991]

Safe Place

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Things don't always go the way we want. The reader learns this the hard way and Stephen is the only one that can make her feel better.

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: None.

A/N: Another self-indulgent fic inspired by another bad day. I'm just really happy to have something to post. I hope you guys like it and have a good read ;)

Tears had been streaming down your face and soaking your pillow for what seemed like hours since you had gotten home after a terrible day where everything had gone apocalyptically wrong. You were relieved to be home in the first place, but at the same time you were disappointed enough that you didn't feel right about being there.

You knew that you had placed too much expectation on that day and that it was your fault for expecting too much from luck when you knew very well that in your life luck had never been with you. You just wanted to disappear. You wanted a hole to open in the ground and swallow you, but all you could do was cry your eyes out and that was exactly what you did until you fell asleep and woke up to the touch of a trembling hand in your hair and the baritone voice calling your name.

"Sweetheart" You heard Stephen calling you. "I barely saw you today. I didn't know you were already here. Are you hiding from me?" He dismissed the question with a light and caring tone, but you knew he was worried. You didn't look at him as you answered.

"I want to die, Stephen." You said, giving in to the tears and hiding your face in the pillow.

"Oh sweetheart! Things didn't work out the way you expected, huh?" He asked and you felt the bed dipping.

"It's my fault. I should listen to MJ and stop putting so much hope into things that I know will never happen. I always get disappointed and never learn."

He let out a heavy sigh.

"Come here." He asked, touching your hair and you crawled so you could lay your head in his lap. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened?"

But you didn't want to talk about it. It was like by doing so you were accepting it was real, and you didn't want it to be real. So you just shook your head.

"Okay. How about I tell you about my day? Would you like that?"

You nodded.

"Well, Wong and I spent the morning training a group of masters who are going on a mission for the first time. They are good, they just need to gain practice, and the mission is not that difficult. I believe everything will be fine." He said as he gently ran his fingers through your hair.

"After that, I got a call from Stark asking me to come over there to help identify a magical artifact they found in the hands of Hydra. It was an ancient relic that disappeared from the London Sanctum hundreds of years ago. You can imagine Wong's happiness when I took it straight to the Kamar Taj."

You could feel the lump in your throat getting less tight as he spoke. Not only was his voice soothing and pleasant, but you enjoyed listening to him talk about his sorcerer stuff. It was another world entirely and at that moment all you needed was to distance yourself from your reality and to be immersed in his.

"Let me see what else..." He said and you waited. "Oh, I almost forgot! Stark is throwing a party at the end of the month and he insists that we both go. I could have said that I'll be on a mission, but I know you like spending time with your Avengers friends, so I confirmed our attendance. Did I do wrong?"

You shook your head and he chuckled softly. "I knew you'd want to go. Let me see... what else? I had cold pizza for breakfast and I ventured into the kitchen to make something for lunch because I was starving."

That caught your attention and you waited for him to tell you what he had cooked.

"Tuna spaghetti. It didn't turn out as good as yours. I think I overcooked it. It was sticky, but it was what I had and it satisfied my hunger. You know I'd rather eat your food anyway and at least I didn't burn the house down."

You smiled to yourself and turned around to look at him. Your eyes were still wet with tears, but you were calmer and the heaviness in your heart was replaced by warmth. "I love you." You whispered reaching out to touch his face. There was a frown on his forehead that slowly faded and he smiled back.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He replied as he continued to caress your hair. "Feeling a bit better now?"

You nodded. "It's amazing how you can do that."

He cocked his head to the side. "Do what?"

"Change my mood just by talking to me."

"And caressing your hair. That sure helps." He said with a cocky smile.

You smiled back at him. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Did you know that? You found me at my lowest and changed me forever. I know I'm not an easy person, that this anxiety and mood swings are constant and that I make you worried most of the time..."

"Sweetheart..."

"Let me say this. Please." You asked, bringing your fingers to his mouth to shut him up.

"I know I need you much more than you need me. I know I shouldn't say this, but I feel like I can't live without you. Or maybe I can, but I don't want to have to find out."

You sighed deeply, trying to contain the wave of emotion that was threatening to spill over your eyes. "Today was a horrible day. Everything went so wrong that it would be comical if it wasn't so fucking annoying and heartbreaking. But at the same time I know that no matter how bad things get, I will always have this home to come back to and when I say home I'm not talking about the house, I'm talking about you. You are my home and my comfort, Stephen. My safe place and I love you with all the strength of my being and if for all this love you give me I have to pay by cooking you a decent meal, I'm more than happy with the bargain."

"Can I talk now?" He grumbled and you took your hand away from his mouth. He was trying to keep the same confident face as before, but there was a whole world of emotions behind his blue eyes and you saw his throat bobbing a few times. "First of all, you'll never have to figure out whether or not you can live without me because, sweetheart, I'll never leave and I'll never let you go." He sighed, trying to compose himself, and then continued, "Secondly, I want you to know that you're not a burden to me and I don't think you need me any more than I need you. You say I saved you at your lowest, but you forget that you've saved me from myself so many times. I changed you? You've changed me too, love. You've made me a better man, you've taught me that love can be a good thing and that I don't need to be in control of everything all the time. You've made me let my guard down and allow myself to love and be loved. To care for you and having you care for me is the greatest achievement of my life. You're my home too, sweetheart. My love, my best friend, my everything. It's safe to say that neither of us are easy people." He finished with a smirk. "We just complement each other so well."

You nodded, feeling your eyes fill with tears again, but you smiled. "Thank you."

His smile widened, "You're welcome, sweetheart. Now get up and go take a shower and I'll order some food. I'm sure you'll feel better after that."

You sat up and stretched before standing up. "I'm already feeling better, actually." You answered honestly. "If you're not in a hurry, I can cook you something. You must be dying to eat some decent food."

He seemed a bit surprised by your offer, but smiled happily. "Really? And what will you do?"

"It'll depend on what's in the fridge."

He nodded, "Okay. I'm in."

"But there's something I want in return." You said, taking his hand and pulling him to stand up. You pulled him close to you, letting him tower over you, and rested your hand on his chest.

"And what is it?" He asked, already knowing the answer very well.

"You. I want you to come take a shower with me."

He hummed, lifting your chin to make you look directly at him.

"I thought you were sad," he teased.

"I am. And really mad, that's why I need some physical love. You know?"

He chuckled. "Alright, love. I think I can provide that for you."

You barely waited for him to answer and dragged him into the bathroom with you. Your mood swings sometimes confused even you, but if there was one thing that was certain about your depressive crises, it was that they always ended in sex. It was your body's way of balancing things out, exchanging cortisol for oxytocin, and you were fine with that. More than fine, in fact.

After the shower - and what ended up becoming a long lovemaking session - the two of you got dressed in comfortable pajamas and ended up in the kitchen. You wanted to prepare something decent and nutritious, after all Stephen was a tall and strong man and you knew that his body needed more than the empty calories of two slices of pizza and some tuna spaghetti, but when you looked in the fridge you realized what you had already feared. You were practically out of food.

"Oh Stephen, we forgot to go to the grocery store." You said dejectedly, but your eyes found a piece of bacon and some cheese and you sighed in defeat. It seemed that the nutritious food would have to wait for tomorrow.

"I can make mac & cheese. It has bacon, we can fry it really crispy and add it to the recipe. I know it wasn't what you expected..."

Stephen approached, hugging you from behind and taking advantage of the fact that your hair was tied up, he gave you a little kiss on the back of your neck. That never failed to give you goosebumps.

"Anything you prepare for me will be delicious, I'm sure. And I love mac & cheese. It's fine by me."

You turned to look at him "Are you sure? There's still time to order food if you want."

He shook his head "I'm sure. Unless you changed your mind. I know you've had a long day, sweetheart."

But before he finished speaking you were already grabbing the necessary ingredients from the fridge. "I did, but I'm feeling much better now. Your mac & cheese will be ready in fifteen minutes, and I promise it will be way better than your sticky tuna spaghetti."

He chuckled, letting go of your waist and stepping away, opening a cabinet door and grabbing one of your ceramic pots. "I'm going to put the water on to boil. I don't think you can go wrong with that." He informed and you let out a soft laugh.

"Don't forget the salt." You said as you grabbed a knife and began to chop the bacon into small cubes.

"Before or after it boils? I never remember."

"After." You replied, watching as he turned on the stove. It was quite a sight: Stephen Strange dressed in nothing but pajama pants, his hair wet from the shower, his back marked by your nails, his neck marked by love bites you had left on him, doing banal and domestic things in the kitchen. He may have been a sorcerer, a master of the mystical arts, and protector of the Sanctum, but what made you fall more and more in love with him each day were those little moments when he was completely ordinary.

You got distracted while finishing chopping the bacon and cheese and were surprised by his arms wrapping around your waist. He didn't say anything, he just hugged you from behind, gave you a kiss on the back of your neck and laid his head on your shoulder, and that act made you melt. You continued your task with a deliberate slowness so that you wouldn't have to move away from him, but eventually you finished chopping everything.

"Steph... I need..."

But he held you tighter in his arms, humming, "Just one more minute. I just want to stay like this for one more minute."

You chuckled, dropping the knife and reaching your hand up to his hair, stroking it slowly. "As if you didn't have me for an hour in that bathroom." You said, and he groaned as if the memory of what you did was too good to mention.

"It's not the same, sweetheart." He said, lifting his head to speak in your ear, "Sometimes I just want to be close to you like this. It's not sexual."

You felt your heart flutter in your chest and your knees went weak. "Does that mean the great Doctor Strange sometimes needs cuddles?"

He gave your ear a light nibble to tease you back, "Sometimes... yes."

You nodded, turning to look at him and cupping his face. "You deserve all the cuddles in the world, Steph. But right now you need to decide what you want more. Cuddles or mac & cheese?"

He sighed exaggeratedly. "Such a hard choice." He said, pretending to think, "But I think I'll have to choose mac & cheese." He responded with a smirk and let go of you. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his lips and then stepped away, returning to your mission.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were sitting at the table to eat. Stephen had chosen a bottle of red to open and you allowed yourself a glass that he generously poured before pouring his own and sitting down.

"It's always so rewarding to sit at the table to have dinner with you after a day of doing the things I do." He confessed, sipping from his glass and allowing himself a bite of the mac & cheese. "Oh this is delicious!"

You smiled as you watched him devour a second bite. This was your favorite part of cooking for him. It might have been a little weird, but you really loved watching him eat, especially when it was something you had cooked for him.

You allowed yourself a bite too and smiled contentedly. "Okay, this is really good."

"I told you!" He said, smiling, and you found yourself thinking that it was possible to endure the bad days and the terrible days, as long as you had Stephen by your side. After all, he was the only one who could make you feel good even when everything around you seemed to be falling apart. He saved you from the world and especially from yourself, and you could see yourself going on as long as he was there for you.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

BACK TO DOCTOR STRANGE MASTERLIST

BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

Tag List: @withalittlehoney @thelostsmiles @thealleydog @anadlockfan @dementeddoll @strangesgirls @dontmindme262 @iamsherlocked1479 @rmoonstoner @sassenach-on-the-rocks @dragonqueen89 @insanelyobsessedwithdilfs @wickedscribbles @agathassscribbles @captaincarmel416 @hobimysolecito @geeky-politics-46 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @bobateadaydreams @pinkthick @groovy-lady

@doctorstrangelovemusic-blog @rachelessfreedom-world @ppatricia34me @strangesgirls @dreamxonxx @benaddictcumberpatch @iamsherlocked1479 @veryladyqueen @rmoonstoner @azu21 @harlekin6 @coffedraven

@dontmindme262 @dementeddoll @yourmajesty13 @strangeions @bloodyflowerrr @insanelyobsessedwithdilfs @dragonqueen89 @newtsniffles @xourownsidee @kakashibabe02 @hobimysolecito @geeky-politics-46 @lykaonimagines @d0ct0rstrangewife @classickook @bobateadaydreams @aphroditesdilemma

@thealleydog @anadlockfan @pinkthick @loverofallbroken @butchers-girl @ironstrangeheart @asgards-princess-of-mischief @slytherinqueen4life @spideybv28 @pxanonymous16-blog @kinavet

[weebsinstash]

so the screenshots are kinda janky but I was rewatching the whole scene with Ozzie and Fizz's morning routine and I remembered there were those shots of like, the imp staff who work for Asmodeus and

is she helping do the laundry in platform thigh high boots, an apron, and a thong 😅 is that her UNIF0RM? Does she pick that out herself??? Is Lust just SO HORNY that it's totally normal that Ozzie's housekeeper is half-naked? Is he banging the housekeeper? Are Fizz and Ozzie exclusive or is it an open relationship? their other imp staff member was literally fully dressed so is this an optionally slutty, pro slut dress code idk

Like I'm sorry I'm just sitting here thinking of Reader who, Sinner or otherwise, is down in the Greed Ring as another performer for Mammon and Fizz is eventually like, "look, working this job is my dream, but it isn't yours. you shouldn't be attaching yourself to Mammon if all you need is a paycheck. I've got a... close friend who always needs extra hands; let me introduce you!!" and you have no idea that he's literally organizing a meeting with The Actually Fucking Cardinal Sin Of Lust until you're standing right in front of Asmodeus himself and he's just so goddamn CHARMING like he'd have me SWEATING AND GIGGLING I'd be straight up embarrassing myself like "o-oh that's not what I expected your voice to sound like hahaha 🥴"

Ozzie assures you the ultra sexy type uniforms are totally optional, and you could be bringing him papers in an oversized t-shirt and crocs and he'd still think you're as cute as can be. But. LORD if you ever decide, "I wanna feel sexy and confident and everyone else is having fun" and wear something sexy. It has him WEAK. Him? Them? Prolly both of them tbh. Like. Ugh I KNOW these two can go from having the freakiest loudest horniest sex imaginable to like giggling and tickling each other in bed and I can just SEE them being SO SOFT for a Reader darling. All your jokes make them laugh or affectionately roll their eyes. They DEVOUR your cooking (I think personal chef/PA Reader would be cute, the boys wake up and you have breakfast ready for them and everything), they're always sending you memes and things that made them think of you, they have a special group chat (of just them) SPECIFICALLY for sharing photos of you or things about you or just, talking about you period. Gosh. Would there be cameras suddenly installed where there wasn't previously just so they can see all the cute things you get up to when they're not around. All the little improv dances and songs... all the times you bend over...

Like the hilarity of Valentino getting absolutely fucking CUCKED when "his" Reader suddenly disappears, and it's because you can travel through the Rings and you work for Ozzie now and Valentino had no idea until he saw a trending photo of you and Ozzie where you guys did a HOT HOT photo shoot together to advertise something, where you're either almost completely naked OR actually ARE completely naked, and it's because Ozzie made you feel safe and protected and unlike Valentino, Asmodeus knows what an intimacy coordinator is-

You can actually go to clubs in those booty shorts with your ass hanging out and wearing whatever else makes you feel sexy and confident now because the second some creep is coming up to you and not taking 'no' for an answer, the creep suddenly has a massive looming shadow over them as an ancient demon turns to you and respectfully asks. "Is this guy bothering you queen?" and then steps on him. In a BAD way :)

GOD ALSO I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THIA INTERACTION UNTIL I SAW THIS GIF AND. Asmodeus' VA previously described his type as "everyone" and he has a BBW on that fountain like 😩❤️ now I'm thinking of chubby reader who's gotten bullied and bodyshamed by Valentino (who is negging you and is actually down SO BAD) and then you run off to Ozzie who's like. "Baby you are GORGEOUS and if anyone ever says or does anything like that to you again, just let me know and I'll break their legs ok ^w^"

((Also. Non yandere related thing im seeing. He's one of the Cardinal Sins and imps are considered the lowest Hellborns and Ozzie not only has an imp lover but TONS of imp staff, like he is a pro body positivity anti racism fucking 👏 K I N G 👏 BANISHED FROM HEAVEN'S DISCORD SERVER FOR BEING TOO HORNY ON MAIN. i bet he would DESPISE that Heaven is discriminating and choosing who's hot, just, ugh i want him carnally (edit: i noticed they're actually all succubi/incubi and not imps but the point still stands lol))

[arealphrooblem]

A Good Roommate Is Hard To Find

Synopsis: Civilian has harbored a secret crush on his roommate for a long time, only to find out that said roommate is the newest villain on the scene during a robbery at his job.

CW: death threats, knives

There was only one thing worse than having a crush on your straight roommate: having a crush on your straight villain roommate. 

Actually worse than that were rent prices, which kept Civilian from running as far in the opposite direction as he could get after he gave his statement to the police. 

A statement that contained a big, gaping hole. 

Because it couldn’t be true, right? It had to be a coincidence. Lots of people had weird, star shaped birthmarks on their ribs. It was a huge leap of logic to assume that the villain who had just tried to rob the bank that morning had the exact same birthmark as Civilian’s roommate for the past two years. 

Or maybe he just imagined it. It had been a very traumatic day. Civilian went home after the police released him and had a massive panic attack in the shower for about forty five minutes and then pressed two weighted blankets on him in bed like a panini grill. 

Having a group of villains stride into your workplace, guns blazing, would do that to you. As would getting stuck in the crossfire between said villains and the Hero from behind a desk, praying a stray bullet or laser beam wouldn’t hit and kill you. 

It was only a coincidence that Civilian had seen the birthmark. Near the end of the fight, one of the villains had been thrown over the very desk Civilian cowered behind, hitting the wall hard enough that even Civilian winced in sympathy. 

He laid there for a moment, dazed, half his torso exposed from a rip in his clothes, that stupid, undeniable birthmark on full display. Civilian could only stare at it, head dizzy as if he also took blunt force trauma to it. The villain groaned and sat up. 

For one agonizingly long second their eyes met. Civilian felt like a kitten spotted by a hawk. This was it. His time was up. He’d be just another statistic on the news -- 

But the villain just put a finger on his lips -- a silent command for silence -- that Civilian could only nod helplessly at. Then the villain slipped away in the chaos and disappeared. 

And besides, it couldn’t be his roommate because his roommate was in Colorado, visiting some online friend of his and going mountain biking or whatever. 

Two days after the attack, Roommate burst through the front door, dumping his duffel bag onto the floor and stepping towards Civilian with a scary single minded determination. 

It took every ounce of control not to flinch when Roommate cupped his face, gaze roving over his features as if looking for injuries. 

Roommate himself looked untouched from the fight. It almost made Civilian second guess himself. But he hadn’t spent the last two days analyzing every detail his love-sick brain had filed away for the last two years to doubt himself now. 

That villain and his roommate were the same person. 

“I saw the news,” Roommate said. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt? I tried to change my flight but this was the soonest I could get in.”

The lie hurt. Obviously Roommate hadn’t been mountain biking in Colorado for the past few days so it begged the question: what else did he lie about? Was this concern just an elaborate play at innocence? But if his roommate was taking the time to craft this act of concern, then he must not think Civilian knew. 

And if Civilian valued his life, he’d have to keep it that way and force normalcy. 

“I’m fine,” he said, trying for a smile and coming up with a grimace. “I mean, I’m not fine. It was fucking scary, but I didn’t get hurt. So there’s that. Work’s given me a week off and then. . .”

Roommate scowled. “And then what? They can’t possibly think you’d be okay working there again after only a few days off? You should quit.”

“Quit?” Civilian’s eyebrows raised. “And we both get thrown out on our asses? We’re lucky enough to have this apartment as it is.”

“I have enough savings to get us through for a few weeks while you find another job,” Roommate insisted. 

“I thought you blew it all on Colorado,” Civilian joked weakly. 

And where the fuck did those savings come from? he wanted to ask. But he didn’t dare. 

“Not all of it. Seriously. You should think about it.”

Something gleamed in the roommate’s eyes, like a warning. Civilian swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ll think about it. I just . . .I think I’m going to go lay down for a bit. It’s good to have you back. You’ll have to tell me all about it when I wake up again.”

Roommate’s face lit up with a smile and Civilian’s heart twisted in his chest. “I have so many good photos. It’s beautiful out there.You should come with me next time.”

“Yeah sure,” said Civilian thoughtlessly, thinking only of the dark safety of his room. 

“Get some rest.” Roommate nudged Civilian towards the hallway. “I’ll order us pizza.”

Civilian nodded and forced his steps to slow as he made his way to the bedroom. Once the door shut and the fan turned on, he buried his head under his pillows and tried to get his breathing under control. 

Faking normalcy was going to be harder than he thought. 

"Oh you're starting dinner already?"

Civilian jumped at the sound of his roommate's voice, the knife slipping and nearly cutting  into his fingertip. A quick glance over his shoulder showed his roommate leaning against the opposite counter, arms folded loosely over his chest. 

Just a casual chat. And yet it felt like a fist suddenly gripped Civilian's heart. Even after three days, it still felt like walking the knife’s edge every time they were in the same room together. 

"I, um, got bored," he said, thankful to be facing away so his terror wouldn't show as he fought it back down. "I didn't know you'd be home so soon."

"I took a half day at lunch. Did some shopping. I got you more of that tea. It seemed to help you sleep."

A hint of guilt colored his roommate's nonchalance. Or maybe Civilian just imagined it. 

"Thanks," Civilian said.

Focus. Focus on the potato. Cube the potato. Be the potato. 

Heart thudding in his ears, his concentration on chopping vegetables, Civilian didn't hear the movement until his roommate's head appeared over his shoulder. 

"What are you making?" he asked. 

Civilian swallowed down a lick of sudden hysteria. 

Get a fucking hold of yourself he thought. There is no reason why he'd be suspicious unless you're acting like a lunatic!

"Soup," he managed to croak. "The, uh, kind at the Italian restaurant you like."

A bribe. A hope. A way to remind himself that he knew his roommate, right? They've lived together for two years. 

And true to form, his roommate's eyes brightened. "Oh excellent! We haven't had that in ages."

"That's because chopping all these vegetables is a pain in the ass."

A thick tension rose and tightened between them. Civilian concentrated on chopping, trying to ignore the heat at his back as his roommate didn't step away, didn't leave. Just watched him. 

"You're using the wrong knife, you know," the roommate said softly. 

" . . .what?"

The roommate reached over Civilian's shoulder to the knife block on the counter and pulled one out. It was small and two fingers wide, short and wickedly sharp. Fear clenched Civilian's throat with icy hands. 

"You're using a butcher knife," his roommate murmured against Civilian's ear. A shiver fluttered down his neck. "That's for cutting meat. You need a paring knife for vegetables."

" . . .Oh." Was it just him or did the kitchen suddenly feel low on air? "I'll . . . remember that . . .for next time. . ."

"Why don't I take over? At least for the chopping."

Civilian tightened his grip on the knife, an instinctive gesture he had no control over. But even though Roommate had offered help in the kitchen many times, that same instinct screamed not to let him. Something felt different this time. 

"I got it," he said, forcing lightness in his tone. "You know you're hopeless in the kitchen."

"I'm good with knives, though." Civilian swallowed down another spike of cold terror. "It's the least I can do if you're making me my favorite."

The paring knife rested just inside Civilian's peripheral, deceptively harmless. 

"Why don't you put the gnocchi on to boil," he said. "I'm almost done here."

His roommate sighed, a rush of air against Civilian’s cheek. "You're always so stubborn," he said with sad fondness. 

The paring knife moved like a flash and suddenly it's cold steel pressed light as a kiss just under Civilian's jaw. 

His breath froze in his lungs. 

"Drop the knife, Civilian."

" . . .Roommate?" It wasn't difficult to pitch his voice high in uncertain fear. To pretend shock. "What are you doing?"

"I know that you know."

"Know what?" Civilian breathed and then cringed at how unbelievable it sounded even to his own ears. 

He only had room in his head for one secret,  it was hard to sound convincingly ignorant when every cell screamed at him to run away. 

"You've tried so valiantly to hide it, but I know you too well." Roommate's murmured against his ear.  "You're afraid."

Civilian dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. "You have a knife to my throat."

"And you are nowhere near as shocked about that as you should be." Roommate twisted the knife until the flat of the blade lay against Civilian's skin -- and then he dragged it, achingly slow, over Civilian's jawline to rest against raw bitten lips. 

A wave of dizziness gripped him, driven by fear mixed with the heady, dangerous edge of want, the desire Civilian struggled with for so many months wrapping its claws around his chest. 

"Be a good boy and drop the knife."

Breath came fast and heavy as he willed himself to relax his fingers, to release the knife. Not that he would have even thought of it as a weapon and not a kitchen tool until his roommate demonstrated it. But with one having danced so close to his pulse, letting go of his own felt like a death sentence. 

The second he dropped the knife, his roommate twisted a hand into the fabric of his shirt and hauled him across the kitchen to pin him against the fridge. The smiling tomato magnet they grabbed as a joke at a yard sale clattered to the floor and broke into pieces. The roommate  doesn't so much as flinch, their gaze like stone, the knife never wavering from Civilian's neck.

He swallows thickly against the panic, never more afraid in his life than in this moment. He never thought death would look like his favorite person in the world ready to slit his throat with a paring knife. 

And yet the desire still thrummed beneath it all, a twisted hunger being fed from such close contact, like his body forgot to stop yearning in light of what his mind knew. But the stone-cold glint in his roommate’s eyes twisted his face from comfortingly familiar into dangerously unrecognizable. 

Seeing it shattered something in Civilian just like that stupid magnet. His eyes prickled and stung; the roommate's face turned blurry. Humiliated, he darted his gaze to the window, focusing on the speck of green of the neighbor’s tree swaying in the breeze. 

And waited for death. 

Time stretched long and excruciating between each heartbeat. Then the coolness of the knife disappeared, replaced by warm fingers that nudged his gaze back to his roommate’s.

“Hey,” the roommate said softly. 

That granite hardness of his gaze had melted into soft concern. The exact kind of look he gave Civilian each time a migraine flared up. The reminder of that felt as dangerous as the knife. It couldn’t be real. 

“Hey, it’s okay.”

The words hit him like a slap to the face. 

“Don’t say that!” Civilian hissed. “I didn’t do anything and you’re going to kill me.”

He flinched from the hand that raised up, knocking his head painfully against the fridge. But Roommate only brushed a stray tear away with his calloused thumb. 

“You’re right,” he said pensively. “You didn’t do anything. And I’m not going to kill you.”

He turned and tossed the knife into the sink. Civilian did not feel any safer, however. He felt like a bug under the shadow of a boot,  even as Roommate smoothed his hands over Civilian’s chest in a display of casual affection he would have died for a week earlier. 

“Here is what I am going to do,” he continued. “I’m going to finish dinner. You’re going to compose yourself in a long hot shower and when you get out we are going to eat and have a discussion about the way things are going to be from now on. Is that alright?”

Civilian nodded, not trusting his voice. What other answer could he possibly give?

Part two here

[nawoken]

Ơ v Ơ

Thanks for liking my post guys, I appreciate it. So I will start spreading my mind when I don't have anything better to do from now on then.

Hm, today will be... a reader from Gravity Falls, who got transported into TWST world. Oh, reminds me of those good old days, when we still had a bunch of good-quality cartoons.

(T vT)

You can be a friend of Dipper and Mabel, who joined them on their trip to Gravity Falls. Or the town's resident, who has always known about this place's weirdness but most of the time, when you bring it up, no one actually believes you. You can even be the twins' sibling, or well... Lil Gideon's dogsbody (no one want this right?)... That's your choice.

I want to build a reader who has enough understanding of those mystery creatures so it's better if you have a few links with the main cast :")))

After the defeat of Bill Cipher, a few years went by in peace. Until one day you wake up in a whole different world that has magic. Great, it's cool, you're fine, nothing too bad yet, it can be worse, right? After all, you used to encounter many more strange things than this.

Maybe, after not being able to contact you for a long time, Dipper will realize your disappearance and find a way to help you. Or..., the headmage in front of you can do something like he said.

Nope, you're wrong, he is useless, that's what you realized after staying there for a while. That biscuit doesn't even care about finding a way back for you! So, you have to find another way while facing a bunch of other overblots.

You've never really told anyone else about stuff you used to face back in your world, mystery creatures, monsters, and a Dorito from different dimensions.

Mostly because when they asked why you can face all this "transport to another world" or "fighting some gooey inky monster" things so calmly. Or why did you act so aggressively about making a deal with Octoville Housewarden. You told them how you used to fight this triangle entity from different dimensions, that planned to destroy your world, but they would just brush it off or say that you have a wild imagination.

You feel a bit sad when it happens, but you get it. Some magicless people can fight off a Dream Demon that can control space, matter, and even time? That must be hard to believe. So you just let it be.

~~~

But, out of nowhere, mystery creatures start to appear around the Isle of Sages.

What do you mean you saw Gnomes with a red cap and blue outfit running around in the jungle? And there is a whole island that suddenly appeared overnight?! Some scientists tried to approach it and it arose from the river, appeared to be a freaking giant head?!

It's all too familiar to you. After all, you had gotten into a bunch of trouble with them during your stay at Gravity Falls. It must be that this island has some kind of connection with that town!

Then, you just have to find that connected point to open the dimensional portal, and come home, right? Maybe, the twins with their uncles will get to you before you even have to do all that.

So, you just acting like normal. But your friends don’t want that. Mostly Grim, Aduece, Epel, and Ortho when they took an interest in the mystery thing that recently appeared inside NRC. Jack and Sebek tried to protest, saying that it was stupid but got provoked by “Why? Are you scared?” from the others.

You got dragged in, mainly because you worry for them. Even when they have magic, you still have more experience with this than them. You don't have the Journals with you but you used to spend quite a lot of your time studying and understanding them alongside the Pines twins. So, you’ve memorized most of it, if not all.

~~~~~~

The moment your groups step into this strange part of the forest, with some big red mushrooms with dots and some floating shiny orbs come straight out of a fairytale. You know this is a "Gnome Forest".

Before you can get everyone out of this place to avoid meeting those creepy creatures that have an obsession with finding a Gnome queen. You see Jade, observing and taking note of the mushrooms.

Jade: What a pleasure meeting you guys here.

Deuce: J...Jade-senpai?! What are you doing here?

Ace: Ye, and where is Floyd, is he sneaking also around?!

Jade: Fufu... don't you think it a bit rude to ask questions without stating your reason for being here?

Jade: But, as you can see, I'm studying these delightful mushrooms. And, no, unfortunately, my brother isn't into this kind of thing so there's only me.

Jade: ... Then?

Epel: W...what? Oh, we're here for the mystery creatures that been lurking around.

Jade: Oh, from the rumors?

Epel: *Nod* Yes.

Ace: Hm, you must be here for a while, have you seen anything yet?

Jade: Sadly, no. However, I do hope that I can encounter one of those, Azul might take an interest in them (For business thingy, I guess). Hm,... do you mind if I join you guys?

Deuce: Uh, no...

Jade: Great! ^v^

(Okay, that is, I'm out of brain juice for that conversation. Hope that is not too Ooc (XvX))

You stood aside, looking around worriedly while Ace bickered with Deuce due to letting Jade join. Jack felt your restlessness, mistaken that you're scared so he tried to comfort you. Sebek saw it and loudly said something about how weak humans are.

That's when some shadows dash by, Jade, Jack, Ortho, and Sebek become more alert while the others are a bit startled. Grim screaming something about not wanting to be eaten and clinging onto Ace's face though.

Looking back and forth a few times just for you guys turned to Epel, and saw a Gnome right next to him with a flower in hand. You know that shoot, Jeff! And! seeing his action, you also realized what come next.

Epel: ...For me?

Jeff: Yes, for you, my... future queen! (I can't, this is too much, I'm dying)

Gotta say, your friends have a good laugh except for Epel, who looks about to explode and Jade has this amused smile. If not for how bad the situation actually is, you might laugh as well.

Y/N: Guys, we should go.

Jeff: WAIT!!! Let me introduce myself first, I'm Jeff, Gnomes' leader. And, we are looking for a new queen...blah blah... (sorry)

At some point, Epel blew up, and he started throwing spells and that's when they knew what Jeff meant by them. 1000 Gnomes running out from God know where merged into a huge Gnome then chased them after their fail attempt of fighting it.

Ace: WTF is that?!

Deuce: How can we fight it if it keep merging?!

Grim: Wroahhhh, It's so fast!

Ace: You should just accept their marriage proposal!

Epel: WHAT DID YOU SAID?!

Jack: Why did I agree with this...

Sebek: I KNOW THAT I SHOULDN'T LISTEN TO YOU GUYS!

Ortho: This is quite fun, isn't it?

Others: NO!

You are tired of running, Jade has already gone out of sight the moment that thing compiling. You tried to reach inside your backpack, you were prepared for this after all! Your dog whistles. You just need to find it from the pile of things you quickly stuffed into your bag.

Finally! You quickly told everyone to cover their ears, mostly for Jack and Sebek due to their sharp hearing, and blew the whistle. That giant Gnome started to fall apart, and those Gnomes quickly ran away, far from the noise that hurt their ears.

Ace: Uh... What was that?!

Epel: Prefect, h..how can you do it?!

Grim: Haha, good job my henchman, I know you can do it.

Y/N: Gnomes, they have enhanced hearing so they can't bear high-pitch noise.

Deuce: But, how did you know that? Did you read about it somewhere?

Ortho: I don't think so, I've scanned them and I don't find any research about those creatures. So, prefect, where do you study about it?

Jade: I also want to know. (^v^)

Sebek: Where are you coming from?!

Y/N: Guys, just calm down. About those creatures, of course, I know about them. It's from my world after all.

Others (minus Jade): What?!

Jade: Oh... that's really interesting.

Deuce: Why have you never told us this story?!

Y/N: *stared back at him unamused*

Ortho: Hm... I do remember they used to say something about fighting supernatural entities.

Ace: But, I thought that just some jokes!

Y/N: Well, now you know it not.

Epel: Wait, so you did fight those?!

Y/N: Yes.

Sebek: Hm, maybe you're not as weak as I think, human.

Jack: Is that why you're worrying then entire time?

Y/N: Yes, I just don't know how to warn you guys since you're not gonna believe me.

Others: Sorry...

It can be said that everything ends happily. You guys talked to Crowley and he has to start doing some research about your theory of the connection between Isle of Sages and Gravity Falls (Ramshakle dorm).

You become a storyteller for the first-year gang, Jade (he wants to know all the information), and you might not know but also Rook, who observed your groups from afar the day of the exploration. Telling them about those creatures that you've faced, the journals, the Pine twins, their uncles,... and even about Bill Cipher.

You tell them, they tell the others. The famous magicless Prefect used to fight paranormal and supernatural entities that have been lurking around lately?! Only your friends actually believe in it, but that's enough for you.

Until they started to find you for more information, so Ortho helped you create a blog to spread some, not every single of them though. Should start some business by solving mysterious things. Talked to Azul and he might help you, you used to help him so he wouldn't trick you with his deal,... right?

Well, who knows? You know quite clearly the consequence of making a deal without thinking right?

______

EBIIL LIA COFBKA

JFPP JB?

Why is it this long?! I just want to type something fun and spread some idea but then it turns into a whole ass rambling :')

I still have more for it, but I'm lazy, my brain might or might not die at this point and I can hear light, see noises... I should sleep but I'm hungry. :'))))

English is my second language so there might be some confusing things in my wording, let me know if you feel there is anything that needs to be corrected, thank you.

I also haven't had a chance to finish Gravity Falls' series and it also has been a while since the last time I saw it. I've tried my best to gain more information about it when wrote this but if I am wrong about something, please tell me.

Anyway, I might do part 2 for this if I'm in the mood. See ya!

Oh, Also, Idia found this CD. It's old, yes. But it's an old game CD! Might be worth a ton this day. But, most importantly, he wouldn't say no to ancient games. An otome game about dating a pink-haired high-school girl... (I changed her ending a bit I guess).

[mountainashes]

Hii!! Just saw one of your posts so, how do you think that the ud characters would be postgame?? Like, how do you think that the Blackwood events affected them?? (I hope you understand what I'm saying)

Omg hi! So, really I haven't got any solid postgame hcs, but I have a couple-

Jess and Em get past their arguement and become friends again. I think this a pretty common one but I can't imagine continuing to hate ur friend after going through all that.

Jess never turns her back to windows anymore, and generally keeps her distance from them. She slowly gets past this but it takes years.

Emily doesn't like the dark anymore and refuses to go into rooms without the lights on.

Emily mostly tries to keep on but definitely struggles, she goes to therapy.

Sam straight up disappears for a while after Blackwood, just goes away for a few months. She does come back, but most of her friends don't know where she was for that time. (Got this one off a friend I was talking with).

Sam is mostly deaf in her right ear after Hannah screamed right into it.

Jess was really injured, and she spent a while in hospital. She sometimes uses crutches. (Again, a kind of common hc but I like it alot).

Sam had some burns from the lodge exploding.

Em (if bitten) has to go to hospital as well and is on antibiotics and all sorts because her bite gets infected. (I dread to think how much bacteria and filth was in Hannah's mouth considering her diet). Em's bite becomes a scar eventually. (I have a few thoughts abt Em's bite, I might talk abt that some time).

Ashley struggles to sleep, and barely leaves her house for the first few months after. She spends most of her time in her room writing in notebooks, trying to process what happened and venting. She also draws a lot, again to try process what she saw.

Mike tries to keep on as normal- goes to college, gets himself a job and tries to stay in contact with everyone. He never lets himself be alone.

Mike does get a dog eventually.

Matt becomes much quieter, but kind of like Mike he just tries to keep going. He does stay off college for a while though, and goes to counselling. He mostly hangs out with Mike and Em and Jess. He also checks in on Ashley alot when shes still at her worst.

Matt becomes very afraid of heights.

Matt spends a lot of time with Jess while she's still in hospital, usually with Em there too because she's always there.

Chris' sprained ankle takes a while to heal, and acts up easily even when it is healed.

Chris spends most of his time sleeping so that he doesn't have to think.

Ashley is the first person to visit Chris and he only really hangs out with her for months before he speaks to anyone else from the group.

I'll shut up now, I hope these r ok! Thank you for the ask, it was super fun! :D

[quilloftheages]

Chapter 1: A Night in Vienna - Hans Landa x OC (1st Person)

Premise 

Set in the Inglourious Basterds universe, Elizabeth Acton, the daughter of an Oxford diplomat, is studying history at the University of Vienna in the 1920s. After an unexpected encounter with the enigmatic detective Hans Landa, their lives intertwine in a passionate romance. Despite a loving marriage and idyllic life together, Elizabeth's world is shattered when Hans mysteriously disappears, leaving only a note. Heartbroken and alone, she embarks on a journey to Paris to rebuild her life and confront the haunting question: why did Hans leave? And will she ever see him again?

Story: 

Chapter 1

Vienna, in the late 1920’s, had a certain magic to it. It was a city of art, music, and intellect, where the streets echoed with the footsteps of philosophers and dreamers. I had arrived here from Oxford, together with my family. My father’s career as a diplomat meant he was stationed in the city, and though Vienna was a world away from the rolling green hills of England, I found myself captivated by its allure. The university of Vienna was renowned for its history program, and studying here seemed the perfect way to carve out my future. 

But if I’m honest, I was just drawn to the idea of escape. Oxford, for all its charm, had always felt like a cage. My father’s expectations, the stifling formality of our lives – it all felt so scripted. Vienna, on the other hand, promised something different. It was a city alive with possibilities, and I was determined to take advantage of every one. 

In the evenings, after long days of lectures, I’d attend French lessons with my friends, Elise and Margot. The lessons were my ticket to the next dream: Paris. I’d always imagined myself walking the boulevards, teaching history at a lycée, living among the poets and artist. It was a romantic vision, perhaps, but at eighteen, I had no reasons not to dream big. 

One night, after our French class, we decided to stop at a bar near the city center. It was a cozy little place, dimly lit with a warm glow from the gas lamps and the gentle hum of conversation in the air. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the sharp aroma of schnapps and beer, and the clinking of glasses felt like the pulse of the room. We took a seat in a corner, practicing our French while laughing at Elise’s attempts to order wine In the language. 

It was then that I saw him for the first time. 

He stood near the bar, dressed in a dark, tailored coat, his posture straight and confident. There was something striking about him – sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything around him without giving anything away. His gaze moved across the room and paused on us, or more specifically, on me. 

I tried not to look back, but curiosity got the better of me. our eyes met, and a flicker of smile played at the corner of his mouth. Something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Still, I felt drawn to him. 

Elise noticed my starring. “He’s a handsome one. Though I must say perhaps a little too old for you.” She teased. Margot noticed what we were talking about and chuckled. “Good for you, Liz. He’s handsome and older. Every woman’s dream” she teased. I chuckled at both of them. Margot was the flirt of the group. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her. 

“Not interested,” I lied as I took a sip of my glass of wine, trying to escape the conversation. Elise sent me a small smile while Margot just chuckled, “If you say so,” she teased back. Our conversation flowed until suddenly I noticed a presence standing by our table. I looked up and spotted the man from before. Up close he didn’t seem tall, but he had a commanding presence. 

“Good evening, ladies,” he said in flawless German, tipping his hat politely. My German was rudimentary, but I caught enough to understand his greeting. His voice was smooth, carrying an air of authority. “May I join you?”

Elise glanced at me a bit unsure. But Margot, always the bold one, nodded. “Of course,” she replied. 

He pulled out a chair, sitting down with ease, his attention now fully on me. “Hans Landa,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. 

I shook it, trying to suppress the shutter of nerves. “Elizabeth Acton,” I replied in English, my German too weak for conversation. 

“You’re not from here,” he said, switching effortlessly to English. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No,” I smiled, a little surprised at his fluency. “Oxford, originally. My father is a diplomat, stationed here for now. I’m studying at the university.” 

“Ah, a student of history in the city of history and culture.” His smile widened, though there was sometime about it that remained enigmatic, unreadable. 

“How did you know I studied history?” I asked baffled, not having told him that. He sent me a wolf-like smile. “Intuition,” he replied, making all of his chuckle. 

“What brings you to Vienna? Aside from your father’s work?” he asked. 

“I wanted to study here. It seemed… different. And I’m learning French. We all are, actually.” I paused, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I’d like to go to Paris someday.”

“Paris is beautiful,” he said, leaning back slightly. “But Vienna has its own charm. You may find it hard to leave once you lived here long enough.” 

Our conversation drifted into safer topics – Vienna, my studies, the little things about the city that charmed me. Hans listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something magnetic about him. He was older, more worldly, but that only made him more intriguing. 

As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing in his presence. He had a way making you feel like you were the only person in the room, as if your words mattered more than anyone else’s. And yet, there was something guarded about him, something he held back. 

I was drawn to that mystery. ______________________________________________________________

It had only been a few days since that night at the bar, but Hans Landa had already lodged himself in my thoughts. There was something about his presence that lingered, like a faint scent you couldn’t quite place but couldn’t forget. His attention was exhilarating.

After another evening of French lessons, my friends and I decided to take a different route home. The bustling square near St. Stephen’s Cathedral was vibrant with life – street vendors packing up for the night, the smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, and couples hurrying off to their favourite cafés. And then, as we turned the corner, I saw him. 

Hans stood leaning casually against a lamppost, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching the world pass by. His eyes flicked toward me, and I felt my heart skip. 

“Good evening, Miss Acton,” he greeted me with a slow smile, ignoring my friend, focusing solely on me. 

I was momentarily stunned that he remembered my name. “Mr. Landa,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. 

“Vienna is small, after all,” he said, his English accented but fluent. “We seem to be crossing paths again.” 

He gestured toward the street. “May I walk with you? Unless, of course, I’m interrupting.” He glanced briefly at Elise and Margot, but it was clear he was only asking out for politeness. 

I hesitated, glancing at my friends. Margot just smirked, while Elise gave me a knowing look and whispered. “Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And just like that, I found myself walking with Hans through the twilight streets of Vienna, the atmosphere between us buzzing with curiosity. We talked – well, mostly he asked questions, and I answered. I found myself telling him more about my studies, about Oxford, my father’s work, my childhood. He listened with an intensity that made me feel seen. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said as we neared my street. “How are the French lessons going?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I understand much more than I can speak. My accent is… rather terrible.” 

He chuckled, and the sound warmed me. “Perhaps I could help.” 

I looked up at him and smiled. “I would like that very much.” 

The next week, Hans appeared outside the university as I was leaving my class. His presence was becoming less of a surprise and more of an expectation – one I wasn’t sure how to feel about, yet undeniably looked forward to. 

“Miss Acton,” he greeted, falling into step beside me. “I’ve been thinking about your French. If you’d like, I could assist with your lessons.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“Fluently,” he said, with a touch of pride. “After all, I’ve spent some time in France during my travels for work.” 

I was hesitant at first. Hans was a detective, a man with a mysterious aura, and this offer felt oddly personal. But I agreed. 

And so, our meetings took on a new routine. We would meet after my French lessons, and Hans would quiz me, correcting my pronunciation with gentle patience. It was strange – he was often so sharp and perceptive, but with me, he was careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything. 

One evening, after correcting my imperfect “R” sound for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked at me with a teasing smile. “If you wish to speak with Parisians, you must soften your tongue. Let the language move through you like music.” 

His voice was so close, his breath warm against the evening air. I tried to phrase again, and he nodded approvingly, his smile lingering just a bit longer than usual. 

A few weeks later, after one of our informal lessons, we stood on the street corner, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye. 

Hans shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought before he spoke. “Elizabeth,” he began, using my first name for the first time, the sound of it unexpected and somehow intimate. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… as in a date?” 

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Yes, a date. Tomorrow evening? There’s a small café near the Danube. Quiet, warm…I think you’d like it.” 

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, with a smile. “I’d like that.” He smiled charmingly back which made my heart flutter. ______________________________________________________________

The café Hans had chosen was quaint, tucked away from the busy streets of Vienna. It had wooden tables, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze, and a view of the river that was simply enchanting. We sat by the window, the city reflecting off the water in soft hues of gold and blue. 

Hans seemed more relaxed than usual, the guarded air he often wore like amor fading in the candlelight. We talked about everything and nothing. I told him about my life in Oxford, about my younger brother, James, who was still in school. In return, he shared snippets of his life – he’d grown up here in Austria, in the Alps to be precise. He had travelled widely for his work, but seemed to evade anything too personal. 

As the evening drew on, there was a brief silence. Hans reached across the table, gently placing his hand over mine. 

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “I enjoy this. Being with you. I… don’t often feel this way.” 

I felt my heart quicken. “Neither do I.” 

We walked along the Danube afterward, the stars reflecting off the water. When we stopped by the river’s edge, Hans turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze intense, as if weighing some unspoken decision. 

Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips warm and soft against mine. 

The kiss was gentle, tentative, as though he was testing the waters. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. I responded instinctively, letting my eyes closed as I melted into the warmth of his touch. The city seemed to blur around us, and for that brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. 

When we finally pulled away, the air between us was thick with unspoken emotions. I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but Hans, ever the enigma, simply smiled softly and took my hand, guiding me away from the river. ______________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed were filled with long walks, secret glances, and quiet conversations. Hans was unlike any man I had ever known – intelligent, mysterious, and yet gentle with me in ways I never expected. He was thoughtful, bringing me books from his personal collection, surprising me with small gifts like pressed flowers or an ink bottle from Paris, knowing I dreamt of going there. 

Our time together felt stolen, as if we were living in a world apart from everything else. We would meet in the afternoons after my classes, sit in a café or stroll through the gardens. There was always a tension beneath the surface, something deepening between us that neither of us could ignore. 

It was late one evening after dinner, and we were sitting in a quiet park beneath the glow of the streetlamps. Hans had been quieter than usual, his mood more intense, his eyes following me with a kind of hunger. I felt it too – the pull between us, the unspoken desire. 

We talked, but it was the only surface-level, both of us skirting around what we were really feeling. Finally, as the conversation died down, Hans turned to me, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve been holding back, Fräulein,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I don’t think I can anymore.” 

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His lips pressed harder, his hands pulling me close, and I felt the full force of what had been simmering between us. I returned the kiss with equal intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck as the world spun around us. 

When we finally broke apart breathless, the air between us had changed. We didn’t speak, but there was no need. We both knew that things had shifted. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. And in that moment, he seemed to me to be the most beautiful and charming man, I had ever met. ______________________________________________________________

It didn’t take long after that before Hans suggested to meet my family. My parents were cautious, particularly my father. He was sceptical of Hans, though polite. 

Dinner with my parents was a formal affair, and Hans, to his credit, handled it well. He charmed my mother with his knowledge of art, and even managed to get a laugh out of my younger brother, James, who was typical shy around strangers. My father, however, remained distant, his questions sharp, probing Hans’ background and intentions. 

After the meal, when Hans and my father retreated to the study for a private conversation, I was left with a knot of anxiety. My father was protective, and though he rarely interfered with my life, I could sense his concerns. 

When they finally emerged, Hans looked calm, though my father’s expression remained unreadable. Still, when he shook Hans’ hand, there was a sense of grudging respect. 

I followed him to the door, and while I really wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t with my parents lingering close by. He smiled at me and winked as he left, making me chuckle. 

That night as I went to bed, I had a smile on my face and dreamed of Hans. 

We continued like this for months. He would help my study, take me on walks, to see museums and art galleries. He had come over a couple of more times to dine with my family, and in time my father seemed to like him more and more. 

Even after all of this it still took me by complete surprise. I came home one evening after class, expecting the house to be quiet. Instead, I found Hans sitting in the Parlor, his hat resting on the table beside him, his coat neatly folded over the chair. My heart raced in surprise. 

“Hans? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the room, confusion clear on my face. 

He stood, walking over to me with a serious expression. “I’ve just spoken with your father.” 

My stomach flipped. “About what?” I asked in concern. 

Hans took my hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something like uncertainty in his gaze. 

“My liebe, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve asked your father for his blessing to marry you.” 

The air seemed to leave the room, and I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. 

“I love you,” he continued, his hands tightening slightly around mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and all I could do was nod. 

Hans smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart soar. He pulled me into his arms, and as he held me close, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

We kissed again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty - just the promise of a future together. 

Just a few short months later, I graduated from the University of Vienna. Hans was there, sitting in the audience with that same proud smile that made my heart flutter. The diploma in my hands felt like a culmination of years of hard work, a symbol of the life I had dreamed of building. But the moment I walked across the stage, my eyes found Hans, and I realised in that moment that the future was no longer just mine – it was ours. 

Our wedding followed soon after. It was a small, intimate ceremony in a charming Viennese church, attended by my family and friends, and some of Hans’ friends. My mother fussed over every detail, while my father walked me down the aisle, his expression soft with emotion. Hans waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him, his dark eyes flowing with affection and promise.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. The moment we kissed as husband and wife, I felt a swell of love so strong that it left me breathless. I knew my life had changed forever. ______________________________________________________________

After the wedding, I moved into Hans’ apartment – a beautiful, sunlit space in the heart of Vienna. The rooms were filled with the warm, earthy scent of wood and leather, and large windows overlooked the bustling streets below. It was smaller than my family’s home, but it felt infinitely cozier. We spent our first days as newlyweds either in bed or arranging the apartment to make it our own, combining our lives piece by piece. 

Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I found work as a teacher at a local girls’ school, a position that fulfilled me more than I could have imagined. The students were eager to learn, and I found myself pouring my heart into every lesson. 

Hans’ work as a detective kept him busy, but when he was home, we filled our time with quiet dinners, long walks through Vienna’s parks, and cozy nights reading together by the fire. He would often surprise me with flowers or a new book, and I loved the small ways we cared for each other. We were happy – truly, blissfully happy. 

A year or so into the marriage, my father received word that his posting in Vienna was coming to an end. My parents were being re-stationed back to England, and though I knew this day would come, it still felt like shock. 

The evening before their departure, my family gathered for a final dinner at our favourite restaurant. The air was thick with emotion – my mother trying to hold back tears, my father quieter than usual, and James, now taller and more mature, struggling to say goodbye. 

“I’m proud of you,” my father said, hugging me tightly. “And I know you’ve made the right choice.”

I watched them leave the next morning, waving until their car disappeared from view, tears streaming down my face. Vienna felt emptier without them, but I still had Hans. And that was enough.  ______________________________________________________________

Hans I had tried to start a family, but as the years went by, our hopes began to fade. Each month brought fresh disappointment, and I started to fear that the fault lay with me. Doctors confirmed my worst fears – something about my body, something I couldn’t fix, made it difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to conceive. 

I wept often during that time, feeling a deep sense of failure. Hans, ever gentle and patient, would hold me, his hands stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest. 

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, though I could hear the sadness in his voice. “We heave each other, my darling Elizabeth. That’s all I need.” 

He never blamed me, not once. But I couldn’t help but feel like I had let him down. 

To lift our spirits, Hans surprised me with a trip to Paris – the city I had always dreamed of visiting. We arrived in spring, the city blooming with life and colour. The air was warm, the streets lively with music and laughter. Paris was everything I had imagined it would be – romantic, vibrant, and a full of history. 

We spent our days strolling along the Seine, visiting art galleries and historical landmarks. Hans took me to a charming little café, the same one we had spoken about on one of our first dates, and we sat for hours drinking wine and watching the world go by. 

One evening, as we stood on a bridge overlooking the river, the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, Hans pulled me close. “I promised you Paris,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “And here we are.” 

It was a perfect moment. I felt as though all my dreams had come true, even if the path was different that I’d imagined. 

Years passed in a contended blur. We had settled into a comfortable life in Vienna, one filled with love, even if it wasn’t the life I had originally planned. I was happy teaching, and Hans was content in his work, though he often spoke of darker times looming in the political sphere. 

One day, I came home from work, expecting to find Hans waiting for me, as usual. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. On the dining table, there was a single note, written in his familiar, neat script. 

I’ve been called away on urgent business. Fear not, I will return soon. Trust me. I love you, mein liebe, Elizabeth. 

I stared at the note, my heart pounding in my chest. Hans had never left like this before. His work as a detective sometimes required long hours, but he had always kept me informed. Now, he had disappeared with only a cryptic message. 

As I ate my supper I could not shake of the feeling of loneliness. I spent the rest of the evening reading but found myself often looking at Hans’ chair and felt sad. As I went to bed that night, I wore one of Hans’ shirts in hope that it would quench my longing for him, but it did the exact opposite. I only found myself missing him more. ______________________________________________________________

The days without Hans turned into weeks, and those weeks into months. At first, I tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. I went to the school, taught my students, and returned home to an empty apartment. I pretended I wasn’t watching the clock, that I wasn’t waiting for the sound of his footsteps on the stairwell or the creak of the front door.

But the silence grew unbearable. 

His note lay where I had left it, on the mantle above the fireplace, the ink faded but still legible. I must have read it a thousand times, hoping that somehow, if I stared hard enough, the words would change, or that they would reveal some hidden meaning. But there was nothing. Just the same cryptic message, and the same growing fear gnawing at my insides. 

Where had he gone? Why had he not told me? And – worst of all – was he ever coming back?

I had tried to remain strong, but Vienna no longer felt like the vibrant city I had fallen in love with. Every corner of the apartment whispered of our life together – the quiet breakfasts by the window, the evening spent reading by the fire, and the late nights when Hans would pull me close and hold me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Without him, those memories were like shadows, haunting me with their absence. 

It wasn’t just his disappearance that hurt. It was the not knowing. Hans had always been so careful with his words, so precise, and yet this time, he had left me with nothing but uncertainty. His work as a detective had always involved secrets, but this felt different. This felt personal. 

One evening, I visited his office, my hope dwindling with every passing day. His colleagues gave me nothing but blank stares, polite refusals, and vague promises that they’d look into it. But they didn’t seem to care. Hans was just another name on a list of officers, one who had apparently gone off on some undisclosed mission. I was his wife, yet it seemed as though I knew the least of all. 

Trust me. 

How was I supposed to trust him when he had left me like this? ______________________________________________________________

I began to write to him. At first, it was just a few words on paper, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. But as the weeks went by, the letters grew longer, filled with everything I couldn’t say aloud. I told him about the school, about my students, and how they were thriving in their history lessons. I wrote about Vienna, the city we had both loved so much, and hot it now seemed to reflect the emptiness inside me. 

I even wrote about my dreams – the ones we had shared, the life we had planned. I told him how much I wanted to see him, to hold him, to hear his voice again. How I missed the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. 

But there was no address to send the letters to. no place where I could reach him. So they remained in a drawer, growing in number, waiting for the say when I might have the chance to give them to him. 

After months of waiting in vain, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t an act of anger or frustration, but rather a quiet, aching realisation that I could no longer stay here, trapped in a life that had once been filled with love and now felt like a prison. 

I began to pack my things, carefully folding away the clothes and trinkets that had once made up our home. The books we had collected together, the small souvenirs from our trips around the city – everything seemed to carry the weight of what had been lost. I left the ring Hans had given me on the bedside table, the one reminder of the love we had shared, but I couldn’t bear to wear it anymore. 

My final goodbyes were said to the few friends I had made, those who had watched me as I slowly crumbled under the weight of Hans’ absence. They offered me sympathy, but no one had any real answers. Vienna had become too painful for me to stay. 

Paris had always been my dream, and now, in the absence of everything, it seemed like the only place I could go. 

I booked my passage on the next train to France, leaving behind the life I had built, the one I had hoped to share with Hans. The city I had once loved felt foreign to me now, its streets empty without him by my side. As the train pulled out of the station, I looked back one last time at the skyline of Vienna, the domes and spires that had been the backdrop to my happiest moments. 

But I knew there was nothing left for me here. Not anymore. ______________________________________________________________

Paris was everything I had imagined it to be – the cut of lights, of romance, and art. But it was also a city of ghosts, filled with reminders of the life I had once dreamed of having with Hans. Every corner café, every bridge across the Seine, every street vendor selling flowrrs – all of it reminded me of the promises we had made to each other, the life we were supposed to build together. 

But Paris was also where I began to heal. 

I found a small apartment near Montmartre, not far from the artists and musicians who brought the street to life with their creativity. It was nothing like the apartment Hans and I had shared in Vienna, but it was mine. A space where I could start over. 

Teaching had always been my passion, and I found work at a local school. The children here were different – more worldly, more curious. They asked questions about the world beyond France, and I found myself telling them stories of Vienna, of the history I had studied so passionately. In a way, it felt like I was teaching them about the life I had lost. 

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, I began to find some measure of peace. The ache of Hans’ absence never truly left, but it become more bearable with time. I still thought of him often – wondering where he was, whether he was safe, and if he ever thought of me. But I no longer let those thoughts consume me. 

Paris became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was a life, nonetheless. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again. 

I still had the letters, tucked away in a small box at the back of my closet. I hadn’t written to him in a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a record of my grief, my longing, my hope. 

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and read through them, imagining what it would be like to see Hans again. I wondered if he would still recognise the woman I had become – the one who had been broken by his absence but had somehow found strength to go on. 

Perhaps one day I would find the courage to let him go entirely. But for now, I held on to the memories, the love we had shared, and the hope that somewhere, Hans was thinking of me too. 

I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again. But I had learned to live with the uncertainty. After all, life in Paris had given me something precious – myself. 

Everything was getting better – until the war began. 

[blue--ingenue]

"Repentance"

Summary: for the prompts, "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice" and "I fucking hate you!"

Author's Notes: to the anon who requested this, the combo you picked gave me so many ideas for angst 😭 i got a bit carried away with this one. i hope you like it!

Sebastian fiddled with the sleeves of his dress robes for perhaps the hundredth time since they began their walk from the common room to the Great Hall. Ominis, the picture of polite nobility, had insisted on escorting Anne all the way to the dance. Sebastian had hung back a few paces in order to give the happy couple a wide berth. Without turning his head, Ominis called back to him.

“You know, you could have avoided all this sulking if you had just asked her to the ball,” he commented idly. Sebastian smoothed his curls and adjusted his coat. “Asked who?”

He had never been good at lying to Ominis, and even less so with Anne. His friend only sighed wearily while his twin gave him an exasperated look over her date’s shoulder. It was equal parts pity and ‘I told you so.’ He set his jaw and gazed stubbornly back at her. “She made her decision,” he stated matter-of-factly. By now their group had reached the entrance. The ceiling had been bewitched to bear a gentle fall of snow. Wisps of white descended from silver clouds and disappeared just before they met the floor. Gone were the house tables. A lively waltz poured from the orchestra of enchanted instruments floating in place of the faculty table. Tables laden with food and drink, pastries and pies, hugged the far walls, while smaller tables and chairs set up a perimeter around the dance floor. Already couples were dancing, some with more grace than others, as more students arrived. 

Anne held his gaze and looked like she was about to say something when her eyes widened and locked on something behind him. “Oh Sebastian, she’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He almost didn’t dare to turn around. The witch in question - the only one that she could possibly be referring to - was already the most divine beauty he had ever beheld. He didn’t know how she could surpass perfection. He didn’t think it was possible, but suddenly he needed to know. When he turned around it he felt as though he’d taken a Depulso straight to the stomach.

She was radiant. Her dress fit her perfectly. Everything, from the colors that complemented her complexion to the dainty ruffled sleeves that draped from her elbows just so, stole the breath from his lungs. When they were young, their mother would read Sebastian and his sister muggle fairy tales. He’d loved imagining himself as the dashing prince saving the princess with windswept hair and a charming smile for any occasion. Those days were long gone, but seeing her descend the stairs like his very own storybook dream was enough to break him from his trance. Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t asked her in the first place. All he knew was that he needed to be near her.

It felt like he’d been holding his breath and each step closer was a desperate kick to the surface, a burning need for air. Her head dipped in his direction and she smiled. A soft, sweet thing that crinkled at her eyes and tipped up the corners of her lips. They were but a few strides from each other. Giddy, he offered her a hand and lightly bowed. Like a dream, she reached out to place her hand in his. His chest was filled with a warm, honeyed happiness. Gracefully, she reached the last step, offered her own hand - and placed it in the waiting palm of Garreth Weasley. 

Sebastian froze, arm still held aloft. Weasley kissed her hand and bowed. She smiled down at him - her date - Sebastian’s jealous mind spat, and reached into his coat pocket for his wand. He flicked his wrist and produced a bouquet of crisp white roses. She laughed, a light and airy sound reserved only for him. He spoke without thinking.

“Actually, she likes foxglove,” he asserted. The startled Gryffindors snapped their attention to him and he could practically hear Ominis’ disappointed groan behind him. She seemed to notice him for the first time that night and several emotions flitted across her pretty features in quick succession. Shock, confusion, the flash of a blush, and finally irritation. 

“They’re your favorite flower,” he explained uselessly. Gods, the last time he’d been at such a mortifying loss for words he had fallen asleep in Potions and half-assed his way through a verbal presentation. His Gryffindor parted her lips to speak, but it was Garreth who spoke first.

“My apologies, I’ll make sure to pick foxglove next time,” he replied easily. Sebastian couldn’t decide what he hated more: the sickening sincerity of his apology, or the fact that he thought there would be a next time with her. In classic Sebastian Sallow fashion, his mouth moved faster than his mind. 

“There won’t be a next time,” he growled. For once in his life Garreth didn’t appear to have a witty remark at the ready. “I -”

His friend placed a soft hand on his bicep and smiled with forced composure. “Why don’t you find us a table, Garreth? I’ll join you in just a moment,” she supplied. With a polite nod to Sebastian he shot his date a grateful look and disappeared into the ballroom. As soon as he was out of earshot his Gryffindor let slip her mask of composure and whirled to face him. Shit.

“What the hell are you playing at, Sallow?” she seethed. The rational side of him was screaming for him to apologize for being such a cad. But the irrational side, the one that felt the urge to whip out his wand at the very thought of Weasley touching her again, had no interest in reason.

“Of all the eligible dates in our year, how could you choose him?” he demanded. She took a step closer to him in a manner that said no amount of fitted silk and lace could keep her from blasting him across the hall. 

“Because he asked me!” she shouted. Several heads turned in their direction, but neither of them cared. They were always like this, pushing each other to the brink of destruction until one of them - or both of them - fell over the edge.

He opened his mouth to retort, but she wasn’t finished. “Garreth is kind and funny and caring. He is a gentleman, and that is more than I can say for you right now.”

He laughed, a cold and punched-out sound. “So he’s the best you pull?” Stop! His inner voice urged him. He could feel himself crossing the threshold of saying something truly cruel. Something seemed to click for her. She tilted her chin and looked him dead in the eyes.

“You’re jealous,” she said simply. She can’t know, he thought to himself. If she knew how much he cared and didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he didn’t think he could bear it. He couldn’t lose her.Never her. No. It was much better to keep her at arms’ length than not keep her at all. He scoffed and the lack of confidence in his voice was clear even to his own ears.

“What could I possibly be jealous of?” he snapped. She took another step forward so that she was mere inches from his face. He looked down and saw the same look she wore when she had cornered her opponent in Crossed Wands. “You’re jealous,” she began, lowly, “because Garreth asked me and you didn’t.”  She was close, so close that he could smell the peppermint on her breath. His thoughts ran in a thousand different directions. She was tantalizingly close, she was completely correct, couldn’t let her find out. He panicked, grasping for a response to distance himself from the truth. He was hers, utterly and completely. What’s the farthest thing from love? he asked himself. He said the first thing he could think of, shouting it in a blind panic. 

“I fucking hate you!”

His words shocked himself. He didn’t dare to breathe. She physically recoiled as though he’d struck her. Her pretty eyes were wide with shock and for a moment Sebastian thought she would hex him. Instead a sob punched from her chest, wrending his heart in two, and she ran past him and through the doors leading away from the Great Hall. 

“Wait!” he called, desperately. As though his pitiful plea could overcome the knife he’d wrenched into her heart. He had to find her. He needed to fix this.

-

She hadn’t made it far in her uncomfortable heels. She was sitting on one of the stone benches near the aqueduct gardens, shivering amid the snowfall. The silence was broken occasionally by her sniffles and sobs. Sebastian’s heart ached for her and he cursed himself for being the one to cause her such pain. He called her name and she went rigid. He spoke softly as though he were approaching a wounded animal. Cautiously he sat on the far end of the bench and let himself look at her. Her eyes were red from crying and her lip trembled, stilling only when she sniffled. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he couldn’t blame her. He had to be the last person on earth that she wanted to talk to, and for good reason. Sebastian was mustering up the courage to speak, digging through his heart and soul to find the right words, when she spoke. Her voice was so soft, barely more than a hoarse whisper - ”I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

She looked up at him then, eyes full of betrayal yet so resolute. “Or at least, I thought I did,” she said with a shake of her head. “I see now that I was just being foolish. Some part of me hoped beyond reason that you shared my feelings. That you loved me even a fraction of how much I love you. I see now that I was wrong,” her voice caught on a sob at the last word, but she pressed on. “You needn’t worry about me going to the ball with Garreth. And I promise you won’t have to spend another second in my presence,” she finished. 

She loved him. Every fear he held onto, of her abandoning him, rejecting him, seemed so stupidly utterly foolish. She loved him. And he was about to lose her. Sebastian surged forward, kneeling in the snow before her and taking her hands in his. Desperate and with nothing to lose, he spoke quickly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I could never mean it. Not to you,” he implored her to listen. “You can hate me, hex me, do anything you want with me, but allow me a moment to speak.” She met his eyes and nodded weakly. He sighed at the smallest of victories.

“I could never hate you. And you were right about all of it. I was jealous. I was a jealous, cowardly git because I was too afraid to ask you myself. And when you accused me of it, I panicked. I thought of anything to say to keep you from seeing the truth of your words and I hurt you. I wish those words had never passed my lips, but they did. And for that I am so, truly sorry. You’re my best friend and the most extraordinary girl I’ll ever meet. I know I don’t deserve you, but regardless, I love you.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t have to say that just because you feel sorry for me,” she huffed. Sebastian was gobsmacked. He’d bared his heart to her and had no idea what to say now. But Sebastian Sallow had always been a man of action more than words. He gently brushed the tears from her cheek and brushed a stray lock behind her hair, moving his face closer as he did so. His lips hovered before hers, giving her the chance to recoil. 

“May I?” he breathed. She stared deep into his eyes and whispered, “Please.”

He pressed his lips against hers. They were impossibly soft and so warm despite the snowfall surrounding them. He gently pushed against her and she pushed back. His nerves were on fire. He pressed a hand to her waist, pulling her closer, and slid his other hand behind her neck to deepen this kiss. He held her like something precious, like she was breathing life into his starved lungs. When at last they pulled away blinked a few times before a tear slid down her cheek.

For the hundredth time that night, Sebastian panicked. Had he misread the situation? Had she not wanted to kiss him? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll just - ” she cut him off by pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft, fleeting, but effectively cut off his stream of panicked thoughts.

Inexplicably, she laughed. “I accept your apology,” she whispered. And Sebastian was sure that the smile she gave him was warm enough to disperse the gentle storm above them. He grinned, but the dregs of guilt lingered in his chest. 

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” he asked. She pulled him up so that they were both sitting on the bench. “Would you just…hold me?” she asked, tentatively. 

He couldn’t have obliged faster. She spread out on the rest of the bench with her head in Sebastian’s lap. He angled his head forward to shield her from the falling snow. She gazed up at him as he stroked her hair, and the silence was comfortable. It was as though even the night knew that something fundamental had shifted. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?” he answered. She smiled up at him, and he felt his world right itself on its axis. “You were a git. But I love you.” 

He chuckled softly, being careful not to disturb her head where it rested. “I am. But I’m your git, and I love you. So very, very much.” She laughed and suddenly he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been afraid in the first place.

[whispered-harmony]

Squid Game AU, where everybody I liked lived in Season 1, and they decided to stick together (this was after the tug-of-war game). Then there's Gihun, who feels responsible for everyone (Sangwoo, Saebyeok, Ali, Ji-yeong, Mi-nyeo) because he was the one who convinced them to leave the game. At the same time, Oh Il-nam just straight-up disappeared, so he's worried sick and trying to find the old dude. Oh Il-nam ends up paying for their debts so their lives aren't in danger, but they're still piss-poor, so cue shenanigans of them trying to make money in various ways.

And by some miracle, they manage to stay freaking alive after almost three years. So then they hear about a new game about to start, and Gihun gets this dumb idea to stop people from getting recruited by the Salesman, and he straight-up just ends up taking them in some way (Dae-ho, Gyeong-seok and his daughter, Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Jun-hee, Young-mi, and Gihun’s freaking best friend, Jung Bae). Just imagine him bringing all those people into his already cramped and crowded home.

Sangwoo: Hyung...what’s that?

Gihun: *With a group of people behind him, holds up the snack in his hand* Gimbap?

Lol, and the Salesman and In-ho just being freaking fascinated by Gihun because this sopping wet cat not only convinced people to leave the game from three years ago, he also convinced people not to play in the current year's game. So, of course, they want to get closer to him. The Salesman is always popping up where Gihun is, In-ho takes up a civilian identity, Young-il, and decides to help Gihun and his friends by giving them legit jobs. This, in turn, catches Jun-ho’s attention because he obviously freaking recognizes his own brother and doesn’t know what In-ho is playing at. So he goes to see what this Gihun person is all about and finds himself getting drawn to Gihun too. So Gihun has these new men in his life trying to get his attention. Meanwhile, Sangwoo, who also has feelings for Gihun, is wondering where the hell these men came from and is fighting for his life not to push any of them off a high place or something.

And Gihun is completely oblivious. He is just freaking oblivious about the whole thing. He has no idea that four men are into him.

But the others know. The others are fully aware, and they are all invested. They keep scores, and if the person they are betting on scores higher than everyone else by the end of the week, they get to order the others around.

Jung Bae, for the life of him, cannot fathom how his friend could be so clueless.

In-ho/Young-il: I bought this ring for you because the diamond reminded me of the sparkle in your eyes.

Gihun: Ha ha. Thanks. What a nice boss.

Jung Bae: How!!? How can you not see that!?

Gihun: I do see the ring! It’s already on my finger!

Jung Bae: *flips a table*

[nelliama]

Tell me where the hurt is

Aoife Taylor on Pinterest

Pairing: Astarion x FemaleTav Pov: Tav (undescribed) Summary: Astarion and Tav face Cazador and fight him. They had known each other for years before Astarion was brutally assaulted, and Tav lost sight of him. While they defeat the Vampire, Tav remembers their memories together before and after he became a vampire. And at the end of the day, they finally talk about everything... Words: 9,226 Warnings: NSFW part (more tags on the AO3 post, link bellow)

I see you, thirsty b*tches. And Astarion sees you too.

I have written a fanfiction about this dear gentleman right here and would like for you to discover it.

Make sure to read the tags so there are no surprises here. It's a one shot, wrote it in a day and enjoyed every second working over it.

Leave a comment on here or AO3 if you liked it! (you have to be registered on the site to read)

There is a part SFW (acurate from the game) and a part NSFW (invented), will be split with a little something.

IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED ASTARION'S OWN QUEST IN THE GAME, THIS PIECE IS A SPOILER.

“Who stands before us? Is this truly our prodigal son?”

Cazador’s sceptre fiercely brandished in front of us, his ornamented dark costume with a red collar and silver chain over his shoulder, pointy ears and teeth, red eyes burning from power and greed, I thought Astarion would simply jump over his throat and slither his neck in a swift and precise cut of his dagger. But as I dared a side look toward him, his face was torn with so many emotions, it broke my heart in little pieces. Rage, sadness, fear, bitterness, determination and hesitation. Two hundred years resolving to this moment. Two hundred years wasted, two hundred years of constant pain, of manipulation, of tricking, of pretending to be someone he’d never been.

Astarion was a noble, was a man of dignity, principles and values. He might have always thought highly of him, imagined himself promised to a future of wealth, power and happiness, these years with Cazador, becoming a vampire, had turned him into an insatiable monster despite what he truly believes in.

I knew him. Before he was changed by that hideous character facing us. We had been friends so fast and aspired to the same yearnings in life. We had spent so much time together it was hard for our families to even imagine us apart from each other. So many had imagined us as a couple, thought of a family, children, marriage, love, and I would have lied if I had said I wasn’t a part of them. But I never dared impose my deepest desire on him, when he had such a grandiloquent vision for himself, even so early in age. Never had he talked about us, or included myself in these schemes - for at least I had not noticed - and I couldn’t bring myself to hear him refuse me, reject me after all these years planning our ascension. So, I had stayed quiet, and had left for my home the night he had been beaten to death by a group of Gur. When I could have implied that I wanted to stay, spend a little more quality time with him, I once more punished my egotistic craving for him and took the door, watching him write his letter with an impeccable execution, with his perfect straight nose, round, full and red lips, his majestic profile I never could have grown bored of.

And that night, he disappeared as the Astarion I knew. I fell so deep into pure desperation that my whole life crumbled. Fled from Baldur’s gate, as every corner, every pub and library we shared opened up the wound and bled for eternity. I thought he was gone, had been declared dead, had a tomb fabricated for him, he had been ripped out of my heart and I couldn’t bear to stay one more minute between the walls of that city. I had learned later on he had been reborn as a vampire, slave, whore, captive.

It took me about a hundred years to forget about him, or at least to shun the ache and sickness I had felt whenever his face unravelled behind my closed lids, or his name floated among the words of my mind for any reason that could have reminded me of him. And another hundred years to start feeling like myself again, seeing other people, let myself imagine I could really live my life without him, without his presence, his haunting scent and voice and smile.

But then everything happened. The mind flayers, the tadpole inside my skull and him, asking me to approach as he could see one of our enemies down below, his back facing me, his hand begging me to come close. His long and dexterous fingers I always had wanted over my skin, calling my body and soul to him. And when he had turned around, when I was finally inches from him, he had lifted his dagger to my throat, froze, his bloody irises riveted on mine, his pointy smile fading ever so slightly, and his other hand grabbing my neck. I had not moved, couldn’t barely breathe. I was seeing a ghost and he was seeing someone from a time he must have forgotten about. Everything he lived was flashing before his eyes and I could see it as vividly as if I had lived them. Lived them through him, lived them as him, the shock and hurt of the process so terrible we had to part from each other, holding our head as though it would explode. This time, we realized he had been infected by the same virus and had decided to pair in order to get rid of it.

“Do not slouch before me, boy! Have you no respect for yourself?” Cazador shouted, his brows frowned but not as strongly as Astarion’s. The latter’s features were shattered by disgust and anger. “Look at you, crawling back after abandoning your family. You should be begging our forgiveness.” The patron continued.

Astarion stayed weirdly silent when I thought he would burst into flames by the mere sound of his torturer’s voice. The days after our reunion had been complicated and awkward, as I had not recognized the man before me and he had not known how to operate after two hundred years acting like a completely different person.

There was the night I understood what he had become. When I had felt his lips and teeth over my neck, and for a second, I thought I was dreaming, imagining a lustful night under his arms, his smooth and creamy skin over mine, his fingers holding my jaw to the side, so the flesh of my neck would be displayed for him. Only the jolt of pain from his bite had woken me up and I had watched him dumbfounded from my bedroll. “Shit…” he had murmured. “No, no, it’s not what it looks like,” he added. “I swear. I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed – well, blood.”

My eyes had tripled in size, and I had stayed with my arms along my body, incapable of doing anything besides ogling at him, his canine achingly showing, his irises even bloodier than before, and by the tadpole inside our brains, a swift wind of his hunger burning inside his stomach reverberated inside my own body. In the dim firelight, I had seen the remorse in his face, the desperation, the surprise from his own debauchery, the pain he was about to inflict on me, his best friend, his confidant, his…

“How long has it been since you fed? Days? Hours?” I’d asked, concern flooding inside my veins instead of treason, fear, or any other feeling one could experience in front of a vampire. A second of bewilderment flashed over his features and he straightened his body, dropping his hands. He lifted his chin up in a proud motion, as I had seen him do a hundred times.

“A couple of nights ago. I try to be discreet about it. Whenever I can. But it’s not enough, not if I have to fight. I feel so weak.” He had been angry at this, angry for the condition he had not chosen, but was forced into, a slave for sanguine hunger. Being out of control had always been the one thing he despised. Compassion and devotion crawled beneath my skin and I had been ready to accept even before he had asked. “If I had just a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better. Please.” He added. And that word only had been my undoing.

His downward smile and puppy eyes had pierced my heart for the umpteenth time. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I’d queried. His secrets had been new. Before, we would share anything, even our conquests, and I would never let himself know of my true feelings. We had been like the two sides of a coin.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no,” he answered. “More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.”

“You know I would never do that,” I retorted immediately, hearing him saying something so far from the truth tickling my pride and ego. Had he forgotten all that we lived? Had he forgotten about me?

“I needed you to trust me…”

“I do. I believe you.” I interrupted, as to remind him of who we were before all these years, before what he had lived without me, without his right hand by his side. He could have asked anything, I would have done it.

“Thank you. Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he simpered with a lusty voice I had never heard from him before. Something out of pure sin, sensual and hypnotizing. Vampires were known for their persuasion capabilities, but Astarion always had the charms, too. And with his new condition, it had been just impossible to refuse him. “I only need a taste. I swear.”

The way he had been imploring me, the fact that I was the only one that could help him, the only one that trusted him enough to offer such a gift to him, it had been enough for me to cave in. I knew he had been holding the reins from the very beginning, maybe he had been certain I would accept and willingly gave myself to him, I wanted to believe, at this moment, that he would truly see the length of my devotion for him. That I would let him feed on me, day and night if he had asked, and that he would become infatuated with me in the process. “Fine,” I’d said. And I added a little something so my game wouldn’t be too obvious. “But not a drop more than you need.”

“Really?” he had responded, truly surprised. As if we hadn’t spent almost thirty years together before all of this happened. As if we had not shared beds next to each other, hugging through the cold nights to keep us warm, despite his family’s richness. “I – of course. Not one drop more.” His smile was ravishing, his pointy teeth my demise. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

And as he pointed my bedroll for me to lay down on it, my heart beat had accelerated deeply. It was like having an angel and devil on each shoulder, the former reminding me I was better than this, deserving more than a man - a vampire - that didn’t even remember who I was and what I had been for him, and the latter convincing my poor little soul that anything he would give me I would sufficiently feed from it. And thank him.

He didn’t look at me before he had driven his canine into my flesh and had bitten hard. It had been like a shard of ice into my neck – a quick, sharp pain that had faded to throbbing numbness. My breath had caught, my pulse had quickened, and I hadn’t known if it had been side effects of my blood being drunk or the diversion of him so close, doing something so sinful, of giving myself up to him and his desires. I didn’t want to stop, I had wanted for that to last days and nights and days again, his scent different but close to my memories, close enough it had stirred the dormant butterflies in my stomach. I had leaned into him, losing myself. I had felt my blood racing, coursing through both our bodies, a gentle, numb feeling had started to spread. And the angel screamed inside my ear that a few more seconds would permanently end me from his caress and presence. “That’s enough,” my voice had emerged from the crackling of the fire and the noises of suction.

“Mmh?” Astarion had gently stopped, even licked the wound and I almost fainted from the thrill. “Oh, of course.” He had stood up, not without difficulty, dizzy from the blood he had swallowed and the bliss he had clearly enjoyed. “That – that was amazing,” he revealed, his breath distraught, his pupils dilated. He had even cleaned the blood from his lips with his middle finger and watched mindlessly the horizon as he had sucked it. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel… happy!”

He had sighed in a way I always thought I would hear after a full night of fuckery, of laughs and strokes, of pure delectation and adoration. Only he had done it for the blood I had given him, for the power I had ceded to him. He had mumbled some words afterwards but I had been so disgusted in myself, as much as aroused that I had not understood them. When I had seen him turning his back at me, I had shaken my head, tried to gain my composure and he had said over his shoulder, “this is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.” The slice of hope he had given me that night had held me until this moment.

“He doesn’t owe you anything,” I hissed between my teeth, as I decided if Astarion wouldn’t want to say something, I would. I couldn’t stand seeing Cazador’s gloating face after all I had learned on him, on what he did to Astarion, to his subjects, to his pawn, only for him to become the Ultimate Vampire, something so wrong, so powerful, the laws of the universe shouldn’t even accept the ritual to happen.

“Have you fallen so far that this speaks for you?” Cazador replied, his loathing visible all over his face, but I had plastered the same look on my visage. High elf or tiefling, Cazador would discriminate against anyone that didn’t match his perception of perfection.

“I don’t need anyone to speak for me,” Astarion answered, and I winced at the pain his sentence imbued in my heart. Although I did understand why he would say such a thing, he always had been independent, strong, fierce. He never asked for help nor pleaded for something, which was all the more confusing when he was doing it with me. Before he was turned, it had merely never happened. I had, on multiple occasions, given my time and energy without having him demanding, I knew him well enough to comprehend his struggles, and the moments he needed me. Each time, he thanked me with words, soft kisses on the cheek or a round of beer in our favourite pub in Baldur. And after he became a vampire, it happened twice. When he needed to feed, and the night he was feeling the scars on his back.

He had been in his tent for most of the evening, and I had discovered him, bending his arm around, brushing the bumps and healed cuts with his fingers, talking to himself as he had tried to make sense of what he was feeling. “A line with a fork and one – two – three dots?”

The mere sight of his back, his sculpted shoulders and biceps, I had taken a minute to think if I really needed to interrupt him, as he would probably turn around and ask me to leave. It had been hard for me to realize how much torture and pain he had experienced, the ire twirling inside my body every time I had watched him on his bedroll, alone with his thoughts and demons. I wanted to believe I could be a distraction for him, some fun to forget about the horrible things he had endured. “Bloody infernal – how is anyone meant to read this garbage?” he spitted for himself as I stayed back, my arms crossed over my chest.

“Want me to take a look?” I had said, not without fear he would just tell me to go to hell and be gone.

His response was close to what I had imagined. “Ah! What are you doing?” His tone was harsh, protective. And I could only start to imagine why.

As I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, I figured that night wasn’t the right time to share some minutes together, and I answered with a light and shy voice, already heading back to my own tent, “sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait,” he hailed. “I’m sorry. You caught me by surprise, that’s all.” No more harshness, but delicateness, explicatory. He had a smoothness in his tint, I never could have gotten tired of. “I’ve been tracing the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch, but I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashemi.”

Like old times, he wasn’t clearly asking for anything but I wanted to help, wanted him to rely on me and I proposed, even after several nights and days together, the fact he was now a vampire so far away from my instinct. “Want me to get a mirror?”

“… That had better be a joke. I can’t read it with a mirror and I can’t seem to read it with my hands either.” His grimace in front of my ignorance had taken the best of me, and as we would fight in the past, really just bickering, I wanted him to realize I could just help him, if he’d ask. I smiled, and waited for him to speak. One of his brows lifted. “So… I was wondering if maybe – perhaps – you might be able to…”

His uncomfortable stance and pathetic attempt to ask for my help was a delight to witness. This had felt like before all of this stumbled into awkwardness and mistrust. When we would gently enter a dispute but each and every single one of them resolved into laughter and sane communication. Watching him, with his staggering words and his unwellness through aid was too fun to avoid. I purposefully frowned, pretending I didn’t understand what he was asking, until he couldn’t restrain his impatience and erupted as he had done so many times in the past, “can you read what’s on my damned back?” and he added a little something I had heard once before. “Please.”

I almost felt bad when he pleaded, as I never liked playing with him. “Of course, turn around.”

He obeyed, slowly, firstly turning his head, as if he couldn’t bear to see my reaction towards his scars. The only thing I felt was anger, so terrifying and powerful I clenched my fingers into my palms. What he had traversed, what he had to submit to was too terrible. I had wanted to raze the entire world just to make sure Cazador would have died among the rest.

The carving was precise and thin but for the skin to mark this way, it had to be deep and slow and excruciatingly painful. His shoulders slumped just a bit and I tried concentrating on the symbols and the language so Astarion didn’t have to stay so vulnerable too much longer. I couldn’t read the text but I recognized the script. It was Infernal, the language of the Hells. “And? What does it say?” His voice disrupted my focus and made me jump just a little.

“I’m not sure. Hold still, I’ll draw it for you.” I said as I kneeled on the ground and started recreating the script in the dirt with my finger. Minutes floated by and it took me more time than I realized as I was constantly savouring the sight of him above me, so intimidating and complex after all these years spent apart. He coughed and sighed loud enough for me to quicken the pace and stand back when I was done.

As he didn’t hear the scratches on the ground anymore, he turned and murmured. “What in the hells…” His shock and horror were moving. “What did he do to me?” he added with a tinge of rage.

“What does it say?” I’d asked, seeing him zoning out into his own thoughts.

“I have absolutely no idea. But it’s no poem.” He said, his eyes clashing with mine as I tasted his anger through the tadpole sharing our emotions. Could he feel how sorry I was for him? If he did, he didn’t let me know. “Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it.”

“You really have no idea what this is?”

“None at all… Cazador was only figuratively hellish,” he rejoined, the irony of his tone didn’t transpire on his expression and his attitude, “there were never any devils hanging about the crypt. Whatever he’s left carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to me.” He had lifted his chin up finishing his sentence and I had missed his sufficient air as much as it had always irritated me. I knew he was more than what his family had taught him, more than the way he had been educated, better than what most people were waiting for him to become, to accomplish. He had a heart, he wanted what was best for him, but also for the ones close to him. Now, his heart had stopped beating. And I didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

“Thank you, by the way. This is… well, it’s something.” He slurred out, bluntly. His red eyes showed what his high chin tried to conceal; genuine approbation.

“We’ll figure it out, I promise.” The words had left my mouth before my brain had time to process it. It had been on instinct as I relished the occasions where we could be close, and he might have become a vampire, he was still Astarion to me. My Astarion.

“Will we? How… sweet.” And the way he had looked at me, with a new interest, as if – finally - he remembered our sweet time together, two centuries ago, and was willing to, maybe, catch up on old times. His sensual gaze and his bare chest made my cheeks reddened and I had left his sight as quickly as I could that night, fighting the urge to be transparent and admit the feelings I had surrendered to for years.

I shook away the memory while Cazador spoke again, condescendence tanging every syllable. “No, you always had a gift for words. I fondly remember your empty boasting, your tired jokes, your endless prattle…”

“No! Shut up!” Astarion shouted. It was more and more difficult to stand by and watch, as he and I wanted to annihilate the monster with the bat of an eye. Painful, to listen to Cazador humiliating him after spending two hundred years torturing and manipulating him. This had been his way of protecting himself. It had been his way to avoid facing the horrifying truth of what his life had become, the fact that he couldn’t stand the hunger, the orders, the use of his body to lure credulous people into the hands of Cazador, the one and only he detested the most. Had to obey him, to submit to him, to accept his advances, to play the pretty little spawn for his master, everything about this misery was unbearable and he had to preserve his sanity. Had to humour the atrocity, to keep his humanity from truly disappearing.

“I suspected you would return to me changed. Never did I imagine you would be so wretched,” Cazador continued. “Oh, thankless child. Did I not bless you with our immortal gift? Did I not make you what you are?”

I almost giggled. Astarion loved power and wealth and having an easy life for him to enjoy the contentment of what his environment could offer. But he never searched for disproportionate yearnings. Eternity, he despised it. Wanted to make a difference while he lived, a huge impact, even, but never he wished for immortal gifts. He had wished for a family and a lineage. He had wanted to be happy and loved and cared for. He had wanted everything anyone could expect, although usually bathed with a glint of spiciness. But Astarion didn’t laugh. He launched forward. “You son of a bitch.”

His fist aimed for Cazador’s face but the latter imprisoned his wrists with blood magic and Astarion’s face wrinkled with stupor. “You truly forgot my power. You truly thought our bond as creator and creation was all that stopped you from killing me.” The vampire’s face bore a smile from the hells and I watched powerless Astarion getting controlled by his master. “You are weak, my child. You are a small, pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.” His eyes glowed like a devil in disguise while he used his powers. The way he pronounced some letters showed how old he was and for how long he had been alive, which had been too long for my taste.

Astarion’s screams were unbearable to hear, and I wanted to reach for him, to ram myself that stake into Cazador’s heart, damn his need to be the one killing him to truly feel free of his grasp. I knew he would eventually thank me for the gesture, but I would probably witness his wrath after I would take his ultimate blow away from him.

Around the platform, the spawns appeared, each one bound to Cazador’s power, draining all seven of them from their essence, only one spot left; Astarion’s. “But today, you will finally do something worthwhile. You will burn, and I will ascend.” Szarr concluded.

With his spectre, he moved Astarion to his place like he was weighing nothing more than a piece of paper, and kept him immobile with invisible shackles. His clothes imploded into bloody ribbons and the mark on his back, his contract, glimmered with the same red the magic all around had imbued the room. The seven spawns to be sacrificed, for the vampire to ascend. They all grunted, suffered, restrained in the air, their bodies covered in blood, their own blood, and their backs heating as a fresh burn where Cazador had carved all of them. I stood so still I thought time had stopped. But Astarion’s voice carried to my ears and echoed loud and clear. “No! Stop him! And get me out of this!”

Even under the lines of his orders, I could hear the desperation, I could hear his begging, the ‘please’ he wanted to say so badly, but his madness and anger had gotten the best of him. He hadn’t watched me. His eyes were solely on Cazador. “Witness the birth of the Vampire Ascendant! Ecce dominus!” The latter proclaimed, his arms up, towards the heavens.

I rushed toward Astarion and dodged the attacks the old vampire tried to wound me with. If it wasn’t blasting lightning, he was summoning beasts and bats along my path. These, I could easily stab with my dagger, but Cazador was behind me now, and escaping his blows wouldn’t be so evident.

As Astarion was seeing me coming for him, he warned me of the blasts and I just had time to duck before a pillar that crumbled through the power of the shot. I covered my head so the stones wouldn’t knock me over and continued towards my friend. “Come on!” he shouted, encouragingly.

I casted a shadow spell, filling the area with a thick dark haze, giving no exact indication of Astarion’s and my own position and I grabbed his hand, forcing him out of his invisible cage. He fell on his knees, fighting for his breath. “Are you alright?” I dared ask, afraid of what he could respond, of how hard he could reject me. But I had to ask anyway. For my own sanity.

He only stood up, watched me straight into my eyes, a small rictus forming over his gorgeous lips, revealing his fangs, and said, “Never better.”

The fog vanished and another blast grazed my skull, finishing its course into the wall in the back of the crypt, the power of it unleashing a tremble under our feet. Astarion yelled, “try reaching for the others! If he’s not connected, he won’t perform the ritual!”

“What about you?”

“I’ll handle him.” And he raced to Cazador, that made himself disappear so he wouldn’t be too easily targetable. My body, legs and arms obeyed Astarion's demands, and I forced my way through the monsters, stabbing, piercing, slashing any of them coming through until I grabbed another spawn’s hand and withdrew him from the ritual. “No!” Cazador shouted and emerged from his darkness, right when Astarion attained his body. The Master couldn’t try to avoid the punch his spawn inflicted on his jaw and he stumbled back just a little before striking his sceptre onto the floor again and winnowing elsewhere inside the crypt. Astarion’s laugh rumbled inside my own body, the tadpole binding us sharing the overflow of emotions he was perceiving. The laugh grew louder and louder and I just saw how liberating this all was for him. How important it was, how therapeutic. His nerves were lashing out and he savoured it. “Keep going!” He screamed and I motioned for another spawn to liberate.

One by one, we were driving them away from their spot and Astarion continued hitting Cazador, not without handling some strikes himself, his skin stained with his blood, his face splattered, his hands caked. He was magnificent and terrifying. His red eyes were injected with blood and his horrible smile couldn’t recede. Until there were no more spawns in Cazador’s grasp and Astarion landed the final blow for Cazador to fall on his knees. “Get you hands off me, worm,” he dared say, barely looking up.

“I’m not the one in the dirt,” Astarion responded, his fangs showing. He slowly grabbed the dagger on the floor, walked in front of his master, and said, more to himself than us. “One last thrust and I’ll be free of you. I’ll never have to fear you again.” His voice cracked and the despair, the realization of where we were weighed finally on his shoulders. “But if I finish the ritual you started, I’ll never have to fear anyone, ever.”

I froze, as I understood the words he had spoken. Him? Becoming the Vampire Ascendant? After all he went through, all the values and principles he had to soil because of that disgusting person?

“You think me a fool? That I could allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place?” Cazador responded, still on his knees and still adopting that superior tone. “The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed – you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed.”

“I am so much more than what you made me,” Astarion hissed and I felt a tickle of pride against my skin. Yes, he was much more than a vampire, much more than a spawn, much more than just a man. He was extraordinary. Capable of so many things. So much greatness. But being the Vampire Ascendant wasn’t one of them. “I can do this, but I need your help.” He added, talking to me.

And I twitched. The very first time he would explicitly ask for my help would be for this? For becoming an abomination, a being so different from who he was he wouldn’t even recognize himself afterwards? I was seeing him. I was seeing Astarion as what he had been and could be. He rejected being a vampire for two hundred years, now was not the time to become something worse. To hell with his immunity for the sun, I would protect him, be his sunshade. To hell the sanguine hunger, I’d give my neck, my thighs, my breast, my whole body for him to feast on so he would never feel unsatisfied again. I would be his everything, if he could just let me.

His eyes and gaze changed for a second and he frowned, waiting for my response with his natural impatience. “If I help you complete the ritual, it will kill all these people.”

He almost interrupted, “These people died years ago, trust me on that. All that’s left are feral spawn, desperate for blood,” the anger filling all the pores in his body. “If we release them, how many people will they kill? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? But if I complete the ritual, think of the power I’ll have. With me by your side, we can save the city – we can save ourselves!”

His words found a familiar spot inside my heart but I was afraid they were not as genuine and sincere as I hoped. With me by your side. As I always wanted. Him and I. Together. Happy. This wasn’t happiness.

I reached for the tadpole linking us and watched inside his head, unperceptively wandering through his thoughts and wishes. Fear but also hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close was intoxicating for him. All he could see was the power of the ritual, and the freedom that power would bring. The freedom to do anything – to be anything.

Many words came to mind when I searched for an answer. I didn’t really know which one would affect his soul more than another – if there was any soul left. But I had seen it, during the nights. After the grove’s save. When we had fought the goblins. Even though he had wanted to pair with that drow woman to destroy the druids, I had managed to change his mind. And that night following the celebration, I had seen it in his eyes, that interest peaking through. His invitation was on the tip of his tongue, the lust lurking over his face, where I knew where to look. When his lids were dropping more than usual, when his mouth couldn’t seem to bring itself to close, when his smile couldn’t leave his face, when his eyes kept darting over my lips.

Something could have happened that night. But with the bottle of wine swirling against his fingers, I had not wanted to take advantage of his disinhibition. And hadn’t wanted to think he considered me because of the alcohol. So, I’d let him see how much I did, wanted him, but left for my tent, and didn’t reach out until the following morning.

I looked him straight in the eyes and hoped my words would suffice. I would suffice. “I want you to live a life you’re proud of. You can’t be proud of this. I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.”

And he took not so much time to deliberate, which was unexpected considering how the delusion had taken place into his heart. “You – you’re right. I can be better than him.” The sigh I was holding resonated inside the crypt. And I advanced one step toward Astarion before he spoke again. “But I’m not above enjoying this.”

The dagger firmly wielded in his hand, he grabbed Cazador by the hair, fangs out and eyes wide, and drove the blade into his chest. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again, and again and again, until Cazador was covered in blood and punctured by fifteen cuts. Astarion yelled, evacuating all the frustration, all the traumatizing memories, he shoved them inside his former master’s body and destroyed them with him. He savoured that one last breath and screamed at the world his anger and sadness, before falling onto his knees, the pain visible on his beautiful visage, even when covered in all this blood.

I just couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring myself to reach for him, to cradle him into my arms and repeat to him that everything was going to be alright, although I was dying to do so. He was crying, his body bent in two, his forehead almost kissing the floor and his lamentation had frozen my whole body. He was howling and whimpering and all his emotions flooded inside my own brain as I shed myself some tears, for the power of his sorrow was impossible even for an immortal to bear. No one should live such atrocities, no one should experience that much torment, and the fact that he didn’t – himself – ram a stake into his heart was a bloody miracle. He was free. Finally. “Is it… is it over?” One spawn demanded, fear still crippling behind her stare.

And Astarion stated, with a trembling voice, “Yes. He’s gone.”

†

(NSFW starting)

I had just finished showering, removing all the blood and dust, and really washing away the events of the day, when footsteps resonated inside the small cabin we constructed for the bathroom to be. “There you are,” Astarion’s sultry voice emerged from behind me. After the battle we had fought and the emotions I had shared with him, I wasn't so sure I would be able to handle him. Or whatever he wanted with me.

“You were looking for me?” I asked, my hands still struggling with the buttons of my long robe I would wear for sleeping. Since they decided to render my life complicated, I gripped them tighter and almost ripped the whole cloth open before thin and cold fingers interrupted the motion. I lifted my eyes to him and my heart skipped a beat watching him so closely. I knew my cheeks were red and I couldn’t cover myself.

His soft smile revealed his fangs. “May I?” he proposed and looked down while he gently reached for the buttons, the stroke of his knuckles over my breasts creating fire all over my body. He was delicate, meticulous, like he was manipulating the most fragile element. And my very soul reacted to his attention. He could sense it and enjoyed seeing me squirm. When he was done - and he took a damn long time on purpose - he sat over the rim of the table right in front of me and rested his hands on each side. “Can we talk?” He looked devolved.

I simply shrugged my shoulders, still trying to silently extinguish the brazier that had become my skin. “What’s on your mind?”

“I – wanted to thank you. For persuading me not to go through the ritual. It was the right choice, although I didn’t see it at the time.” His face was unreadable, even if he bore an expression much more approachable than his usual scowl over everything. He seemed sincere.

“It’s nothing,” I answered and turned around, as I couldn’t stay one more second with him near me.

“It’s not… nothing.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled on it firmly enough I knew I had no other choice. His fingers wriggled their way inside my palm and stroked where the skin was very thin and sensitive. “You were right. About what I wanted for me. And I needed you to remind me.”

I wished his words would have ended just a bit sooner. “You’re welcome, then.”

“I didn’t forget, you know?”

He replied so fast, I knew he had waited and wondered whether it was wise to admit it or not. If too many years had passed, if the moment had vanished. My blood was burning, my cheeks had adopted a yet to be discovered shade of red, and my legs were wobbly standing right between his, I realized. My eyes drifted from one place to another, couldn’t rest over him, couldn’t hold his powerful gaze. “Forget what?”

“Come on, darling, don’t play silly,” he chuckled and I sensed my panties watering at the mere sound. “We are connected, remember?” he added, tapping his temple with his index finger before sliding it to his chin. “I had to see what that pretty little head of yours was thinking, watching me so eagerly all the time.”

“Don’t you dare go into my head,” I frowned.

“Oh, because you haven’t? Don’t think I couldn’t feel you penetrate my walls,” and his smile widened at his allusion. I didn’t think it was possible but my temperature’s body augmented yet again. I lifted my hands and tried withdrawing them from his grasp, reaching for his shoulders to punch. “No need to be violent, my sweet!” he laughed again.

“Don’t call me that, we are not…” I started.

“What? Together? Lovers? Isn’t that what you wish for?” he goaded, talked slowly for his words reached their destination, his fangs showing but with an extremely serious expression on his face. I was torn apart, my heart was about to burst out of my chest and my skin was burning from inside out, the only dress covering my body yet enough to be uncomfortable over my scorching flesh. “I’ve seen your desire. All these years ago too, without that worm inside our head. I saw it in your eyes, you wanted me to be yours, and wanted yourself to be mine. Didn’t you?”

This was another form of torture. He was playing with me, playing with my feelings and my emotions and I couldn’t handle a tenth of what he was doing right now. I needed to leave and be far from here, his scent suffocating, his contact perturbing my hormones, his stare undressing me. “Stop…”

“Be honest with me, love. Be honest with yourself. Tell me. Did you want me?” he insisted and this was too much, he was too much.

“Don’t do this to me…”

“Because I want you,” he faltered, his hand on the small of my back, pulling me even closer to him. His lips caressed the skin under my ear and he murmured against it. “For more than two hundred years, I’ve been wanting you. And now that I have you back, I am not letting you go.”

It sounded like a dream. The same dream I was having before I realized he was trying to feed on me, but everything was too real, and too palpable, he was nudging, and kissing my neck and whispering dirty terms inside my ears. All I had ever wanted, he had wanted them too. "Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, among the relief, another feeling insinuated.

His eyes searched for mine when I was purposefully avoiding him. These unsaid emotions were hard to acknowledge after so many years repressing them. And his gaze had always been the hardest to handle. "I was a coward..." His fingers clenched over the fabric of my gown, fidgeting uncontrollably. "Everything was perfect. You by my side, our family promising us the most luxurious future we could have hoped. I was afraid it would change our complicity, our chemistry. And when I understood it would only transform for the better, it was too late."

I hung on his lips for all the words I had hoped to hear for decades and didn't want him to stop. He reached for my skin. “I should have made you stay that night,” he licked my neck where he had kissed. “This is why I had been out so late. I realized what you meant for me. How wrong I was." His voice was just a whisper cooling my flesh. "I’m sure I would not have needed much for you to accept, am I wrong, darling?”

I only answered with a sigh, as my brain couldn’t think of any words and my mouth was too occupied restraining itself from kissing his salacious lips. His voice was suave and coated with honey and I stuck to them like the oxygen I needed to breathe and the water I needed to drink to survive. “Did I render you speechless?” he smiled over my still burning skin. His teeth played with my earlobe, his laugh rumbled like thunder in the night sky and my legs couldn’t support my body anymore. He giggled at the sight of me on my knees. “As much as I would enjoy myself in this position, let’s not make a mess out of you just yet.”

Never would have I imagined him behind so voluptuous and debauched. He had always known about his good looks, and relished using them for personal purposes, but as he had stayed very friendly with me, I had never seen this side of him. And when I imagined him being… rather explicit with me, I thought he would be gentler and more tender. The glint of spiciness shimmered in the corner of his eyes, and his dropping lids couldn't lie about his eagerness, especially when his focus revolved around my mouth. He was so determined, and ravenous... And I liked being the center of his desire. I liked feeling his undisciplined lust against my skin. And mostly, I loved his appetence for dominance.

He grabbed me under the arms and lifted me as if I weighed nothing, made me sit onto the table, opened my thighs and paused his waist between them. My back was stiff and I stood straight and tall. His fingers grazed my spine and triggered shivers all over my body, which nonetheless didn’t cool my skin. His other hand grabbed my chin and forced my gaze to fall upon him. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Was he truly asking me? I never had been the one to say, always the one to act, to obey. Without even knowing, I entered his mind and travelled around his most devious thoughts. All of them were about me. All of them evolved around the places he could sink his teeth into, where he could kiss, all the pleasure he wanted me to feel. But one of them echoed deafeningly. I could eat her up upon this table.

“Well, aren’t you snooping around, now? Found something you like?” he purred and I was nothing more than a ball of pure thirst, desire and fearless craving. My mouth fell hard upon his and I sensed his smile, his canines poking my blood-filled lips and he groaned slowly, loudly, as I imprisoned his own lip between my teeth. Our kisses were harsh, thirsty, feverish, as all these years of waiting, of fantasizing had created such an irritable appetite. He was all I ever wished for, and he couldn’t even try to be disappointing. His hands travelled all over my body, and I couldn’t remember where I started and where he ended, as we had become one, swallowing each other’s moans, growls, thrusts. Astarion tugged on my hair and exposed my wounded neck from his previous bite. His eyes glimmered with passion, and his pants rubbed against my core, made me gasp so loudly, he lifted his brows, inquisitive. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, breathless.

I shook my head with frantic fervor, he understood precisely what I thought. “Do you want me to hurt you, my love?” Yet I couldn’t bring myself to admit it, to express the words of everything I’d like him to do with me, starting with what he had thought of moments ago.

His smile was feral and my downfall. Everything about him was so intoxicating, I would have done abhorrent things for him, accepted the most unpleasant of fates. Becoming a vampire had intensified what he was so good at. His looks, his charisma, his persuasion. I was inflamed by this man and I was forgetting myself. “I want to taste you,” he said between kisses over my delicate flesh, licked the two punctures he had inflicted and hummed at the reminiscing. I closed my eyes and waited, as he not so gently pushed over my chest so I would lay on the table, my dress barely covering my legs and my entrance anymore, his fingers still fisted around my hair and his breath warming my blood a little more. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his mouth still parted in a large smile as I could hear in his tone, his amusement, the enjoyment doing all of this.

And I was afraid he wouldn’t be, enjoying as much as I was, after everything he had to endure for the sake of his tormenter Cazador. All the people he had wrongfully touched and teased and caressed. People he didn’t like, and felt guilty manipulating this way. “Dearest…” his voice brought me back to the present and I felt the wave of his own excitement, his urgent arousal regarding my person, when his mind had found a way to my own, and he showed me what he saw, a beautiful woman he had always known and always respected highly, there was no room for hesitation anymore. He wanted this. “Do you trust me?” he repeated. And I nodded. Closed my eyes and nodded, captured the strap of my dress and glided it across my shoulder to bare my neck even more, so he could taste, he could savour and devour all that he wished.

Only he didn’t reach my neck. He laughed, proud of his little scheme, and uncovered my robe up until my stomach, kneeled and widened my legs for him to taste. One lick and I gasped, another one and my eyes were inside my skull, my back arching through the rapture. He used his lips, tongue and fingers and I was petrified by the way he was feasting on me, his moans vibrating over my core and his filthy words bringing me closer to my orgasm. “I knew you would be exquisite,” he admitted, rhythmed by the strokes of his tongue against my clit, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. Everything about him was participating to my pleasure bursting from every pore, astonished in front of his sex appeal, I sensed the fire ascending, leaching the walls, going up and up and up, until Astarion decided to stop.

“What are you doing?” I drawled while watching him stand up, his pants and shirt already gone, his beautiful and perfect body on display for me to relish on. He squeezed my thighs and caressed them, reaching for my waist that he firmly grabbed and approached to the end of the table.

“Oh, you’re not coming just yet, precious,” he explained, no longer laughing. His eyes were decided, his stare tenacious. “I want us to come together.”

He drove himself to my entrance and teased, the noises of slicking so vulgar and obscene, I covered my face with my hands. But Astarion swore, and penetrated me in one fast motion, my moan getting stuck inside my throat. He stayed deep inside, letting myself adjust to his girth, to his length, to the sight and the feeling of him inside me, finally inside me. “Astarion…” I whispered and he started moving, finding back my voice enough of an invitation for him to proceed.

“Yes,” he answered, but I wasn’t so sure he was responding. His eyes were closed and his body rolled majestically, the muscles of his abdomen glistening for the pearls of his sudation covered his cream-coloured skin. He was waving so gracefully inside me I could have climaxed from the view of him alone. But it was his gaze over mine and my hand he grabbed and tangled between his own fingers, his thrusting more cadenced and vigorous, that unleashed my orgasm. He bent over me, kissed me, as if he wanted to swallow all that I was releasing into the world, and he continued his movements, his groans more and more unbearably indecent and exciting. “Can I keep going? Please, I want to keep going…” he whined against my lips, his hips incapable of staying immobile and I almost begged him to continue, to never stop. The feeling was too good, too liberating, too immensely impeccable, his body, his face deeply deformed by the satisfaction he experienced, I couldn’t get enough of this, I never would, not even in an eternity.

“Fuck… please?” he asked again and straightened his spine, looked at me as if I had been the oasis in the desert, his fingers trailing between my breast, on my stomach, until the apex of my thighs, that he rubbed slowly, torturously. He was still throbbing inside me, so delicately, waiting for my approval. His other hand closed around my ankle and lifted my leg, so my foot would be right next to his mouth. He kissed it, without taking his eyes off me, still anticipative for my response, his fangs taunting the side, and I jolted at the sensible rub. “You’re not focused, my sweet. And I’m getting impatient.” he complained with his voice low and his eyes reproachful.

My body struggled descending the first climax he had given me, and my breath was still very much distraught, but he could have everything. My head nodded as I closed once again my lids, trying desperately to find back the sense of myself. And his next move did the work.

As he used my leg to pivot, he entangled his arm around my waist and lifted, while the rest of my body turned, the wooden table now scraping my aching breast, my toes barely touching the ground. Astarion’s cock twitched against my thigh and he didn’t wait another second to plunge back inside, a beautiful sigh of relief escaping his mouth. He didn’t say more.

His groans and moans were the most perfect sounds I’d ever heard. I didn’t imagine him so vocal. He’d always been in control of himself, of his emotions and feelings, and seeing him like this, so dishevelled, so bold and comfortable with me, it almost brought tears to my eyes, and I was glad I was not facing him.

His thrusts were fast, mighty, dominant, and I loved it. He groped me everywhere, kissed me, bit me but never to the blood, only to mark, and I was so desperate for him to be mine, I let him. If he wanted my body to be a representation of who I was to him, if he needed me to be physically wounded to imprint his belongings, I would gladly give myself to the pain. He grabbed my nape, my hair, my ass, changed his attention as if he couldn’t get enough of everything that was displayed for him to enjoy, and I felt the orgasm reach for me yet again, knowing the fulfilment he was having enough of a motor to make me yell between these four walls, scream so loud, the entirety of Baldur would hear us.

“Shit…” Astarion cursed and I sensed it wouldn’t take long before he would give in to the blissful delight of his own release. He clenched my waist with one hand, the other one disappearing through my hair and acknowledging himself climaxed sufficed to make my body join him, with impressive force. Our yells and cries united and the walls even shivered. "Gods..." he whispered, his face buried inside my neck, that he bit gently, linking our bodies in more ways than one. We breathed loudly for minutes, stayed laying down on the table, incapable of moving anything else than our busts for the oxygen to come in and out. But he finally withdrew himself from me, and lifted my upper body to him, cuddling my burning skin against his cold flesh. His lips found my hair, my temples, my neck, my shoulders, he planted his kisses like he would sow a field of flowers and shower them with love. He hummed against my ear, his hands solidly attached to my belly, and murmured, “that’s right, darling. I love you.”

Thanks for reading!! Tell me if you liked it, that would be much appreciated. Sweet dreams...

[ontherocks21]

Someday I'll Write It: (Interlude, Chapter 10 Sneak Peek)

Anakin Skywalker is no stranger to perilous situations. He’s been shot at, shot down, strung up, chased, captured – a few times on purpose, a few times not - and survived so many other calamities, that now Danger usually just winks at him and strolls right on by.

Usually being the key word there.

This time though?  No, this time Danger takes one long look at the handmaiden fastidiously watching their approach and immediately about-faces, pulls up a chair, and reaches for a freshly made bag of bang-corn.

To any other curious onlookers, nothing would seem amiss. Hands folded in the front of her gown, posture impeccably straight, Padmé’s handmaiden is the portrait of calm, cool, and collected.  But beneath the serene façade, Dormé fumes, her tranquil Force pool taut with unbearable surface tension.

Padmé recognizes her friend’s seething first, slowing at Anakin’s side just enough to snap his senses into high alert. Even had he not been trying to memorize – surreptitiously, of course – every detail of Padmé’s dazzling smile, it would have been impossible to miss the sudden shift.  One moment he’s basking in her scintillating blue current, still effervescent from their clandestine rendezvous; the next, he’s gasping and shaking from an abrupt plunge into her polar waters.  

Warily, Anakin’s gaze flicks between the two women squaring off outside Naboo’s offices, at once fascinated and terrified of their mirrored ability to transform into physical and ethereal blank slates.

“The Supreme Chancellor requests your immediate presence, milady,” Dormé says, only a subtle tremor threading through the words of her direct greeting.

“Did he say what for?” Padmé inquires just as evenly. 

“He did not,” Dormé replies. “Just that it was urgent.”

Like a cloud eclipsing the sun, Padmé stows the remaining radiance on her face behind Amidala’s aloof mask, vanishing into the Force without a trace despite her very real presence at his side.  The last time Padmé had disappeared from him like this, Anakin had found her barely breathing and sprawled unconscious on the floor of the Endeavor’s infirmaryfresher.  He almost shivers as the bleak memory drags its icy fingers along the back of his neck until an errant indigo flare zaps him out of his reverie.

He just manages to catch Dormé’s line of sight rove him from head-to-toe, the movement so quick he almost thinks he imagined it, but then an uneasy silence settles among their group.  Anakin knows Padmé’s handmaidens are virtuosos in the art of politics and subterfuge, but it takes him much longer than he cares to admit to recognize the inaudible conversation they are having right in front of him.

“Later,” Padmé murmurs.

In the Force, Dormé bristles a brief but brilliant teal, but she only nods, “Yes, milady.”  Motioning the Senator forward, Dormé returns to business, smoothing tangled curls and tugging gently at Padmé’s crown of braids until the woven strands appear purposefully disheveled.

“Thank you,” Padmé mouths, bestowing her loyal friend with a lingering grateful smile.  Then, not even checking to see if he’s following, Padmé tosses a curt “Let’s go” over her shoulder, her pace brisk.  Anakin throws Dormé an apologetic wince that earns him a sideways glare, and hurries after Naboo’s Senator.

In less than three strides, Anakin catches up with Padmé’s rapid yet much shorter steps.  Three more after that, and he’s drowning in her growing unease. He hadn’t been blind to the three words at the end of the short exchange carrying more weight than the entire looming summons from the Chancellor.  However quickly the bursts of color had been smothered, Anakin had sensed the rift shimmering in the Force between the two women.  All he can hope now is that his spectral insight might settle Padmé’s inner turmoil.

“I get the sense she was more frightened than angry,” he says, after a few more strides of strained silence.

Padmé shoots him a quizzical look, before Amidala directs her focus forward again.  “Even so, she has every right to be upset,” she mutters.  “We were gong too long.  That was reckless.”

Anakin flinches at the harshness in her voice. True, they had lost track of time and there would undoubtedly be hell to pay for it later, but he would be damned if Padmé got it into her head that their moment of heaven in the hallway had been anything but worth it.

With a quick glance around them, Anakin boldly bumps her hip with his. “Don’t mistake bravery for recklessness.”

Padmé’s determined pace falters ever so slightly, a soft smile tugging appreciatively at the thin, hard line of her lips.  He’s basking in the warmth returning slowly to her edges when she startles, realization suddenly freezing her mid-stride.

“Wait,” Padmé says, turning to him fully, her face confused.  “That’s not how the expression goes.”

Anakin’s brow scrunches. “Really?” 

She nods. He shrugs. 

“That’s the only way I’ve ever heard it.”

Tilting her head, Padmé searches his eyes, narrowing them when Anakin can’t feign his perplexity any longer, his mouth twisting into a perfectly stupid grin.  For a moment, her small hands raise as if to shove his shoulder, but she remembers their public playground just in time, and turns away, resuming their trek.

“Somehow I seriously doubt that,” she teases.

“You know, come to think of it…” Anakin says, hot on her heels. “There’s a good chance I have been hearing it backwards this whole time since…” He pauses on purpose, dangling the end of his thought like bait.  “Master Yoda is the one constantly saying it to me.”

Amusement dancing in her eyes, Padmé rolls her lips to keep her laughter contained.  They’ve arrived at the Chancellor’s receiving chambers, and it would be a bit uncouth to enter a professional setting doubled over in giggles.  A bit conspicuous too, in all the wrong ways.

Nevertheless, the warmth blooming in his chest continues to grow even as Padmé’s mirth sobers.  Surprising him given their current location, she takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. Despite the levity still simmering between them, fear slithers coldly down Anakin’s spine even as her proximity makes a dangerous heat lick upward.

“I need to say something before we walk in,” Padmé says softly, pausing when a colleague walks past and only pulling her serious brown gaze back to him when the diplomat travels beyond earshot.  “I’m going to do my best to completely ignore you.”

“Ignore me?” Anakin tries not to sound affronted, but admittedly he is.  “Why?”

“You’re supposed to be my security detail, nothing more.”  Padmé hesitates, and Anakin practically watches the words roll around in her mind before she bravely steals another quick surveillance of their surroundings.  “Apparently,” she explains through gritted teeth, “I’m incapable of not blushing when anyone so much as mentions you.”

And that was a story he intended to ask about at another time.  For now, Anakin winks devilishly, stepping back and gesturing gallantly to the chamber door.

“Activating invisible mode now, milady.”

[mrs-monaghan]

Hi how you doing?

So I have a question that is bothering me.

How do you think the conversation went when at one point in their relationship JKK had to talk to the others members?

Like i imagine they must have told them like "officially" even if the others knew smth was going on btw them.

And do you think they tried to warn them? Bcz they are idols living in SK and in the biggest group?

And what about the company? Do you think they had to "officially" come out to them too?

THANKS

Why is this really difficult question for me? Omg

There is literally no way for anyone to know any of this my lovely 😂😂😂

What we can say happened for certain coz it seems like it would be protocol, would be Bangpd holding a meeting with all 7 of them. Jikook being together affects the entire group after all. So their boss calling them all together after everything has been said and done is a thing I think we can all agree on, probably happened.

As for the rest it's all guess work on my end of course since like I mentioned apart from parties involved, there's no way of having an exact answer to this.

So this is just what I think happened and I wouldn't mind seeing in the comment section what others think also.

How do you think the conversation went when at one point in their rlship Jkk had to talk to the other members?

Members i think already knew: Jhope, V, Jin,

Member i think needed to be told: RM,

Member I'm not sure about: Suga

I dont recall Jhope talking alot about women but between Suga saying his type is a man with a beard and JK a girl with muscles and Jimin shamelessly wanting JK, it's easy to peg Yoonminkook from jump. RM, Jin and V however, if u watch their early content there is a way they talk that's super hetero. The word wife and girlfriend and kids used to be thrown around which is why I've always pegged Jin as straight. (Yes gay men can have kids too but Taejin meant with women for sure) while I think RM is bi, these 3 emitted the most heteronomative vibes to me.

My point is, I can see this being why RM could have possibly missed what was happening right under his nose. As for V, due to his original views on homosexuality I would've put him in this category if Vminkook weren't as close as they used to be. But the general consensus is that V felt some type of way when Jikook got together since he kind of lost his best friend to JK. Its because of this I can see V putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

First it was him and Jimin hanging out together. Then JK wants to join them all the time so now they're the close trio. But then suddenly Jikook are hanging out without him or keep disappearing and coming up with weird excuses. Idk if you've ever had friends that were shagging, but things start to get weird and suspicious real quick and before you know it, you've worked out they're hooking up. Especially when u start to feel like the 3rd wheel. I imagine that's what happened with V. The moment he realised Jimin likes dudes it was game over, really.

The reason why I think Jin didn't need to be told is coz the Jinkook dynamic is really strong. And we know it was this way from the beginning. What with Jin taking JK under his wing and being like a dad to him almost. He looked after him and made sure he got everything he wanted. And even though they have a Tom and Jerry dynamic going on I think JK respects the shit out of this man. I can see even now in 2023 Jimin going to Jin when JK won't listen and tells him to talk to JK or something like that. And it doesn't even have to be for a Jikook fight. I can see Jimin going to Jin about any concerns he could have about JK. Anyway, my point is, I think JK told Jin himself. That is, if Jin didn't already figure it out. Even if he told JK "I knew already" I can see JK wanting to tell Jin himself.

I cannot place Suga and I go back and forth for 2 reasons. 1) Him being queer himself may have made him automatically figure it out, couple that with him liking, liking Jimin, but noticing Jimin likes JK instead. Or 2) Suga likes to mind his own business and so he don't pay attention to members personal lives unless he needs to. Plus he was busy trying to practice hard on this complex choreo he didn't sign up for and had producing and writing to worry about.... idk guys. Idk about our mans Suga. But I lean more towards number 1 because just coz he minds his business doesn't mean he don't notice what goes on around him 🤔

As for Jhope this is a no brainer, really. We don't even need to headcannon this y'all. He was the first to know. Didn't even need to be told. JK was around them all the time in their room, in Jimin's bed. I wouldn't be surprised if he accidentally walked in on a make out session once or twice. Or that one time they thought he was sleeping and they started making out, little did they know Jhope could hear everything

Idk anon. Idk how Hobi found out but he was the first.

I imagine they must have told them like "officially"

For sure. I agree. At some point Jikook must have decided to actually say something to the members. Maybe 2016? I think that by Osaka Vlive all members knew. After that live no one was allowed to budge into another member's room without warning ever again so for that to have happened means all for them saw what we saw, which means they knew. So by 2016 they all knew.

V, Jin and Jhope of course told them they already knew. Maybe Suga too? And only RM was shook 😂😂 i can't picture otherwise guys. Tell me he's not confused AF here. He's like; what in the world is going on???

And do you think they tried to warn them? Bcz they are idols living in SK and in the biggest group?

Yes. Especially RM as the leader. I'm sure as soon as he found out he was already thinking about the downside. Jin and Jhope supported them immediately and told them to be careful. V and Suga did not address repercussions. I don't see them caring about that.

And what about the company? Do you think they had to "officially" come out to them too?

Like I said their rlship affects the group so yeah an official meeting with Bangpd had to have been had about this. Their contracts had to be adjusted, etc.

But I believe Bangpd supports them 1000% and was quite lenient with them until 2022/2023.

Hope I've answered accordingly. Share your thoughts guys. I'm interested in hearing who u thought already knew and who u thought had to be told.

Hmmm.... I wonder though, if moments like this one from 2014 made RM sus though..🤔 but still, idk why I think he just didn't think in a million years 2 members of his own group could do something like this 😂😂

[vulnonapix1234]

I love your headcannon on how Miles would improve his bioelectric powers! Do you have any headcannons for his camouflage powers? Or ways he would go about improving his overall stealth without those powers so when he eventually does use them his literally undetectable?

I am glad that my rambling made sense to you! What I have to say beforehand is that I know Miles from the movies and the ps4 game. So I am aware that most of my theories and headcanons are utter bullshit. But anyway:

The special thing about Miles's camouflage is that it doesn't come from the bite. It's a mutation from his mother's side of the family that awoke due to the electric shock he got from getting his powers.

(Why? Because I think that it would be funny if his most "spiderlike" power didn't come from the spider bite)

As such, his powers don't get along.

The camouflage concentrates on flight instincts, whilst his lightning powers and inhumane strength are on his fight instincts.

It doesn't help that his spider senses are constantly screaming at him, leading to him being under constant voltage or just straight up disappearing.

(Hence why it's so dangerous when he gets a panic attack. He will electrocute you if you get to close and you will only be able to see him flickering in and out of reality. )

So for him to "master" his camouflage powers he first has to master his spider powers.

After that, it's quite easy for him, especially since he is an artist.

It has less to do with how good he is at copying his surroundings and a lot more to do with how well he can "composition" himself into the picture.

Because Miles "silicone valley" vibes are just *that* strong.

You have to think of his lightning powers as a second heartbeat. It's a constant buzzing through his body that will only stop when his actual heart stops.

But you can train your heart with Endurance sports, sinking your blood pressure and heart rate and that is what Miles did with his powers.

Not only did it power up his control over it, the damage he could do with it, how much he can store, and how long he can use it, but it also dialed down his accidental output and with that his vibes.

(The rest of his spider powers can also be related to other organs and body parts. )

He also took a few dance lessons with Gwen so he'd be able to move more gracefully and quietly.

(It became a group hobby pretty quickly though. Pav took to it pretty well, whilst both Penny and Porker are disasters.)

Noir, having detective vibes, and the ability to sink into the background better than anyone else helped a lot as well.

Especially since he gets having to battle your fight/flight instincts and your spider senses, living in a war-torn world.

(Miles on the other hand took him with him to paint as a thank you. I just imagine them as close friends after everything, as he is the only adult that didn't turn his back to him)

I also want to think that Miles accidentally became more "cat-like" whenever he goes into stealth mode.

He is an apex predator and turning his flight instincts into fight ones where a big stepping stone for him.

This also means that he became a tiny heart attack for his friends because he enjoys training with them.

(He just likes to surprise them. Hobies' screams are the most high-pitched ones btw.)

[semperreformanda]

life has been pretty eventful lately

baby got his first ear infection (with a cough and cold combo 🥴) which meant he woke up anytime between 10mins-1hr every night for a week straight and I thought I was gonna die at some point

I've successfully somehow weaned him off 2 bottles so he's now only drinking milk in the morning when he wakes up and then at night before bed

I had to cut down on his milk consumption bc apparently his iron is on the lower end and calcium really sucks at iron absorption

which means now he's eating more solids !!! he's getting 3x meals a day and 1-2 snacks in between. I used to think he just wasn't into solids, I guess he's just getting full from milk 🫠

now that he's feeling better, he's eating better, and I DON'T WANT TO JINX IT but he's been sleeping 10-12 hours straight at night for the past 3? 4? nights. usually the 10-12 hours straight would be a fluke and the next day he would be up 1-3 times, but it's been 4 NIGHTS Y'ALL

even when i have to wake up at like 3 am to give him his antibiotics for the ear infection, little bro remains ASLEEP

which is doing wonders for me tbh

the lack of sleep was really making me irritable, sad, weak, etc. but once I started getting sleep again I was back to my regular self

(reminds me about other things I could fix which would help my body, like diet and exercise)

also, my parents and brother left the first week of January, which was bittersweet. it's so nice to have them here. it felt like home again. i know i shouldn't say that because i am home here too, but it's the home i grew up and known for most of my life, i guess you can't really take that away

I was homesick again for the past few days after. they can visit, or we can visit, but we will all eventually leave. it's never going to be the same again. it's not that it's bad. it's just a reality i still mourn over here and there. I wish they were closer (or we were closer), but I guess I should be thankful I'm not in the mainland USA where traveling back home takes half a day. if I want to come home, I can just fly for 4 hours.

since turning one, baby has soared in his milestones. he's not properly walking yet, but linguistically, he's doing so well. he can say more words other than wow, mama, whoa, ball, vroom. now he can say hi, dog, car, dada, truck, etc. and he can wave, blow a kiss, touch his nose/mouth/teeth/hair/head/tummy/feet, and mimic nursery songs. it's the cutest thing 🥺

one of our closest friends is pregnant again 💖

which made me think about a possible pregnancy in the future, because in our friend group once someone gets pregnant, SOMEONE FOLLOWS. 💀 I think that's just how it works.

I used to have baby fever, but it's disappeared when baby had really rough sleep starting at 4 months old. I couldn't imagine taking care of a newborn at the same time. and thinking about "sharing" my love with another baby kind of makes me sad. I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW. the love doesn't get shared, it grows. but I kind of want to cherish this time with our baby before our attention gets divided. they do say the firstborn gets your time, the second gets your experience.

we'll see. I'm turning 30 this year. I don't want another baby right now but I also don't want to wait too long. 🙃