#it is just the under 13s i take issue with ! they should not be on social media ... play some animal jam or something !

[mtsodie]

what happened that caused you to come to the revelation that so many minors were following you

mostly an uptick in people interacting with my stuff almost exactly like how i acted when i was 10 ... the typing style ... the memes ... yk !

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list will be posted later (and linked here once that happens), but perhaps there will be a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #AIlesswhumptober2024 for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There will be an AO3 collection for the writers to share their works in, this will be made available once we're closer to October (and linked here once that happens).

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[nereidprinc3ss]

like real people do

in which spencer gets home from a case and fem!reader is feeling extra clingy

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as a girl, non-sexual nudity/intimacy (again....??...), if you have daddy issues you'll prob like it, i should try therapy, technically suggestive, not even one whiff of plot, just cute shit a/n: wrote about a heatwave because winter makes me crave death. kisses!

It was hot in LA, and it’s a different, muggier kind of hot back at Spencer’s apartment when he gets home at four in the morning. The plan is to take a quick shower without waking you and then pass out for ten hours, but as soon as he opens the bedroom door, plans change. 

Even the sheer sleep-deprivation he’s experiencing can’t hamper the smile that forms when he sees you face down on the bed, fan on the highest setting and pointed straight at you, and conspicuously lacking a shirt. He drops his bag and folded suit jacket to the floor, trudging to the bed before practically falling upon you, pressing a trail of kisses up your spine.

A little sleepy grumble from you notifies him that his plans of keeping you asleep have failed, but he can’t find it within himself to be too broken up about it. 

“Spence!” you murmur, voice so quiet and scratchy with sleep but still drenched in pure adoration and joy. 

“Hi, baby,” he says, lifting his weight off of you just enough for you to turn over before he collapses on top of you again. He slips his arms underneath you and around your waist just as you wrap your arms around him. 

“You’re home.”

“I am,” he agrees, burying his face in your neck with a sigh. “And I missed you so much, pretty girl.”

He laughs when you kick the blanket away, attempting to wrap your legs around him like a koala bear. 

“Did you kiss any movie stars while you were gone?”

“Not a one,” he assures you, pressing his lips to your jaw like an offering. 

“Are you sure?”

“I am positively sure. Did you give up on clothing yourself while I was gone?”

“You don’t know how hot it was earlier when I was trying to fall asleep. There was no other option.”

He hums, his face still slotted under your jaw like pieces of a puzzle. 

“You should go back to sleep. I’m just going to take a shower and then I’m coming to bed.”

Your hands weaves through his hair gently, which doesn’t make him feel any less like passing out where he is. 

“Can I come?”

“To the shower?” He chuckles, rousing slightly. “You’re welcome to, but it’s not going to be very exciting. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him. “There will be no funny business whatsoever.”

“Okay. Come on, lovebug.”

He rolls off the bed, pulling you to your feet with just a little bit too much force. The momentum send you stumbling into him, but he catches you gratefully and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. 

“Wait,” you order when he tries to pull away. “Not done yet.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He laughs against you between kisses, but slowly the humor fades and he loops his arms around your waist, gently rocking the two of you back and forth for a very long moment. “You are in rare form tonight, sweet girl,” he murmurs, finally pulling away from the kiss for good. 

“I’m not all the way awake yet,” you admit. “What’s that called, again?”

“Hypnagogia.” He presses a kiss to your temple, loosening his hold on you. ��I am also rapidly losing consciousness so we need to make this shower super quick, okay?”

“I know, I know! I said I would behave!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, tugging you toward the adjoining bathroom. You pout.

“Your lack of faith in me hurts."

Despite his hesitations, the shower remains PG-13. You cling to him pretty much the entire time like a flowering vine, but no untoward advances are made. 

“Okay, you’re going to have to let go of me long enough so I can put some clothing on.”

Spencer says it lightheartedly, but you huff dramatically anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed as he roots through drawers in search of pajamas. When he produces a shirt for himself, your favorite of his, you object. 

“Wait, I wanna wear that one.”

“Oh? I thought you don’t do shirts anymore,” he teases, tossing it to you before finding another for himself. You pull it over your head, getting up again to search for a pair of shorts as he gets dressed. 

“Well, since you’re so concerned that I’m a sex-crazed harlot, I figure I’d better wear some clothes.”

“I never said that,” he reprimands gently, pulling you backward by your waist. “If you decided to forgo clothing completely, I would respect that decision.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

The two of you land on the bed, a tangle of limbs as he pulls you close as humanly possible. 

“I think I’m delirious,” he admits. With a start you realize the room is lit with the very early beginnings of dawn—you don’t even want to know how long he’s been awake. Suddenly you feel very guilty. 

“Oh—I’m really sorry for keeping you up, Spence.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m comfortable with my choices.” His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing small comforting circles over the bare skin. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Okay,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Spencer sighs dreamily. “So much.”

And the warmth you feel then has nothing to do with the heatwave. 

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No Love Lost Series Masterlist

Series Summary

Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.

After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.

One month later, the Boys found you.

You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.

And this is what it takes.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;

1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.

2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.

Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, eventual smut, angst, fluff.

Read on A03!

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing

Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension

Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress

Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me

Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence

Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back

Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up

Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark

Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks

Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing

Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing

Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun

Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr

Chapter 16 - Let It Flood

Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir

Chapter 18 - Something In The Static

Bonus Footage (One-Shots)

As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds Sunshine dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15.

[letomills]

A set of 23 geneticized & townified skins, including defaults for S1-S2-S3-S4 and the alien skin (choose between 2 alien options). Also, multiple sets of showerproof versions of these 23 skins, for those of you who are interested in custom body shapes.

This set is an evolution of this skin palette & its accompanying showerproof versions. I reused the old files, meaning that you can switch from the old palette to the new very easily (don't try to combine them though - see details under the cut).

Credit for the original skin textures goes to @whysim, @h0nkytonkangels, Nat / @theboldandthebeautifulsims, @pooklet and Tea Leaf, thank you so much to them!

First, let's talk about the regular set for Maxis shapes, then we'll get to the showerproof sets for custom body shapes.

1. The regular set

The palette contains 22 natural shades including S1, S2, S3 & S4 defaults + 2 options for the alien default (choose one). Skins 1-22 are geneticized and townified, the alien skins are townified. If you don't want all 23 skins, you can absolutely pick and choose, the genetic spectrum won't be disrupted.

Download skins: SFS / Mega

original 1 - original 2 - original 3

original 4 - original 5 - original 6

original 7 - original 8 - original 9

original 10 - original 11 - original 12

original 13 - original 14 - original 15

original 16 - original 17 - original 18

original 19 - original 20 - original 21

original 22 - original 23 h0nky - original 23 TeaLeaf

I edited some of the original textures so that: • everyone TU-EU has the appropriate fat, normal and fit states (for the alien textures to show up as they should, please use Argon's alien and zombie fitness fix) • all elders have wrinkles, except on TeaLeaf's Stargazer (I used @simnopke's subtle wrinkles) • all toddlers have the cute toddler teeth and babies have no teeth, • teeth from Nat's, Pooklet's and Tea Leaf's skins were replaced either with ones from the Whysim skins or the ones used on @serabiet's Those Darn Skins, just because they're less bright and I like that better.

I also fixed the toes on the Whysim37 skins and edited some boobs ↓

The number at the end of every file name (e.g. 0.05, 0.08, 0.1...) gives you the genetic value of that skin. To learn more about skin genetics, see Rikkulidea's tutorial.

💞 To the people who were using the old palette and want to switch to this one: all you need to do is delete the old skins from your downloads folder and replace them with the new ones (don't forget to delete the alien default you don't want). The new skins are on the same files as the old ones (although they haven't all kept the same number), except for skin #11 which is new. This means that after you make the switch, your sims who had skins from the old palette will update without you having to do anything with their genetics in simPE. And if you change your mind after having a look at your sims with the new palette, you can always switch back to the old one. The same files being reused also means that you can't use skins from the new palette alongside skins from the old, as they will conflict. The only exception is new skin #11, which is on a new file and can therefore be used alongside the old palette without issue. All of that also applies to the showerproof skins.

~~~

2. The showerpoof skins

What are showerproof skins? They are skins linked to a custom body shape (or body shapes). When you give a showerproof skin to a sim, that sim will have the body shape that the skin is linked to when they are nude (taking a bath, streaking, doing ACR stuff, etc.). Showerproof skins have no effect whatsoever on clothing, because clothes use their own meshes.

These showerproof skins are for: • Melodie9 fat family • Momma Lisa F / Melodie9 Fat M • Androgyny F / Lifa's Trans M • Trans Melodie9 Fat M / Trans Momma Lisa • Dummy Thicc • MartaXL edit • Athletic Girl / Lean Body Builder

They are repo'd to the regular skins above: you need the regular set for the showerproof sets to work. Like the regular set, they're geneticized, except for the alien ones. You'll have to choose if you want them to be townified or not (townified skins can appear on new townies and NPCs that spawn, non-townified skins cannot).

The required meshes are included, don't forget to choose between blockfeet/sexyfeet/Marvine feet and Maxis hands/smooth hands. If you're missing meshes, the affected sims will appear as floating heads or will be missing half their bodies when naked (it won't break your game in any way, it's just definitely not the intended result).

~

❥ Melodie9 Fat Family (M9Fat)

TM/TF/AF/EF are linked to Melodie9 fat TM/TF/AF/EF, AM & EM are both linked to Melodie9 fat AM. Children and younger are Maxis.

Download Melodie9 fat family: SFS / Mega

~

❥ Momma Lisa - Melodie9 Fat Male (ML-MFM)

AF & EF are linked to Momma Lisa, AM & EM are linked to Melodie9 Fat AM, TF/TM are linked to Melodie9 Fat TF/TM.

Download ML-MFM: SFS / Mega

Note on the included meshes: the original nude fat family meshes are from Melodie9's MTS, but turns out those are, well, not how top and bottom meshes are supposed to be: all of them are full-body, doubling the polycounts unnecessarily (I somehow only realized that today). So that's fixed now, and I took the opportunity to add preg morphs to the teen meshes.

~

❥ Androgyny AF-EF - Lifa's Trans AEM (AndroF-AMTr)

AF/EF are linked to Androgyny AF/EF, AM & EM are linked to Lifa / @withlovefromsimtown's Trans Male. Teens and younger are Maxis.

Download AndroF-AMTr: SFS / Mega

✨Alternative set: if you want teens to have trans shapes too (choose either the "AndroF-AMTr" set above or the "AndroUF-UMTr" set below) ↓

❥ Androgyny TF-AF-EF - Lifa's Trans TM-AEM (AndroUF-UMTr)

TF/AF/EF are linked to Androgyny TF/AF/EF. TM, AM & EM are linked to Lifa / @withlovefromsimtown's trans male shapes. Children and younger are Maxis.

Download AndroUF-UMTr: SFS / Mega

~

❥ Trans Momma Lisa - Trans Melodie9 Fat Male (TrML-TrMFM)

AF & EF are linked to @kaluxsims's Trans Melodie9 fat Male, AM & EM are linked to her Trans Momma Lisa. Teens are Melodie9 Fat TF/TM.

Download TrML-TrMFM: SFS / Mega

Note on the included meshes: you'll see that they're available in 3 versions (choose one - previews are included). The "Leto edit" blockfeet & sexyfeet versions better match all the underwear and swimwear that I've shared for these body shapes (especially in the case of TrML).

~

❥ Dummy Thicc (DT)

AF & EF linked to @digisims2's Dummy Thicc, TF linked to my Dummy Thicc TF. All others are Maxis.

Download Dummy Thicc: SFS / Mega

~

❥ MartaXL

AF & EF linked to @brattylulu's MartaXL, TF linked to Melodie9's fat TF. All others are Maxis.

Download MartaXL: SFS / Mega

✨ Alternative set: if you'd rather have M sims linked to Melodie9 fat male (choose either the "MartaXL" set above or the "MartaXL-MFM" set below) ↓

❥ MartaXL - Melodie9 fat male (MartaXL-MFM)

AF & EF linked to Brattylulu's MartaXL, TF/TM/AM-EM linked to Melodie9's fat TF/TM/AM. Children and younger are Maxis.

Download MartaXL-MFM: SFS / Mega

~

❥ Athletic Girl / Lean Body Builder (AG-LBB)

TF, AF & EF are linked to Marvine / @blueheavensims's Athletic Girl; TM, AM & EM are linked to Synapticsim / @blueheavensims's Lean Body Builder. Children and younger are Maxis.

Download AG-LBB: SFS / Mega

Note on the included meshes: you'll have to choose between 2 versions, either "HD" or "low poly" (previews are included). The HD meshes are the top and bottom meshes that BlueHeavenSims shared here, with a couple tweaks (smoothed normals on the forearms, fixed shoulders on the LBB fat morphs) - they have sexyfeet, smooth hands, 3D nipples and are high-poly (6,454 poly for full-body AG; 8,601 poly for full-body LBB). The low-poly meshes are top and bottom meshes I made based on Marvine's original AG and Synapticsim's original LBB v.2.0 (I added morphs with BlueHeavenSims's morphs as reference) - they have blockfeet, Maxis hands and are low-poly (1,960 for full-body AG; 2,186 poly for full-body LBB).

~

Further info

All of these skins are tooltipped, have their custom thumbnails and are sortindexed so that they will appear tidily set after set in your custom skins bin. If you use other skins though, there is a chance that those will appear jumbled up with mine if their sortindex numbers happen to clash. It's only an aesthetic issue but if it bothers you, see this tutorial by Kurimas on how to change the order in which clothes appear in the CAS catalogue (it works for skins and other bodyshop content too).

Why make the showerproof skins repo-only? 1. Repo'd files = smaller files. 2. If you don't like the textures that I picked for the regular set, you can replace them with your favorites in simPE if you know how to do that and all the repo'd files will follow suit. This way you can get all the showerproof skins to have the textures that you like with much less work than if you had to edit them one by one.

[locke-esque-monster]

I got real nervous they were doing Lila x Five really early in the season. It wasn't even explicitly stated, it was just a feeling from how they were setting up and framing things. Lila disagreeing with Diego and going to talk to Five. Lila keeping secrets from Diego that Five knew about. The tension of Five covering for Lila to Diego. Lila's dissatisfaction with her relationship with Diego and asking for a break. Without actively being romantically into Five, it kept setting up the narrative for Lila to leave Diego and Five was all tied in with what she was going to as an alternative to Diego. Add that to the promo pics with them together - even having watched it later and avoided spoilers I had a real bad feeling where this was going long before 4x5. (Or at least avoided until I already had my theory - my phone helpfully suggested an article days before I got to 4x5. I was not pleased to say the least.)

But there's a lot of reasons I take issue with this pairing and how it was done, so Christ, I guess let's get started:

Five explicitly stated in season 3 that Lila is not his type.

Five murdered Lila's parents. Sure, on the Handler's orders. But you think it's easy to have a romantic relationship when you know those hands killed your parents (aka my biggest critique of Tony/Bucky shippers in the MCU).

Five is indirectly responsible for the Handler's death. He saved everyone but her when he time traveled back. Sure, Lila was upset with her, but this woman raised her. She's got to have some complicated feelings about that and Five is all wrapped up in them now.

Five also had a weird relationship with the Handler, where she was a little flirty with him, which was all kinds of uncomfortable. Lila briefly mimicked this in season 3, which was even more uncomfortable. It's unclear if this was deliberately copying her "mother" or not. But adding Five and the Handler's complicated relationship on top of the other issues means there's a whole carousel of baggage to unpack here.

Five has always seemed kind of annoyed or tolerant of Lila, which extended into early this season. It's maybe a hair kinder at the start of season 4, but definitely not where it should be if there's potential here. It'd be one thing if they were friends after 6 years, but their relationship hasn't substantially changed at the start of this season to suggest otherwise.

If you have to do an all musical montage to show 2 characters falling in love, I'm sorry, you're not doing this right. That's telling, not showing. These characters have had tons of interactions to build off of. If you can't do that, then you're effectively saying that you have no foundation for this relationship.

Also, if it takes 6 1/2 years of being each others sole companions under adverse conditions for you to get together - maybe you shouldn't be together. It's one thing if it's treated like "Finally" or "Oh I didn't think you also felt this way". It's another if it's like it's a new idea entirely - that suggests loneliness and a desire for companionship and they're you're only option.

Five's history includes him having a pseudo-romantic relationship with a mannequin when he's left alone in the apocalypse at 13. The next time he's separated from his family for years he's with Lila. I'll allow that it makes sense he developed feelings for her specifically because of his history. That said, that makes this a wholly unhealthy relationship when he has a history like that. Lila is filling a gap Five's psyche has clung to before in similar harrowing times.

Frankly, the fact Lila was first looking for excitement out of her home life and is now upset she can't get back to her family isn't a good headspace either. (I'm also deeply frustrated that Lila feels trapped at home. Lila is so capable and she has a buttload of family members who apparently can take their children on a whim during all this chaos. You're telling me she couldn't have found a better outlet to work on their marriage or get some freedom before it got to this point of lying to Diego?)

Five is volatile and Lila is unpredictable. They're nothing but a menace to practically every other character they meet, including each other. But once they're a couple, they're perfectly pleasant the whole time. I don't buy it. The only fight they have is when Five lied to her. I'm not saying they can't be sweet. But this is all sweetness. For me to buy this couple they need to lovingly bicker. Instead, they've both had personality transplants.

So they decide to go back to the greenhouse after 6 years 5 months and 2 days. Five admits to having the book 5 or 6 months on their 7th anniversary of being lost. Let's be generous and assume they kissed within a couple days of getting to the greenhouse, because they look reasonably settled. That means that best case, Five decided that after being in a relationship for less than 2 months, he was going to throw his whole family away and run away with Lila. That is a hell of a lot of commitment for a short relationship.

And keep in mind, it's not like their family is safe. Last they heard, they hadn't solved the Cleanse. So they're either actively in danger or dead. Five - The man who spent 45 years trying to save his family. Who survived decades in the apocalypse alone (minus Delores the mannequin) and murdered his way through time for the chance to get back and save them - is going to let his family die for a 2 month relationship. I call bullshit.

Also, I will give Five credit that he tried to stay on task during the fight with the Cleanse. He only seemed to fight in retaliation for Diego - he actively looked towards the fight at least once before Diego pulled his attention. But you're telling me he's ready to keep fighting Diego and is threatening to kill him over Lila? That his powers only work correctly after 7 years of having them back because Lila begged him? I once again call bullshit.

And Five was going off to mope alone and never come back and potentially let his family die from an active threat, all because Lila didn't pick him? That is not the Five I know.

I also feel like we maybe did all this arc to get Lila to the point where Five has to convince her to stay because no one else could even if she hates him for it, but still get her family on the train to get the planned ending. And that feels very clunky and I hate it.

Outside of plot lines - it is a bit disturbing to me that we're pairing up an actor whose barely an adult with a woman 15 years his senior - practically old enough to be his mother. This is a aside from the fact he's a what, 71 year old man internally at this point and Lila (if we assume even living at the commission she's a similar age to Diego) is in her early 40s by the time she kisses a physically mid-20s Five. There's so much about that I am not okay with I don't even know where to start.

I also hear the writers wanted a romance for Five. First, okay, then have a longer season. Develop a character for Five earlier on in the season or the show you can pair him with. God knows with that history and age issues it'll be tricky. But also frankly - why? Why does Five need a romantic love interest? He's been fueled by the love of his family and that's done so many impressive things out of love for them. Not everyone needs a romantic love of their life to find happiness and it feels very heteronormative (is that the word I want?) that we need to have that for Five. Give Five an apocalypse-free world and his family alive and then we can see what happiness he can find.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I Gave a 10/10 to a BL... me!

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Nov 2023 Wk 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 4 of 8 - I love this show. I adore Tew's the simple backstory. No frills. No fuss. He got dragged in the way many do and he can kill so they kept him. They aren’t trying to make it needlessly complicated (which is rare for Thailand). That said, the pacing is way tf off, the emotional arc is rushed and then sappy out of absolutely nowhere. Before you ask, the kiss is not at issue, we halfway through they should be kissing, but the romantic life changes - too soon. But I don’t care. Finally, they left us this ep reminded of 2 v important things,

this pair kisses beautifully

in BL all mafia be gay

Fun fun!

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 2 of 12 - It's official, I love this. It’s a classic caregiver/bodyguard trope where one of them is opening the other one up to the world, but sweetly. I’m enjoying the softness of JimmySea's take and I hope GMM TV takes its cues from the success of My School President and doesn’t push this particular show into rough or edgy territory. Stay on target GMMTV. Don't mess with my bias again!

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 3 of 10 - Finally, our adorable side couple has emerged! This show remains engaging without losing pace (despite the main couple being slow burn), which is all I want from a Thai pulp, and more I could ask for currently from a sports BL. 

(Note: when I dictate the computer always puts "Thai pope" instead of Thai pulp - this is hilarious to me.)

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 14 - I guess they didn’t strip the omegaverse out of this. Unfortunately, I’m not an omegaverse fan, so I find its presence extremely off putting. (But it’s kind of amazing that somebody finally put one on our screen.) Unsurprisingly, it’s a lot of alpha posturing and hyper masculinity, because that’s what this kind of worldbuilding is an excuse for (lazy writing and lazier characterization). This means I don’t like Babe AT ALL except that he’s smell orientated and a bit verse. Way is lovely tho, because Nut is a great soft screen presence amongst the testosterone haze. 

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 2 of 8 - I’m not gonna lie (when have I ever bothered to lie to you all?) I’m struggling with this show. The sound effects are getting worse. That is not allowed. Still I found this installment slightly more bearable than the last last, probably because there was more of the cast in play and less of Jade being too cringe to live. 

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - AKA temporal paradox of pain.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Friends Forever ep 13 of 24 - Ooo it’s a bit of a teacher/student (coach/player) thing. Linguistic negotiation and kinkification of phi. Also actually kinky. But not consensually. Gonna get dark. Bummer. 

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 1 of 14(!) eps - Whines. Must I? Gaga doesn’t have a skip ahead button. Sad sack main characters really do not work for me. But this was better than I expected. I wasn’t expecting much. 

Look: This is helmed by Cheewin (shudder) with screenplay by Den (Only Friends - shudder the second) under Copy A Bangkok (they deserve not my shuddders). It's gonna be a shizz show people. It's Thai dark War of Y style - my least favorites. Apparently, there is meant to be a "plot" but when has Cheewin ever bothered with plot?

On a completely different note does the blond look like that Korean actor/idol from At a Distance Spring is Green & Wanna One to anyone else? Or is it just me? (Park Ji Hoon)

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

A Breeze of Love (Korea iQIYI) eps 3-4 of 8 - I like it a lot. Dongwook is so obtuse and socially awkward and reserved and needy and Dohyun is so gay over and simultaneously wildly confused by this behavior. Fantastic. A bit stiff, even for Korea, btu I'm okay with it since everything else I'm watching right now is decidedly NOT stiff.

I finished it!

Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo - Japan BL movie 1.5 hr

Best friends life together during university - cheerful sunshine loves to cook, grumpy tsundere loves to eat. Aki is a bit manic pixie dream boy for me (not my favorite archetype) but they’re cute and it’s one of those Japanese slice of life pieces like Our Dining Table that isn’t really a romance in fact it’s barely a drama. This isn’t friends to lovers because they’re basically already in a relationship (which everyone around them knows) they just aren’t fucking. I did spend a lot of time worrying that they weren’t eating any green things whatsoever. In the end this isn’t my thing when there’s no kissing at all, and this was a bit too dull even for JBL. Sorry Japan, one cannot trade on cute and cheese alone. I know, you want to. But that's not a BL or a personality. 6/10 

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan, maybe coming to Netflix) 8 eps - This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

I LOVE LOVE LOVED THIS. IT'S SO GOOD.

10/10

Let me be perfectly clear: I have watched 646 BLs and only handed out nine 10/10s.

I talk more about why this one made the cut, here.

It's Airing But...

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) 6 eps - adaptation of Harada’s manga (which I did not like) about a clerk who's stabbed, nearly dies, and returns home to find an angel waiting for him. With only 5 eps and a good chance this won’t end happy, I'm gonna wait and let you tell me how it goes.

SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 14 eps - I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all) even one featuring Singto and Fluke. I'm holding off on this one and if told it's good I'll binge later.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed. Waiting to be told if I should bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

Next Week Looks Like This

STARTING

11/20 Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - trailer here, stars Ohm (of OhmFluke) opposite Guide (bestie from IFYLITA). This looks like an actually gay version of Antique Bakery (play it again, BL). I'm intrigued, it looks HELLA pretty.

11/22 7 Days Before Valentine (Weds ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk. Adapted from y-novel of the same name, directed by Tu (180 Degree) stars Jet (Why You… Y Me?). When you want your old love again, but fate sends you a reaper instead. All he can do for you is kill people. I'll likely give this a pass and wait to binge if safe.

11/24 VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - Screenplay by Lin Pei Yu (WBL) about a chef who courts a shy writer with spicy beef noodles.

11/25 The Sign (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk, but with a suspense and adult characters. Special investigators who loved each other in previous lives reunite in new bodies. Stars Billy Patchanon (BillySeng) & Babe Tanatat (new). Includes other SCOY favorites as a special investigation team. I may give this a try (depending on distribution) because I'm into the non-horror bits.

11/26 The Whisperer (Sun ????) 1 of 10 - trailer here. Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). He has dimples (My Ride) but I don't think even that gives me the will. You can tell me how this goes.

11/26 Cooking Crush (Sun YT) 1 of 12 - OffGun are back, trailer here. Adapted from the novel “Love Course! เสื้อกาวน์รุกเสื้อกุ๊กรับ” by iJune4S this is about Prem who runs a not-so-popular restaurant with 2 friends. About to go on a cooking competition with a huge reward, Prem gets involved with Ten, a stressed-out med student who wants Prem to teach him to cook.

Still Coming November BL

11/30 For Him (Thurs ????) ep 1 of 10 - high heat trailer, I suspect iQIYI will scoop this one up. From the people who brought us Unforgotten Night (please no) based on a y-novel, man nursing a heartbreak has a one-night stand, but the other boy didn't want it to end. It looks terribly trashy so I'm in! Maybe I'll do a trash watch?

Nov 2023 line up with screen caps here. Not kept updated.

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

To be fair this was last week but I did get the screen shot until now. (You are Mine)

I Cannot Reach You serving all Japan's favorite tropes plus some very un-Japan decent kisses.

(Last week)

[lemmetreatya]

Change and Her Consorts — Miguel x Fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: 13 Minutes. 13 minutes was all it took for Miguel to (metaphorically) loose everything. Getting back onto his feet wasn’t easy, especially when life was changing and all he felt was stuck. But once you come back into his life, Witty, Hot and everything in between, Miguel wonders that maybe it was the change in others he needed to witness first before he could even consider making change for himself.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k+

CONTENT: modern au, childhood friends, afab reader, mature themes of death, grief, mental health issues, slightly angsty, hurt/comfort, is it a comedy? it’s a comedy, fluff, smut, sex, male penetration, mating press, blowjob, protected sex, nice ending i promise!!, i wouldn’t say reader is oc but she has a character for definite, also miguel is very??? difficult in this and his character can also be classed as ooc but its modern au and he’s been through it so bare with

Miguel knew he had to change. 

Ever since he lost both his wife and kid to childbirth, it’d been so hard to piece things together again. 

It’s honestly all bullshit. Finally thinking things were going good for him just for life to chew him up and spit him out like a fleshy plum seed all within the space of 13 minutes felt dehumanising to say the least. It left him fist fighting Depression, backing liquor shots of Sorrow and occasionally sharing a bed with Anxiety. That would fuck anyone up mentally and emotionally — And it did that to Miguel for a long time. He’s just grateful he had a good enough support system to crutch him through to the other side. 

He sold the house he brought with his late wife and moved back in with his parents around eight months ago. That was a whole thing in itself. Left his job and hasn’t worked full-time since. He had a whole phase where he ‘no longer had anything to work for’ and therefore just…didn’t. 

His parents were nice about it for a bit. Said he always had a home under their roof and that he could use the money he got from the insurance payout and house to cruise by while he healed. But then after about 3 months of Miguel taking the absolute piss with being unemployed, heartbroken, undriven and essentially a‘bum’ (Jessica Drew’s exact words), he found work in the local dairy produce factory as the ‘Payroll Guy’. 

Despite none of this being his ideal picture of how life was supposed to look at this point of time, Miguel knew he had to change in order to survive. Having being so wrapped up within his own world, he knew that moving on in some capacity was his next step. Getting comfortable with the shell of a life he had now and the things he once knew were true would help with that.

The only issue is that Miguel forgot that others changed too. 

An oof leaves Miguel’s mouth as his stomach is suddenly burdened with a paper sack to it. He looks down at his mother, more than a foot shorter than him, who’s passing him a bag of coals. 

“I need this done.” She vaguely says. 

“For the grill?”

Miguel asks it as an inquisitive question but he’s implying it more as disbelief that he’s been asked. His mother catches on and therefore explains her reasoning.

“I wouldn’t usually (‘ask you’, she implies but doesn’t say) but your fathers quickly gone to the shop and we need to start putting things on the grill. People will be arriving any minute now.” She dusts her hands before already moving elsewhere within the garden. 

Miguel jogs the bag of coal in his arms and stagnantly turns his body in his mother’s direction; like a sunflower to the sun. 

“Then I don’t have to do it?” He tried. 

His mother gives him a quick look. It was sharp but she didn’t follow the intention through. 

“I would like to start grilling things soon.” She  stresses. 

Miguel doesn’t reply right away since he’s been told he needs to think before he speaks. And so he thinks, hard, about what his mother was asking him and then answers accordingly to how he thinks he should. 

“So I don’t have to put the coal in now?” He slowly enunciates.

“Ay, coño— Si! Si, Miguel! You have to put them in now, I’m telling you to put the charcoal in now! Vamos!” 

Miguel lets out a haggard sigh. 

He doesn’t like how he always get in trouble for these sort of things. He was bordering thirty and still had trouble depicting what his mother actually meant when she made implicit remarks. 

The doorbell rings and so Miguel’s mother is shooting off back inside to open up for the guests, all not before giving Miguel certain The Nike Slogan eyes and a jabbing finger point towards the barbecue.  

Begrudgingly, he gets a start on filling the bottom of the grill with sooty rocks. 

As he’s detaching the rack, Miguel can hear high pitched welcoming and multiple voices towards the front of the house. He faintly hears someone ask for him, followed by his mother directing them towards the backyard where he was. At that, Miguel groans. 

It’s not like he hated gatherings, but Miguel would definitely prefer a phone call or the occasional text message. Or just no communication at all. 

But to his avail, he had no way of avoiding this. His parents were adamant to host a casual cookout of some sort and they knew he had nothing better to do so by default he had to be present. There wasn’t even a reason for the function. Just Something about opening up the home and having more laughter flow through it. Sounds cliche but Miguel didn’t care much for laughter anymore. Not that he never laughed — there were some humorously dark memes either Peter or Jess would send him that were subjectively funny and occasionally earned a breathy snort out of him. But it was no question that joy was definitely void in his life. It was hard to look forward to things and the days seemed to drag on and lack meaning. 

No matter what way he looked at it, life was dull. There just wasn’t shit to be happy about. 

“Miggy!” 

Miguel perks up. 

He recognises that voice anywhere. 

He didn’t know you were coming but it definitely made sense for you to be here. His parents were making a bigger than usual deal out of this gathering so of course old faces would be present. 

Miguel hears your voice call him by that juvenile nickname over and over again as you venture throughout the house. It’d been well over a decade since he last saw you but he knows both your parents keep in touch. Because of that, he doesn’t immediately turn around to address you once you enter the garden because he’s not expecting much and he’s still trying to evenly set up the coal rocks at the bottom of the grill. 

“Miggy.” You say with perky tone. 

The man’s sighing as he brings his head up, dusting his hands and wiping the apple of his cheek with the smudge of his palm.

“Till this day, what’d I tell you about calling…me...” 

Miguel’s words are cut off short as soon as he turns to see you.  

He opens and closes his mouth several time but nothing comes out. He’s adamant he looks so stupid right now but his shock is so genuine that he doesn’t blame himself for the reaction. Honestly, awestruck didn’t even cover half of what he was. 

There you stood, in all your adulthood glory, a finer woman than he could have ever imagined you’d turn out to be. 

Nothing about you was the same to how it was over a decade ago yet it was all so classically you. Or, whatever that meant. He’s not sure. If you’d given him creative direction over what he’d envisioned mid-20s you to look like, he definitely wouldn’t have come up with this. 

Fuck, not like it matters what he thought. Why would anyone give him creative direction over anything? No, he’s not trying to say he wanted to control how you grew but he is saying whatever did, did a good job. 

Oh, Miguel hates trying to justify things to himself. He knew what he wanted to say but he just didn’t know how to say it and it was pissing him off because this was all happening inside of his head and God, he probably looked crazy to you right now but he just couldn’t compute this change. 

To put it plainly: You were hot now.

A soft tinkly chuckle leaves your throat as you notice the man’s frozen reaction. 

“Hello to you too, Miguel. Everything okay out here?”

Miguel’s still freaking out mentally because man, even your laugh was the same but it was just so different and maturer and older and hot. 

You amusingly side eye him, no longer calling him Miggy and cautious of his behaviour. You take a few steps round the back of him which ultimately puts you outside of his vision and peripheral. You end up on the opposite side, hands on your hips and face curious as you inspect the barbecue. 

As soon as you’re out of his eyesight Miguel snaps out of the trance. His mind starts to catch him up to speed and he’s stuttering like crazy when he turns to you to try and explain himself. 

“I—Ee—I…yeah. I…I’m setting up some rocks. For the grill. Not…Not just any rocks, like actual— actual charcoal, coal rocks that you…that you light barbecues with and…yeah.” 

“I see.” Your tone is sarcastic, lightly teasing even, and Miguel has to curse himself for acting so lame. 

He blinks at you a few times (Hot.) before casting his eyes back to the grill (Not hot. Yet). He occupies himself with the task. 

“Of course. You know what coal is...” He mumbles the last bit to himself, a reminder that you weren’t an incompetent bristling teen anymore to whom he had to explain everything. 

Miguel spends the majority of the barbecue in your company. 

Not like he had much choice; you two were the only people around the same caliber. Everyone else was either middle aged, a couple, or a bustling child weaving between adult’s legs. 

Chatting to each other wasn’t all that bad. You both nursed several bottled drinks between you and straddled garden chairs towards the bottom of the yard as you caught up with each other’s lives. Whilst he would have preferred hulling up in his room, having someone new to talk to as opposed to the same two people was rejuvenating. 

Over the duration of your conversation, Miguel finds out that you’re a Data Analyst and it somehow makes him feel insecure about his crappy Payroll job. You however assure him that it was nothing to be ashamed of (“You’re a Finance Bro and I’m a Finance Girly. We go hand-in-hand!”). He also opens up about how he’s attending group therapy sessions — through which he met Peter and Jess. He also, speaks about Peter and Jess, but he quickly found out that apart from Peter and Jess, there wasn’t much else for him to talk about. 

But surprisingly it was enough for convo because you always had new discussions to talk through with him anyways. Some were silly, (“Come on, you’ve got to admit it! The Teletubbbies having kids is just weird.”) some were trivial (“Cats or Dogs? — And be honest!”) and others reminiscent (“Remember how we tried to build a secret hide out in this very tree?”).

Miguel also found out that you were single.

“I know you mentioned you’re doing therapy and stuff but…how are you holding up? Like, really holding up?”

An automatic groan leaves Miguel’s mouth. There it was — three hours into the conversation. The million dollar question. 

He hates gatherings and functions for this very reason. No matter how much people smiled in his general direction or pretended that they weren’t tiptoeing eggshells around him, they would always ask how he was in relation to That event in his life. 

Not like they cared. If they cared, they would go out of their way to ask him, routinely check up on him, and not just when he was conveniently in front of them. They only asked because they were aware of the situation. Aware of his misfortune. 

The guy who lost everything in 13 minutes. 

The survivor of a freak accident. 

Someone you’d pity from a far but thanked whoever that the situation never happened to you. 

For that reason alone Miguel always lied and said he was ‘fine’ or that he was ‘holding up okay’. They’d give him pitying eyes, tell him that ‘things will get better’ and then kept it pushing. Usually, when it came to these questions, Miguel’s automatic response is to lie. But there was just something about you; Changed yet The Same you, where Miguel felt that he owed the honest and naked truth to. 

“Honestly?” He drags a hand down his face. “I’m barely holding up at all. Everyday I feel like shit and if one day I surprisingly don’t, I know it’s a fluke and that I will definitely feel like shit tomorrow. It’s just a constant state of feeling off and never truly yourself.” 

There’s a slight pause. It’s comfortable. 

During that pause, you’re both privy to the music of party life. Chortling men, gossiping woman, squealing kids. It’s bittersweet because it kinda reminds Miguel of what he could have had. 

Taking a swig of your drink, you make a humming noise before you’re replying to his triad. 

“Damn. That’s rough, buddy.” 

Miguel snorts. 

Not because he likes how you’ve brushed off his miniature melancholy rant but because he gets the reference. Throughout the course of the barbecue, he thinks that’s one of his favourite things he’s noticed about you. 

You both fall into another comfortable silence, before you’re adding:

“You know, being a widow kinda suits you.” 

Maybe he spoke too soon about what his favourite thing about you was because now Miguel’s choking on his cider and wondering whether this too was a pop culture reference. 

“I— wha— you can’t just say that kinda shit!” He turns to you and exclaims.  

You scoff before rolling your eyes.

“You know I don’t mean it like that. Not that I like what’s happened to you — Rest in Peace to them — but as in the reverence that’s come with the trauma? It suits you. It’s matured you.” 

You lull into another short pause but Miguel knows you weren’t finished. He also wonders if you’ve always been this harsh. 

“Not sure if you’re aware but you were a real tool growing up, Miguel. Utter pure, soft, sheltered muck. This whole thing? It’s pushed you to survive. Moulded you. Given you a bit of character building, if you like.”

Your voice is much more calmer but it doesn’t change the fact that you just landed him with the most self-dismantling piece of information he’s heard in a while. 

And yet it’s so bizarre because Miguel can’t help but find himself laughing. 

Not one of those nose snorts when the group chat send subjectively funny memes or when he watches silly animal videos on his phone. No, Miguel’s caving over, free arm clutching to his stomach as he lets out a hefty guffaw. It doesn’t last long though. After about several seconds he completely stops laughing and sits back up regularly. 

Initially, you think he was about to tell you it was all an act and what you said was in fact highly offensive. But it’s when he reverts back to his original position and continues to let out small huffs of laughter that you realise he’s just not used to reacting to things he finds extremely funny.  

Which you’re questioning because nothing you said was a joke, but anything to get the sad man to smile, right?

But alas, seeing as he found humour in what you said, you let out a dry accompaniment of a laugh. 

The two of you probably looked crazy, or at least drunk, as you each mildly chuckled away, weakly swaying side to side. When you both found it funny enough to stop laughing, Miguel spoke up first. 

“Character building…” He huffs before taking another swig of his cider. “Well, that’s one way to put it.” 

You turn your body in the man’s direction and he knows you have something profound to say. Miguel realises within some meta existence outside of himself that your company is oddly easy to keep. 

“How else can you view it?” You warmly reply. “That it was meant to be? That you simply have bad luck? I dunno but every other option is just too demeaning and lifeless to live by. With this explanation at least it gives you a reason to carry on.” 

Miguel nods solemnly with a pondering look on his face. 

“I never saw it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were grieving.”

There’s a pause but it’s not like the others you’ve shared so far. This silence was slightly uncomfortable, uncalled for even. Miguel didn’t mind it because he feels he’s already gone pass the point of feeling embarrassment with you but he could tell it put you in a compromising position. 

Looking over to him, your face vacates something undetectable. 

“And about that…” 

You softly clear your throat. Miguel is about to take another swing of his drink, but it’s when he sees a glint of something in your eyes, that he decides to slowly lower the bottle neck from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry for not being there for you. In all honesty I was around when it happened and definitely knew what was going on I just…I didn’t know how to approach you about it. We’d grown apart for a bit and it was just…it felt strange to give my condolences after being distant from you for so long.”

There’s a tingling sensation scratching at the cage of Miguel’s chest. 

He doesn’t know what the feeling is. All he knows is that he hasn’t felt it in awhile. But then again, Miguel hasn’t felt a lot of things in awhile so he’s not questioning what it is. But most of all, Miguel is surprised that he’s feeling things for once. He’s not sure if he wants to confront himself about them but he knows that they’re influencing his thought process. 

Miguel tries to take a sip of his drink, but suddenly the liquid felt foreign in his mouth and his throat seemed unwilling to gulp it down.  

He contemplates backwashing it back into the bottle but he’s suddenly subconscious about his image in front of you and how you perceive him. 

Weird. 

He forces the cider down. 

“It’s whatever. Shit happens.” He says while squeezing the edges of his lips clean. 

You make a noise of disagreeal. You used to make it all the time as a teen. Miguel wonders if you continued using it after all these years or if you just redeveloped the habit having being in his presence. He also notices how your chair seems to be a lot closer to his despite you never moving once. 

“I know.” You say with slow and downward enunciation. “But either way, I’m sorry. I should have done better by you.” 

You’re trying to stress something to him. He knows that now for sure but Miguel doesn’t know what you’re putting down or what he’s allowed to pick up. 

He watches over at you with firm determination to find out what you’re insinuating but once he sees the way your eyes reflect the fiery dances of ambers, oranges and borderline crimson reds, he turns his head forwards again and clears his throat.

“I hear it. I appreciate your honesty.”

 

Miguel doesn’t know how he got into this position. 

Actually, he does. He very clearly remembers how he asked you if you wanted to carry on talking inside, within his room specifically, and how he smooth talked you into getting on your knees.

But in all honesty, he didn’t mean for it to turn out this way (or maybe he did). Yeah, he may have walked up those stairs with his dick lurching colourfully within his pants at the insinuation, but his initial intentions was to give you a safer space to talk. He’s honest when he says his invitation was powered by a lot more than just pure unadulterated lust.

“Fuck…” He hisses once you scrape your bottom teeth ever so lightly against his shaft. 

Miguel doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t think animalisticaly stuffing them in your hair will do him any good and he thinks a hand on the cheek is too intimate. All he can find appropriate is to splay his hands behind him and slightly lean back to watch you work. 

It’s almost alien seeing how your cheeks hollow over his cock and how your eyes fluttered shut as you manoeuvre your mouth up and down the length of his member, your hand helping you with what your mouth couldn’t reach. 

Miguel doesn’t think there’s anything dehumanising about this.

He was so sure you were giving him the eyes back in the garden. And with the way your lips quipped to one side when he invited you into his room? Yeah, you were big people now. Adults. These sort of things weren’t like hushed secrets or tales of promiscuous old — these were You Either Do or Don’ts — and you both decided to Do. 

“I-I’m close.”

No, there was nothing dehumanising about having your now super hot (and single!) childhood friend suck your cock within your childhood bedroom whilst your parents backyard party went on just outside your window. 

Whether it felt right or not was for Later Miguel to worry about. 

Despite his heed, you were still working your mouth over his cock. Your lips were so prettily spaced around his girth — almost a perfect fit, and Miguel knows he could easily finish this way but he’s making an active decision not to. 

He wants to be mildly selfish and ask for more.  

“I-I said I’m…nrgh.” Miguel sits forward before laying a few fingers to your forehead. “I don’t want to finish like this.” 

You release Miguel’s cock from your mouth with a pop but you don’t leave him hanging dry. Your hand continues to stroke at his wet shaft and fuck, the way your lips glisten with your spit and his precum is legitimately going to push him off the edge, but he has to refrain himself.  

“How else did you plan on finishing?” You quip. 

Miguel seems to freeze as he gives you a look of expected understanding, and at first, he’s so sure you were going to make him spell it out but as predicted, you caught on quick and your eyes widen in realisation. 

“Oh.”

Your hand discontinues stroking Miguel’s cock and he mildly panics at your response. 

That didn’t seem like a good ‘oh’. Miguel doesn’t mean to be an enemy of his own progress but trust for him to end the day with a fractured friendship and blue balls. Suddenly, Miguels backpedalling on his initial stance of being selfish and getting what he wants. 

“We don’t have to. I—Only if it’s okay with you, if you’re comfortable with it.” 

“No. It’s fine.” Your tongue pokes out to swipe at your lips. Fuck. “Might as well get something out of this.” You quip. 

Miguel wonders whether he should have been cautious of how rusty his pipe game had gotten. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since his late wife and even then, he stayed off of her most of her pregnancy. Either way, as he’s thrusting his cock in and out of you, all he can think of is how forward you were with telling him about himself outside in the garden. 

It’s not like he was a masochist or into degradation, but there was something about the way you were so bold and open in highlighting his flaws despite the satellite silence for well over a decade.

“How’s this for maturity, huh? For character building?” He grunts into your ear. 

Okay, so maybe Miguel’s sex talk has gotten only a bit rustier, but with the way whimpering whines dribble from your lips, he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger like a promise string. He folds you into a deeper mating press, your feet cuddling his upper back and his body pressed against the warmth of your breasts. 

“M-Miggy.” You moan into his collarbone. 

The nickname causes an innate and deep annoyance to sprout from Miguel’s chest — so much so that he replies inadequately.  

“Shut up.” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he notices your stilling against his body and he immediately regrets his words. He however continues to fuck into you. 

“S-sorry. I di-didn’t me—“

“Miggy.” You moan again, this time with even more intentional lust and immediately he knows what you’re doing. 

“Don’t.”

His warning is solid, and inertly tinged with concern, because Miguel’s unsure how he’s supposed to look you in the eyes after this. You’re playing devious games, dangerous ones as you nail at his back.  

“T-t-touch me, Miggy.”

Now, you’re really testing his patience but also his limits because Miguel is taking everything in him not to go all out. 

And so he complies. Despite him knowing that it was going to rot at his brain for eons and eons to come, that he wasn’t going to be able to back away from this now that he’s had a taste, that he couldn’t go back to be being just Childhood Friends with you, he complies. 

One of Miguel’s hands reaches down between the both of you and once he wedges it close enough, he allows his thumb to swipe at the meat of your swollen clit. 

The mewl you let out is instant and makes Miguel’s dick hiccup inside of you and suddenly he’s seeing stars. Had you no concern for the party still very much going on? The possibility of someone hearing you? The issue of getting caught?! 

A devious grin finds its way onto Miguel’s lips and he’s pressing wet open mouth kisses just below your earlobe. 

“You’re so fucking dirty.” He breathes. 

Quite frankly he’s lying through his teeth. 

There is nothing about this experience or your request or your wanton reaction that was dirty. It was all in fact very sexy, lucrative. Hot. Miguel would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every wet second of it. 

The man can’t help but look down and watch as he bounces his hips harder against your seeping cunt. White froth forms around the base of his dick and he can’t deny that the sight arouses him. 

“Is this who you really are, huh? All this time…all this time.” 

It’s implicit what he accuses that you’re so called hiding, as if you haven’t been transparent with him this whole time. A breathy laugh leaves your throat. 

“You’re…pro-projecting.” You mutter. 

All Miguel can moan in reply is: 

“I know.” 

It doesn’t take long after that before you’re cumming around Miguel’s dick and him into the wryly rubber of the condom. 

“Where do we go from here?”

Miguel is first to speak. 

The two of you have been chilling out in silence for the most of twenty minutes. He was kind enough to let you stay underneath his covers. You were comfortable as you used his bed as your own, scrolling through your phone with one hand underneath your head and your feet rubbing like cricket legs. There was enough room for both of you to lie under there but you said something about not wanting to touch him just after sex. 

Miguel deadpanned and then proceeded to call you things like spoilt and bratty in Spanish, but he still let you have your way. 

Now he was sat at the foot of his own bed (can you believe!), back against the wall as he idly played a game on his console. 

His phone had been buzzing all day; Peter and Jess ultimately amusing themselves in the group chat all whilst occasionally asking where Miguel was and whether the social interactions of the barbecue had killed him yet. He could respond now, but he’s saving the reveal of what went down till after you’re out of his hair. That way he can fanboy in the peace of his own company. 

But now that the two of you were silently sharing a space, Miguel is starting to wonder whether he wanted his own isolated company now so that he could think properly. It’s when he’s failed to complete a level for the fifth time in a row (because his minds occupied on you) that he decides to lower the controller and therefore ask you that question.

Your eyes continue to stay glued to your phone screen as you answer him. 

“We don’t have to go anywhere.” You mumble plainly. “Don’t have to put a name on anything.”

Miguel sighs loudly and he’s rubbing his face with both hands. His dramatics pass over you. 

“Fuck, no, no. I’m not doing that. It’s either we are or wes isn’t. I haven’t got the capacity for any of that situationship, fuck buddies, friends with benefits bullshit people’ve got going on.” 

Miguel is scared for himself once he says the words because it’s only after they tumble out his mouth that he realises they were kinda harsh — which, technically shouldn’t be a problem concerning that was this evening’s whole weird theme. 

But he feels even more afraid because as stupid as it sounds, he can’t lose you. Another staple in his life. Despite him only reconnecting with you for the past few hours or so, Miguel has grown very attached to you and would be an idiot to deny that you meant a lot to him. 

He couldn’t afford to lose you over one fuck. 

Either way, Miguel doesn’t regret those words. They were a direct reflection of how he felt, of what he was thinking whilst he was fucking into you not even half an hour ago. He knows that this one canon event has caused a split trajectory for the both of you. Miguel thinks whatever happens after this is just another testament to how life continuously deals him rubbish cards but he can’t figure out what’s worst: having to let go of a possibly good thing or deal with the change that will now inevitably come with the relationship. 

However you, clearly not as turmoiled as Miguel, slightly lower your phone screen from your face so that you could stare at the man. 

“Then ‘wes isn’t��� anything then. Simple as.” 

It was so obvious this was affecting Miguel internally because there’s that screw up face he does when he’s inadvertently tickled by something he’s heard. He use to do that a lot growing up. 

“How can you be so calm about this?” He asks. 

“Because it’s not that deep.” You shrug. 

Now Miguel’s leaning closer to you, voice seeming to seethe but as a clear defence mechanism. 

“Whaddyou mean it’s not that deep?!” He spits. 

Because he’s acting like this, you now have to lock your phone and place it down onto the bed so that you can give him your utmost attention. You’re even thinking to back track your earlier words about him having matured. It was obvious that he was still that same young boy who sought to always get what he wanted. 

In a weird sense, it was comforting. 

“Not in that way, dummy.”

You force yourself to sit up against his headboard, the blanket sliding down to expose your naked chest. 

“I didn’t see sex with you as casual, Miguel. It was definitely something. But I’m just… Mm. I don’t wanna say I’m not in a rush to label anything but, it’s you. Lil o’ Miggy from two doors down. There’s too much to us and who we are, how long we’ve known each other, how much we’ve experienced each other to let sex completely change that.” 

You can tell he wasn’t expecting your words because his face falls and his eyes widen. He’s so unaware of his facial expressions that it’s cute. 

With a huff of laughter you shake your head before slouching backwards even more. The way your eyes doll over him was surely a testament to your lack of will power when it came to him. Always has and always will be. 

“I love you but in a much bigger way than just platonically or romantically or sexually. You mean a lot to me and I’m grateful we were able to have that experience to strengthen that.” You say softly. 

Miguel finally closes his mouth. His eyes still bore holes into you but you can see his skin start to redden in the embarrassment from the chest upwards. 

You’d figure it’d be a lot for him to take in. Granted — because hearing your childhood friend say they loved you in a much larger capacity than anyone ever could — despite having not seen each other in years, straight after sex, was definitely something. And you figure that part of it was you trying to express to him that you really were sorry, so you realise your triad can almost be viewed as borderline manipulative, but you wasn’t lying.  

You loved the man in a bigger way than fathomably possible, and that was the truth. 

Finally coming to his senses, Miguel leans back against his bedroom wall again, picks up his controller and resumes to play his game. Initially, you think he’s taken your words the wrong way and misunderstood you, but then he starts mumbling something as he’s watching the screen with a hard stare and blotchy crimson skin. 

“That’s unfair.” He mumbles, the click of the controller working in between pauses. “You can’t tell me you love me whilst showing me your boobs. It’s cheating.” 

And you laugh, because what else can you do? As hard-headed and brash as he was in his earlier days, this was who Miguel was. It’s the first version of him you ever fell in love with and didn’t stop loving. It’s the version you’re carpingly in love with now.

Lifting up a corner of the duvet, you give the man permission to join you in his own bed.  

“Miggy, just get underneath the blanket and stop pouting at me.” You say, and he can’t but help instantly crawl over and dutifully comply. 

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 17

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Honestly, not many warnings here. Mostly fluff and some sexy flirting and blood drinking/talk of biting. Summary: On the night of the Samhain ball, your long-anticipated return home is marked with tears, hugs, and a very important announcement. Notes: Next week's epilogue will be the official end of this story, my darlings, and I am so grateful for every single one of you who has come along for the ride!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16

"Miss Allison, I promise you that everything is under control." Mrs. Taylor has watched Allison work her very hardest to finish the plans on the Samhain ball, and she has done wonderfully. Far more wonderfully than Allison herself would ever take credit for. Now, though, it is up to Mrs. Taylor and the rest of the staff to get the buffet tables and innumerable chairs set. "Please go and get dressed. We will take care of everything from here. It is going to be a wonderful night."

“Are you sure?” She bites her lip and wracks her brain, running through the mental checklist that has been swirling through her mind and double then tripled several times.

"This is not, as you like to say, my first rodeo." The elder vampire chuckles at the expression and motions toward the stairs. "There is plenty of time. Take a shower or even a bath. Relax yourself. Get dressed. It is time to enjoy your night."

“Do you think we ordered enough blood and donors?” She asks worriedly. Vampires from all over are descending on the estate and some do not drink from blood bags, so concessions had to be made.

“Mr. Finchley counted through the bags this morning and Renee is meeting each of the donors as they arrive.” Mostly students from the neighboring college, the set of a dozen voluntary donors for the night have signed contracts for financial compensation that they are permitted to back out of at any time if they should decide — and they will also be provided with enormous care packages made by the Taylors regardless of how long they stay or how many guests partake of their blood. Mrs. Taylor has baked and cooked enough in advance for each of them to essentially have a week’s worth of free food and Mr. Taylor went through enormous trouble to find them all manner of health and self-care items as well as other goodies. “Mr. Taylor had offered to speak to everyone but Renee thought the young ladies who signed up might be less intimidated if she was the one to greet them.”

“That would be best. I can also meet with them. Explain how it is for a human.” She offers with a slight blush. Last night she and Eddie had indulged in that particular activity after the conversation they had and she loved it.

Mrs. Taylor smiles at Allison’s blush, not calling attention to it but certainly noting the happiness in the young woman. Things appear to be going quite well. “I’m sure they would be comforted to hear from you.”

“Then I will meet with them when they are ready.” Allison decides with a smile. “Please have someone inform me when that is?”

“They have been asked to arrive by nine o’clock tonight.” The mantle clock beside them reads just after seven, meaning there truly is plenty of time. “The Master is taking it upon himself to greet any trick or treaters we might have tonight, so do not feel you need to rush in readying yourself.”

“He loves children, doesn’t he?” Allison asks, tilting her head and smiling at the thought of the elder vampire greeting kids and cooing over their costumes.

“He does.” Mrs. Taylor nods. The same expression of soft admiration paints both their features and the housekeeper clasps her hands a moment later. “Would you like a tea tray for your room? Or any help getting ready?”

“Some tea would be lovely.” She admits before she thinks about something else. “Is— has Dolly’s room been prepared for her return?” She asks softly, as if asking about it might jinx things.

An enigmatic smile from Mrs. Taylor is not the reassurance she is looking for, but the vampiric housekeeper has plenty of her own secrets as well. “All is prepared for. Truly, there is nothing for you to worry about. You should try to enjoy yourself tonight, miss.”

“Were you nervous when you were human?” Allison asks in wonder. “Or have you always been so self-assured?”

“Oh goodness no.” That actually illicits a small laugh from her and Mrs. Taylor shakes her head. “It took a good century or so to find my calm, dear girl. Before that I was as nervous as a spring bride in the morning. I simply learned to…what is your phrase? Fake it ‘til I make it. Eventually it just sank in.”

“Good to know.” She’s more assured than some, but this is her first big event and she feels like she needs to prove herself worthy to Eddie’s sire.

“Everything will be just as you wished it to be.” Mrs. Taylor promises. “Now go on. I will bring your tea up myself.”

“Thank you.” Allison flashes her a grateful smile before turning around and doing as she says.

The artfully made Alice in Wonderland and Mad Hatter costumes that Eddie found for them are hanging in his closet and Eddie himself is sitting on the bed with a copy of the party itinerary in his lap when she walks in. "Hey baby." Almost instantly, he's at her side with his arms around her. "Did Mrs. Taylor banish you from the ballroom to get ready?"

“She did.” Allison huffs out a laugh and shakes her head. “I was told that she has it completely under control. But I want this to be perfect.”

“It will be.” He squeezes her tight and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “If I suggest we take a shower will that actually relax you a little? Everything is going to be great, baby.”

“It depends.” Allison admits with a grin. “Will you…feed off me again?” She asks quietly, amazed at how much of a rush of endorphins it can be.

Eddie’s chuckle is deep, tinged with equal parts amusement and desire. “I will. Because I can smell how badly you want me to.”

Biting her lip, she grins and bats her eyelashes at him. “You don’t seem to mind it.” She reminds him, finding it intoxicating when it fires him up. He loses control for a split second when he starts to drink.

With his hands on her hips, Eddie whirls Allison around and starts walking her toward the shower with urgency. “Alright. Let’s go. Very important shower to take.”

Her laugh is one of delight and she’s ecstatic that one day, she won’t have to secretly worry about growing old and leaving Eddie. She’ll be right there with him. “Baby?” He hums and she giggles. “Can we still do this once I’m changed?”

“Shower together?” He huffs at her playfully because he knows that isn’t what she meant. “I mean we can, but vampires don’t sweat so we don’t need to wash as much.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes before she turns around to start undressing. “You know what I meant.”

“We can,” he stresses the second word and tugs off his t-shirt. “But the thing that’s weird about it is that if you drink my blood and I’m the one who turned you…it doesn’t quite taste right. It’s like an evolutionary red flag, or something like that. To prevent vampires from consuming their kin. So if you want to keep doing this, and you want it to taste good and give adrenaline and all that? I would recommend that we ask someone else to change you.”

“Would you mind?” She asks quietly. Changing a person into a vampire is also quite intimate and she doesn’t want to upset him.

“I would prefer you chose someone you know well, if it isn’t going to be me.” He can understand her choice is entirely her own, but to make another vampire is a deeply intimate and meaningful relationship. It’s why so many refer to those they have sired as their children.

“I was thinking about asking your sire.” Allison admits. “Since he approves of me.”

“Hmmm.” Eddie kisses her cheek this time, pretending to consider something he already knows is a good idea. “Are you sure you want Max for a big brother?” He teases.

She snorts and shrugs. “He will be either way.” She admits, knowing that Eddie will always be around Max. Plus she kind of likes the other vampire for his treatment of you.

“I guess that’s true.” Eddie grins, though, and helps Allison out of her last few items of clothes after turning on the hot water for them. “To be honest, I thought you might pick Mrs. Taylor, but I have no doubt if we ask him about it later, he will say yes.”

“I hope to have more of a sisterly relationship with Mrs. Taylor.” Allison admits. “Although if your sire thinks it’s a good idea, I would be fine with that.”

“I doubt dear old dad will object to siring you. But be prepared for him to make a very big deal about it.” Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. “Dramatic son of a bitch.”

“You’re dramatic in your own way.” She teases, sliding her hands up his cool chest and grinning at him.

“I’ve been well trained, I guess.” He huffs, but pulls her into the shower with him. “I’m glad you seem to like it.”

“Oh I do.” She promises, standing on her tip toes to kiss him. “I absolutely do.”

******

"This place looks incredible!" Tracy squeals, throwing her arms around Allison almost the second she's inside the house. "Holy shit, holy shit everything is amazing. And what is that smell? Are you burning incense in the house or something?"

“The food.” There’s probably some incense burning as well, but all the human food is fragrant. “You look incredible!”

"Oh, this old thing?" Tracy giggles as she twirls around in her Clueless costume and poses like a model. She and Candance and one of the other women from the coven decided to come as Cher, Tai, and Dionne tonight. "As if, right?"

“No, you look amazing, I don’t think there will be a pair of eyes that don’t stop on you and admire.” Allison gushes, grinning at the other woman. “And you’ll be dancing all night.”

"I can't believe how good the house looks and how good you look!" She jumps forward to squeeze Allison tightly again. "Everything is perfect."

“Yes it is.” Since the shower and getting dressed, she’s calmed down. It’s too late to change anything and what will be, will be. She’s left it in Mrs. Taylor’s capable hands.

Tracy bites her lip as Candace comes up beside her. “Any sign of…?”

Allison sighs, chewing on her lip worriedly and glancing around. “Not yet. But knowing Max, he will make it as dramatic as possible and arrive at midnight like some reverse pumpkin fable.” She snorts, hiding her own nerves behind the facade of humor.

“Oh god, you’re right,” Candace snorts. She reaches to hug Allison tightly and shakes her head in some sort of fond exasperation. “And he’ll have figured out how to cue Phantom of the Opera entrance music or something.”

“That would actually have been a wonderful idea!” Allison gasps. “Next year. Next year’s theme is decided.”

“All of Broadway, or specifically Phantom?” Tracy giggles at the idea, already on board.

“Phantom.” Allison knows you would love the idea. “We could honestly have a Broadway themed ball every year.”

“Different time periods, different Broadway shows, different literary influences…” Candace sighs dreamily. “My vote is for a Jane Austen ball.”

“Ohhhh that would be wonderful.” Allison sighs as well, enchanted by the idea. “It would be a very proper ball.”

“What would be?” Eddie, who had been at the front door making sure the signs for parking and entry were clear enough and in the right places, now comes up behind his girlfriend and slips one arm around her waist.

“Hi.” She beams at Eddie and sighs at the idea of him in a Regency era suit. “A Jane Austen ball.”

“Ooo, you would love that.” He coos softly and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Mr. Finchley is out front to help with parking and direct people who haven’t been here before. The first cars were pulling in when I came inside. I thought you ladies would like to know.”

“Oh, it’s time.” Allison panics for a split second but Eddie’s hand on her waist steadies her. “Then I guess you and I should stand in and greet the guests.”

“And we will man the donation table.” Tracy grabs Candace’s hand. One of the main points of the night is still to collect for charity, and every party goer is supposed to be bringing in a canned or boxed food item for the local food bank. Between the food drive and proceeds from ticket sales going to nearest women’s shelter, the night should end up being a rousing success on all fronts as long as everyone has a good time.

“Thank you.” Allison throws them grateful smiles, happy that she has such a good coven to help her.

“Come on, love,” Eddie encourages her. There is a broad, proud smile on his face and he kisses her other cheek this time. “We have guests to greet.”

“Yes we do.” In your absence, Allison wants to be the best hostess so the reputation of the party grows. This could be a success for years to come.

The first half hour or so of arrivals is a trickle. Coven members, the teachers and students from the dance studio that you and Max had gone to. Some of the museum docents from the local preservation society have arrived as a group in full costume. A few folks from the charities benefiting from tonight’s collections also arrive in their festive Halloween costumes, and a smattering of students from the nearby college as well. It’s over an hour into the night when a sleek, black sports car with tinted windows that Allison doesn’t recognize, pulls up under the porte-cochere and Mr. Taylor looks particularly amused — or even smug? — when he opens the door.

“Allison!” Though you haven’t aged a day to the naked eye, the way you hold yourself is different now. Over a hundred years changes a person, and the trauma that had once governed all of your actions has melted away to be left far in the past. But a straighter spine and surer shoulders are not what matters now. Not as you haul yourself out of the car in the beautifully elaborate gown that you wore to the first Samhain ball you ever attended — the one thrown by your abuela in 1885 when you decided to stay in the past. You and Max had thought it was a symbolic choice to wear the same clothes tonight.

Eddie’s eyes widen when Max pops out of the driver’s side and zips around to immediately take your hand, smirking slightly at the surprise and delight of the people gathered who recognize them. “I told you we haven’t missed the dancing.” He muses to you as he guides you towards the receiving party. “Edward, you look magnificent and that is saying something considering the gorgeous creature next to you.”

“What in the hell?” Eddie’s eyes widen at the deeply obvious change in Max’s demeanor and he can’t help a deep, amused laugh at how giddily you and Allison are greeting each other as he steps forward to either shake Max’s hand or give the bastard a hug. He can’t really figure out which. “Well, goddamn. You—you really did stay, didn’t you?”

Max takes the other vampire’s hand in a firm shake and drags him forward for a hug. “We couldn’t leave.” He admits shamelessly. “That time, the people, it was exactly what we both needed.” He pulls back and grins at Eddie. “But it’s damn good to see you. We missed you both.”

“We missed you, too.” As nervous as they were, and as worried as they were, it’s extremely obvious that whatever had happened, it was a positive decision. “But where the hell did you come from? And how did you leave in the first place? And when were you? We have so many questions.”

“We’ll explain it all.” Max promises. “Dolly has a lot of information to share with the coven. Including Mrs. Astor’s grimoire.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” You cling to Allison happily, drowning in your long-missed friend’s affection, before pulling back to look at her. “You look so happy, honey. That’s so good, and I’m so, so glad to see it.”

Max smirks slightly, sending Eddie a knowing look. “Eddie, you finally made your move.” He hums in approval. “Good, relationship bliss looks good on you both.”

“Come inside,” Eddie insists, practically dragging Max with him and Allison wraps her arm around yours to do the same. “We want to hear everything.”

“Of course you do.” Max is teasing, but if the situations were reversed, he would be hounding Eddie for the details. “First, how long have we been gone? Dates have kind of blurred.”

“About three weeks.” Allison tells him, still clinging to your hand. She’s still reassuring herself that you’re both real. “How long has it been for you guys, though?”

He glances at you and grins before he looks back at Allison and Eddie. “You tell them.” You urge with an indulgent smile since Max has been so excited about this.

“Only a few years.” Max insists. “One hundred and one.”

“So…you went to 1922?” Allison asks, confused because that doesn’t seem to track with what they found in their research.

“Not quite,” you admit, knowing the whole situation probably seems very complicated. “We went to 1885, and came back from 1986. A few weeks before Max was set to be born. You really don’t want to hop around in your own lifetime if you can manage it.”

“So you can move around through time?” Eddie asks, mouth hanging open as every one of his theories is being explained.

“It was by accident the first time.” The admission is a little sheepish, but you look very proud just a second later. “I’m actually quite good at it now.”

“What happened?” Allison demands. “We were thinking something happened to you when your grandfather told us.”

“Unfortunately for him, my ex decided to surprise us on our date.” It’s been a century and the hurt is gone. Not even a sting remains. Derek is no more than a blip in your past and there are now very long stretches of entire decades where you even forget he ever existed. “I tried to keep him away from us with a protection spell but my spellbinding made it go haywire, and instead of protecting Max and myself from Derek, I protected all three of us from that moment in time. It sent us back to the exact same moment, but in 1885.”

“I knew you had to be spellbound!” Allison gasps. “How did you— did you see your mother?” She asks.

"My mother has been my closest friend for a hundred years." It was difficult, moving in and out of each other's lives at times, but with both of you being functionally immortal for that time you both understood that sometimes there was no choice but to be apart. "She even called me the day she met my dad." It was a phone call you had been waiting for, unfortunately. Knowing what would ensue in the coming years, you and Max had taken it as a cue to get out of the country for the remainder of your time in your own past.

“I’m so glad you got more time with her.” Allison glances at Eddie nervously, aware that your grandfather’s announcement tonight might devastate you.

"Then why do you look as though you had lost my favourite sweater?" You reach for her with both hands and squeeze her shoulders gently. "What's wrong, Ali? The place looks amazing, you look happy, and we're finally home again. It should be a night to celebrate."

“It is.” She promises, shaking off the feeling and sending you a smile. “Your grandfather will be happy to see you.” She promises.

"He should be expecting us." Out of anyone in literally all of time, your grandfather has always been the one person most informed about when and where you will be, your plans, and anything else you could conceivably need. He's been a wonderful father figure to Max and a doting grandfather to you, as well as an invaluable resource.

“He is.” Allison assures you. “In fact, he was the one to tell us you would be back tonight.” She admits with a rueful grin. “Guess we shouldn’t have doubted him.”

"He's the last person we spoke to before we left 1986," you admit, but you also shrug. After hanging up with your grandfather, you'd definitely spent the next few hours enjoying a nice dinner and fucking all over your empty house. Max's absurd '80s power suits had ended up to be just a little bit of a turn on for you. You're just not quite sure how that happened.

Max smirks, reaching up and caressing the back of your neck as you are obviously thinking about the same thing he is. “That was a lucky year.” He teases softly.

"Very lucky." Your own smirk meets his and for one happy moment you forget anyone else exists, just sharing an amused glance with your soulmate. It may be more than a hundred years later, but you still fall a little more in love with him every day.

He arches a brow and licks his lips. “No one would miss us for a few minutes, would they?” He asks, even though he knows he can’t sneak you away for a quickie.

Allison snorts in amusement, shaking her head at Max seemingly not changing at all in his core, despite the changes in his manners on the surface. "It's your house, guys," she reminds you both.

“No.” Max shakes his head and smiles at your friend. “My wife has waited way too long to see you again to sneak her off.” He admits with a chuckle. “And I’ve been told if I mess up her hair before our first dance, there’s hell to pay.”

"It'll be Gladys Vanderbilt's debutante ball all over again," you tease. The fond roll of your eyes is nothing but love after so many years together. "Although..." Looking up at him, you flash him a sly smile. Hearing him call you his wife still hasn't gotten old. "It's been what...fifty years now, since the last time we had a wedding? We might be due for another one."

“You’re married.” Eddie is the one who practically squeals it. He has known Max to be staunchly against being tied down, but that was before you. “How many times have you gotten married?”

"Um..." The look you and Max share is vague confusion, as between the two of you, you try to count out the different weddings you have celebrated over the decades. "1885...1923...1946...1967...and the last one was 1980. So five times. And I guess that's not quite fifty years ago. More than forty, though."

“Oh my god.” Allison whispers, glancing between you and Max in amazement. “Five weddings? Max you are just….” She shakes her head and throws her arms around him while looking over her shoulder at Eddie. “You have a standard now.”

“Sorry Eddie,” you tease, enjoying the easy lightness of being with your friends again. The urge to just continuously hug them and not let go is very real. “Although it is fun. And parties these days are so much more casual than they once were. That makes it a bit easier. Or at least less forbidding to plan.”

“I want to experience that.” Eddie admits, reaching out taking Allison’s hand. “We have decided that Allison will become immortal soon.” He announces after she gives him a soft smile of encouragement.

“Oh, honey!” Your eyes flit between both of them before you bundle them both up in a hug with a beaming smile. “There is so much life to live. You’re going to love it.”

“I can’t take Eddie’s blood like you can with Max.” Allison doesn’t mind that, not really. All that matters is that Eddie wants her. “And Eddie doesn’t want to…outlive me.”

“I think it’s an oversight on the universe’s part that you aren’t soulmates.” The connection they have is so strong and their love so sure, you would have just assumed it if you hadn’t been around when they started dating. “It’s wonderful to hear that you’ll be able to be together.” Glancing over your shoulder, you smile at your own partner. Your other half throughout all of history. “Forever is quite fun, I have to admit.”

“You don’t look a day older.” Allison smirks as she takes in the changes you have brought back from the past. Self-assurance looks amazing and you seemingly glow. No longer the scared woman she had met in a farmer’s market, you are almost intimidating, and your entire aura radiates powerful magic.

“That’s a combination of Max’s blood and Audrey Hepburn’s face cream.” You smirk conspiratorially. “I’ll guard that potion with my life, since you won’t be needing it once you’ve been changed.”

“Interesting.” Her brow wings up at the mention of the famous actress, realizing you must have met her at some point. “Hepburn was a witch?”

“Particularly good with charms and potions. And she was fun. You never hear about her being fun, but she was great.” Beside you, Max has one arm around your waist and he hums proudly. “Max was a movie producer after the Second World War.”

“Really?!” The squeal is loud and enthusiastic and all heads snap towards the group. “Oh— that’s— I can’t believe we didn’t find you.”

“We were using different names at that point.” It had been essential to learn how to craft and re-craft new identities. Luckily, your grandparents had been fountains of information. “And Max only produced, so it’s not as though we were in anything.”

“Still.” She shakes her head and giggles. “The stories you can tell. What else have you two done?”

"I'll tell you everything starting tonight," you promise her, as the four of you step deeper into the house. It's good to be back at Chateau-sur-Mer again. To you and Max it has been just a few years since the last time you were here, but that's long enough to miss it. "But tomorrow you should come over to our house for dinner."

“Your house?” Her eyes widen and Allison frowns in confusion. “Dolly— th-this is your home. Cookie willed it to you, remember?”

"I know." And it is good to be back, but you rub Allison's arm affectionately. "But to avoid complications with my family through history...Max and I built another house here in Newport."

“When?” “Where?” Allison and Eddie ask at the same time with identical sounds of bewilderment.

They've reached a place where they have the same voice sometimes and it makes you smile softly. "You know that little gothic house on the beach that has basically been abandoned for the last couple of decades but somehow never decays? Seacliff Castle?" Beside you, Max smiles proudly. "It was finished in 1888. Max and Yayo designed it with the architect who built this place."

“You are kidding me!” Allison’s screech can raise the dead and she looks like a kid who was just told she was going to Disney and getting a puppy. “I have always wanted to tour that house, but no one knows who owns it. But it was you all along?”

"Come over tomorrow and we'll show you the whole place," you promise her, giggling happily at the absolute glee in her reaction. "But tonight? I want to see what you've done with the ball. I know it's going to be amazing."

“I have been so nervous.” She admits quietly. “But I think we have everything. Including donors for those who don’t eat bagged blood.”

“Mrs. Taylor and Yayo would never let you have anything less than a perfect night.”

“Do I hear my name being taken in vain?” From a nearby dark corner, your grandfather emerges into the low, atmospheric lighting of the great hall.

Max chuckles as he hears his sire’s voice. “Always.” He shakes his head. “Dramatic like always,” he jokes, having told you that your grandfather would make a dramatic entrance.

“I have learned that there are some things which are expected of me,” he jokes pleasantly. “Your journey was not difficult, then?”

“No.” Max reaches out and shakes his sire’s hand warmly and pulls the elder vampire in for a hug. “Cookie did not stake you for keeping our true relationship a secret, I see.” He jokes, even though everyone already knew that.

“She was…not happy.” He clears his throat distinctly remembering that particular fight with his soulmate. Cookie had been furious to find out that her beloved granddaughter and the witch she had been so fond of for a hundred years were one and the same.

“Hopefully she understood eventually why we had to keep it from her, and from Annie.” The contact with your mother had lessened over the years but she had never demanded that they choose sides, something Max had been grateful for – for your sake.

“She did understand.” He is sure of that, considering how very much it had been discussed. “But she regretted not being able to dote on you both as her grandchildren.”

“She did dote on us though.” Max protests and shakes his head. “She treated us like we were family and she loved Dolly like another daughter.”

“She did.” His sire nods, knowing it is the absolute truth. He sighs though, with a theatrical shrug of his shoulders. “But you know Cookie. My darling girl loved titles.”

“She was a special lady.” Max has a fonder appreciation for the older woman, even more so with the knowledge she had known who he was when he first arrived and still had kept her word to her husband to not say anything.

“She was remarkable.” Your grandmother may not have been perfect — in fact she was decidedly less than sometimes — but that was what made her so incredibly special to you. She had never demanded that perfection from you or Max that she tended to expect from Annie. Perhaps it was for the best that she didn’t know how you were at the time? You’ll never quite know.

“Yes, she was.” For a brief second, amongst those he is closest to, your grandfather’s grief shines on his face. Missing the other half of his soul as vividly as the day she had passed in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Yayo.” The only one of the four younger beings whose instinct is to reach out, you bundle your grandfather up in a hug. “I miss her, too. Her and Mom.”

He accepts the hug, squeezing you harder than he would have before you started taking Max’s blood. “Thank you, muñeca.” He hums softly, not missing the way that Eddie and Allison shift slightly. “I will be reunited with them soon.”

“You never know when the people we love can come back to us,” you hum, but the look on your grandfather’s face makes you hesitate. “But…somehow I don’t think you’re talking about that…?”

“Because you are bright.” Yayo praises softly, cupping your cheek and smiling at you mysteriously. “It has always been my plan to join my soulmate in her afterlife.” He admits. “Since she decided to end her mortality. I have only extended my time in this existence to make sure you were well settled, my darling muñeca.”

“Oh…” You don’t cry much anymore, but tears well up behind your eyes instantly. Saying goodbye to the last of your family is not something you had prepared for tonight. “I—but—the family?” He has so many more responsibilities than just your immediate family, you can only imagine that he was preparing for this for a very long time. Or else made a lot of decisions very quickly.

“Is your family now.” He reminds you softly. “Although I have decided to name my successor tonight.” He smiles proudly and hopes that you will not be too upset at him.

“This night is much more important than I thought, then.” Stepping back from him, you settle against Max’s side and try for a smile. Your grandfather is doing what will make him happiest and you have to respect that, even if it is rather a big shock.

“You will understand.” He promises, smiling at the group and then motioning towards the ballroom. “Let the evening begin.”

******

The evening, as Yayo so elegantly termed in, is incredible. With the party starting so late and the buffet being available to guests all night long, it seems that the ebb and flow of partygoers is constant. Music plays, people dance, and the lingering masses of vampires throughout the house are generally met with curiosity from the humans who find them fascinating — though they don’t quite know why. Those who are attending as donors are spoiled immensely and some have been given guest rooms for the night, but for the most part they seem to be an altogether dreamy sort of drunk to the unaware humans present. It is not until Yayo disseminates word to his extended family of brooding immortals to meet in the morning room that any sort of tension cracks the enjoyment of the night.

Max holds your hand, aware that you are upset, and he wishes he had some insight into this talk. As close as he had become to the older vampire, he hadn’t had a clue he was planning on giving up his immortality. “It will be alright.” He assures you softly, squeezing your hand.

“I know.” You squeeze his hand tenderly and lean into his side, long ago having learned how to be close even while wearing large gowns. You just wish you had had more notice. Time to prepare. “He just has to be dramatic as hell about all of this. Calling a family meeting in the middle of a ball? Very Yayo.”

“He likes to make a scene.” Max snorts, lifting a brow when the servers bring around glasses of blood and champagne for the guests. The one who stops in front of you, hands you a specific glass. “It’s white grape juice, madam.”

The barest sniff of sweet juice proves she is telling the truth, and you smile gratefully. Even after a hundred years? Alcohol holds no appeal for you whatsoever. “Thank you,” you acknowledge with a smile. “My husband prefers something a little richer, if you don’t mind.”

“Mr. Phillips.” Another glass is handed to him and he sniffs it politely.

“Hmmmm AB negative.” He smirks. “Someone put some thought into planning this.”

"Allison said she left blood menus to Mrs. Taylor." There is no mistaking that your friend took the responsibility of planning tonight seriously, and divvying tasks out to the appropriate people when delegation benefited the situation.

“Then I will have to thank her.” Max takes and sip and hums in approval. “But later.”

"Has he started yet?" Eddie and Allison slip into the room beside the two of you, already having said hello to the extended vampiric family earlier in the night.

“Not yet.” Max eyes the elder vampire. “I think he was waiting for something.”

"It's always something," you hum, sharing a grin with Allison as the same passing waitress who served you and Max returns to offer Eddie and Allison drinks before exiting the room. When she goes, she shuts the morning room door behind her.

“I would like to thank everyone for traveling to attend tonight.” Yayo’s voice never seems to raise in volume but it booms around all of you clearly. “Not only is this a worthy cause to humans dear to my heart, but it is also a special night for our future.” There is a smattering of polite applause and you lean into Max's side even while Allison does the same with Eddie beside you.

“All the vampires here, I have personally sired.” He reveals with a pleased smirk on his face. Considering there are no fewer than two dozen vampires in the room, a small murmur ripples through the younger of that number. The elder vampires chuckle with the knowledge. “And tonight…” He holds up his own glass of blood. “One of you will replace me as the elder vampire. Leader and mentor to the future.” He announces. “I have decided to join my soulmate in the afterlife.”

The limited, mannered responses are gone in an instant, replaced by an audible gasp and murmured exclamation as the members of your extended — very extended — family all look around the room to see if anyone knew this announcement was coming. Eyes fall on you more than anyone else, wondering if your grandfather will take his biological family into account in this decision.

“I know that a lot of people have wondered who would take my place. And at one point in time, I had imagined my grandson-in-law, Max Phillips, to lead our pack.” He turns his head and acknowledges him with a smile. “However, there is another that I have in mind, since Max will be busy with juggling a new role.”

New role? You look to Max with confusion, but it's clear from the furrow in his brow that he has no idea what your grandfather is talking about either. If anything, his expression is more akin to crestfallen than anything else. He's fallen short of whatever expectation his sire had of him...

“Years ago, I made a mistake.” Yayo admits to the men and women he considers his children. “My Annie, my daughter with my soulmate; I felt she was destined to leave the coven of witches and her soulmate Emmanuel would be the perfect vampire mate. I ended up losing my daughter and never got to properly apologize for placing so much emphasis on the wrong things.” He pauses for a second. “I want my granddaughter and her husband to focus on the most important role of all. They will be becoming parents.”

Enthusiastic is the word for the applause this time, though the reaction from you and Max — the people being announced — is pure shock. "H—how?" How could he possibly know that? Especially before you do?

Your grandfather chuckles, seeing the confusion and bewilderment on your face. “Your smell, my dear muñeca.” He explains with an enigmatic smile. “I have had the pleasure of smelling a vampiric pregnancy before. That is why your soulmate had not been aware either. There is a sweeter note to your blood.”

Honestly, you might be more embarrassed about having it announced in front of so many people if you weren't so flabbergasted by the news. With your jaw practically on the ground and your eyes watering, your free hand goes to your stomach while your other squeezes Max's so tightly you would be afraid of hurting him if he weren't a vampire. You're so shocked that you didn't even notice Allison take the glass from your hand or the proud uncle expression on Eddie's face.

“I want my family to focus on being there, being the best parents they can be.” He admits selfishly with a small shrug. “Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?” He jokes. “Max however, will be vital to the next leader. His own wisdom far greater than my own, and I feel that he will make Edward Perez the best leader vampires have ever had.”

Eddie's gasp is even more audible than your own when he hears his sire say his name. For that matter, it's been almost ten years since he used his mortal surname, and hearing it spoken so proudly is a kind of gratification that he can't quite express. While it's true that his sire — the entire room's sire — had given him more than ample guidance over the decades, Eddie hadn't ever considered himself anything too special. Not until he had started giving him more responsibilities in the last few years. Not until Allison had come along with her staunch and unyielding belief in him. Now it seems like all of that is coming to a head, and he steps forward hesitantly to stand up beside his sire.

“Eddie has been the best vampire that I could have imagined.” Yayo admits. “And Max— he has held a special place in my heart from the very beginning. I know that with Eddie in charge and Max advising him, our numbers will grow and your bonds strengthen.”

If there is any doubt or dissention from the other vampires of the clan, not a word of it is spoken in their sire's presence. Instead Eddie accepts a few nods and a whistle or two from his extended family and looks back at Allison to flash her a smile before putting his hand out to his sire. "I will do everything I possibly can to live up to this responsibility, and the faith that you've placed in me."

Max smiles, still a little shocked that he had not known you were pregnant. Leaning close and inhaling your scent to recognize the sweet, floral undertones to your blood for what it is. He had just imagined it was because modern food was processed with more sugar than in the past.

“I can’t be that far along, can I?” You whisper to him under the commotion of vampires now moving forward to shake Eddie’s hand or meet Allison for the first time. Many of them had not bothered to meet the younger vampire’s partner earlier in the night but they are making the effort now. “I mean…” you look up at your soulmate with disbelieving tears in your eyes, beaming an enormous smile at him. “I haven’t even missed my period yet.”

“No.” Max can’t help but lean closer to smell you again, addicted to the idea that you are carrying his child. If his own tears are concealed by your neck, that’s just a coincidence. “Your smell hasn’t been sweeter for long. Only a few days.”

“It’s sweeter?” Somehow that is just about the cutest thing you’ve ever heard — that pregnancy can and does make your scent sweeter instead of anything else — and the water behind your eyes presses at them again.

“It is.” Max hums softly, smiling at the newfound knowledge. Committing this smell to memory. “We will have to make sure you stay healthy, my love.”

"It's a damn good thing that I mined abuela for information about carrying a half-vampire baby while I still had the chance." The hand you have on your stomach curls in, conscious of the corset under your dress but knowing that there isn't anything but a tiny little bundle of cells in there right now. "Holy shit...pregnant..."

“I can’t believe it.” It’s not like you’ve been trying but you also have gone over one hundred years without protection. Max had quietly assumed children weren’t to be and had never mentioned it so he wouldn’t worry you. The relief that he can give you a child is one that would make him cry, and he will later on when it’s sunk in.

"I just sort of assumed..." you murmur, leaning into his side and burying your face at his shoulder. In this room you can be quiet as a whisper and everyone will still hear you, but they have enough respect to pretend otherwise. "After so long...I figured it was just...not in the cards."

“It just wasn’t our time yet.” He murmurs softly, smiling at the thought that you are carrying his little baby biter. “Do you want some of my blood or should we find a vintage you like for when the baby demands more than you normally take?”

"Abuela said she ended up drinking a glass of blood at almost every meal in her second trimester." Of course the word trimester hadn't been used in that conversation, but you had made copious detailed notes for yourself after any conversation in which vampire pregnancy or children rearing was mentioned. "I guess I'm going to have to figure out how to drink it when it isn't from you. Maybe mixed with hot cocoa? Or even decaf coffee."

He chuckles. “Actually, you might like it in tomato juice.” He suggests. “Keep you from thinking about it too much.”

"That's not a bad idea." The hand you have in his tightens reflexively, keeping him close and savoring these first few moments of realization. "We'll try a little bit of everything. It's going to be a very interesting nine months, considering I'm only the second woman in the world to carry a vampire's baby."

“I mean technically….” Max grins. “You’re a quarter vampire yourself. A little more than that every night.” He winks at you salaciously.

A momentary snort of amusement breaks a little bit of the bubble of worry that was starting to form in your mind, and you nudge him with your shoulder. "A hundred years later and you can still never resist joking about that."

“Babe, if I ever stop joking about that, you just go ahead to push that stake through my heart.” He jokes, knowing that you would never think about something like that.

"It'll never happen," you laugh, knowing as well as he does that some things will just never change.

“I know.” He bites his lip and grins at you. “So we haven’t had a wedding in this time.” He ventures. “What do you think about a shotgun wedding?”

"Oo, we've never had one of those before." An elopement, a grand party, a trip to City Hall, a backyard barbecue, and a small town bash — all of those you've done. But a shotgun wedding would be a new one for the two of you. "I think it's perfect."

“Now…we have to find out who’s holding the shotguns.” He jokes, pulling you close and pressing his lips to yours. “Do you want to wait until the belly is huge or before?”

"We may not get a chance to have me showing off a baby bump in a wedding dress ever again. I think we have to take advantage of it." He can obviously feel the way your heartbeat has risen, smell the way your adrenaline is singing, but that tender bump of his heart when he kisses you makes it all a perfect symphony.

“Completely agree.” Max nods seriously. “The wedding should be themed. Obviously.”

"Baby themed or cowboy themed?" You ask, laughing but slightly afraid to hear the answer.

“Oh no.” He snorts and sends you a grin. “Hillbilly, shot gun wedding.” He tells you, enjoying the idea immensely even if you would never agree.

Both of you snort, knowing it isn't the kind of thing that you'll ever do, but that joking about it is it's own kind of fun. "Water guns as favours for every guest and a Beverly Hillbillies impersonator to marry us?"

He chuckles and nods. “Something like that.” He jokes before he looks at you seriously. “I do want us to be married officially before the baby is born. In our true timeline.”

"I have no problem with that." Somehow you have a feeling this will be the wedding that matters most to him, whereas the one nearest and dearest to your heart was the one in 1885 where you were surrounded by your family and new friends. Setting both hands on his chest, you lean in to kiss him again and smile softly. "We'll make this one perfect for you, love."

Max knows that after one hundred years of family with your mother and grandparents, he should not have familial hang ups, but he does. “I don’t care about perfect.” He promises. “I just want to do right by you and our child.” He admits. “To be everything my father said I would never be. A good husband, a good father. A good man.”

"Those are the things you are, Max." It never hurts to remind him once in a while. You know that. But you also know that sometimes he has to prove it to himself more than anyone else. "And I'm very proud to be your soulmate."

“I never want that to change.” The Max of before might not have said that in front of a room full of vampires, but he doesn’t care. If they know nothing else about Max Phillips, they should know that he is devoted to his soulmate.

It takes a little while for the hubbub to calm down, but when it does, Eddie squeezes his arm gently around Allison's shoulder on one side of him and looks to his sire and shakes his head in near disbelief. "This is...it's a surprise. I have to admit."

“You don’t think you deserve it?” Max asks, clapping his vampiric brother on the shoulder and even though he’s disappointed for himself, he’s proud for Eddie. He understands why Yayo didn’t name him as the next head of the clan. He would be too distracted by your pregnancy and Eddie is levelheaded where Max is not.

"We're the two youngest, and you're soulmates with his granddaughter," Eddie reminds Max, turning to clap his brother on the shoulder. "You can't blame me for expecting the choice to go in another direction."

“Nah, you deserve it.” Max tells him honestly. “You’re the better vampire and you know it.” He smirks. “Now we just need to get you to act like it.”

"Good thing you're home, then." He laughs, grinning even as he shakes Max's hand with a force that would break a mortal's bones. "We'll catch up with you in a second," he intones, glancing back at you and Allison hugging a few feet away. "I need to talk to our Father about something."

“Of course.” Max flashes him a grin and a wink. “I’m going to go flirt with my wife and your girlfriend.” He teases before moving back to your side protectively.

"Actually..." Allison slips away from your side to take Eddie's outstretched hand. "I'm...part of this conversation. But when we get back out there, I'm stealing you for a dance. Okay, twinkle toes?"

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise furiously but he nods and wraps his hand around your waist. “Hope you’re ready to glide around the floor. I’ve had over one hundred years of practice with Dolly.”

"That's exactly why I'm stealing you," she teases, giving you both a small wave before turning back into Eddie's side to broach the topic of her own siring with the vampire who just stepped down as head of his long-lived clan.

“I wonder if everything is alright.” Max frowns slightly as he looks at the retreating pair and then back at you. “How are you doing, my love?” He asks, cupping your cheek.

"Wonderfully." The glass of grape juice is still sitting nearby and you pick it up, wanting the small comfort of a drink in hand. "In fact, I think when we go home in the morning, we should celebrate."

“How should we celebrate?” Max asks with a grin, even though he’s got some idea.

"Hmmm..." you tease, pretending to think very hard about it even though you already know the answer. "I was thinking...by the same way that we made the little nugget in the first place."

“You mean you want to have sex on the balcony overlooking the ocean and waving to the boats as they pass by?” Max grins as he licks his lips.

"I'm so glad we decided to have a house by the water," you groan softly, humming at the memory of just a few days ago — it was still 1986 but you were back at Seacliff, getting ready to travel back to your own true timeline. "Excellent idea. Extremely good."

“I know.” He grins at you. The house has been a lovely refuge for the two of you. It had given you the separation you needed from mother and grandmother so you didn’t spill the secret.

"So Eddie's head of the vampiric family, huh?" Wrapping your hand around Max's arm, the two of you drift back toward the ballroom at a leisurely pace. "And you'll be his right-hand. That's a hell of a lot of responsibility while we're growing our own family."

“I think that’s why your grandfather didn’t want me to take over.” Max admits. “Although, don’t tell Eddie I said this, he’s a better fit for the job.”

"You're a good pair." You admit that you had balked a little at the time, but when Max had wanted to go check on Eddie's human parents in the few years before he was born, the late 70s and early 80s had actually ended up being a blast. Eddie's little hometown in Northern California was comfortable and fun, and you’d lived a very basic suburban life for a few years. Max had barely stifled tears the day your neighbors had brought little newborn Eddie home from the hospital.

“We’ll see.” Max doesn’t argue but his hand slides down to your stomach proudly. “I’ll honestly be more focused on you and the little biter.” He has already filed the paperwork to ‘inherit’ the money he has made over the past generations. Restraining himself and not taking advantage of his insider knowledge too badly.

“That’s what you’re going with calling the baby, huh?” You raise an eyebrow at him but still end up smiling. You’ve wanted this for so long, it almost doesn’t matter what he calls them.

“I can call them a little pup.” He teases, his chest puffed out proudly. “That’s what baby bats are called.”

“That’s actually kind of cute.” The smile on your face widens again and your hand rests over his on your stomach. “Which is appropriate, since you’ve always been my Cutie.”

His shy grin is always something that makes him look younger and despite the years, he still is bashful about the way he had become a bat to spend more time with you. “Need to find a bat mobile for the crib.” He jokes, “or I’ll just change and flap around to entertain them.”

“It will end up being both.” At the edge of the ballroom, you beam at him proudly and hold out your other hand. “First dance as expectant parents?”

“Always.” Max takes your hand and kisses the back of it. You had mentioned how much you loved the gesture when you had first watched Titanic when you were younger and while back in the 1800s it was extremely appropriate. Now he knows that two hundred years from now, he will still kiss the back of your hand to watch the burst of delight in your eyes. “Waltz with me. Today and every day, my love.”

______

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 20 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 9.2k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

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Chapter 20 - The Way West is Long

You’re sitting in the ambassador's office, nervously wringing your hands. They feel clammy — the sweat on your palms is not cooling, the salt prickling on your skin making you feel even more uncomfortable. You’ve wiped them on the skirt of your dress so many times, but it’s a miracle you haven’t worn through the fabric yet. You’ve never sat here as a guest, only flittered through while cleaning. It feels strange. You shift on the plush seat, ill at ease, out of place. Bradley is standing in front of the ambassador’s desk, back to you, pulled up to his full height, tone commanding. He cuts an impressive figure as he argues with the ambassador. You’re only half listening because you are more fascinated by the sight before you.

Of course, you knew he was an officer, but he never really behaved like it? He was a little too casual, a little too laissez-faire, taking a few too many liberties. Maybe because he was a lieutenant back then, younger, more reckless. Maybe because he thought he would never make it out. Maybe because you practically kept him caged in that small room and played boss. Or it just never clicked for you because you never saw him in full dress uniform like that, so in control of the situation — all eyes on him, perfectly at ease.

You lick your lips nervously. 

But he looks so natural now, and it makes so much sense. It suits him in every sense of the word. Captain Bradshaw. Rooster. He came back for you. Your breath hitches softly at the realization — no matter how many times you repeat it, it keeps catching you off guard, and your heart hasn’t stopped thundering in your chest since you laid eyes on him again. It’s like every lonely night, every moment spent pining, every tearful breakdown in private rushes through you, being torn from its roots by high winds. By him, just from a look over his shoulder, the smallest quirk of his lips. It’s making your head spin. All those tears carried the hope of today.

“Captain Bradshaw, we should really ask the lady what she thinks of all this.” The ambassador suggests politely. Both turn to look at you. 

You try to keep the surprise off your face under their gaze — you haven’t been listening to the conversation, so you have no idea what is actually being asked. Your mouth feels dry. You idly wonder if you could ask for a glass of water.

“Miss Sha-” The ambassador still struggles with your name. He abandons any attempt at it, tone unbothered, although you hear a skeptical edge. “Annie. Captain Bradshaw tells me you met during the war, and he owes you his life. He promised he would return for you.” 

You stay silent, tense, your eyes moving nervously between the two men before you. Bradley is looking at you, all too calm, all too confident. The ambassador clears his throat.

“The captain is now… suggesting, strongly, that I issue you an emergency visa.”

Your breath stocks as you look at Bradley wide-eyed. He meant it—really, really meant it. He wasn’t lying. Bradley is smiling now, delighting in your evident surprise. You’ve never been this happy to be proven so wrong.

“Now,” The ambassador looks at you pointedly. “Annie, please pay attention; this is important.” 

You look back at him again, holding your breath — it’s the only possible way to keep up the slightest facsimile of a charade that you are calm.

“The fastest way to do this is if you get married.” He scrutinizes your expression as he speaks slowly, with purpose. The moment the words leave his mouth, you look over at Bradley — you forget everything and everyone else in the room, the whole world around you. You only see him. Bradley seems hesitant for a moment, shoulders dropping just a fraction, his eyes roaming over you, trying to gauge your reaction. 

Breathing deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, your hand immediately digs into your pocket, clutching the bracelet. It gave you strength all these years; it’s been with you every step of the way. From bad to worse to rock bottom. Give me strength one more time, you plead as the metal winds around your fingers—one final time.

This is everything you wanted.

For Bradley to still want you.

Even though you are not really you anymore — the thought is like a stab in the gut. You feel like a fraud, sitting in a too-nice room with a too-handsome captain looking so lovingly at the ghost of you.

The ambassador opens his mouth again to say something.

You need to take the final step.

It’s now or never.

“Yes,” you sound out confidently, looking at Bradley determinedly. His eyes widen, trying to process what you just said, before a big smile replaces his shocked expression. Immediately, he is in front of you, on one knee, radiant and dazzling, grabbing your arm and pulling your hand out of your pocket. 

“Sweetheart, had I known, I would have gotten you a ring.” He breathes in wonder as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. Bradley is elated, his thoughts a mess, desperately trying to comprehend the roller coaster of the past hour. He had all but given up on finding you, and now, just like that, you agreed to marry him. “I would have-”

You shake your head, putting a finger to his lips. Leaning forward, you rest your forehead against his and simply open your palm.

“You still have it.” Bradley sounds surprised. It’s so strange to see his bracelet again — is it even his anymore? — he knew you had it, but it’s catching him off guard how touched he is that you’re still carrying it with you now. All those years, you never let go. You held fast until the last day, until today. The thought warms him; your unwavering loyalty makes him feel undeserving.

“I carried it everywhere with me.” You admit, smiling softly. Bradley carefully takes it out of your palm, running the chain between his fingers. His thumb caresses your wrist—it feels so intimate, so sensual, you have to remind yourself you’re sitting in the ambassador’s office. He presses another kiss on your pulse point before effortlessly clasping the bracelet around your wrist again.

“It’s only right you keep it,” He smiles up at you. “As Mrs. Bradshaw to-be.”

You kiss Bradley softly on the lips, your hand cupping his face. He’s still holding on to your wrist, his thumb moving in soothing circles over the sensitive skin before sliding his hand into yours and squeezing lightly. You don’t think you’ll ever breathe normally again. 

Under Bradley’s touch, the memory of pain dulls. Like the long dark night turns to day and sunrise warms you. The storm has blown over, making way for blue skies. Calm finally besets you again. At least for a moment. 

It dawns on you: you are getting married. 

You want to say something — you really feel like you should say something — but Bradley simply gets up and moves to stand behind you, hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his palm radiates through the layers of your drab work dress. 

“Well, I suppose that settles it then, wouldn’t you think so, ambassador?” Bradley announces, almost arrogantly, like he knew this would be the outcome all along. 

The ambassador looks somewhat shocked at the turn of events. “I—yes, I suppose.” He starts hesitantly. “As soon as you get your marriage certificate, we will prioritize processing Annie’s visa.”

“Do you know where to find a registrar on Friday afternoon, love?” Bradley asks you half-jokingly, squeezing your shoulder. “Or a minister, if you prefer.” 

“I’m sure I can call in a favor or two.” You deadpan. Bradley laughs and bends down to press a kiss on your left temple. The sudden touch of his lips on your scarred skin almost makes you flinch — you didn’t expect Bradley to do it so simply, almost carelessly, like he doesn’t fully realize what it means to you. You feel stunned, so light, struggling to put your feelings into words, unsure what to even think right now, but you are sure you are happy.

Still, you feel that dull ache, not quite painful, but nagging, like a scrape on the skin. It comes and goes in waves, but it’s definitely there: what if Bradley is just doing it out of pity? Just fulfilling a promise to someone he once knew who is now clearly down on their luck.

It irks you. Life didn’t turn out how you wanted it, but you don’t want pity—not from anyone, especially Bradley. It hurts just that little bit more; it cuts a little bit deeper. You hate the lingering feeling of embarrassment; he returned a decorated captain, and you are… well, here.

It’s difficult not to dwell on the feelings as you hurry down the stairs, pulling the pins and keeping the lattice headband into place deftly out of your hair. Grab your stuff and get out of here — the Ambassador excused you from all your duties for the day, adding with a smile that he expected your resignation soon. Bradley didn’t say where you were going, just that you were leaving together. 

Together. You’re holding onto that word. Together.

You fight to keep a smile off your face at the thought because you know she’s following you. Miss Lo might be light on her feet, but she does a poor job of pretending not to be tracing your steps. You’ve seen her sneak about and eavesdrop on her father’s conversations before and after Bradley practically abandoned her in the garden — you can’t even really blame her for wanting to find out what’s going on.

Don’t walk too fast, but also don’t slow down. You're not stopping to acknowledge her as long as she doesn’t call out, you think sourly. Which she won’t, not here. But you’re also not going to give her the upper hand by letting on that her stalking down the stairs after you is annoying. 

Miss Lo is many things. Beautiful, gregarious, and smart. She is also arrogant and scheming. She overestimates how clever she is, her youthful naïveté balancing somewhere between grating and adorable. Miss Lo is clearly lonely. You empathize with her, you envy her — she lords her position over you while gossiping with you like you’re friends. 

At the bottom of the grand stairs, you slip through the side door into the maid’s room, leaving the door cracked just an inch. It’s a cozy room on the side of the mansion. The walls are lined with hangers where all the girls keep their coats and hats. Pins, brushes, and coils of thread are scattered across the room — someone must have been hemming a dress or fixing a sleeve over lunch. The small desk where you write orders for the household and make schedules is tightly organized; nothing has been touched by the chaos, just as you like it. As you start pulling your coat on, you realize this might be your last time here. It feels strange. Freeing. Scary.

Behind you, the door clicks shut.

“How romantic,” Miss Lo sighs, crossing her arms, looking around the small room with thinly veiled disgust. She is fighting to look cool and unbothered, but there is clearly something on her mind.

You look at her, not replying immediately. If you wait a little longer than people tend to be comfortable with, they’ll just spit it out. Miss Lo is particularly sensitive to it.

“It’s hard not to be envious.” She adds pointedly, her bright blue eyes boring into you.

“I suppose I’m lucky,” You reply noncommittally, meeting her gaze. She doesn’t really envy you; that much is clear — she’s just trying to find a soft spot. Sometimes, you wonder if Miss Lo forgets that everyone around her is a person too, not a riddle to solve for her entertainment. If she remembers that the gossip she hunts for sport and gleefully dissects like a detective story is about real lives. 

In other circumstances, you would have looked away by now and made an excuse to leave the room. But not today. 

So you keep looking her right in the eye, holding your hat and purse, stance relaxed. Come on, Miss Lo. Show your hand.

“You know he probably just feels sorry for you.” Eyes wide, the picture of concern is so innocent as her gaze travels over your face. Her tone is kind, the way a friend would give motherly advice. Miss Lo is rough around the edges regarding subtlety but has a keen eye for weakness. 

You shrug, if only to mask how annoyed you are that she zeroed in on your pain point so easily. “There are worse traits in a husband.” 

The words taste bitter on your tongue.

“Husband,” She titters, gamely covering her grin with her hand. “Let’s see if the good captain actually marries you first.” Before you can retort, she continues, her tone still full of laughter, but with a sharp edge: “Well, he better, because you won’t have a job to come back to.”

So this was it? You can’t quit because I’m firing you — you’re not leaving me behind because we aren’t friends. In her nineteen years of arrogance and privilege, Miss Lo overplayed her hand so easily. It’s almost disappointing. 

“Okay,” You nod as you start walking toward her, still looking straight at her. Miss Lo is blocking the door, but the toe of her right heel scrapes against the wooden floor as her fight slowly turns into flight. Her playful smile slowly drops. Your lack of reaction has the intended effect as you reach past Miss Lo for the doorknob — she hates being brushed off and ignored. 

You know exactly how that feels. And so you know this is precisely how to draw the blood from under her nails.

“I’m telling Mother you threw that bucket at me,” She blurts out, all pretense of coolness and control suddenly gone, her beautiful face contorted in a vicious scowl. “You’ll never work in this town again.”

You simply give her a bemused look as you reach past her to open the door, your shoulder bumping into hers a little harder than necessary as you walk out. It’s so childish on your part, but the look of pure shock on Miss Lo’s face is kind of worth it. It shouldn’t feel so cathartic to finally have the upper hand on her  — you should be better than that. 

It’s about a full second you get to enjoy it because you practically walk from the frying pan into the fire.

Bradley is standing in the hallway with the ambassador’s wife.

They are looking at you. They most likely saw your less-than-polite interaction with Miss Lo. 

Shit.

You press your lips together, only marginally slowing your pace, pretending nothing happened. Bradley’s stance is relaxed. His hand is casually in his pocket, his eyebrow quirked up, and a ghost of a smile is on his face as he locks eyes with you. Your heart does a little jump as you take him in.

Mrs. Parker, on the other hand, seems to be looking right through you before she suddenly realizes you are there. She quickly beckons you with short, almost irritated gestures. She almost drags you toward her by your upper arm as you reach her, rattling off a list of things in a low voice that need to get done, right now - 

“Anya, we should get going,” Bradley’s voice rings out behind you. His tone is kind like he’s reminding you of a small little thing and not like he’s interrupting your boss, who is whispering anxiously because her dinner party’s guest of honor is about to walk out. Again.

Mrs. Parker stops short in the middle of her instruction for the cook, her mouth almost audibly slamming shut, lips set into a paper-thin line. She looks at you up and down, only now realizing you are dressed to leave, her hand clutching your blue and red checkered coat sleeve. 

“You can’t leave,” She hisses, pulling you closer, venom laced with indignation in her voice. “After all I have done for you — it’s disloyal.”

You frown, jerking back from Mrs. Parker in thinly veiled disgust. Disloyal. You would admit to being many terrible things. But never disloyal. It hurts, but in a second, that hurt turns into anger. For a moment, the fire in you roars. It’s unfair. It’s unjust. 

You would argue you did a lot more for Mrs. Parker than she ever did for you. The words are bubbling up in an angry boil; your head is full of noise. It’s a familiar feeling, the overwhelming, burning urge to right the wrong — you feel it in your gut.

You take a step back, purposefully pulling yourself away from Mrs. Parker. Her grip remains until you forcefully jerk your arm out of her hand. Lip curling up in a scowl, you are more than ready to go on the attack.

But the moment you open your mouth, you suck in a breath — the fire dies, extinguished by just an overwhelming sense of… nothing. You don’t want to argue; you just want to get out of here. 

“I need to leave, ma’am.” Is all that makes it out of your mouth, softly but determined. 

“If you leave now, don’t bother coming back,” Mrs. Parker hisses. “You’ll be leaving without reference.”

“Please mail me my final check.” 

You turn away from her and walk back to Bradley. He’s looking at you appraisingly but says nothing. 

Bradley just saw the way your face contorted in anger, and he fully expected to have to jump in before you would go on the offense like the spitfire he knows you to be. But then, like a candle being blown out, it was gone. 

It’s unlike you. But when your hand grasps his, it tells him everything he needs to know. The way your fingers wrap tightly around his palm, the slight, urgent tug — it’s the same non-verbal communication you used years ago. You want to leave.

“Well,” Bradley sounds wonderfully unbothered, almost comically dissonant in the tense atmosphere of the hall. “Mrs. Parker, again — please excuse my presence at the dinner tonight; I have to make up for about three years… of birthdays, anniversaries, and dates—and now an engagement celebration on top of it. Oh, and a wedding, of course.” He winks at you. You stare at him in wonder.

“Not to mention organizing all the logistics of getting Anya to the U.S.—I have to get her a proper house and everything.” He rattles the list off. 

He’s talking about a house on the other side of the world when you feel it hasn’t fully sunk in that you’re getting married. You’re not even sure how you’re getting married. It should scare you. But you once told Bradley you trusted him with your life. And you still do, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.

“Terribly busy, as you might imagine.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively, concluding the conversation.

“So, maids can just hit people with buckets now, and you won’t do anything, Mother?” Miss Lo’s voice is somewhat shrill as she pipes up from the far end of the hall, rapidly closing in. “You’re just going to let her go?”

“Annie, you did what?” 

You close your eyes in frustration as you listen to Miss Lo’s somewhat hysterical retelling. It makes it sound like you intentionally launched the bucket out of the window nearly — funnily, she half-mumbles the word each time — hitting her. Oh, and Bradley. But mostly her. 

“Annie!” Madam sounds scandalized. “Is that true? Did you hit Loretta and Captain Bradshaw with a bucket?”

You open your mouth to protest, eyes wide in indignation. The anger roars up again, jerking your hand out of Bradley’s as you step forward threateningly. You should have hit that brat with the bucket and will tell her just that. 

But you won’t. You stall your advance.

“You know that’s not what happened, Miss Lo.” You tell her flatly.

Bradley waits for a beat — he can see the frown on your face, the fire in your eyes — but the spitfire is staying grounded. Before Miss Lo can open her mouth again, Bradley expertly cuts in physically and verbally.

“Even if she did,” Bradley interjects lightly, smirking as he moves in front of you. “I probably had it coming.” 

You whip your head up to look at him so quickly you’re sure something just cracked in your neck. Miss Lo looks like she’s about to be sick. Bradley looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely at your expense. Your eyebrow twitches. 

“Oh, Captain, please,” Mrs. Parker turns saccharine. “There’s no need to protect the girl; I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, we will-”

“The girl in question—my fiancée —” He cuts her off so casually, it has you reeling, before continuing in an icy tone, “Pointed a loaded gun at my head, threatened me with grievous bodily harm and defenestration. Multiple times. And then she saved my life at the expense of her own personal safety and the safety of her family.” 

You’re holding your breath. You had known for a long time you were hopelessly in love with Bradley. After all, you had spent the last three years desperately pining over him. But seeing him so firmly in your corner, casually speaking up for you when you fail yourself, is like stepping into a warm bath on a cold day. Your fingers and toes are tingling.

“And then I show up after three years without even a ring for her,” He is smiling again like it’s all a big joke. “So overall, in context — even if she did brain me with a bucket, I deserved that.”

You can’t help but wonder: did Bradley hit his head recently? Like, not by the bucket, because he wasn’t anywhere near that. Or was he always like this?

Whatever it is, right now, it’s making you love him more.  

Bradley doesn’t leave any further room for arguments. He curtly bids everyone a good evening, turns to you, grabs you by the wrist—you haven’t even had time to put your gloves on yet—and leads you out of the house decisively. 

You feel like you can only breathe again as you walk out on the path outside the residence. You burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. Your breath hitches momentarily as Bradley scoops you up, arms around your waist, and twirls you around, both laughing now.

“You cannot imagine how much I’ve missed that smile.” He tells you tenderly.

“And I forgot how much I wanted to smack that smirk off your face.” You tease softly.

“I’ll spend a lifetime reminding you.” He kisses you so sweetly that you melt into him.

***

It’s the blink of an eye in the whirlwind you travel across town — the feverish gale only dies down when the door of the hotel room clicks closed behind you. There’s a second of calm.

You are looking at Bradley, trying to catch your breath, trying desperately to hold on to the remnants of yourself, the you he once knew, trying not to come apart at the seams under his loving gaze. You are tense, crushing the fabric of your skirt in your fists. Afraid every time Bradley touches you, however gently, he will break the illusion, pull you out of stasis, and jolt everything into motion, distorting the carefully constructed mirror maze that makes you appear whole.

You are elated Bradley is here — he came back. The glory of his radiant warmth washes over you as he steps closer. His cocky smile dazzles you. The fading scars on his face are forever proof that it wasn’t a hallucination; it wasn’t a dream — you were meant to find him that winter morning. He was always meant to find you on this summer evening.

Just like he had to leave you on that crisp spring afternoon. 

He will leave again. 

You are sure of it.

Bradley reaches out, taking you by the hand. He can’t believe you are here; his heart jumps at every touch, every time he looks around, expecting an echo, but finding you, all of you —  smiling back at him with that glimmer in your eye, your hand in his, in step with him all the way. Like you never left his side. Every fragment of his memory falls into place, and every dream and fantasy of you is absorbed back into your form.

Every touch, from your sweet kisses to your fingers brushing against his, your arms around his neck, effortlessly sweeps away the layers of old yellowed varnish that had frozen him into place. The fog around him has finally lifted, the color returning to the world. Only now that the weight has dissolved and he can breathe again, Bradley realizes how much everything weighed him down and ground him to a halt. He couldn’t see it — didn’t want to, simply going through the motions. He had been waiting. At first, he thought he had been waiting for the end of the war. When that changed frighteningly little about his state of mind, only the place in the world he woke up, Bradley just accepted rusting into place. And all it took was a single touch from you.

Your hand in his, holding onto him tightly, your body brushing against his as you stand on your tiptoes and kiss him urgently. Bradley sighs against your lips and deepens the kiss, gently trailing his fingers over your waist, remembering every curve of your body. You still fit so perfectly against him, like no time has passed since that first time three years ago. Everything has changed; nothing is different.

Your fingertips dance over his face, lightly tracing the raised scars along his cheek, outlining his jaw and neck, all over his broad shoulders. His chest is heavy with ribbons and medals — how long had Bradley’s war been after he got on that train? You want to ask him what he has seen and where he has been, your hand pressed against the stack. Bradley simply covers your hand with his own and pulls it away, draping your arm around his neck. 

There is so much to say. It feels like you’ve lived multiple lifetimes since you said goodbye to Bradley — you’ve died over and over again, only to wake up the next day to the same life. You wonder if he feels the same, although he’s subtly letting you know he’s not interested in talking right now. The truth is, you wouldn’t even know where to start. 

Bradley overwhelms by just being. You want it all — all of him and all of you, just like you once were. This is you accepting that when he leaves again — and he will —  there will be nothing left of you; the last vestiges of you will be washed away. 

Bradley is behind you, quickly popping the fabric-covered buttons of your lace collar from their loop. You gasp for breath audibly as Bradley’s lips touch the sensitive spot behind your ear. With a soft click, the hook at the top of the zipper on the back of your dress unlatches. Slowly, Bradley pulls the zipper down, your dress falling open at your shoulders. The air feels strange against your suddenly exposed flesh. You swallow hesitantly.

He’s pushing your dress open now at the shoulders. Bradley’s hot breath is brushing against the new skin he is uncovering. A shiver of pleasure travels down your spine, you keen softly at the sensation, trying to focus on Bradley desperately. But when he pushes your dress open further, your hands fly up around your neck protectively, driven by instinct, clutching the fabric closed. 

It’s too close. It’s too real. 

It’s the one part you wish could stay in stasis — frozen in time, unacknowledged. You trust Bradley with your life, but your pain is a different story. When he sees what the battlefield has left on your skin, he will surely see you for what you are. What you are not. That the life you trust him with is a burned-out house.

Bradley tugs at your collar lightly, almost experimentally, but when you don’t budge, he drops his hands to your waist, moving in slow, soothing circles. 

He has been preoccupied with getting you out of that dress — but the way you’re hanging your head, face hidden behind your hair, your tense shoulders, and trembling fingers desperately holding on to the lace collar stop him in his tracks.

Bradley waits silently, unsure what to ask — terrified he will spook you again. He couldn’t bear it if you bolted now, like you did so many times before. He had to find you here, he had to find you today, and he will be damned if he loses you now. Bradley knows how to be patient, move slowly, and follow your lead. Right now, it’s all that he can do. And he will do it happily if it means you will stay. 

Softly, he presses a kiss against your stressed fingers. He wants you to know, to affirm that he’s here. He will stay.

The silence stretches painfully.

“It’s -” You start softly before licking your lips nervously, trying to find the words. Bradley holds his breath, waiting for you to continue. Another silence falls. You are sure you can feel your heartbeat hammer in your head.

“It’s bad.” You conclude empathetically. There is probably a better, more straightforward way to describe it, to warn Bradley of the state of you — he must have already caught a glimpse of the deep scars spilling down your shoulder over your back. It’s only fair to give him a chance to back out, no matter how painful the thought is. 

He came back for you, but that never meant he would stay.

So you wait for him to pull away.

“Does it hurt?” Bradley’s voice is soft, suppressing worry. 

You blink, tears suddenly stinging in your eyes. This is not the question you expected, delivered with such natural kindness, empathy, and patience. People always want to know what happened, and there is a poorly disguised morbid fascination on their faces, as if the pain, horror, and grotesqueness are suffered for entertainment. You can’t remember someone who has asked about how it feels now. 

“No, or - yes,” You bumble, voice thick. It’s hard to put the words together without crying. “Sometimes.” You finally breathe out.

Bradley wraps his arm around your waist, delicately pulling you against him. With his free hand, he brushes your hair away from your neck, kissing the tips of your fingers again, still clutching your collar. He’s still here.

“When we get home,” He starts quietly, resting his forehead against the back of your crown. “I’ll take you to a doctor. We’ll find a way to make it better.”

Tears are rolling down your face now. How can he say all these things to you so easily? How can he possibly be so considerate and inconsiderate at the same time?

“It’ll never be better,” your voice breaks as you force the words out, trying to make him understand. Bradley cannot fix you. You are not a pity project. The scars will always be there; no doctor will change that; there is no cure.” The words tumble out, rushed and urgent.

“Anya, sweetheart,” Bradley tries to turn you so you can face him, but you struggle against him, pulling against his grip to keep your teary face hidden. “I’m not talking — ” 

“Damnit, darling, you shouldn’t be in pain.” He bites out as you finally stop struggling. You finally relax, a soft sob escaping you. His arms are around you, his breath in tandem with yours — it feels so safe, and you feel so loved. Bradley pulls you closer as you lean into him. 

You should enjoy this. This should be enough. You should let Bradley love you; it’s what you’ve desperately wanted. But now that it’s here, now that it’s real, your own conscience won’t let you rest: you feel like an imposter, and you don’t have a right to this. 

There is so much you want to say. So much you need to tell him. Everything that happened, what it has done to you, how you can never be the person he knew. Bradley has a right to know, but you can’t get the words out. The fight has left you for good, it feels. 

“Please, just -” You take a deep breath. “Just don’t pity me, please.” 

It feels like such a cop-out. So pathetic. 

“Out of the many things I feel for you,” Bradley’s tone is warm and affectionate, with a teasing edge. He brings light into everything. “Pity never crossed my mind.” He adds seriously. 

He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. Finally, he has you in his arms, but Bradley can see the uncertainty in your pained, tear-stained look as you turn to face him. Your hands are still clutched around your collar, knuckles turning white at the force of your nervous grip. It makes sense, he thinks, that you wouldn’t want pity. You are too self-aware for that. You do need reassurance. Not a pat on the head, a couple of kisses, and words of approval because you are eager to please. But the kind of soul-affirming reassurance that the sky is still blue, the sun rises in the west, and Bradley is here for you.

What the hell happened to you after he left?

“I hate that you are in pain; I hate I wasn’t here to keep you out of harm's way. All I think about is how I should have pulled you onto that train with me. That’s my one regret.” Bradley continues, voice gravelly. It’s like pulling out old stitches, bleeding vulnerability — all the self-blame, every doubt, the thoughts that haunted him through the night. But at this point, Bradley would drag himself over broken glass to get you to smile at him again. “But I wouldn’t dare pity you. My brave girl went to fight. And because you chose to fight, I am still alive.”

Your gaze softens, if only by a fraction. But it’s enough for Bradley to know he’s on the right path. It feels good, validating almost, that he can see and recognize these minute changes in you. Your own little secret language that only he can understand. Despite all the time that has passed, you are still in tune with each other on the rarest of notes.

“I’m serious about this.” He inclines his face closer to you like he’s about to share a secret — automatically, like you move with him as if pulled in by a magnet. 

“Marry me and come home with me.” He half-whispers. He needs to ensure no shadow of doubt is left in your mind. Bradley feels the small shuddering breath that escapes you more than he hears it as your body relaxes slowly against his and your grip finally loosens.

The small smile that washes over your face lights up the entire room, and Bradley can’t help but smile back. It feels so good that he can still make you smile and be what you need. It all started with Bradley thinking you were cute, amplified by how much he enjoyed needling you to entertain himself. But the more you allowed him in, Bradley realized you were more than that  — so much more. You were what he needed all along. Not just to survive but to keep going. 

And he wants to be all that for you.

Blinking up at him, you take a deep breath. Did Bradley always smell this good? God, you forgot how good he is with words. You don’t feel brave. But you so love hearing him say that. You don’t want him to stop.

“And you’ll take me to the beach?” You venture, voice still fragile from the tears. But the slightly joking tone, the hopeful smile, and the mischievous glimmer in your eye make Bradley’s heart sore. 

“To the beach, the movies, the ballgame — to bed,” Bradley grins, leaning to press a kiss on the corner of your mouth. The tiny, content sigh is like music to his ears. Your lips follow to catch up to his hungrily as he pulls back a fraction. But he isn’t done yet. 

“I’m not offering up forever lightly or on a whim — I would have always married you as long as you’d have me; the circumstances just expedited that.” He whispers urgently against your lips, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. “I’ll spend every second I have left here convincing you to come with me.”

“I don’t think I need much convincing,” You admit eagerly, hands finally falling away from your collar and finding Bradley’s face. “But I’d like a refresher. I’ve missed you.” You sigh.

“God, I’ve missed you so much, Anya.” 

The weight of Bradley’s body against yours feels familiar, comforting almost. Your dress vanished from your body, and the medals on Bradley’s dress jacket dinged against the hardwood floor as you blindly flung it away. You giggle as his mustache tickles against your collarbone, his fingers deftly pulling your bra straps from your shoulders. The sound makes him smile; he loves every little hitch of your breath, every gasp and moan. He missed the way your hands eagerly pull at his clothes, dragging him closer to you, boldly exploring his body. But when you giggle and laugh, especially when he himself is the reason for it, it has to be what he missed most. Trailing the tips of his fingers down your hips to the back of your thigh that is hitched over his hip, he lightly tickles you in the hollow of your knee. You squirm under him, laughing, nails digging into his shoulders.

When Bradley kisses you, swallowing the sound of your laugh, the tenderness of his touch overwhelms you. You’ve underestimated him—all this time. You always, unfairly, thought he just had a knack for telling people what they want to hear and a very handsome smile to back it all up. And you can’t even deny you reveled in that while doubting him all the while. 

But for all his bluster and teasing, Bradley is sensitive. Perceptive. He knows what to say not because it’s practiced ease but because he is, at his core, caring. It’s in everything he does. Naturally.

Now, his featherlight touches are loving, gentle, and patient as he slides your panties down your legs. You can barely remember to feel self-conscious as he trails kisses down your body, not shying away from scars. Bradley doesn’t pretend they’re not there, nor does he stare at it. He softly kisses your skin, running his hands over your form — every bit of you is as important as the other. 

Bradley is so warm pressed against you that it feels like you’ve stepped into the sun for the first time in years. It’s finally daybreak. He smells so good; the hints of cedar wood and lavender carry from his skin. The calluses on his hands, the scratch of his mustache, the sound of his breathing — it’s so strange because you couldn’t recall all these small details about him, but everything feels familiar. 

Bradley’s lips trail down your body, slowly, tortuously so, reacquainting himself with every dip, every fold, mapping every part of you. His pace is so unhurried it’s driving you to frustration, but he quickly rebukes every attempt to spur him on.

He gently pushes down your hips as they buck up, doesn’t budge an inch as your fingers thread through his curls, trying to pull him back up to meet your lips. He has his singular focus. It’s been three long years, but Bradley is a patient man. He nips at the column of your neck, kissing his way down the valley between your breasts. He will refresh every bit of your memory and erase every doubt from your mind. And he will do it slowly and meticulously, exactly how you need.

Caressing your waist, his fingers dance up your rib cage at a leisurely pace, capturing your nipple between his fingers, slowly, gently rolling and pinching the puckered bud. Your shuddering breaths shake your whole body under him.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” He murmurs lovingly into your skin. “I got you, Anya.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you gasp in pleasure — his warm voice, the rough edge, soothes as much as it completely electrifies you. His mouth is on your other nipple now, his tongue swirling over your breast. Every touch is so tender, so soft. It makes you want to scream.

It’s like his mouth is tiptoeing his way down your body. Sometimes, his lips don’t even touch you; it’s just his breath ghosting over your heated skin. The anticipation is building up in you, and every expert delay, every almost-there touch, has you teetering somewhere between blind pleasure and sheer frustration. You are at Bradley’s mercy, at the center of his attention. It’s burning you up; you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

Bradley nips at your hip bone — god, he’s finally getting closer. His tongue darts out, pressing against the crease at your tight, a promise of what is to come. Eventually.

You can barely control your breathing, inhaling and exhaling in deep, ragged breaths, needy moans falling from your lips. Never has anything, or anyone for that matter, done so much to you by doing so little. 

Bradley hums against your slit — he can feel how wet you are already. You are so impatient, wriggling your hips, bucking against him, anything to get more. He just shushes you, making sure you can feel the sound against your heated core. It makes you whimper as Bradley's grip on your thighs tightens, leaving no doubt in your mind that he has you right where he wants you, controlling the pace. You moan softly, your body arching towards him, pleading for more.

In your delirium, drunk on love and anticipation and the fiery wish Bradley would just make a god-damn move, you realize you are not above begging him.

“Bradley,” You pant, desperately. “Please? I beg you-” 

Bradley chuckles, not hurrying up in the slightest as he drags his tongue over your pussy. It’s not that he is not burning for you or that he doesn’t remember how roughly he handled you as he fucked you against that wall last time, how you keened at him to go harder. And it’s not even that he’s so eager to test the limits of his patience right now — his cock is rock hard against his stomach, begging for any attention. 

It’s the terrifying thought that your cries of pleasure might suddenly turn into ones of pain at the wrong move, and a cold dowsing of reality suddenly wipes away your loved-up, horny haze. So, Bradley takes his time rediscovering you together with you: relaxing, slowly pulling you under in pleasure, showing you that he can get you off while playing nice, hoping to strike that gold vein of your self-confidence. 

You’re at your best, mind-blowingly beautiful, when you are confident, and Bradley doesn’t care how long it’ll take him to find that part of you again.

“No need to beg me,” He teases. “But I missed how you say my name,” He admits eagerly. It’s the last thing you remember his saying to you before his tongue finally finds your clit. It’s the last thing you remember saying, praying as his tongue presses against the bundle of nerves, your thighs clenching around his head. 

Unthinkingly, you grasp at the crisp sheet of the bed in a white-knuckled grip. Bradley still has barely picked up any speed — his movements are still deliberately light. Your reaction to him feels embarrassingly out of proportion, but you can’t control the way your muscles are tightening, pressing your pussy up against him, crying out his name. 

Just when you think you are about to burst, panting in anticipation, the pressure in your abdomen almost painful — Bradley pulls back, whispering against the skin of your inner thigh. You can barely hear him; the noise in your head, the rush of static, drowning all sounds and thoughts. But every time, right before you can grasp a sense of equilibrium, Bradley sweeps back in, licking, kissing and sucking.

Each time the coil in you grows tighter, the wave builds up to new heights.

And then, like lighting at clear sky, it finally cracks. You knew it was coming; it had been building for so long, but it still caught you by surprise. Ecstasy explodes through every nerve in your body, your hips lifting off the bed in involuntary convulsions of pleasure. 

Bradley lets you ride out your wave, taking in the scene before him — the sweat glistening on your brow, his name on your lips, writhing under his touch. He moves his hands in soothing circles over your hips again as you come down, and clarity returns to your fogged-over eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asks lovingly, enjoying how your skin feels against his, basking in the delight of your orgasm. You nod wordlessly. Giving pleasure is important to Bradley because he wants you to be happy and feel good, but there’s always the darker and more selfish part of him that wants to be the one to make you come apart by his hand. Only his. 

It’s what a good husband does.

The thought gives him pause as he mindlessly caresses your skin, watching your breathing return to normal. He never thought much about marriage or what it would mean to be a good husband. Bradley assumed he would probably get married someday, at least he always hoped so, but he never really thought of himself as a husband. But with you, it seems so easy. 

Bending down again, he presses a wet kiss on your throbbing pussy. You try to pull back, overstimulated and twitching, but Bradley gently yet firmly holds you in place. One hand is holding onto your hip, anchoring you against him, the other running tranquilly from your waist, over your stomach and breasts, resting on your sternum for a moment, as if to stabilize your core. 

Bradley never pushed you toward a second orgasm — mainly because you were largely inexperienced and usually overwhelmed from just the first one. And you had so little time together before. But he wants to try it with you now, get you to that next plane of pleasure. He will ease you into it, tease it out of you, and turn the overwhelming sensation into a new peak. A good husband should.

“I believe you need more convincing.” Bradley looks up at you to gauge your reaction, smiling innocently. You look so beautiful, pupils blown, mouth open as you shake your head, searching for words. 

“I don’t -” You squeak out. “I said I could use a refresher.” 

“No, no. I can tell you need convincing,” he insists with a grin, running his hand over his body again. 

“And how do you figure that?” You grab his wandering hand, stilling it just above your belly button.

“You’re still talking back,” Bradley replies simply. “Which means you are still thinking, and I’m not doing a very good job of convincing you.”

“I don’t need- you’re-” You stutter as he pulls his hand out from under yours. “Bradley!”

“Hmm, that’s better,” He hums, easing a finger into you. Eyes rolling back into your head, you arch your back — part of you wants to escape the overstimulation, but it melts into a new sensation in mere seconds. A low hum courses through your body. It’s persistent, not ebbing and flowing erratically like before, but urgent, pressing, and everywhere. Your body feels oddly relaxed, your muscles still cramping from your previous high, but the tension is gone. 

Sliding another finger into your hot core, Bradley peppers your stomach with kisses. Your deep breathing and low moans are sounds you’ve never made for him, and he thoroughly enjoys how relaxed your body feels and how serene your face looks. Curling his fingers up, rubbing the wall as he pumps in and out of you, he carefully observes your reaction. Your head lolls back on the fluffy pillow; you roll your hips against his hand. He gives you what you’re craving, finally speeding up his movements — no matter how much he enjoys teasing you, prolonging your pleasure for his sake, you’ll always get what you want from him.

You are shaking — fingers trembling, hips stuttering, your toes are curled up tightly. It’s like an earthquake deep in every cell of your body. It’s not explosive, it’s not blinding, but it feels like you’re pushed under in pleasure. It’s forcing the air from your lungs and stills the rush of blood in your head — it’s like Bradley just pulled out all the stops in your brain. For a moment, you can’t feel anything. The crisp sheets, Bradley’s warm hands, the eternal buzz in your left ear: everything is gone in a moment of cosmic reset. 

“Breathe,” He whispers to you, kissing your right temple. Opening your eyes, the bright light, the smell of cedar and lavender, the heat of his skin — everything crashes back into you. You are still shaking, tears sting in your eyes, and you don’t understand why. Urgently, instinctually, you pull him into a desperate kiss, tasting yourself on him.

“Fuck-” Bradley is swearing against your mouth. He didn’t expect you to react so heatedly so quickly, clawing at him for more for still-quaking hands. Your eagerness is so incredibly hot, and it’s just so fucking validating. He wants you to want him, to reach for him. But right now, he knows that your impulsiveness and need to please are getting the best of you. Your body hasn’t stopped shaking, and there’s a tear running down the side of your face — you’re not crying, but you’re trying to mask how overwhelmed you are by tumbling head-first into him.

Bradley tucks your head under his chin and rolls you onto his chest. You wrap yourself around him tightly to keep yourself grounded. You wonder how he can appear so calm because you can hear his heart hammering in his chest. You can feel the tension in his fingers, but his kisses are still completely unhurried and soothing. 

Untangling yourself from him, you cradle his face, guiding his mouth over your own. He finally yields, enjoying how much you burn for him. Trying your hardest to move slowly in your kiss, taking his breath away, making his head spin with small sounds — all just enough to entice him to surrender to you. 

He melts into you, allowing you to pull him back over you, his body pressing yours into the mattress. You love how his muscles ripple under your touch, how he moans into your mouth as you nip at his lower lip. Dauntlessly and a lot less patiently than his, your hands explore the vast expanse of Bradley’s naked skin. It’s intoxicating when he groans as your nails scratch over the ticklish bit of his side, the way he shakily inhales as you drag your palm across his stomach.

“Easy dollface,” He jokes, voice significantly less stable now, laughing as you pout at the pet name you always hated. “We have time.”

You don’t care about time. You care about right now. With a devilishly innocent smile on your face, the kind that only spells mischief, your roll your hips up, dragging your wetness over the length of his cock. He gasps. Taking advantage of Bradley’s momentary distraction, you roll him over, nearly knocking the wind out of him, and he lands on his back. You straddle him, unabashed at your nakedness — you can’t help but grind yourself into Bradley. He’s so hard — his hands fly up to your waist, stopping your movement. His breathing is ragged.

You hover over Bradley, lightly brushing the tip of your nose against his. The once neat and carefully pinned curls strategically framing your face hang loose and free, the light in your eyes is dancing merrily and mischievously as you sit on top of him, unbothered, unencumbered, wearing only that stunning smile on your face. You don’t need to do or say anything; just seeing you like this sends shivers down Bradley’s spine, waves of goosebumps cascading down his arms. 

Because it’s you. Just you. 

“Don’t call me that,” You remind him, trying to sound serious, but laughter is seeping into your words. Bradley chuckles in response — it always gets a reaction out of you. “And don’t treat me like that either,” You add more soberly. “I’m not a doll. I won’t break, Bradley.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He admits, looking up at you. His hazel eyes are soft — in the sunset rays streaming in from outside, you can see the flecks of gold and green in his iris. Affectionally, you run your hands through his increasingly messy honey curls. Of course, you would figure out that his tortuously light touch was about more than just testing your patience and resolve. Kissing his forehead, you can’t even really be mad. You’re the one who burst into tears and told him it hurts before he even properly touched you. 

“You won’t,” You assure him. “I can handle it, I promise.” 

Pulling back, you look down at Bradley. He’s holding onto your hips still, his fingers pressing into the flesh. You can see exactly how his whole body moves as he breathes, how his tanned chest expands, and how his stomach muscles contract. Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips in anticipation. On his shoulder is a deep new scar. Your eyes can’t get their fill of him: you want to drink in every detail forever.

“You’ll tell me if anything hurts?” Bradley’s voice is delightfully rough, and his grip on your hip tightens — no matter how sweet he can be, this is the Bradley that excites you most. A big, strong man, just on the edge, extricated from planned and methodical systems by your chaos.

“Yes, now please, please, just…” You gasp as Bradley rolls his hips up, cutting you off.

“Just what, Anya?” He grins up at you.

“I will show you.”

***

There is so much to say — whole lifetimes to catch up on. You both carry new scars, new stories, and losses. You could probably spend every waking minute of Bradley’s visit just talking, and it still probably wouldn’t cover everything you need to tell each other. It’s daunting in its prospect. 

In all these years, you never really told anyone everything that happened. There wasn’t really anyone to tell. Bradley never spoke of it. On the one hand, he was never allowed to speak about his time in the Protectorate after his debriefing, and Mav was in the Pacific with him. There just wasn’t much to talk about.  

Tenderly, you touch Bradley’s face. He gives you a sip of the champagne he had brought up by room service. He jokes about how he finally gets to sleep in a real bed with you, with plenty of space for both of you, as his fingertips trail over your leg under the covers. You counter that he still has to take you on a real date — with bought, not stolen, drinks. 

There is so much that needs saying. But right now, in a feathery, soft hotel bed, just being together is enough. You will have the rest of your lives to talk.

note | check this post for my personal life rambles. Thank you for still reading <3

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[whetstonefires]

oh hang on so Oliver Twist as a book is largely about child labor, right.

like the commonality between the workhouse, the abusive apprenticeship, and the pickpocket gang is that Oliver is being exploited. for his labor. and Fagin's gang while crossing the line into illegality and therefore in some ways the most dangerous is also the most pleasant of the three.

and ofc which i have underconsidered until now, child labor was fully legal at the time and a major political issue--the 1833 Factory Act had only just recently outlawed employing under-nines on the factory floor, or working 9-13 year olds more than 9 hours a day, and 13-18 year olds more than 12.

it was a struggle to enforce and it was controversial.

so. Fagin's gang replicates that factory owner-child laborer relationship on a tiny, illicit scale, where the kids are taking all the risks and doing all the work and he's getting most of the profit, and it's not fair, but oh he's giving them food and a place to sleep and wouldn't they be worse off without him? (they would is the thing. but does that make it okay?)

with the goal of this being that next time Dickens' milquetoast middle-class readers encountered an argument for the benevolence of a guy employing child labor to maximize his profits they might go, hey! that's not true, he's just like that crook Fagin!

but of course this kind of political messaging works best when it can't be too readily clocked as such--if Fagin was obviously a stand-in for a respectable capitalist, a lot more of the readers would be comfortable excusing him.

which is why he's Jewish, and why the text belabors that point so obsessively--antisemitism is being used as a lever to discourage the public from identifying with Child Labor Exploiting Guy and to characterize his desire to accumulate wealth at the expense of others as greedy, selfish, and illegitimate.

i could never quite figure what the point of using that stock character in that context and so emphatically was. especially after learning that, having had it extensively explained that it was harmful to actual Jewish people to go so hard on this in such a popular novel, Dickens was like 'oh my bad' and walked it back a bit.

because in that case the antisemitism obviously wasn't an end in itself? but if it was incidental flavor, why so much?

but as a screen for his political agenda, it makes sense. using judaism to code an antagonist's profit motive as illegitimate had a long literary history already, but in this case Fagin was already manifestly a criminal so it was like. why.

anyway this isn't about justifying charles dickens' artistic choices that even he somewhat regretted. it's a bit about how easy it can be to fail to put together context even when you have all the pieces, especially at a remove from our own lived experience.

and a bit more about how the tools we use for political ends should be carefully inspected. no matter how ordinary and unremarkable they seem when we pick them up. because we might be missing different historical context due to being embedded in it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The DUFF 13

Warnings: groping, insecurity, food and body issues, manipulation, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Image credit (I want to give dues where due but don’t want the creator to keep getting tagged in my posts as I have been approached by some before that they don’t want me in their notifs)

Silence compounds your castigation. Whether it’s you or Curtis who refuses to speak, you can’t really tell. You’re too afraid to go first and maybe he is too. Or maybe he’s just that pissed. That thought irks you. You haven’t done anything to deserve his anger.

You watch the lush landscape dwindle out to urban architecture. Your return to the city is both a relief and a fall to earth. Your usual dread for work is laced with a sense of excitement. You just want to reclaim some sense of normalcy.

Curtis pulls up to the curb outside your apartment. Your hand is already on the handle, ready to escape. You stop yourself as you give in to the tension.

“Thanks,” you say, “for the ride.”

“Yep, no problem,” he utters flatly.

“I, uh, I’ll see you later?”

He’s quiet, one hand on the wheel, his other arm draped against the door. He stares through the windshield. He really is upset but you can’t apologise if you don’t even know what you’ve done.

“Right, well, I should go. I’m already late.”

He sighs and bends his arm, brushing his fingers over his hair, “you need a ride to work? I can hang around…”

The weight in your chest lightens as his tone softens. You exhale, trying to scatter your addled nerves. “That’s really sweet but I’ll be fine. Go home, get some sleep, get cleaned up. I’m sure you have stuff you need to deal with.”

“I have time,” he insists.

“Really, you’ve done enough,” you pull the door handle, “see ya.”

“Yeah, see ya,” he mutters.

You get out and shut the door gently. You turn and walk up to your building without looking back. After the morning you’ve had, work will be easy as pie.

🐰

You rush into the office and nearly collapse into your chair. You untangle your bag from your arm and tuck it under the desk. You hit the button to boot your computer and catch your breath as you watch it load. 

There’s three of you in the small space, tucked into cubicled desks as the partners retreat into their offices. You sign in and fan yourself with a folder. Only two hours late!

You get up as your desktop buffers and peek over at Marnie’s head, the constant tap of her typing nearly drowns out her grumbled, “morning.” You return the unemphatic greeting and stroll away. Taylor doesn’t say a word as usual as his eyes cling to his monitor.

You go into the shared kitchen and put a cup under the spout of the keurig. You open the cupboard and take out the small box marked with your name. Everyone brings their own supplies. It’s not a very friendly or cooperative environment.

You sift through and find a pod. Hazelnut. You grimace. You knew you shouldn’t have grabbed the variety pack. As you fish around for any other flavour, a pare of sole tap into the kitchen behind you. You glance up as Andy, one of the partner’s, enters with a black mug in hand.

“Oh, go ahead,” you move your cup off the tray, “I’m just looking for coffee.”

“Thanks,” he nears and grabs his own bin. It’s neatly sorted with tea and coffee, and a small pack of rice crackers. He mostly eats out with the partners or clients.

You continue your futile search. Hazelnut, hazelnut, hazelnut…

“Ooo, hazelnut. Can I interest you in a trade?” He intones as his hands rest on the sides of the box.

“You don’t even have to trade, you can have them.” You drop the pods back into the bottom.

“I got… caramel or some dark roast,” he offers. “Caramel’s a bit sweet but it was a gift.”

“Hmm, well, sure, I’ll take one of those,” you hold out a handful of pods, “keep em.”

He chuckles and lifts the box instead. You dump them in and he plucks out one of the orange pods in the other corner. “I wouldn’t mind if these one went mysteriously missing…”

You smile and thank him as you take the pod. He inserts one of the hazelnut into the machine and pushes down the lid. You wiggle your foot as you wait for his coffee to brew, trapped in another silence. Do you really need the coffee?

“Good weekend?” He cracks the icy lull.

“Uh, yeah, I… sorry I’m late.”

“I wasn’t meaning that,” he assures you, “really. I’m genuinely curious. You got caught in the storm? Must’ve been a nice getaway.”

“Uh, yeah, wasn’t really planned,” you fold your arms and lean your elbow on the counter, “me and my friends went out on Friday and then… I dunno, long weekend.”

“I’m jealous. I don’t even know the last time I went out anywhere,” he taps his fingers on the wood finish as the machine grinds, “my buddy was telling me I should. I’m a bit too old for clubs but he’s been on my ass to get out and meet someone… any tips?”

“Tips? From me?” You scoff, “barking up the wrong tree. But I definitely wouldn’t recommend a club.”

“Oh, bad experience?”

“Eh,” you tilt your head back and forth, “not really my thing. My friends are more into it.”

“Makes sense,” he nods as the last few drops spit into his cup. He slides it out and turns cautiously on his heel. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I don’t?” You wonder as you play with the pod between your fingers.

“Nah, a woman like you, you seem classier than that.”

You can’t help a crooked expression. It’s a compliment, you think. Unexpected for sure. 

“Thanks,” you take your cup and slide it across the counter, “enjoy the coffee.”

“You too,” he raises his mug and blows across the top, “and don’t work too hard.”

[zahri-melitor]

so i'm reading certain nightwing volumes from '96 - 02 for my current reading run following NML (shout out to @havendance, cannot thank you enough 🫶🏾) and while some aspects of how he's written is very compelling and interesting to chew on, for the most part it's been pretty....boring?? like i'm gonna keep reading it so i can have as much context as possible, but it feels more like a chore 😩

anyways, i read your response on that “who’d you choose to write nightwing” poll and i’d love to get your opinion on what nightwing runs/writers to read outside of those 8 volumes. i really wanna get into dick grayson’s character and personality! also, if it’s cool with you, anyone else please feel free to add to this!

-dominomasc

Hey, dominomasc. Unknowingly you've just raised one of the fundamental incongruities of how comics work.

Comics are about layers of stories providing depth to a character and about dozens of different interpretations more than they are about a single amazing run. (Some characters have That Run! But on average, most don't). Dick Grayson, a character that has existed for 84 years, has some very fun stories from all sorts of writers. His title, Nightwing, is also an excellent example of how a lot of long running titles often don't really have a stand out section that's head and shoulders above the rest.

I promise, you are never going to run out of stories to read about Dick Grayson (Comicsvine has him at 9,593 appearances as I write this). So yes, this is going to be about two things: advice on finding stories about Dick that vibe for you; and advice on understanding Dick alongside other storylines.

Taking into account what's listed above and the fact I'm moderately obsessive, I have compiled a discussion of most of the major writers who have written Nightwing runs, or who have written major titles that Dick also prominently appears in.

I am at heart a 'Dick belongs to the Bat Office' person and my expertise in most characters starts with COIE. On that basis I'm not going to dip into pre-Crisis here.

Marv Wolfman & George Pérez: New Teen Titans (1980-1993ish). I am not going to explain all the title names here; you're going to have to go get more detail from someone who treats NTT period as their special interest. Wolfman and Pérez are the architects of Nightwing as a character, separate to Robin, that Dick grew into. Read this period if you're interested in Dick as a young adult among the other Titans going through the transition into adulthood and independence, and his relationship with Kory. Basically it's a superhero young adult soap opera. It can be quite uneven in places, particularly towards the back end, and there are approximately a thousand discussions over which storylines are good and which should be fired into the sun. I am not a subject expert for this period.

Because of the state of the Titans titles in the early 1990s, the Bat office demanded Dick Grayson back under their control. Exactly when they got him back is slightly debated, but it would be fair to say Batman #500 (October 1993) marks his transition back to being a Bat character (around the start of Knightquest); by KnightsEnd and Prodigal (July 1994-January 1995) Dick is once again firmly a member of the Batman set of characters, and has remained so to date.

Prodigal, by Chuck Dixon, Alan Grant, Doug Moench: (Batman #512 to Robin #13). Use a reading list here as the stories are spread across multiple titles. Prodigal is 12 issues about Dick's first time being Batman, with Tim as his Robin, and his feelings about returning home to Gotham as an adult. Robin #13 in particular is possibly the most important issue of the story, as it's the foundation of a reset in Bruce and Dick's relationship with each other and how it is going to be characterised for the next decade or so.

Chuck Dixon: (Nightwing #1-70 1996, Nightwing: Alfred's Return, and a bunch of other one shots) So Dixon is probably DC's most prolific writer of all time, and is the architect of what's been treated as 'default Nightwing'. In this run, Dixon creates Bludhaven and the situation of Dick being its protector, out of a desire to be his own man apart from Bruce. He sets up an extensive Rogue's Gallery for Dick, the most famous of which is making Blockbuster one of Dick's main enemies. He has Dick working at a cop bar and then decide to enter the Bludhaven Police Department in an attempt to investigate it from the inside due to the levels of corruption. This is also the run where Dick and Babs get together as adults. Basically, everything about 'default' Dick that you probably know comes from this run. Dixon's great for character interaction, for world building, and and particularly at making various titles tie together - because he was writing at least 1/3 of DC's entire line for a while there he's the king of crossovers, giving a lot of depth to friendships because characters just pop between titles he's writing. His actual plots however vary between middling to occasional flashes of greatness. I'd consider The Hunt for Oracle (#45-46 and BOP#20-21) and the Shrike story (#55-58) to be the standout storylines in his Nightwing run; for individual issues I'd also point to #6 and #25 for his relationship with Tim, #16 for Dick building his car, and then his crossover issues in events tend to be quality.

Chuck Dixon and Scott Beatty: (Robin: Year One 2000, Batgirl: Year One 2003, Nightwing: Year One - Nightwing #101-106 1996) I am separating these three out from the rest of Dixon's work as they're quite important as retcons over Dick's backstory. Robin and Batgirl are well regarded rewrites of events; Nightwing is less so, partly because it's a solid example of the Jason personality retcon, and partly I think because a lot of people reading this were still well across the two 1980s versions of Dick's transition from Robin to Nightwing. I highly recommend Robin Year One, particularly with the Shrike storyline of Nightwing, as they are interlinked.

Devin Grayson: (Nightwing #71-100 & #107-117 1996, Nightwing/Huntress 1998, Gotham Knights #1-11 & #14-32, The Titans #1-20 1999) Oh, Devin. Devin Grayson is a Dick Grayson superfan (she uses Grayson as her surname because of Dick). She is really good at character introspection - Gotham Knights #1-11 contains some amazing character work. She's also not shy about establishing her own headcanons on characters and retconning their backstories. Devin's biggest contributions to the Dick Grayson lore are in establishing him as Romani and actually writing Bruce adopting Dick. Her run on Nightwing is best understood as a whump, break-the-cutie run, where Blockbuster sets out to destroy Dick's life, and in the process gets Dick fired, breaks up Dick and Babs, burns down Haly's Circus (for the first time), blows up his entire supporting cast, chases Dick out of Bludhaven and leads to Dick going under cover in the mob essentially to punish himself (also not the only time). Dick's also sexually assaulted in Nightwing #93 but I really beg people to read this in context of the rest of the run; this should be looked at as PART of the whole flow of whump, rather than as a separate situation. Grayson also had the title taken off her before she got to the 'comfort' part of the extended hurt/comfort storyline she was writing. It reads a lot better if you think of this in a more transformative fandom, ficcish manner of story rather than as a more standard run. If her Nightwing run is too grim for you, I highly recommend Gotham Knights and her Titans run; Devin Grayson is honestly best when she's writing a constellation of characters around Dick more than when she's writing Dick himself. She adores his friends and family. Standout issues to get a sense of Devin include: Nightwing #100, a self-reflective issue on Dick's history; Nightwing #81, where Dick's in hospital and Cass goes after Slade for him; Titans #15 1999, where the Fab 5 go on a camping trip together to get back to their roots and deal with a lot of tensions in the group; and Gotham Knights #8-11, Transference, where Dick and Tim team up to rescue Bruce, who's been brainwashed by Hugo Strange.

Jay Faerber: (The Titans #21-41 1999) Honestly Faerber's run on The Titans is not that Dick Grayson focused. It's entertaining if you want to read some solid Titans dynamics, but the standout characters you read this run for are Roy and Donna. Seriously, if you're into Roy, Cheshire and Lian drama I highly recommend Faerber's work; otherwise it's not an essential run for Dick.

Judd Winick: (Outsiders #1-25, 34-49 2003, Batman & Robin #23-25 2011) Winick tends to write an angrier and darker edged Dick Grayson, and he has a bunch of really common tropes you see pop out in his writing. These are no different, and thus include an awful lot of violence and characters having sex (so much sex). He can be quite funny as a writer, but honestly his Outsiders run does not have much of that humour. The Batman & Robin story is basically Winick finding some space to tie up his Jason Todd plot before Flashpoint obliterated it, more than an actual story about Dick. If you want a good encapsulating issue to get the vibe of Winick about Dick, take a look at Outsiders #21, which has a good chunk of Dick and Roy AND Dick and Bruce in it, though it's helpful to remember that this issue is set very shortly after War Games and so Dick is in a massive guilt spiral.

Bruce Jones: (Nightwing #118-124 1999) It's One Year Later! Bruce Jones moves Dick back to New York City (as Bludhaven went boom due to Chemo in the lead up to Infinite Crisis) and theoretically sets up Dick's status quo out to Reborn. So. The story Jones is most famous for is the first 4 issues of the run, which are generally referred to by fans as the TentaTodd story. Jason Todd turns up to run around annoying Dick by ALSO dressing up as Nightwing and committing crimes. He also turns into a tentacle monster for a bit. It is certainly a story that exists, but it actually is pretty in line with Jason and Dick's relationship up to Flashpoint: Jason turns up to be a brat who wants attention, does violent things, and Dick exhaustedly kicks the shit out of him and gets him locked up while despairingly going 'why is this my life'. Because of Jason running around killing people as Nightwing, the NYPD get mad at Nightwing and start trying to hunt him down. Jones is for the completionist.

Marv Wolfman: (Nightwing #125-137 1999) Lacking any better ideas, Wolfman gets a run on Nightwing. It's not Wolfman's finest work, to put it bluntly, and it's very obvious that Marv hasn't actually read any of Dixon or Grayson's runs. Marv does set Dick up working as a gymnastics and trapeze coach, which is always a decent job for him. If I had to pick one story from Wolfman, read Nightwing #127, where Dick gets buried alive and digs his way out of the grave.

Peter J. Tomasi: (Nightwing #140-157 1999, Batman & Robin #20-22 2011) Tomasi loves Dick Grayson, and particularly loves Dick's connection to his friends and family. Let me put it this way; in the lead up to Final Crisis and Blackest Night every title got an Origins and Omens short story on the back of an issue. Most books used it to write creepy or introspective reflections on awful stuff especially deaths that have happened to the characters. Tomasi used his to have Dick take Barbara skydiving for her birthday, and echo a bunch of themes from his first issue. I think this is one of the most mature and grown up looks at Dick prior to Flashpoint; Tomasi treats Dick as a grown adult with an adult relationship with Bruce. I love Freefall. Read Freefall to see some really interesting meta on Dick's relationship to the concept of falling and to the concept of catching falling people, a theme that's frequently present in his stories.

Grant Morrison: (Batman & Robin #1-16 2011) Astonishingly given how much of Reborn was designed by Morrison, they don't actually seem to care that much about Dick as a character more than as a prop to set Damian against. Dick's extremely focused on Damian in this title but also does not actually appear to like Damian very much. If I were going to recommend one story out of it I'd probably point to Batman & Robin #7-9, because Dick gets to be a giant hypocrite in them and tries to resurrect Bruce. It goes badly, for all involved.

Scott Snyder: (Detective Comics #871-881, Gates of Gotham, and like every Bat event during n52) The Black Mirror is probably my favourite piece of Dick!Batman storytelling set during Reborn. It's just elegant in terms of how hard Snyder pushes Dick and how his reactions are very much not those that Bruce would have. This is helpfully extremely obvious in that The Black Mirror and Gates of Gotham are actually part of a trilogy, the third act of which is Court of the Owls and due to Flashpoint Snyder had to rewrite CotO quite extensively including swapping Dick out of being Batman and having Bruce as the lead. Read The Black Mirror for Dick having a minor breakdown while solving a complex case with links to James Gordon and Babs. Read Gates of Gotham for incredible Dick & Tim & Cass & Damian fourway storytelling that shows the dynamics of every pairing out of the four.

Fabian Nicieza: (Nightwing #138-139 1999, Batman #703 & #713, parts of Battle for the Cowl, Nightwing #51-56 2016) The thing about FabNic is when he's on, he's very much on, and when he's not it can be painful. I actually almost would have skipped him on this list, but he very much deserves recognition for writing the Nightwing issues of Resurrection of Ra's Al Ghul, which alongside the Robin issues portray exactly how far Dick will go for Tim; and for Batman #703, which is the only issue prior to Bruce's resurrection that actually puts Dick, Tim and Damian on page together as heroes. He also got saddled with writing the start of the Ric Grayson saga under the script of Scott Lobdell, which, well, is definitely at the 'not well regarded' end of his oeuvre. FabNic is again a writer that is really good at character interaction, and I tend to find whenever I'm reading events where there's heaps of writers involved and he's there, the issues I really enjoy are the ones he's had a hand in.

Tony S. Daniel: (Battle for the Cowl, Batman #692-699 & #704-707 & #710-712) Oh, Tony Daniel. Why. Daniel's stories are probably the most classic-Batman of the Dick!Batman stories. His stories revolve a lot around drama at Arkham Asylum, with Harvey and Gilda Dent, and with the Falcones. On balance I think you could probably actually trade Dick out for Bruce in half these stories and it wouldn't make a huge amount of difference. If I were going to suggest one to try, maybe go with #710-712? It's Harvey focused and it has Kitrina Falcone and doesn't actually depend on the whole Jeremiah Arkham thing.

Kyle Higgins: (Nightwing #1-12, 0, & 15-29 2011) For a reboot of Dick Grayson down to his fundamentals, and working within the requirements of the 5 year time line, I like Higgins' work on Nightwing. Sure, I could have done without him burning down Haly's circus, again, and all the Court of the Owls revelations, but some of that was clearly dictated to him, and they way he gave Dick time as a teenager with relationships with other characters at Haly's before his parents died worked quite well. If I were going to cite a favourite part of this run it's probably the last section, #18-29 when Dick moves to Chicago and tries the 'strike out as my own hero with my own city, screw you dad' thing for the first time in the new timeline. Higgins put in quite a bit of cast building work and it's a shame none of it ever got used again between Forever Evil and then Rebirth just ignoring everything during this period.

Tom King and Tim Seeley: (Nightwing #30 2011, Grayson #1-20) I'm going to treat these two together here as I can't actually easily subdivide the run between them. This is the longest period Dick goes undercover working as a spy because his life has just gone to shit. He is both spying on Spyral (for Bruce) but also his job within Spyral is as a spy and special agent. Think James Bond, except Dick also gets to be the focus of the objectification camera. Some people enjoy it as a change of pace, some people can't stand it because it's just a very weird story for Dick and Dick's generally personally unhappy when he's stuck undercover, and it definitely is a highlight in the 'did you know Tom King worked for an intelligence agency? Tom King is working out his feelings about working for an intelligence agency again' oeuvre. If you want to try an issue, I recommend Grayson #5 as probably the best character and storytelling piece in the entire run.

Tim Seeley: (Nightwing #1-34) Good stuff I can say about Seeley's run includes that he used Rebirth as a impetus to rebuild Dick's status quo. He did quite a lot of world building for a new version of Bludhaven, he got Dick back into Nightwing and back into a blue V costume for the first time in 7 years, he's interested in looking at the Grayson family and not so much in terms of the Court of the Owls stuff. He likes Dick and Damian's time as Batman & Robin. Seeley's also a fan of a lot of character beats in terms of Dick's characterisation that were pioneered by Devin Grayson - particularly in terms of Dick being easily attracted to women, being impetuous and hot headed at times, and in the Romani retcon. I don't necessarily see eye to eye with Seeley on all of his characterisation and story choices, but he does a lot of repair work on getting Dick back to being Nightwing, including things like repeating beats from the Dixon and Grayson runs so that Dick has that backstory again, and what that means for his character. I might suggest Nightwing #8 2016, because it revolves around Bruce and Dick and the concept of falling (I'm a sucker for a good falling metaphor) or #9, which is literally a discussion of the changes between n52 and Rebirth with both of the Clark Kents, and in which Clark points Dick to return to Bludhaven (in a sort of re-encapsulation of Clark originally giving Dick the inspiration for the name Nightwing, but this time pointing him to what people treat as his default 'home'). If you like the shape of Dick as Bludhaven's hero from fic, you probably will find Seeley's run has stuff to enjoy.

Sam Humphries: (Nightwing #35-41 2016) So Humphries' storyline is another good example of what a lot of the current run of Nightwing contains since 2016 - reinterpretations and new versions of old stories. In this case, it's an adaption of the Hanging Judge storyline to have taken place in Bludhaven in Bruce and Dick's past. I don't mind it as a story, but it's definitely there to remind you of old story beats.

I haven't yet read Benjamin Percy's run, or any of Ric Grayson yet (which is a combination of Scott Lobdell, Fabian Nicieza and Dan Jurgens), or Tom Taylor's run, so I don't want to give you too explicit opinions on these.

In general terms from experience on other titles and what other people have said: I really loved Benjamin Percy's Detective Comics #35-36 story in n52 and I suspect his Nightwing writing is a perfectly acceptable fill; nobody particularly likes the plot surrounding Ric Grayson, and the fact Scott Lobdell had a hand in plotting it seems to me to explain a bunch of the aspects of the scenario premise that upset a lot of people; Dan Jurgens is a DC workhorse who can turn his hand to anything; and Tom Taylor's run has been described as many as 'rewrite the arc of Devin Grayson's run but make it light and fluffy and free of consequences'. I honestly think if you haven't read much Nightwing yet, Taylor's run may be a good transition run to try to see if he's your vibe; I keep getting the impression he probably makes a good intro for new readers.

If you have any other writers you would like my impression of, please ask specifically; as I've said, Dick's been written by a LOT of people over the years.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 13

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to let Whumpee sleep but carry them to the living room.

You get out of bed and walk to the side of Whumpee’s mattress. You pause for a moment, thinking about how you’ll do this. You gently slide your arms under Whumpee and lift them up, blankets and all. It's not exactly easy to carry a grown person, but you can manage long enough to get to the living room. You deposit them on the living room couch; by some combination of luck and carefulness, you managed to get them there without waking them up. You go to the kitchen to start making food. The rooms are next to each other, so you’ll hear if Whumpee gets up or has some sort of problem.

You start to cook breakfast, your stomach prompting you to hurry up.

When you’re close to finishing the cooking, you hear something shift in the next room. You turn off the stove and peek into the living room. Whumpee woke up, possibly roused by the smells. They’re looking around blearily, appearing confused.

“I moved you so you wouldn’t have to be left alone while I got the food ready,” you explain. “Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

You have to order them to eat again, but when you do, they comply without a hitch.

As they eat, you go over a list in your head of things you could do today that might make things better for Whumpee. There are a lot of options now that any emergency-level needs have been taken care of and it’s during business hours.

You could stay with them: do something fun and comfortable with them to try to build trust and help them relax around you more. Or take them outside, where they can get some fresh air and sunlight like they haven’t had in…a long while. Your backyard has high fences, so you should be safe from prying eyes with them back there. They also didn’t actually get a full, proper bath last night.

Or you could go out and get something for them. You can manage for now if you need to, but you’ll have to do some shopping sooner or later to make sure Whumpee has everything they need to live comfortably. Two changes of clothes aren’t a lot, an air mattress is more of a temporary thing, and the first aid kit won’t stay full forever. You also remember you thought about getting some books from the library for them, though maybe that’s a lower priority at this point.

If you go out in public, you will probably have to leave Whumpee at home. There are just too many unknowns, including what they’ll be able to handle and how likely you are to get caught towing around a victim. Former victim.

>>bonus poll<<

Taglist: (I'm putting it under a cut now because it's gotten pretty long. If this causes any issues for you please let me know.)

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, 

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries, 

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000, 

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial, @lumpofsand, @coffin-hopping, 

@sunglasses-in-the-bentley, @catnykit, @indigoviolet311, @dragongodryss, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast,

@risk606, @natthebatt, @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

I only criticise Taylor Swift to other swifties or to genuinely progressive people. Because as soon as I criticise her to an outsider who dislikes her, they take that as an opportunity to hate on her but it tends to come from a place of misogyny.

Yes, no one should be allowed to use a private jet to take a 13 minute flight. That’s objectively a gross use of privilege and wealth. And billionaires should do what they can to decrease their carbon footprint (e.g. see Coldplay’s efforts to plan their tour in an environmentally friendly way).

That’s all obvious. The issue is that so many people criticise her under the guise of caring about something that they don’t actually care about. I feel like it comes from a place of misogyny in these cases because they don’t reserve the same thinking for their own favourite celebrities.

I just wish people would actually care about current issues instead of weaponising them to target someone they don’t like. Let’s reserve this energy for all billionaires. Let’s eat the rich and leave none of them out yk? Hoarding that much wealth is objectively an immoral act. However, hating Taylor Swift while worshipping Elon Musk or Travis Scott just proves that so many of these people are coming from a place of deep rooted misogyny instead of caring about the environment or about helping disadvantaged groups.

[Obviously this excludes minority groups - especially POC groups - because she has a history of either hurting or ignoring these groups or people directly (e.g. see The Weeknds experience when he first met her and she made him feel really uncomfortable because she kept touching his hair and being weird)]

[lasandra]

Sketches of the Dragon Age men I've romanced + my reactions to their romance! For funsies!

Under the cut because it's quite long... There are spoilers for DA:O, DA:2, and DA:I (Probably not an issue because all these games have been out for 10+ years but I wanted to say, just in case).

These are just how 'I' feel about them. I'd love to hear everyone else's opinions on the characters as well! One thing I love about Dragon Age is that the characters are so complex that people can have very different opinions on them (and mostly not kill each other for it! :P).

Alistair:

Alistair was the reason I started playing the game back in 2010. My father had been given the game by his best friend and he would always let me watch him play games. He hadn't gotten further than defeating the Ogre in the Tower of Ishal before he quit playing, however, much to 12-year-old me's disappointment. I had immediately fallen in love with Alistair and wanted to see more of him! I asked if I could play and fortunately my father was not as careful about checking game ratings/content and said sure!

Words cannot describe how stunned I was when I found out you could romance companions in this game, this was an entirely new concept to me that blew my 12-year-old mind. To this day Alistair is my favorite fictional man and I would destroy all of Thedas to protect him.

Zevran:

I didn't have as positive an experience initially with Zevran as I barely took him anywhere with me initially (so my approval with him was always pretty low). Back then I figured he always would betray you when Taliesen shows up. One day I decided to run a playthrough where I romanced him. When I knew I was getting close to when Taliesen showed up I was sad, but thinking he was still going to betray me, I removed all his weapons and armor so that it would be easier to kill him. Boy was I surprised when he didn't betray me and was instead punching the other crows in his underwear... It was that playthrough that I realized how important it was to check approval lol.

Anders:

Anders and Nathaniel Howe had been my favorite Awakening characters. In my canon playthrough, I had protected the city but lost the keep, with Anders and Justice along with it. Or so I thought. When I loaded up DA:2 and saw him, I thought him being alive was a bug and was so excited that he wasn't dead! And when I saw that you could flirt with him, 13-year-old me was like, "Yeah, I'll be doing THAT!" It was all going great until the end of the game when he BLEW UP THE FREAKING CHANTRY! I was so upset, I wondered what I did wrong to make him do that. I loaded so many saves and started the game over 3 times trying to figure out how to avoid that. When I realized I couldn't stop him no matter what I did, I was completely and utterly devastated and PISSED. He is the reason I have trust issues in Dragon Age. I still choose to romance him sometimes because the guy is such a romantic but I do so expecting sadness and anger in the end lol. Knowing Hawke will never be as important as the cause and the fact that he LIES to Hawke, tricking her into helping him without full knowledge of what she's taking part in, will never cease to annoy me.

A lot, I know... He just makes me feel a lot of things xD It's a complicated love-hate relationship.

Fenris:

It took awhile for me to warm up to Fenris but he is by far and a way my favorite DA:2 romance now. Things are complicated with him and within the romance but it's very clear that he actually cares about Hawke. I can relate to him a bit in one way, the reason he leaves after he and Hawke get together in Act 2. Trauma like that can really ruin things that should make you happy, and it can be very frightening when memories of the traumatic event surface, and the last thing you want to do is make the person you care about feel bad or like it's their fault. It just makes me want to give him a hug. Poor spikey boy...

Sebastian:

I really wish Bioware had had the time to do more with Sebastian. I really do. His romance has some cute moments (and there are some interesting implications if you rivalmance him) but he was made as a DLC companion and it shows. I still quite like his character though, I know a lot of DA fans aren't fond but yeah lol. He can be a bit of a dramatic pain in the butt if you don't kill Anders though. That is very valid criticism.

Cullen:

Ah... Cullen... He was always controversial. A lot like Solas is now. There are people who hate Cullen's guts and people who adore him. I am quite obviously the latter. I wanted to romance him in DA:O, I wanted to romance him in DA:2, and then we finally got him in DA:I and it was better than I ever could have imagined.

Honestly, I kind of suspect that if I hadn't done Alistair's romance first, that Cullen's would be my favorite in the series. It's so sweet and he PROPOSES and married you IN-GAME. That's freaking awesome! And his ending slides after Trespasser just make me really really happy lol.

Alistair is still my favorite but Cullen is a very close second.

Blackwall:

Blackwall is a solid character and a sweet guy; his story and romance are very well written as well. Honestly though, he just looks too old for me. I was 16 when Inquisition came out and I'm 26 now. Dude looks like he could be my dad and so it's hard to convince myself that my characters would be interested in him. No shade to those who like him, just different preferences, and like I said, he's still a very compelling character and if he were younger or less bearded, I could probably enjoy the romance too.

While I make a big deal about Blackwall lying about being a Grey Warden, it's mostly just me picking on him. I actually do think it makes for an interesting narrative. It's so easy to sus him out when you've played Origins though lol! That being said, I DO make him become a legitimate Grey Warden because it just feels right to me and ensures that every Dragon Age game I play has at least one Grey Warden companion (so that everything is right in the universe).

Please don't hate me Blackwall fans lol!

Solas:

Am I a massive hypocrite for loving Solas so much while not being all that fond of Blackwall? Probably yes... But I can't help it! To be fair though, before I finished Inquisition for the first time (this was before the Trespasser DLC btw), I didn't even think I'd be interested. I'm a diehard Solavellan now, but I had initially just seen him as a pajama-wearing fade nerd (aren't I sweet?). As I've said I was 16 when I first played Inquisition and was too busy romancing Cullen to notice all the (in hindsight) obvious signs that there was more to Solas than met the eye.

When I saw that he was the dreadwolf... I kind of flipped my ever living shit. Fen'Harel had been the most interesting of the elven pantheon to me since I played my first dalish elf warden in Origins and now my Lavellan had the chance to romance him??? So naturally I did just that my next playthrough.

I didn't use the internet like I do now so I had no idea what was coming in Crestwood though. OOF! I was in shock. How dare this pajama-wearing fade nerd elven god just dump my poor Lavellan like that! Then Trespasser came out I had round 2 of getting my heart ripped out of my chest, dashed into a thousand pieces, and strewn about the fade in the most tragic way possible. *Is dramatic*

Cullen and Alistair may be my favorite romances for the romance itself, but Solas is my favorite romance for the overarching story. I mean, because the Inquisitor is seen by so much of Thedas as the Herald of Andraste, Lavellan is canonically a religious figure of the chantry whether she agrees with it or not. Solas is a religious figure of the elves. This means two religious figures from two separate religions get together and that is just SO interesting from a story perspective!

I can't wait to see what they do with the Solavellan romance in Veilguard. I hope it doesn't hurt too much xD

The Iron Bull:

16-year-old me was not prepared for this romance... At ALL. My poor mostly innocent eyes lol (Cullen's too!). It's a fun romance though, and my default inquisition romance for my Qunari and dwarf characters. He's cool. Plus I had a bit of a crush on Freddie Prinze Jr when I was a kid so like, that makes it kind of neat!

Final Thoughts:

Bioware has always written truly amazing characters and romances and I am so excited to see what Veilguard has to offer. I am probably going to have to do two playthroughs at once so I can romance Lucanis and Davrin so I can play both without knowing too much in advance.

Like I said at the top, I'd love to know what everyone's opinions of the characters are! Loveya!