#it's actually disgusting how beautifully she does that shit

[empty-movement]

SCREAMING The images and the OCR of the table of contents is complete!!!! I just need to do the metadata, packaging, distributing, and presenting, surely not in and of themselves giant pr5ojeifhweu feqw and yes these are the VERY LIGHTLY 'compressed' 10000px copies, the uncompressed full size master copy is 1.65GB lmaaaao

This has been something of a journey in thinking about how to archive, why, what, and the ultimate job of someone like me, trying to share a representation of a thing.

The original 2001 scans were not made with archives in mind. It's just not what we were about. What it was about was that back then, ANY artwork you saw online likely had to be scanned from an artbook, screencapped, or otherwise made from some other original--digitizing content was still new and unusual--although not unheard of.

(The other large batch of Saito's art available at the time was a CD-ROM!!! The Chiho Saito Key Art Gallery CD-ROM included video commentary on some key pieces, which WE DID IN FACT GET TRANSLATED, CHECK OUT CHIHO SAITO'S AWKS 1998 CD-ROM COMMENTARY YEP IT'S LIKE THAT. It struggled with the same thing I did--digitally representing artwork at the time was not as easy, and tended to result in some truly horrendous images.)

Anyway, back then, the goal was less to flawlessly represent the product and more to flawlessly present artwork for use in digital projects--essentially, my goal was to create clean and perfect raws from which to create websites, winamp skins, etc. That goal, combined with the general lack of capacity to do better, means that my original scans of this artbook are like over-compressed audio. To look good on the screens of the day, the images were over-saturated and the blacks and whites, highs and lows so to speak, got cut off. Also, the file sizes were a concern at the time, resulting in a willingness to lose those fine details for a version that could be distributed online. (Obviously also it's a resolution thing--but not much needs to be said about 1250px holding less information than 10000.)

This time, the goal is fidelity to the actual artwork by Chiho Saito. This is probably a controversial choice from a strict archival perspective--I *should* be trying to flawlessly represent the actual pages of the book:

And sure. That'd still be amazing, and more 'honest.' However, I am not an archiver, I'm a hobbyist doing what I fuckin' want, and what I want is the best means to celebrate the absolutely incredible talent of Chiho Saito, as an artist, using the means available to me: incredibly high quality print reproductions of her work, and incredibly powerful imaging tools and experience to tease the most information about the original from the print given to me. Essentially? COMPUTER. ENHANCE.

This is like, maybe a square inch or two or actual content as she painted it. But you can zoom in so far now that you can see how the white strokes, the final touches, never create solid lines--the touch is that light, over a very lightly rippled surface. You can see the rainbow of colors she uses to create the depth of the folds in the cloth, and you can even tease out how they got layered. IDK, I don't really fuck with any other fandoms, but I do think this level of fidelity is rare to see in digital representations of manga artwork that predates profession transfer for digital releases. (And even then--you rarely get your official manga artwork in 10k.)

Sure, I could give you the print moire versions of these, but in a digital format, where you can zoom in far beyond the illusion the print moire creates on paper, the details in the information become fundamentally lost to the eye. I've learned a lot over the years about finding those details, knowing how to tease out scan dust from what's actually there, and so on and so forth. I guess, as someone who has spent over 20 years photoshopping, archiving production artwork, scanning tens of thousands of pages, and also as someone who has seen some of these originals in person... this is an ultimate use of my skills to create something no one else is likely to do, including the creators of the work.

oh hey I ranted on for no reason except I need to mentally dump the last 10 hours of work anyway these are uh, coming soon ig I just wanted to talk more about them

Chiho Saito's Illustration Collection artbook is the highest-quality visual media in the Utenaverse. Oversized, single-sided, heavy pages with extremely high quality printing. It is the first artbook I ever scanned.

In 2001, the average screen resolution was 800x600, and I delivered a 1250px wide collection that for a while, took $60 A MONTH to host, because no normal website was hosting images of this ludicrous size. It took my scanner almost an hour to capture a third of each page. I spent months piecing the scans together in Photoshop. It was one of my first true Utena labors of love, and the result is that for decades, these copies have been the definitive copies of Chiho Saito's artwork on the internet. For a very long time, even kinda now, if you see these images, they're probably my scans.

But decades have passed, and I've never been happy with these results, because they couldn't capture the fine details, the paint spills, the sketch beneath poking out, the brilliant use of gradients of dark color to pop the image but drive me insane. What I am finishing up now is a true, archival copy of the artbook. One that delivers such high resolution, that these can print posters larger than the originals, and thanks to some truly brilliant descreening tech, (Thank you Sattva) I've been able to dig up fine details in the work that the printing obscured, but undeniably included.

It's been over 20 years, and it shows. 1250px? Nah, my archive copies are 15,000px wide. I can't wait to finish this and share it with the world. <3

[maul-of-shame]

Oh my god you’re out here acting like you’re some badass queen for having a horrible ship but you just sound like a middle aged bored mom who read a Colleen Hoover book and now makes it their entire personality because they’re bored. Also what’s with the big red letters? You don’t sound like a mean girl who’s making a point, you sound like a loser who’s in desperate need of a dose of reality.

Galadriel is like an older sister (or even a mother figure) to Elrond, which is why their relationship is so comforting. You trying to ruin that does make me upset cause I’m tired of people having no sense of media literacy. Not everything has to be shipped and definitely not something as dumb as this.

Also, fuck that stupid Sauron/Galadriel ship. It’s straight up people romanizing abuse and it’s disgusting. Canon!Galadriel would have never fallen for Hallbrand’s shit or Sauron’s charms and the way the Rings Of Power writers took a strong, mature female character and made her in to an immature schoolgirl (when she’s literally one of the oldest elves, older than Gil-Galad) is fucking stupid and actually misogynistic. I’m so tired of people taking strong female characters and watering them down to make them into a love interest for the villain or make her a cringy villain too. It’s dumb

So yeah, fuck Rings Of Power for destroying canon and destroying Galadriel’s character, fuck those Sauron/Galadriel shippers for being weird, and fuck you for taking a comforting, platonic relationship ship between two characters who have both been through a lot of shit and romanticizing it.

Also, fuck you for erasing Celebrian. I know you probably can’t comphrehend a female character being great without a sword in her hand so take that sword and shove it up your ass.

A word of advice, don’t touch the Lord Of The Rings when you clearly do not understand any of the characters, their relationships, or the meaning behind them. Just write your own book at this point with your own characters and leave the beautifully written stories of Tolkien alone.

Oh nooooooooo, did I offend you and your little Nazgûl toys? Did my horrifying act of (gasp) shipping two FICTIONAL characters make you sprint to the safety of the anonymous ask button, cloak fluttering dramatically behind you, so you could deliver this righteous tirade?🥺🥺🥺

Oh, how will I ever recover from being called a middle-aged Colleen Hoover mom by someone who’s clearly more pressed than the One Ring under Sauron’s hand? Truly, I’m shattered.🙄

Better a badass queen than some self-appointed Warden of the Fandom Wastes, skulking around like Gollum clutching your “precious” canon interpretations. Honestly, the only crown you’d ever wear is made of your own insecurities and bad takes, and even that sits crooked because it’s weighed down by all the irrelevant, unsolicited opinions you can’t stop flinging around. At least I’m out here enjoying myself—what’s your excuse?

You’ve got thoughts on the big red letters, do you? How utterly precious. Let me roll out the crimson carpet for you, since it seems they’ve left such a deep impression on your clearly delicate sensibilities. Here, let me give you more big red letters, because I wouldn’t want you to feel deprived of the melodramatic theater you seem so desperate for:

BIG. RED. LETTERS. JUST. FOR. YOU.!!!!

How’s that? Feeling better? Maybe this will soothe whatever irrational rage my formatting has triggered in that oh-so-fragile ego of yours. You’re acting like I personally painted the Eye of Sauron in your living room. Imagine being so pressed over font choices on the internet as well. It’s giving “I’m mad at PowerPoint for existing” energy, and frankly, it’s embarrassing.

You're embarassing yourself honey.

I wrote a reply, but I doubt you have the intelligence to understand it—or to hear it over the sound of your teeth grinding. Don’t worry, though! I hear Nazgûls get special dental benefits under Sauron’s health plan! Might want to book that appointment before the Mouth of Sauron starts mumbling your excuses for you!🦷🦷🦷

[TW: long salty rant]

First of all, if you’re so confident in your opinions, why are you skulking in my inbox as ANON, like Gollum trying to steal his precious back?

If you’re going to talk big about media literacy and "ruined characters," at least have the courage to do it without hiding behind the shadowy safety net of anonymity. You don’t sound like a defender of Tolkien’s legacy.

You sound like someone who got rejected by the Council of Elrond and has been bitter about it ever since.

Second, your entire rant reeks of irony. You complain about media literacy while writing paragraphs of projection, completely ignoring that this is fan content.

FAN. CONTENT.

You know, the space where people explore different interpretations and tell stories that resonate with them? Oh, but no! We must all bow to your singular, unyielding interpretation of Tolkien’s work, or else risk being smote upon the mountains of your judgment! Get over yourself. Seriously.

The best part? You’re mad about me "ruining" Galadriel and Elrond’s "comforting" dynamic by exploring a different take, but in the same breath, you’re tearing down Rings of Power Galadriel for being "immature" and "cringy." Sweetheart, pick a lane. You’re out here defending canon while also trashing it—what is this, the mental gymnastics World Championships? I have to say, your flexibility is impressive, careful of pulled muscles.

And so I have a sword up my what now?

Oh, my dear anonymous bard of bitterness, that’s quite the reach for someone who’s clearly got a scroll of the Silmarillion shoved so far up their ass that they probably recite Quenya conjugations in their sleep.

What’s next? Are you going to accuse me of erasing Melian because I didn’t write her into my Elrond and Galadriel fic either? Or maybe I’ll get yelled at for not including Bill the Pony in a Kingsman AU (he will be besties, don't worry)?

Let me make this very clear for you, Elvish Choir Master of Overreach, Herald of the Screeching Essay, Defender of the Lore That Nobody Asked You to Protect, Wielder of the All-Caps Argument, and Keeper of the Scroll That’s Shoved So Far Up Your Ass You Probably Quote “Ainulindalë” When Ordering Your Morning Coffee (truly, your titles grow longer than Treebeard’s introductions, yet none of them seem to include “Maker of a Valid Point.”!")-

Celebrian is not missing because I "don’t comprehend strong female characters without swords." She’s missing because, brace yourself, not every single piece of fanfiction has to feature every single character from Tolkien’s works.

Shocking, I know. Truly, I can hear the Valar themselves weeping at this revelation.

But here’s the thing: I’m not writing a Celebrian-centric fic. And you know what? That’s okay. You can unclench now.

Let’s really talk about your oh-so-bold suggestion to shove a sword somewhere for a sec. That’s your masterstroke? That’s the hill you’re dying on?

If we’re being honest, your insult is so dull it wouldn’t cut through soft butter on a sunny day, let alone make me flinch. Sting is officially handing in its resignation because it’s mortified to even share a sentence with you. You’re out here acting like you’ve got the sharpest blade in the Shire, but all I see is someone frantically flailing with a broken spoon.

And then there’s this laughable attempt at moral superiority. You’re swinging around words like you’re a defender of Middle-earth itself, valiantly protecting Tolkien’s legacy, when in reality, your argument is about as sturdy as a sandcastle at Helm’s Deep. You’re not a warrior—you’re the Mouth of Sauron after a bad day, spewing nonsense and hoping someone will think it’s profound. Newsflash: it’s not.

Let’s be clear: your little temper tantrum reeks of someone who just discovered the caps lock button, a bunch of adult words and decided to let it do all the heavy lifting.

I’ve seen hobbits throw better shade after three pints of ale.

You’re no mighty protector of canon—you’re just another basement-dwelling troll who thinks yelling loud enough will make people take you seriously.

And your sword suggestion? I’d recommend you point that creative energy inward, maybe use it to figure out how to construct an actual argument instead of regurgitating clichés you probably heard from your "leader" of choice in your private toxic fandom echo chamber. Don’t worry, though—I doubt you’ll hear any of this over the sound of your teeth grinding or the faint whistle of your Nazgûl screech echoing through your mom’s basement.

Maybe take a break, Denethor—chew on a tomato or two, cry into your cloak, and try again when you’ve leveled up from hobbit insult level: preschool.

Honestly, you’re not even mad about Celebrian being “erased.” You’re mad because I dared to write something that doesn’t align with your precious headcanons. And instead of just scrolling past, you decided to play Tolkienquisitor in my inbox, as if you’ve been personally tasked by Eru Ilúvatar to uphold canon.

I'm sorry (no) to break it to you but nobody crowned you King (or Queen) of Arda.

Not every single piece of fanfiction needs to involve every canon character just to meet your Tolkien purity test. If that’s a requirement, maybe you should write the fic. Oh wait....- you’re too busy spamming inboxes with this unhinged bullshit. My bad.

Here’s the thing, Bearer of Misplaced Rage: nobody asked for your unsolicited essay about the sanctity of Celebrian. But please, do continue climbing the Tower of Tolkien Purism like you’re on some holy quest. Maybe at the top, you’ll find the self-awareness you so desperately lack—or perhaps just a mirror to reflect your ridiculousness back at you.

You wanna talk about erasing characters? Fine.

Let’s talk about how you erased common decency, social awareness, and basic literacy by barging into my inbox with this drivel. The lorebros tirades and scroll-up-the-ass syndrome are bad enough, but now you’re out here flinging insults like “shove a sword up your ass” as if you just invented edgy. Sweetheart, that’s not edgy—that’s the kind of thing a D-list internet troll would type before running out of Wi-Fi.

So, let me leave you with this, oh Guardian of the Fanfic Gates: the next time you feel compelled to compose another Screed of the Self-Righteous, maybe take a moment to ask yourself, “Does this make me sound like a reasonable human being, or just a Balrog throwing a temper tantrum in a lava pit?” Because right now, I’d wager Smaug hoarding gold has more chill than you do.

And let’s not even start with your hilariously misplaced outrage about me shipping Elrond and Galadriel while we both apparently agree that Saurondriel is not our cup of tea. You’re yelling into the void about something I never even said or supported. Congratulations! You’ve officially argued against a strawman!

Here’s your Orcish participation trophy!

Thank you, Supreme Chancellor of Canon Policing, Overseer of the One True Interpretation, and Gatekeeper Extraordinaire of Tolkien’s Sacred Scrolls. I am truly humbled to be graced with your unsolicited advice, delivered with the self-importance of someone who thinks they’re the Mouth of Sauron but comes off more like Gollum arguing with his own reflection. Truly, I don’t know what I’d do without such pearls of wisdom.

But let me give you a word of advice, oh Lore Purist in Chief, President of the Fanfiction Police Union, and Guardian of the Shire’s Moral High Ground: I will touch Tolkien’s world, twist it, flip it like a pancake, and build something entirely new on top of it because guess what?

I’ve already done it.

And I’ll do it again.

And the best part? I don’t give a single, solitary fuck about your opinions, your outrage, or your sad little attempts to gatekeep Middle-earth like it’s your family heirloom.

You think your tired, sanctimonious “write your own book” line is a gotcha? Sweetheart, I already have. Several, in fact. And guess what? I’ll write more—more stories, more ships, more reinterpretations—and there’s nothing you can do but sit there in your self-proclaimed Chair of Canonical Superiority, furiously typing out essays that no one but you cares about. Go on, keep clutching your pearls and scribbling your fanfic hate manifestos, but let me promise you something: I’m not stopping. Ever.

It’s honestly adorable that you think your little decree will somehow shame me into putting my pen down. What next? You gonna summon the Valar to smite me for daring to reinterpret a fictional world?

Send an eagle my way, please—I’ll need it to carry all the fucks I don’t give about your opinion.

And let me be clear, Warden of Tolkien’s Spirit: your outrage is just fuel for my creative fire. Every time you whine, I just want to write more. So congrats, you’re officially my muse now, Pontiff of Perpetual Fan Rage!

You know what’s truly laughable? Your holier-than-thou act of pretending you’re the sole arbiter of what Tolkien “meant.” Tolkien’s works are complex, layered, and ripe for reinterpretation—that’s the beauty of storytelling. But no, you’ve decided you’re The Chosen One who understands it all, while the rest of us mere mortals stumble around in the dark.

Honey, if you’re the shining beacon of understanding, I’d rather take my chances in Moria without a light.

So, High Inquisitor of Gatekeeping™, continue shouting into the void, continue crying about my creative choices, and continue being mad about fanfiction. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here doing exactly what you hate: writing more, creating more, and caring less about your irrelevant opinions.

Go back to your dark little corner of Middle-earth, chewing on your bones—or was it cherry tomatoes this time?—and maybe weep dramatically about how "nobody understands your self-proclaimed brilliance". Honestly, your energy is giving less "Steward of Gondor" and more "Steward of Mom’s Basement."

Do you light a big, dramatic bonfire every time someone disagrees with you, or do you just sulk under the glow of your monitor, waiting for someone to tag your ship so you can descend like a Nazgûl in a hissy fit?

You’re out here acting like you’re defending Tolkien’s honor, but let’s be real—you’re just pressed that not everyone worships at the altar of your very specific, incredibly narrow, terminally boring interpretation of his works. It’s okay, really. We get it. You’ve been sitting there so long with that “scroll of canon” shoved up your ass that you’ve convinced yourself you’re a scholar.

Spoiler alert: you’re not. You’re just the guy crying into a bowl of instant noodles, mad that someone dared to take creative liberties with a fictional story.

To my knowledge, the Tolkien Estate is NOT sending you a paycheck to defend their lore. You’re not a martyr. You’re not a scholar. You’re not even the fun kind of fan who shares cool lore facts. You’re just the guy screaming, “That’s not canon!” into the void while the rest of us are out here enjoying our fandom like adults.

Here’s a thought: maybe instead of crying about other people’s ships, you could take that energy and, I don’t know, apply it to something useful. Learn Elvish. Build a model of Barad-dûr out of your tears. Or maybe, just maybe, stop weeping over cherry tomatoes and touch some grass. I hear the Shire has a lot of it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have characters to write, ships to build, and a very long scroll of I don’t care to finish signing. Good day, Esteemed Minister of Misguided Rage.

Morning people! It's just above 8am but a Lorebro called (screamed)! XD

[deathvalleyqueen]

After spending 3 days arguing on Steam this is what I have learned.

After posting several reasonable arguments of why xyz thing is a part of Veilguard - including citing lore, the short stories, etc... that people just want to shit on the game because mostly they don't find characters attractive, that the characters are Pan, and you have the option to make a transgendered MC. The amount of times I have seen "woke" being used to describe the game is absurd. They need to expand their vocabulary.

It's so gross when you get down to it - I want to stress these are not my opinions by any means - they hate Neve because she is a disabled woman of color and "Who the hell wants to romance a woman with one leg- I would never date her in real life". They think no one wants to romance Darvin because he is a black man. They hate Lucanis because he is an "ugly anime boy with wings", the hate Bella because she is "fat and has saggy tits" and she is not white, they hate Taash cuz she is too masculine, they hate they made Harding "ugly". Emmrich is like the one they say "he looks okay" but he is white...

I genuinely think the people on Steam are just angry that people who aren't like them are getting rep in this game (which I love to see, I know how beautifully diverse this community is), like the only people who play Dragon Age are white men who just want women for the male gaze. It's beyond toxic. They are constantly complaining "women don't play real games" while I have almost 1k hours in Destiny which is a "real" game to them but my opinion isn't valid because I am a woman... and will probably play the game on the easiest mode. Like excuse me sir I have done every single Raid in Destiny, I have solo'd Legend the campaigns in D2, I have very rare achievements in BG3 that are combat based, all things you can see on my profile, like I have pretty serious gamer chops. But my achievements to them are null because I am a woman. The worst part is some of them are women. Sexism and Misogyny in gaming is very much alive, particularly from other women.

There is no pleasing these people, there is no having a reasonable discussion. There is no citing actual lore from the games that supports things in Veilguard, there is no pushing back against them because they will legit just start calling you horrible names and Steam does nothing as far as moderation which allows these people to run amuck and entitle them to be bigots. Really, it's one of the most disgusting places I have had the misfortune of seeing.

[darklordofthesimp]

König realizing he loves birdy must have been a bittersweet hell, I mean- just coming to really care for her (not just trying to make it up to her, but actually really wanting to be her friend and have her reciprocate) must have been stressful enough considering she hates his guts and wants nothing to do with him, but love? Dear god. Torture, true torture for him after all that. I’m sure he feels guilty enough about how his mere presence stresses her out to begin with, realizing that he’s fallen for her must seem like the most selfish thing he could possibly have done. Love is stressful and complicated under moderately good conditions, much less- *gestures wildly at their whole situation* -This. How does one begin to unravel their feelings and attempt to communicate how much they care when they completely destroyed any implicate trust and friendliness in one rather Gory meeting? What do you do when your first impression was maiming them beyond recognition and almost killing them? How do you backtrack from that when they still hate you, and even more painfully, still have nightmares and flashbacks of you to freshly remind them anytime they begin to forget? The searing pain of her flinching everytime he so much as moves too quickly, of seeing her emerge in the morning with puffy bloodshot eyes glaring at him, knowing she spent another night with him as her personal boogeyman and there’s nothing he can do about it. That she won’t let him comfort her because she’s still afraid of him, afraid that he’ll hurt her, and he can’t claim that he would never- she would spit back that he already has, and she would be right. I wonder if it would be a slow sinking realization and acceptance of his fate, or if it’d be a sudden and violent sledgehammer to the heart that sends him spiraling into a panic attack once he finally finds the words for the extra spark he’d been feeling towards her lately. Each one is a special kind of pain anyhow.

Can I just point out that this was beautifully written and I was FEELING SOME SAD SHIT READING THIS. Just this crumb that you've offered has more talent than every ounce of brain power it takes for me to put out a fic I stg.

I think König would genuinely feel like a bad fucking person. He knows it was an accident but to fall in love with the person whose life you ruined?

He thinks there's definitely a special place in Hell reserved just for him- and not for the war crimes.

I can see him definitely heaved over in his room, eyes wide as he tries to regulate his breathing. It's like he's been fucking sucker punched, it's as if someone had hit him with a freight train.

He wishes he had never met you.

You would have been safe from him and he wouldn't be fucking haunted by you. His every waking moment you're on his mind.

He's never felt such an overwhelming sense of emotional turmoil.

If he ever let's himself imagine you feeling the same way back, a fantasy he keeps as he falls asleep- he reminds himself that he's fucking disgusting for even insinuating it.

Loving Birdy means hating himself.

He wishes he had never met her.

[praisehoes-and-runovervirgins]

I had another intense daydream about DILF Bakugou. It will be a continuation from my first one. 

Again, I am not a strong/good writer so please don’t come at me for mistakes. I also didn’t think I was going to get attached to the kids but haha I did. The oldest one’s name is Liam and the younger one’s name is Noah. 

Warning: Cursing and mutual pining.

----

The elevator door opens at his penthouse apartment, it was 8:30am and you were already there. Seems kinda eager Y/N. You stir in the elevator trying to calm yourself down pressing your hand to your chest taking a deep breath as the elevator door opens. You almost forgot how to breathe when you saw Bakugou standing there in front of the elevator holding two cups of coffee. “Good morning, you’re early” he says. She’s on time, I like that. Drinking you in before handing you a badly painted ceramic mug full of coffee and turning to walk to the kitchen. You quickly walk behind him. “I don’t know how you take your coffee. I have creamer if you want” he says as he pulls it out of the fridge and places it in front of you. “Just a little sugar” you say pushing past his hands grabbing the covered sugar that was on the counter. He grabs it before you can and places it in front of you but not before you hands touch for a moment. You jolt your hand back and smile warmly as you put a spoonful into your coffee and take a sip. That was cute. It’s silent as you two take turns staring at each other while the other looks around the house or out the window. Bakugou was wearing a black tank top that beautifully showcased the muscles that were scattered with scars as a result of years of hero work. He was wearing black pajama pants that hung low enough for you to almost see his happy trail. God, he looks so good. Stay calm. After you both finish your coffee he stands up and leads you up the staircase. The apartment looks bigger than last night, the light beaming in showcasing it’s grandness. Bakugou tells you about the boys, one is 11 and the other is 3 ½. He goes on to talk about them like if they’re the best thing to ever happen to him. Who would’ve thought he had a soft side. He looks so happy when he talks about them. I can’t fuck this up. 

You walk behind him as he enters the boy’s bedroom but stop in your tracks before entering looking at the sign that says, “NO GIRLS ALLOWED” in big bold badly written handwriting. “Hi” says the older one staring at you, arms crossed and tense. No one can deny that he’s Bakugou’s child. “Hi, my name is Y/N” you said with a warm smile. The little one ran to you hugging both your legs together almost making you fall over. “I like your name. You’re pretty. Why are you here?” he said all in one breath looking up at you. “She’s here to hang out with us today,” he said, mirroring the older one. “Do we really need a babysitter?” said the older one under his breath but still loud enough for you to hear him. Bakugou looked at him and said, “Yes, you can do your own thing but Y/N’s here to mostly help your brother” he grunted annoyed at the older one’s questioning. Wow you can cut the tension with a knife. The little one hangs on your legs and you bend down to hold him in your arms. “You smell good. She’s mine now” wrapping his arms around your neck and red eyes staring daggers at his dad and brother. Yeah, he’s bakugou’s kid for sure too. “You can keep her” the older one says under his breath rolling his eyes pushing past you leaving the room. The rest of the morning went well, you spent most of the time with the little one. You guys had breakfast together. Bakugou made pancakes and eggs while the little one showed you his massive Almighty collection. The bigger one walking by from time to time just to see what you both were doing.

 After breakfast it was bathtime. You were giving the younger one a bath when Bakugou walked by. He looked in and he wouldn’t help but smile at the view of you kneeled down in front of the tub blowing bath bubbles, praising the little one for being so good at it. I think I did the right thing. Look at how happy he is. He deserves to have a content woman in his life. They’re perfect together. Don’t fuck this up man. He leans against the door frame. The little one notices and looks past Y/N at his dad. “What are we doing today daddy?” he says with a hopeful smile it’ll be something fun. “Yeah, what are we doing today daddy?”. You pause covering your mouth immediately after saying it. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. “U-Um I was thinking about the park, movie at home then dinner. How does that sound?” he said staring at the back of your head then at the little one. “YESSSSSSSSS” the little one jumped up out of the bathtub slashing your shirt as a result. You all laugh. You turn to grab the towel hanging on the sink and your eyes meet. His eyes are so intense. He probably wants to fire me. God, why would I say that. Little did you know Bakugou melted at the sound of you calling him that. Something about was so natural like it just melted off your tongue. The morning went normal as well. There were moments where you could feel Bakugou’s eyes on you. You peek at him for a second just for your eyes to meet and him to look away at the last second. When you arrive at the park you clench at your purse full of park necessaries. The two boys run away as soon as they see the playground. You sat yourself down beside Bakugou, not moving your eyes from the little one. Some time passes before you finally say, “I-I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to call you that. I-I was just repeating what he said” you explained not making eye contact. Bakugou’s heart broke a little. He didn’t mind it all. He was actually thinking about it the whole time. Imaging you calling him that over and over. “I didn’t mind,” he says, staring at you and letting out a little giggle. “I thought I made things awkward” letting out a sigh of relief moving her eyes to meet his. His eyes can really turn a hole into anyone huh. Her whole body relaxed as she put the purse on the side of the bench. “You didn't,” he said, looking out at the little one as he waved from the highest part of the playground. She sat there as they began to make small talk. “Y/N, come here. Come play with me!” the little one yelled at the top of lungs. “Coming!” you call out jumping to your feet, your breast giggling as you stand up. Bakugou noticed. Bakugou is left there watching you and the little one giggling and hugging each other. I can get used to this. 

The little one was playing in the sandbox while you were standing on the outside watching him and praising him for doing a good job. “Hey, I’ve never seen you here before” A voice says behind you, making you jump. “No, I’ve never been to this park” you say looking up at the man. He was pretty handsome, tall and wearing a bookbag probably full of park supplies. “Is that your kid? He’s cute” he says, waving at the little one. “No, I’m just the babysitter” you say, turning back around to face the boy. You turn your head to look at Bakugou and he’s already on his way over to you. “Hey man, can I help you?” He steps between you and the man. Bakugou towering over the poor man. “Oh shit, dynamight. I’m a huge fan” he says reaching out to grab his hand but Bakugou just stares at him. You are intensely staring at the two men until the little one grabs you and pulls you away from them and towards the swings. “Man, your babysitter is hot, but I’m guessing you already knew that. We’ve all been checking her out” the man said, staring at you and pointing at the group of men all staring at you as you push the little on the swing. “What?” he said looking around at all the men staring at you like a piece of meat. OH FUCK NO. He didn’t even notice how good you looked in that outfit. WHY WERE THERE SO MANY MEN HERE WTF. You bent over to tie the little one’s shoes putting your whole ass on display. He would almost hear the men gasp and whisper disgusting things about you to each other. Little explosion started in his hands. Calm down. The man walked away at that point seeing how angry he looked. He walked over to you and grabbed you by the wrist, “Lets go” he said almost growling. “Yeah, is everything okay?” you say confused. “Fucking extras..” he said looking around letting go of your wrist. You grab the little one and call out to the bigger that they’re leaving. The whole car ride was awkward. He kept looking at you from time to time and scuffing. What’s up with the mental gymnastics?. What happened? Did the guy say something about you? You barely talked to him. The next few weeks were filled with laughs, cuddles and love while you were in the Bakugou home from the little one and occasional engagement from the older one. Bakugou wanted to make you feel more at home so he would buy flowers and candles and put them around the apartment. It was a nice thought. 

One day you can hear him stirring and cursing under his breath in his office when you walk by. “Are you coming to watch the movie with us daddy” said the little one as he came into the office. “Nah. You guys can watch it. I’ll sit this one out” he said turning around in his computer chair to look at him. “No, I really want you to. We have to watch it like a family.” he looks up at him and attempts to do the world’s best puppy dog face. “I don’t think so” he twirls in his computer chair back to the computer. “I think It'll make Y/N pretty happy.” he says squinting at him. “Right Y/N?” Manipulative little brat “It would make me very happy” you straighten your back as you hear your name. “Okay” he says standing up from his chair walking behind you as you go to put on a movie while sitting on the couch. The little one was firmly placed on your lap while the older one was on the other side of the coach on their phone. Bakugou sat next to you placing his arm above the coach behind you. 30 minutes into the movie both Bakugou and the little one were snoring. The little one now wrapped around your chest drooling on your collarbone and bakugou knocked out on your shoulder. This felt nice. You continued and watched the movie trying your hardest not to laugh loud enough for both of them to wake up. Once the movie ended it was already dark out so you decided to shift your way out of bakugou’s grasp now firmly wrapped around your waist and bring the little one to bed. The older one watching your every move. 

You’re about to wake up bakugou still knocked out on the couch when you hear, “You’re not our mom you know”. You turn around to see the older one standing there, arms crossed. “I didn’t think I was honey” you say softly walking over him. He steps back and stares at you. “Y-You’re acting like-like our mom used to” he said in almost a whisper. “I’m not here to replace your mom my love. I’m just here to make your family’s life a little easier. I’m sorry if I’m stepping on anyone toes.” He huffed in response. “I just miss her sometimes and you kinda..” He stops himself. You sit down in one of the stools in front of him. “I’m here if you wanna talk about it” you say looking at him. You were unsure about what happened to their mom. Bakugou never mentioned her and neither did the kids. It was almost like she didn’t exist until now. “She left us a while ago. She told us she was coming back for us but she never did. I-I don’t know why” he looked like he was going to cry. You jumped out of your seat to hug him but he rejected it, pushing your arms away. “I can’t trust you. You’re going to leave just like her” he said as he ran to his room and slammed the door. You didn’t want to leave him like this. You couldn’t leave him like this. You waited a while and decided to make him his favorite meal, spicy ramen. You go in front of the door and knock, “I left some spicy ramen in front of the door. I figured you were hungry” you say leaning against the door. No answer. You can hear the door slowly creak open as you walk away and you smile.

 You walk away going downstairs to clean up the mess you made. “Hey” a voice says from the couch. Bakugou stretches his huge muscles and it makes your knees feel a little weak. “Hey sleepy head” you say lovingly. “How long was I out?” he said looking for a clock. “I’m not sure, A while I guess. I finished watching the movie a while ago” you said scrubbing the dish. “Oh” he said in a raspy voice. “Anything happened?” he said, reading your tense body language. “Liam brought up his mom” you said biting your bottom lip not meeting his eyes. “Oh fuck, that agan” he says wiping his mouth with his hand then rubbing his neck. “Yeah, he was pretty upset. Do you mind if I sleep over. I’ll sleep on the couch if anything. I want to make him his favorite breakfast in the morning.” you look up at Bakugou almost with tears in your eyes. She really likes my kids, wow. “U-Um yeah, you can sleep over whenever you like. We have an extra bedroom. I kinda like it better than you going home.” he says looking for your reaction. “I really only use my place to sleep and come back here anyways” you say giggling. “Then you should just move here” he says. 

You both stare at each other. “Yeah, I think I’d like that,” you said trying to conceal your smile.

Tag: @lil-miminini ❤️

[sharkneto]

Thank you @candiliam328 for falling for my trap, buried in my tags, so I can rant about the Commission and how it’s portrayal changed from S1 to S2 and what a missed opportunity that was. Bless you.

So, first: What I like about the Commission. Most of this comes from S1. Like most things in S1, they set it up beautifully. All we know about them, at the beginning, is that they have a vast reach and are very powerful. Istanbul Not Constantinople shows us how deadly and competent Five is, and he’s still wary and cautious about the Commission. They never let you forget that they are A Very Big Villain. My very favorite thing about S1 Commission, though, is how insanely inefficient they are because they have time travel so they don’t actually need to be efficient. They find temporal anomalies they need to correct through field agents who flag them for Corrections to come fix. That’s so stupid I’m obsessed. They have one, elderly woman in charge of all communications between field agents and main office. They use goddamn typewriters while they have literal, portable time travel machines.

This is gonna get long so lemme put the rest under a read more – bear with me.

S2 undoes a lot of this. I hate the Infinite Switchboard. It’s an obvious lazy plot device so Diego can know exactly what he needs to know to save Vanya and the world. It also retcons the field agents looking for temporal anomalies which I just said I love. It changes the scope and methodology they established in S1 and makes the Commission too all-seeing. The only thing I like about the Infinite Switchboard is that it means we can headcanon they all watched Five’s time in the apocalypse like a TV show. That’s it.

The other thing S2 changes is it makes the Commission an ambiguous villain. It sets up that actually, the Commission could be a good guy if it weren’t for that goshdarn Handler! I’ve said this before, but they should have kept the Handler dead (sorry Kate Walsh, you are a delight to watch). It would have given Hazel’s actions more meaning and it would have set up AJ Carmichael to be the big bad of S2, which he should have been. By their self-appointed mission, the Commission cannot be anything but Bad. You could maybe argue for morally dark gray, but that’s all I’ll budge.

Why do they have the authority for what is and isn’t the Correct Timeline? What about free will? They just kill people to “correct” things. The amount of apathy for human life you’d have to have, to work in any capacity for the organization, is frankly disgusting. This brings me to Herb and Dot. Depending how you interpret her in S1, Dot is the one who flagged baby Five appearing in the apocalypse and then monitored him for forty years, no help, no interference, just watched this literal child starve and go insane by himself until he was useful enough for the higher-ups to call for him to be scooped out and used as a weapon. That’s Evil. We don’t have the same comparison for Herb, but we do know he’s working to make sure the Lusitania will sink and kill almost 1,200 people. Both of them are shown to be cheerful and enjoy their jobs - It’s just a job and it’s for the Greater Good :) Horrific. S2 sets these two up as protagonists within the Commission.

By changing how they Commission is portrayed in S2, they missed a huge opportunity to have a truly unique, horrific villain. The 50s aesthetic leans in heavy to help with the horror, as the idyllic lens media views the 50s-60s is perfect for that uncanny valley vibe. The duality of that perfect, cheerful surface with that apathy and blind disregard for anything outside of The Way It Should Be? *chef’s kiss*. Add in that they can pop in at literally any moment and fuck shit up, and jfc! The stakes! They are so high! The Handler calls herself “but a cog in the machine” in S1. Ok, so what does that look like? How S2 took it, she’s not actually a cog and is the lone, evil malfunction in the grander machine. If she actually was a cog, then her removal sets up a larger, darker villain (AJ Carmichael) to prove to us that she was just the tip of the iceberg for what the Commission is capable of. This rewrites a lot of S2 (which, while I love S2, wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing) and would make the Commission the Big Bad, instead of the Handler.

Anyway, this got long. Tldr: How they changed the Commission from S1 to S2 downplays their threat in S1 and is a massive missed opportunity for a truly horrific and powerful villain. And also then Five would have gotten to eat the fish-man

[savagenutella46]

Standing Here With You

A valentine’s day gift for @thecaptainhelm lm. (By the way, I love you so much and you’re amazing) I hope YOU have an awesome eventful day filled with lots of love because you’re such an amazing writer and I love you!!!!!!

Also, @eat0crow , who is moderating the gift exchange! Thank you for all you’ve done!

Everyone has a soulmate. 

It's not a notable deal. Though it's something many people cherish and look forward to, it's just as much an ordinary fact as primary color mixing: that's just how the world works.

Blue and yellow mix correspond with each other to produce green; soulmate A and soulmate B each have tattoos to correspond with one another, completing either tattoo on the skin of their other half.

Marinette will be damned if she finds anyone to match her tattoo. She'd loved it as a child, sitting through boring classes with a pout and jittery knees so she could rush home and admire the strange tattoo that covered the length of her inner forearm.

But now, she couldn't find a single thing to be more ashamed about. 

Even as she moves halfway across the world from taunting bullies and mind-controlling sociopaths, the damage is done. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not want a soulmate.

She does not want to disappoint, to never live up to her soulmates expectations, because, "Your soulmate wouldn't like those pigtails, Marinette." and, "How could someone want a bully like you?"

Marinette does not want to relive her lycée experience, covering her mark every chance she could get so that Lila Rossi wouldn't antagonize whoever was on the other end of her soul line.

She’d watch as other people’s—normal—soul marks started to glow, indicating the one thing soulmarks are responsible for. Marinette witnessed on the sidelines as everyone she knew and had learned to love and lose found their other half, and left her in the dark. Watching, seeing, but never to experience what it was like. To find your soulmate.

Her mark. A white rose hanging upside down at the epiphysis of her radius, petals spread wide against each other, some looked as though they were flowing freely in the air, and some looked as though they were stuck to one another.

A deep red liquid spurting out of the center, running down the limp rose and glazing its petals as it oozes from the center bottom and down the sides of her arm, creating for a unique, yet concerning mosaic upon her forearm.

"Is that blood?" They'd asked, some looking curious, and some looking downright disgusted at the mere sight of her mark. Something that was supposed to be naturally celebrated, not hated and sneered upon. They were convinced she'd be a menace to her soulmate, like soulmates were anything other than fate.

Marinette did not know if it was blood, obviously. There was no superior entity whispering to her at night, informing her of every single petal's weight in grams. Instead, it was easier to have a friend pick apart the dubious meaning of such a cryptic mark, unlike so many others, hers was not so simple.

Kagami, especially, had a great eye for these things. The meticulous thought that girl compartmentalizes for the sole topic is unbelievable at first glance. It's only when you see much more of her, do you understand why she even bothers with soulmarks.

"You wouldn't believe the meaning behind such marks, Marinette. It's only when you start to break the first barrier, do you know." Okay, so, Marinette had no such way with words as the world-class fencer, but she was pretty sure the girl was saying that marks represent people the way names represent their spices.

Salt, for example. You can just tell the flavor of salt by it’s damn name.

“You’re the epitome of innocence, Marinette,—“ Marinette begs to differ, she’s read fanfiction. “But it seems you’ve been hurt, aged more than what a white rose will represent for you. That’s where the blood paints over you, like a parasite.” Marinette furrows her eyebrows at Kagami, a reoccurring gesture that will give her wrinkles by the end of the year, she knows, but it’s Kagami.

They’re sitting in their apartment, high above the Gotham smog and litter they’ve learned to acquaint themselves with, and looking out over the city from their ratty second-hand couch.

—Because Marinette wants to live with someone who will break her finger and then call her stupid and put a cast on it for whatever reason, you feel?

Another twig, green leaves still growing out of it—though, probably not since the severance—blows by their window, spurred on by a lone gust and back down to the ground, plummeting to an unfortunately placed puddle on the pavement.

“Stop moping.” Marinette makes a face.

“I was not moping.”

“You were making that sad face you make when you see a puppy walking by itself on the street. You’re moping. Why?” Marinette huffs in annoyance, and turns to look at her friend, who’s already staring with an exasperated quirked eyebrow.

She flounders for words, making exuberant gestures with her hands as she tries not to look Kagami in the eye.

An audible exhale from the woman. “You’re worried about, what, your soulmate, for whatever reason?” 

Marinette looks down at her mark, it’s entrancing rose petals glowing brightly against her skin, almost alike to the glittery sheen of highlighter she so often brushes onto her cheekbones.

“It started glowing last night, Kagami.” Marinette worries her lip and continues to stare at the now pulsing, almost obnoxious glow of her rose, the red liquid that spurts from its center taking on a glamorous shine.

“That’s wonderful. Right?” Kagami adds, when she fails to find a response. 

It should be. She knows that. She should be joyous right now, jumping ecstatically and rejoicing at the fact that she might find her soulmate sooner than later, but the ever-impending doom of, ‘what if’ continuously pops up in her brain, muddling any chance of happiness she might’ve had.

Marinette’s psyche is aged. She’s been through things. A lot of things that most people haven’t been through. Deaths, loss of loved ones, reoccurring terrorist attacks, and so much more that puts a haunted look in her eye and a deep hunch in her shoulders. She couldn’t bear to see the look on her soulmate’s face.

Kagami seems to read her mind and makes a low noise in the back of her throat. “Let’s go to the zoo.” So spontaneous, it almost makes Marinette do a double take.

“You? Want to go to the zoo?” She stares at Kagami, the latter unwavering with a borderline determined look on her face that says, ‘Nope. No fighting me on this one.’

“Distraction.” Is all she says, and for once, Marinette agrees that, yes, maybe a distraction is in order.

The Gotham City Zoo proves to be a great distraction, in between the hippo exhibit and the jungle-themed building just for showcasing snakes, Marinette finds a rather warmth in her heart.

Marinette grins widely at the crocodiles lounging across various rocks, seemingly not a care in the world is thrown around in between her and the fenced crocodiles, and she harbors  a sort of piece standing alone. (Kagami had ditched her at the zebras for the lions.)

Distantly, she hears what sounds like two people fighting—or, bickering. 

“—over here, got bit by a crocodile.” An erupt of laughter from two different voices, one distinct with a low raspy laugh, and the other, who starts hacking nastily in the middle of it.

“Those cigarettes do not benefit you, Todd. This is not a laughable event.” A third voice juts in, and she has to turn her head, locate the source of whoever said that.

Three men, one looking younger than the other two, stand slightly to the right of her in front of the crocodile exhibit, the two older men seem to be laughing at the younger’s expense—how do you even get bitten by a crocodile? She decides to not judge. This is Gotham, after all.

And, oh.

The guy they seem to be laughing at has the brightest green eyes she’s ever seen. Ink black hair frames his face beautifully, as he sneers down at the other two. The stranger doesn’t seem to notice her stare, but it’s cut short anyway by the sudden immense throbbing of her forearm.

Marinette winces, and slowly pulls down her sleeve to see her soul mark is—

Finished. It’s glowing, glowing far more than it had been over the course of the past two days, glowing so much she can barely squint to see that buried deep in the middle of her rose, a pristine dagger.

Marinette’s eyes widen, and she can’t help but make an incoherent sound that fights its way up her throat.

A tap on her shoulder, and she turns around to see the boy she was shamelessly staring at is right in front of her, and, woah, he’s tall. Marinette cranes her head up to look at the boy who so quickly grabbed her attention.

He also has the prettiest blush on his face, his eyes darting in between her and his companions, who seem to be laughing even harder, and in the distance, she hears a crude nickname being thrown at him.

“Holy shit, Demon Brat actually has a soulmate—“ a sentence cut off by more wheezing laughter, so she turns her gaze back to the boy in front of her.

“I’m Damian, you’re...soulmate.” The last word comes out wonky, like he couldn’t believe his own words, but she understands. He’s staring at Marinette now, bright green gaze fixed so intently on her, and she can’t help but blush, herself.

“Marinette. I figured, actually, when my arm started to sting like a bitch.” She says, once her mouth finally aligns with her brain and she gets the courage to say something relevant to smart.

Damian cracks a small smile, and she finds herself following the gesture with her eyes. It’s a beautiful movement, one she can tell is foreign to him, a shame.

And she doesn’t feel jittery. More at peace, looking at the equally aged look deep in his eyes, and the mark right in the middle of her forearm, she can guess he’s been through a hell of a lot, maybe more than she has.

Marinette will spend a lifetime learning what lies behind his exterior, looking at him now.

She supposes this soulmate thing won’t be too hard, after all, even as the two men behind them keep bickering and laughing at their predicament in front of the crocodile exhibit.

[chatonne-rousse]

The Importance of the Black Cat

Adrien has a lot on his mind - concerns, questions, doubts. And right now, he has only one being to confide in. There is not enough cheese in the world to make Plagg want to handle this situation, but his holder needs him, and he knows two things with certainty: his very important place in the world, and that no one hurts his kitten. Not if he has anything to say about it.

Read it on Ao3 here.

The Camembert he holds in his paws is aged beautifully, gooey and perfectly pungent. He knows it was expensive, purchased with his holder’s allowance, and therefore tries to at least do the kid the honor of enjoying it. But as he mulls over the day’s events, the first few bites sit like a brick in his tiny stomach.

Tonight, Plagg eats his cheese for sustenance only. It’s hard to find the usual joy when his holder hasn’t spoken since they arrived home.

The light in the closet switches off as Adrien shuffles out into the bedroom, dressed for bed in black pajama pants and an old white t-shirt. The departure from his usual red and black spotted look doesn’t escape Plagg’s notice, but he chooses not to comment.

Plagg discovered long ago that his devotion to his holders is inversely proportional to his ability to counsel them. He knows he’s not good at advice beyond cheese and chaos. He wasn’t made for emotions and heartfelt chats.

A sure and confident holder didn’t usually open his heart or seek his kwami’s counsel, and Plagg liked that. They did their jobs, they shared their lives, but they didn’t share their hearts. They didn’t need to, because his holder needed his power more than his presence.

But once in a while, he’d materialize in front of a human whose eyes shone with innocent kindness, and he knew immediately that they would need him. If he’s honest, Plagg will admit that these are the best wielders of destruction. It’s all about intention, after all, and a pure heart rarely destroys with disregard. These holders, however, always seemed to come with a price - they saw their kwami as less of a means to an end and more of a friend.

He loved these holders. He would level cities and wipe out species for them. But oh, did he ever dread having to talk to them. Really, really talk.

Plagg knows his kitten will break the silence soon. It’s only a matter of time. He isn’t sure if it will be to talk about being stuck in the elevator with his very good friend, a monologue that will no doubt be punctuated by sighs and soft eyes that will be quickly denied if his kwami points them out.

One undeniable fact from the day, however, is the racing pulse and rapid breathing of a boy terrified of being locked up and feeling increasingly helpless in the situation. Plagg knows very well that it happened, because he was tucked inside Adrien’s shirt listening to his pounding heart. He hopes his holder doesn’t want to talk about that, because it’s way above Plagg’s pay grade.

He also hopes his holder won’t ponder why only he was dragged through the portal to safety, or why Rena Rouge was the one to do it.

Plagg gets down almost two full wedges of cheese before Adrien sits down on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, Plagg?” His voice is quiet but doesn’t betray any emotion yet. That’s actually more worrying.

Steeling himself, Plagg swallows the last big bite of cheese and zips from the desk to perch on top of the globe, facing his holder. “What’s up?”

He heaves another sigh before looking up into Plagg’s eyes, emotions still unreadable.

“How important is the black cat?”

Oh. A wave of relief makes Plagg’s whiskers perk up. The question is unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. He’s lousy with advice but an expert at talking about himself.

He puffs up his tiny chest and grins a fanged grin. “Only the most important, kid! Everything has to end sometime - except me, of course, but,” he shrugs, “we can’t all be perfect.” He hopes that will garner a smile, but realizes a moment too late that he’d started his speech talking about death to a boy who lost his mother at thirteen. Oh no, he thinks, panicking. He’s bad at this, too.

He barrels on. “I mean, creation is nothing without destruction. The very concepts go together, always. Can you imagine a world where flowers never wilt and people never die?” Adrien’s eyes widen and his brows furrow. Shit, Plagg thinks. I did it again.

“Plagg, that sounds...really nice, actually.”

He shakes his head. He can get this back on track. He’ll fall back on pragmatism like always. “It does, but that’s not how the world works. Your planet can’t sustain an expanding and eternal population. Everything grows and lives and dies and starts over again. Everything has a beginning and an end.” Plagg’s eyes shine with pride. “Only I, and my very lucky holders, get to harness that inevitability into a real power, and use it for good. Tikki and her bugs can create, but we destroy,” he pitches his voice lower, his tone serious, “so they can create again.”

Adrien’s eyes are still wide, but Plagg sees wonder and a bit of pride there. He lets his tiny shoulders relax.

“I never thought of it that way. You really are amazing, buddy.” He reaches out to scratch Plagg behind the ears with a soft smile that his kwami would see doesn’t reach his eyes if his own weren’t closed with pride and delight.

The hand retreats, and Plagg opens his eyes just to watch Adrien’s face fall.

“But I meant...how important is the black cat to the ladybug?”

"How...what?" Plagg splutters, taken aback. "I just told you, kid. Every beginning has an end. Creation and destruction are perfectly equal. You don't want to know what happens when they're not."

Adrien's eyes snap to his, clearly on the edge of a dawning horror. Oh no. Not again.

Plagg waves his paws. "What I mean is, you need each other. Tikki is never activated without me, and I'm never called up without her. We're two halves of a whole. You've never seen the inside of the miracle box," he scowls, "which is bullshit, by the way, but if you did, you'd see that the center is a circle, split perfectly in two. Tikki and I go together, and so do you and Ladybug. You can do this without each other, but you're not meant to."

Adrien's shoulders droop. "Yeah, I know she can win a fight without me. She's had to do it before." He sighs. "A lot."

"Sure," Plagg agrees, and can't resist adding, "but she wouldn't need to if you didn't throw yourself in the line of fire every chance you get."

"I have to protect her, Plagg! You know that! Ladybug is more important than me."

"Kid!" Plagg bursts out in frustration, "I don't know how else to tell you this! You. Are. Equal."

“Then…” Adrien’s breath catches and he blinks several times. “Then why doesn’t she need me anymore?”

For just a moment, in the time it takes for the words to register and translate and pierce his heart, Plagg’s ire flares white-hot and livid. No one hurts my kitten and gets away with it. But he looks into his holder’s eyes, sad and achingly lonely, and his anger slips away as quickly as it came. He’ll deal with his own feelings on the matter later.

Besides, it’s not Marinette’s fault. She’s doing the best she can. He’d still relish giving her an earful, but piling on the heartbreaking guilt about his holder’s situation wouldn’t really help and might just snap what Tikki has insinuated is a currently-tenuous grasp on stability. Plagg knows she’s making decisions based on the mentorship of a flawed man, a failed guardian who ran from his mistakes for the better part of two centuries.

Fu never understood Plagg and never tried to. None of the guardians did. Beyond knowing the basics of his power and the importance of the ring of the black cat in relation to the earrings of the ladybug, Fu never saw Plagg as anything more than a liability. Which is honestly fair, but Plagg doesn’t have to like it.

He definitely doesn’t have to like it when the rules of secrecy leave his kitten in the dark and feeling useless. Especially after what he now suspects from the clues he got today.

He looks into his holder's tear-filled eyes and sees a soft innocence rare among the long line of black cats who've worn the ring. This might just be his most difficult assignment yet, but it's also one of his favorites, and he'll protect his kitten no matter what it takes. Even if it means talking about feelings.

Once his stomach is settled, he's going to eat so much cheese to make up for this.

Plagg takes a deep breath. "Who spotted Optigami in the elevator today?"

Adrien blinks but says nothing.

"Who made sure Ladybug didn't tell her secrets to Truth?" He waits another moment, watching Adrien's blush rise and letting his words sink in. "And who protected her identity when she was hit by Kwamibuster?"

"Okay, but—"

Plagg steamrolls his holder shamelessly. "You were the key to defeating Gorizilla, Stormy Weather, Lady Wifi. I have a long memory, kid. Do you want me to keep going? Because I haven't even gotten to the times you kept your bug afloat with all those pep talks and disgusting feelings. A nice piece of Brie would've perked her up, but I have to admit that your methods worked, too."

Adrien sniffs and chuckles. "Okay, buddy. I get it." His eyes still betray an ocean of hurt, but Adrien's soft smile seems genuine.

Plagg has never quite understood human emotion, though he's seen it all in his many centuries among humanity. He's also seen the myriad ways humans cover up one emotion with another (and another, and another, and sometimes destructive behaviors and very dark paths). He doesn't much enjoy dealing with human feelings, but he when it comes to masks, he prefers the very stylish ones he manifests on his holders' faces, changing with the times and his whims and his holders' thoughts. It's been a long time since he had a holder whose civilian life necessitated so many different masks. No wonder he eats so much Camembert to recharge - it's exhausting just watching it.

"What I'm saying, kitten...er, kid, is that your bug needs you. Paris needs you. And I know that because creation always needs destruction." He snorts a laugh. "That's a fact that's bigger than both of us."

"Yeah, you're right. I know you're right." Adrien sighs and stands to pull back the covers and turn out the light. He climbs in bed and heaves another sigh as his head hits the pillow. "I just wish she'd let me help her. I...I know she's going through something."

Plagg settles on the pillow next to Adrien's, in the Camembert-infused spot where he sleeps. "Being a guardian kind of sucks. It used to be a whole big thing - years of training and ceremonies and shaving your head in a weird pattern..."

Adrien breathes a laugh in the darkness.

"Did you just imagine your beloved bug with her pigtails cut off and a bald spot shaved into her head?"

"Plagg! How dare you?" comes the reply, but his laughter betrays him. Yeah, he's totally picturing it.

Plagg smiles. "What I mean is, you know her. As much as you can, at least. She's told you over and over how important you are to her. I hear all that mushy crap, you know. I don't think she means to hurt you." A pause. "If she does, she'll regret it," he mutters.

"Please don't threaten my future wife, Plagg."

"Still?"

"Still what?"

Plagg blinks. Adrien blinks, then finally catches up.

"Oh. Well." He takes a deep breath. "I'm...a little upset about some things. But I'm sure we can work it out. People make mistakes. Besides, just because someone hurts you doesn't mean you stop loving them, Plagg."

He wouldn't trade Adrien and his tender heart for the world, but sometimes Plagg wishes he was already a bit more jaded when he slipped the ring on his finger that first day. He doesn't want to witness the moment his holder's gentle spirit is finally crushed by what he knows better than most is a very cruel world.

For a long moment, Plagg considers his answer and finally chooses sarcasm. He shrugs. "You can always just cataclysm their prized possessions. That works, too."

That startles a laugh from his holder, tired and tinged with emotion, but a laugh nonetheless. Plagg considers it a win.

They settle into silence. Adrien's eyes close sleepily. Plagg considers getting another wedge of cheese now that his stomach has calmed down a little, but the thought that this is far from over makes his indigestion flare again. Love is messy and inconvenient, the Cancoillotte cheese of emotions. But, he supposes, looking at his holder in the dark, it's worth the difficulty.

Adrien's eyes open suddenly to meet Plagg's glowing green.

"Thanks for talking to me, buddy. I'm sorry I—"

Plagg zips over to his holder before he can finish the sentence, tucking his little body into the crook of Adrien's neck and starting up a loud purr.

"You're welcome. You owe me so much cheese."

Adrien laughs again, and Plagg purrs louder when he reaches up to scratch behind his tiny ears.

"Reblochon again?"

Plagg stifles a laugh at the fact that he has penance cheese for dealing with Adrien's feelings before realizing how sad it is that he...well, has penance cheese for dealing with Adrien's emotions. Someday, when his holder is on his own and out from under the tyrannical rule of his asshole father, Plagg has every intention of cataclysming Gabriel's entire atelier, including his tablet and any backup drives. He dreams about it sometimes. Just watching the world burn. It'll be beautiful.

He sighs wistfully before answering. "I was thinking Époisses."

Adrien groans. "Plagg, no. It's so gross."

"Plagg, yes. Feelings are gross. Cheese is life."

Another sigh. "Fine. I'll order it in the morning."

Silence falls over them again, this time comfortable and warm. When Adrien's breathing evens out, Plagg heads over to the cupboard for a snack. By the time he's eaten two more wedges of Camembert and thought about the whole situation, he's decided to pay Pigtails and his other half a visit. This can't continue. They're all headed for catastrophe, and no one wants to see what he'll do if this breaks his kitten.

He takes a wedge of cheese for the road and heads for the window, but something makes him stop before he phases through. He turns back to look at his sleeping holder. The moonlight shines through the windows, casting shadows like prison bars across the room, across the bed, across his kitten. Plagg thinks suddenly of Adrien waking up alone, his kwami nowhere to be found, and realizes he can't just leave.

He sighs. He's sighed so many times tonight.

Plagg tosses the cheese in the air and catches it expertly, swallowing it in one gulp, then makes his way back to the bed.

Tomorrow, he'll find a way to phase into Pigtails' bag during homeroom for a much-needed discussion with Tikki. He doesn't want to - he really doesn't want to - but Plagg intends to do his part to fix this. Holders like his come once in a very, very long lifetime. Adrien is worth it.

He settles again on his cheese-scented pillow and curls up, wrapping his tail snugly around his body. Soon his purr matches the rhythm of Adrien's quiet breathing, and peace, however temporary, falls gently over the two of them once more.

[chil2de]

How are you today? If its alright with you, can I request a Atsumu x fem reader where she has a super tomboy style and ALWAYS wears baggy clothes, but one day atsumu comes over to hang out and the only outfit she has left is kinda a tight fitting shirt and for the first time ever Atsumu realizes just how curvy his girlfriend is

sorry if thats to specific! feel free to ignorethis!

warning - miya atsumu x reader

hiii! i’m doing okay anonie, thank you and i hope u are faring well!!! so um this ended up being a LOT longer than i expected pls forgive me it was supposed to be a cute lil drabble but now its like uh 2k words aJdhfhhd, i really loved this idea!!! don’t worry ab it being too specific i actually like that and it helps give me a general idea about the req

well whilst this isn’t tooooo nsfw there are a few small themes in the beginning + swearing since i write atsumu like that and implications of sexual content ig at the end but aside from that? just some fluff for our fav king. characters are aged up and i am unsure how it would work but call it anime logic and enjoy! thanks for requesting! (okay rereading the ending is lowkey smut why am i like this)

“b-cup.” atsumu huffed with confidence. he took a large swig out of his water bottle, nodding his head wisely in affirmation.

“really? i’d say c-cup.” suna chimed in, his half-lidded gaze narrowing.

“nah, it’s b-cup”

“what the hell are you two talking about?” osamu interjected, concern and disgust thick on his features as he came over carrying a few towels.

“(y/n)’s bra size” suna nonchalantly responded, his eyes flicking up for a few seconds as he accepted the towel from osamu.

“‘tsumu i knew you were messed in the head but, suna? have you caught his germs?”

“fuck are you making it sound like i have some viral disease?”

“you don’t?” suna snorted, plopping down onto the floor to sit cross-legged.

“why don’t you just ask her?” osamu’s gaze flickered onto yours from across the court. you felt your ears burn from the way the three of them were staring at you.

was something on your face?

a bug? dirt?

“huh? like i’m supposed to say, hey baby girl, what size are your tits?”

“i’m still saying b-cup”

“c-cup”

“i think b-cup” osamu joined in, watching atsumu screw his face at him

“you goddamn hypocrite-“ “who’s being a hypocrite?” kita inquired with a half-hushed tone, making his way over with a few protein bars

“oh my god i’m going home” atsumu groaned, resting his palms on his knees as he stood up. he beelined towards you, his exhaustion painted his lazy smile beautifully. he still had the energy to turn around over his shoulder and flip his middle finger up at his team whilst his right hand snaked around to your waist.

somewhere around your waist. it took him a little bit of digging through all the fabric.

it didn’t matter to him, though. as much of a jackass as he might’ve been, he never judged you for the way you dressed. even if it meant that sometimes you looked a lil bit homeless, at the end of the day- he still had that glimmer in his eyes whenever he saw you.

you would be his favourite baby girl, no matter what.

“is that my shirt you’re wearing?” he hummed, glancing down to look at it.

it was, in fact, one of his shirts. it was matte black in colour, with a small dip that would showcase atsumu’s collar bones. it was a little bit faded from the many wash cycles it endured throughout its lifetime, but he would always notice the small tear in the bottom right section of the fabric.

“sorryyy, i know you just washed it but it smelled so nice. also, wow, did you put on deodorant? you actually smell like a man it’s kinda creepy”

“i always put on deodorant you dipshit, you’re always crying about how pretty my face looks so your nose doesn’t pick up the scent. it’s verbena citrus, buy your own because i know you’ll try stealing mine so i’m putting a padlock on that shit.” atsumu scoffed, digging his fingers into your sides to tickle you as you walked. you squirmed, swatting him away as you dug your hands into the pockets of your joggers. they were not atsumu’s, unfortunately, for you found out the hard way that you would literally have to drag the excess fabric behind you like some train dress or bundle it up and fold it, which, in retrospect- did not look too aesthetically pleasing. you settled for your own joggers and favourite high-top sneakers to match.

“you know you’ll say all this but give me your deodorant anyway, right?” you stuck your tongue out at him. he rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair.

“hey.” he called out, causing you to direct your attention towards him.

he nudged your arm with his elbow.

oh.

“give it here.”

you uncurled your left hand out of your pocket, zipping it up to make sure the contents inside didn’t spill. atsumu slid his right hand away from your waist and opened his palm up, intertwining his fingertips between yours into a tight lock. he grazed his thumb over the back of your hand, giving you a small squeeze.

“that was the cheesiest and most corniest thing you’ve done and i hated it” you made a mock gagging sound, averting your gaze.

you could feel the blush fresh on your cheeks, heart pounding in your chest like it was about to explode.

“wait, you thought i was holding your hand because we’re dating? i’m just doing it because i know your dumbass would get lost” atsumu snorted, throwing his head back in laughter.

well,

you could still see the light blush tinting his cheeks. and it wasn’t the sunset.

“mmm, should i wear this one- wait-“ you grabbed the shirt, folding it upwards as you took a small whiff. well,, you did wear it yesterday… yeah, you did put it in the laundry basket,,, no, it didn’t smell toooo bad, but..

you groaned, tossing it back into said basket as you furrowed your brows in concentration.

you heard the doorbell ring which only caused you to panic even further. you just needed a shirt. literally any shirt. you were about to cut your freaking pants out and sew them together to another pair for a shirt.

since it was a friday, you had atsumu walk you halfway home. you only lived a street away from him, and the apartment was conveniently built on a fork between the road down to his house and the supermarket. hence, he dropped you off and went to the store all by himself like a responsible adult to grab some snacks for the weekend.

“it’s open!” you called out, leaning your jaw back as you shouted in hopes for your voice to travel further.

in that moment, just in the corner of your eye- you saw a familiar flash of black.

you swooped the fabric up, quietly humming in pleasure when it smelled like laundry detergent and fabric softener.

you lifted the shirt over your head, struggling to pull it down for a few seconds.

you admired yourself briefly in the mirror.

it was a casual t-shirt. it reached down to the middle portion of your arms, though it was significantly less baggy than all of your other clothes. you liked to sleep in it during hot and stuffy summer nights, but rarely found yourself using it otherwise.

it’s not like you didn’t like these kinds of shirts.

but when given the option to look “stylish” or comfortable, who wouldn’t pick comfortable? that’s what was important to you above all. clothes that made you feel like you were constantly in bed were a godsend from the heavens.

“hey dipshit, i spent twenty minutes jumping stores for you but no one sold any (favourite drink) so i got you-“ atsumu halted in his steps, the grocery bags curled around his fists were suddenly forgotten and discarded as he caught sight of you through the doorframe.

you were clad in a pair of old white shorts and a black t-shirt, complimentary of the fact that everything else was currently in the laundry machine. atsumu could outline every single damn crevice and dip on you, and he burned that shit so deep into his retinas that he would still see it when his eyes were closed.

he felt his breath hitch, something deep inside him resonating, growing feral like hunger.

he still stood by what he said,

baggy clothes or not, you were beautiful.

but he wasn’t expecting this

“so you bought what?” you inquired, twisting your torso halfway to greet him as you finished brushing through some knots in your hair at the vanity.

“huh?”

“you said there wasn’t any (favourite drink) so you got what? did you fall and crack your head open on the way here? cause it looks like it”

you could feel your heart squeeze, body temperature increased twofold as icy hot waves wracked every inch of your skin. there was a cold sweat that rolled down the back of your knees.

“shut the hell up, i hate you” atsumu grumbled, forcing himself to turn away from you and stomp off to the kitchen with a pout.

“jesus christ give me strength i hate this woman, where the hell does she get off thinking she can get away with looking so good like that” atsumu mumbled incoherent curses underneath his breath, shakily unloading everything he bought out onto the counter and stuffing the groceries into cabinets and the fridge.

“‘samu, i hate you but dude i need twin telepathy, give me strength so i don’t deck this woman right here right now” he cursed, gritting his teeth. his self-control was about to fly out the window.

“you okay?” you popped your head through the door, leaning into the kitchen.

he could see the outline of your prominent collarbones, the way the shirt still fell a little bit and hung loosely off of your frame. he could see the start of your stomach.

god, it should’ve been illegal the way he wanted to grab your thighs. he wondered for a second what it would look like with his fingerprints etched into your skin there.

“want a few tissues and some lotion?” you snorted, nestling up beside him to help. you gazed at him, watching him keep his eyes narrowed on the packet of pistachios he was fumbling with.

you thought it was cute.

“listen- if you’re not ready yet then i’d suggest that you find something else to wear cause holy shit if you don’t get away from me right now i swear i will not restrain myself-“

“i’m ready” you hummed, giving him an innocent smile. you toyed with your hands behind your back, fiddling with them as butterflies swept your abdomen.

atsumu snorted, eyebrows creasing in confusion. he turned to face you, setting the pistachios down.

“alright i’m not saying this to boost my ego, but, what did you say?”

“i said i’m ready”

you watched his brain stir, gears ticking and turning like clockwork.

atsumu let out a low sigh.

“yeah, yeah. well, then.”

his right hand slammed against the wall, caging you in. he leaned into you, looming over you as his half-lidded eyes burned holes inside your soul. you felt the air tense and switch around him, carnal desires swirling behind his gaze. his chest was so close to yours, practically flush, save for the tiniest gap. you could literally feel his heart hammering.

he was so invasive, so close, yet so respectful. he still kept his distance, just n case you changed your mind.

“are you sure this is what you want?” his voice was hot and slick against the shell of your ear, voice husky and octaves deeper. you could feel the sexual tension dripping from him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against him.

“i’m sure, ‘tsumu.”

a loud chuckle ripped from the depths of his chest. it was so hearty, and fuck, it made you clench.

atsumu swooped you up all in one swift motion, hands hooking underneath your thighs as he shoved you against the counter. he sent everything clattering and thudding in the process.

“don’t say i didn’t warn you, doll.”

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

Oooh i'm gonna with #3 please! And Valtor as a bartender.

He truly loathed his job.

The disgusting smell of cheap drinks spilled on the bar mixed with the stench of sweat and cheap perfume, from grinding bodies on the dancefloor and humping barely-legals in the corner, made him nauseous. The music was loud to the point his heartbeat developed arrhythmia whenever a bass boosted song played through the obnoxious sound system. To make matters worse, one of the speakers was set directly above the bar and Valtor was sick of buying earplugs every week, because if he didn’t use any protection, he’s pretty sure he would go deaf before he hit 40 and he once again cursed himself for forgetting them at home.

A particularly high note came on, and the crowd cheered while Valtor cringed as he felt the microscopic hairs in his ears, sensitive to high notes, shrivel up and die. He rolled his eyes as he spotted a tall blonde dragging taller brunette towards the restroom. Apparently, couples basically dry humping each other on the dancefloor and sucking their faces off in the corners wasn’t enough, so universe also decided to throw in a couple about to commit an indecent act in a public bathroom?

He was just about to call one of the bouncers when it hit him – he doesn’t care. Oh well. What can you do?

A woman, wearing something Valtor could only describe as lingerie, came to the bar and ordered a fruity cocktail and for the umpteenth time, he wondered how his life turned into this? How did he go from graduating on a prestigious college, having a stable job and a fiancée, to wiping down spit from the counter top on a Saturday night.

He used to be a successful attorney, his yearly salary reaching up to five-zero figure, a stable relationships, loving girlfriend and more, and yet, all of that collapsed under the enormous weight couple of words held.

His hands worked on autopilot, mixing the necessary drinks while his thoughts were miles away.

Now, whatever’s left of his past life lives in a small condo across the town and Valtor chuckled at the irony of life giving him lemons while he chopped one to mix it into the cocktail. He squeezed the juice out of the poor fruit, with probably more force than was necessary, getting some of it on his shirt in the process.

“What are you chuckling about?” The woman was leaning over the counter, her chest basically spilling out of her dress as she played with the ends of her dark hair.

Valtor raised an eyebrow as he bent down to retrieve one of the decorative umbrellas. “Nothing that would be of interest to you.” He saw her flinch in surprise at the rather sharp tone he unintentionally used. “Miss.” He added as an afterthought, hoping it would make him look less abrasive. Unhappy customers don’t tip well after all.

“Oh. Well maybe it does interest me. You’ll never know unless you try.” The woman smiled flirtatiously while her fingers continued twirling the strands of her hair. “I’m Mitzi, by the way.” She offered her hand to him.

Valtor only quirked an unamused eyebrow. “I don’t remember asking for your name.” The smile was quick to disappear from her face and she snatched her hand back like it’s been burned.

He closed his eyes as his tongue, once again, proved to be faster than his brain. It’s what got him into trouble a lot of times and this one might’ve just taken a cake because if the girl went to complain to his boss, he’d be in a world of shit. “I was trying to be nice, but it seems to me you’re too much of an asshole to appreciate it.” Mitzi gritted out with obvious false confidence because a fierce blush was very much present on her face. This obviously didn’t happen to her a lot.

First time for everything, Valtor thought.

“What I would really appreciate, Mitzi,” Don’t do it, “is if you could stop your 36C's, that you stuffed into a 34B bra, from spilling all over my counter.” You absolute moron! “I have to wipe it.”

Now you’ve done it.

Mitzi turned even reader, and Valtor wondered if he should start dialing an ambulance just in case, but she only snatched the drink he placed in front of her and threw a 5$ bill in his face. “Jerk!” And just like that, she was gone.

“Have a nice evening!” Drop dead.

He rolled his eyes and took a glass that needed wiping just to occupy his hands for a minute because he felt like a coiled string, just about to snap and burn everything in its path.

“I have to say,” girl’s voice reached him, “you just fixed my evening.” Valtor lowered the glass to the solid surface and turned to face the owner.

His brain short circuited.

Though her body was mostly obstructed by the counter, he could see that the navy blue slip dress she wore draped beautifully across her slender figure. She was also incredibly short that even standing up straight, in what Valtor assumed were ridiculously high heels, she was at least head and a half shorten than him. But the most obvious, and striking thing about her, was her red hair. Valtor never even thought that hair could be as vibrant as hers.

In his almost 35 years of life, Valtor has never seen someone as interesting as the girl standing in front of him.

When he finally shook himself out of his stupor, and when it became painfully obvious he was making her uncomfortable with his gawking (really, there was no other word for it), he smiled and spoke. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that because it will undoubtedly ruin my life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her reporting you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Her ego is too big for her to accept she just got rejected.”

“You know her?”

There was something nostalgic in her smile. “I used to know her… or maybe I just thought I know her.”

Valtor observed the unusual girl in front of him. In his several years as a bartender and even before, he developed quite a knack for reading people. She seemed, to him at least, like one of those lost souls that recently had their world turned upside down but tried despite to appear normal. You and me both. “Would you like something to drink?”

Her head snapped up and her electric blue eyes met his. “Oh! Yes, um,” she fidgeted slightly, her hands wringing together and picking at her nails, “anything with vodka.”

He nodded and turned his back on her to find a bottle of the best vodka the club had to offer. He didn’t know why he suddenly paid so much attention to what he’s mixing into drinks but something pulled him towards this girl like gravity and he was too weak to resist it. “Straight?” He asked without turning around.

“Ummm, that’s a bit personal don’t you think? I mean, I just met you.” Valtor stopped what he was doing and turned his head so she could see the confused frown on his face. “I don’t even know your name. As far as I know you could be a serial killer.”

It downed on Valtor what she was talking about and he chuckled at her adorable rant. “I meant the Vodka.”

Her lips shaped into a silent “O" and he saw how her neck and face turned red from embarrassed. She moaned and buried her face into her hands. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He picked the bottle and turned back around so he was facing her. He extended his unoccupied hand across the counter top. “I’m Valtor.”

She shook his hand, her hand incredibly small in his huge one, blush still present on her cheeks. “Bloom. And yes, straight vodka is fine.”

“I’ve only seen Russians drink vodka by itself.”

“I’m quarter Russian. My mom’s dad is from Russia.” Valtor nodded along as he fixed her a drink.

“Impressive.”

“it’s really not. It only made me the laughing stock of the entire class.” She took the glass filled with clear liquid, their fingers brushing together on accident, and Valtor felt a spark rushing up his nerve endings. “But, I can drink most people under the table so I guess I should be grateful.”

Humor was obviously one of the things she used to deflect the pain and trauma bullying inevitably caused. “Your hair is very… unusual. Natural?”

She nodded. “Yup. This is one of the things I inherited from grandpa.”

“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention.”

“No no, don’t worry.” Her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass as she took a sip and closed her eyes to savor the feeling of burning liquid sliding down her throat. “It’s actually one of the nicest things someone has said to me about my hair.”

Valtor looked at her with a small smirk on his face. “That bad, huh?”

“You don’t want to know.” Bloom tilted the glass and took a large swing of the drink, only a small amount remaining at the bottom. “What about you?”

Valtor shrugged. “What about me?”

“You have an unusual hair too.”

Indeed. His long strawberry blond hair was tied in a ponytail, but unlike herself, he loved his hair and didn’t particularly give a damn what anybody else thought about it. “I don’t really care about somebody else’s opinion and neither should you.”

“I’ve stopped that long time ago.” Valtor nodded towards her almost empty glass and she slid it towards him for a refill. “But you know, scars remain.”

He nodded. “That I do know.” Valtor saw another guy coming up to the bar so he excused himself. As soon as he moved away from her, the unpleasant sensations that accompany prolonged presence in a loud room came rushing back like a rogue train and Valtor felt the onsets of a headache forming. He served the guy and returned to Bloom who was now nursing her drink instead of knocking it back like the first time.

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She quirked one eyebrow. “A girl like me?”

“Not to be rude, but this doesn’t seem like your cup of tea.”

She laughed. “It’s my friend’s birthday. She dragged me here against my will while promising she’ll stay with me the entire time. It took me turning around for her to vanish without a trace with her boyfriend.”

“That friend of yours,” he started, “wouldn’t happen to be a tall blonde dragging a brunette with her?”

“That’s her.”

Valtor made a face. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing a lot of her tonight.” His eyes slid to the direction of the restroom.

Bloom followed his gaze and she groaned when she saw where her friend went to. “Not this again.”

“Again? This happens a lot?”

“Unfortunately, it happens more than I would like to.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Right,” he drawled, “because who doesn’t like seeing their friends going at it.” Sarcasm was dripping from his words.

“How long have they been in there?” She asked while looking at her wrist watch.

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

“Damn animals. I’m never coming to the club with her again.”

An amused chuckle escaped him. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that, am I right?”

She smiled and took a sip of vodka. “Nope.”

Just as he opened his mouth to ask her another question, her blonde friend wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Valtor’s eyebrow did a backflip. How she managed to avoid detection while leaving the bathroom was beyond him.

“Damn Bloom, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already seducing hot bartenders!”

“Stella! First of all, I am not seducing anybody,” Maybe not intentionally, “secondly, it’s been almost twenty minutes and thirdly, what happened to your promise of not ditching me? And the moment I turn around, you’re already gone?”

Stella, if Valtor heeard correctly, giggled. “Oh live a little Bloom. Besides, it’s not like you were in a bad company.” Her eyes ran over Valtor’s form. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of that.” She ogled Valtor like a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m standing right here.”

“Okay, that’s enough for today! We’re going home.” Bloom grabbed her purse and was about to pull out her wallet when Valtor raised his arm to stop her.

“It’s on the house.”

“But Blooooom,” There was really no words to describe the sound that exited blonde’s mouth, “we just got here.”

“The fact that you're talking about having a threesome with a stranger says enough about your state.”

“I’m pretty sure Brandon wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, time out. Let’s go.” She turned towards Valtor, a small card between her fingers. She leaned over the counter while one of her arms stayed behind, supporting her friend. “Thank you.” She slipped the card into his hand. “Call me if you wanna talk sometimes.” And with that, she spun on her heel and dragged Stella towards the exit.

Valtor stood in shock, not knowing how to react for a few minutes, staring at the business card in his hands.

Bloom Peters MD.

He shook his head, hand safely pocketing the precious cargo before he picked up the glass she’s been drinking from and turning around to wash it. The sound of retching caused him to turn around in time to see some wasted man empty the content of his stomach on an obnoxious red carpet. The stench of vomit mixed with other delightful aromas and Valtor was once again reminded how much he hated his job.

[kaalamarii]

Kinktober Day 1

707/femMC

Obviously NSFW!!! 18+ only

Voyeurism && Phone Sex 🖤

My Masterlist

Bored out of her mind, MC wandered around the apartment, and out in the hallways as well. She knew that there were cameras around the place that Seven had access to. At first she wasn’t sure how often he’d look at it, knowing how busy he usually was, she figured he didn’t pay much attention.

MC decided to test it, waving at or making faces to the cameras she walked past them, occasionally getting emojis sent to her phone through the messenger from Seven. Sometimes he’d call her after noticing she was watching something on tv and they’d have conversations about the characters and make fun of the cheesy storylines.

They had even started playing games together. MC found a couple of board games Rika had had and she’d lay them out where the camera could see. Seven would call and tell her where to move his piece. “Don’t cheat,” he’d tease, “I can see everything, you know.”

And that gave her an idea.

Seven’s eyes flicked over to the monitor that was connected to Rika’s apartment once he saw movement. MC came out in an oversized sweater, knee high socks, and short shorts, her hair beautifully messy tied up in a bun. Seven smiled, thinking of how cute and cozy she looked. Also it was funny to him that it looked like she wasn’t wearing pants. He watched her for a moment as she headed to the kitchen to make coffee. While waiting, MC leaned against the counter to play around on her phone.

Seven choked a bit on his PhD Pepper as she bent over the counter, noticing that she actually wasn’t wearing shorts at all, but was just in her underwear. Her ass cheeks poked out from the bottom of her sweater, the view of her round ass perfectly in view of the camera.

Seven scolded himself for not only looking, but imagining himself behind her, hands gripping her hips, thrusting…

NO, he quickly shut himself down. You’re supposed to be protecting her and figuring out what brought her to the messenger, not daydreaming about fucking her.

He turned to one of his other many monitors, trying to focus on his job instead, but it proved to be impossible as all he could think about was MC. Even as she got her coffee and went to sit on the couch, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She turned on the tv, and laid back on the couch, legs spreading slightly as she lounged. Seven looked at her legs, gaze traveling up to her thighs and to the small bit of fabric he could see between them.

Seven licked his lips as she yawned and stretched, bringing the sweater up more and allowing him a better view of her panties. His jeans tightened and his hands seemed to have a mind of their own, traveling down to palm himself.

She put one of her legs up on the couch as she scrolled through her phone and sipped her coffee. Some spilled on her sweater and she rolled her eyes. “I’m such a klutz,” she mumbled to herself before pulling the sweater off, revealing the spaghetti strapped, low cut tank top underneath.

Seven’s already hardening cock jumped to full mast as he ogled the woman’s body, beautiful and curvy, hard nipples poking through the shirt. Ugh, you are disgusting, he scolded himself some more, but still didn’t stop himself as he undid his pants and shoved his hand down into them.

He stroked himself slowly as he pictured being there with her, sliding those cute panties down her legs and pushing his cock into her. At the thought of her writhing underneath him, crying out his name, he wiggled out of his pants, pushing them down to his ankles and leaning back into his chair to give himself a better grip. He continued where he left off, eyes glued to the monitor, hand around his dick, pumping steadily.

Seven watched as MC dialed a number on her phone and put it to her ear, and as his phone rang, he jumped. Immediately he was back in reality, ashamed for what he had been doing.

“Hey, MC,” he stuttered a bit as he answered.

She grinned. “You okay, Seven?”

“Of course I am! I’m god 707, what could possibly be wrong right now?”

He put on his silly persona but from the look she gave the camera, he knew that she saw through it.

“Well, what are you up to?” she asked.

Seven looked down at his hard dick in his hand. Shit. “Um...nothing. Just working.”

“Hmm, just working? You sound like you’re breathing heavily.”

“Oh. Uh...haha, yeah, I just came back from a jog.”

Seven slapped his hand against his forehead, cursing himself. Stupid! You are stupid!

“Sure,” MC replied. “Wanna know what I’m doing?”

“I can see what you’re doing, remember? Right now you’re watching tv and drinking coffee.”

“So you are watching me right now.”

“Yeah...I mean, no! I mean...I just looked at the monitor now…”

Her grin let him know she wasn’t falling for it, but she didn’t press it. “It’s okay, I don’t mind if you watch me…”

MC’s spread her legs a bit more and her hand rested on her stomach. “In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d like to put on a little show for you. I mean, more than I already have today.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

He watched as MC pulled her tank top down to let her breasts free. She ran a hand over one of them, rolling her nipple between her fingers and pinching and pulling before doing the same to the other one.

Seven’s jaw dropped. “MC…?”

“I gotta admit,” she started, her voice low and breathless as she continued to play with her breasts, “I love the thought of you watching me.”

Seven didn’t know what to say, but he started stroking his cock again.

“I know it’s dirty, but knowing that you can see me gets me...excited. It gets me so wet.” She reached down between her legs and brushed her fingers against the cotton of her panties. “Do you like watching me, Luciel?”

“Yes,” Seven whispered, voice shaky as he continued jerking himself off. “You look so good, MC.”

MC smiled. “Does it get your cock hard?”

“Fuuuck, yes.” Seven moaned. She had never heard him say such words, and it was a beautiful sound to MC. She felt herself throbbing between her legs, arousal pooling in her underwear and soaking through. Seven felt thankful that V and Rika had invested in high quality cameras as he noticed the wet spot on her panties growing.

“Tell me what you want to see, Luciel.”

“Take off your panties.” He spoke breathlessly, quickly. “I want to see all of you.”

MC laced her thumbs into the straps of her thong and pulled it down, stepping out of them. She spread her legs again to let Seven see. She was so wet that she glistened, and Seven wished more than anything that he could feel her.

“Are you touching yourself?” MC asked.

For a brief moment, Seven felt ashamed again.. He had a high enough sex drive but was usually too busy to be horny, and he had definitely never done anything like this before. Though she was obviously into what they were doing, he felt a bit nervous to tell her the truth.

“Seven?” she interrupted his thoughts. “It’s okay if you are.”

“I am…” He watched her face to see her reaction and was happy and relieved when she grinned and pressed her middle and pointer fingers to her clit and rubbed circles.

His breath hitched, and he squeezed his dick harder.

“That’s so sexy, Luciel.” MC said as she rubbed herself, fingers stroking the inner lips of her cunt.

“Mmmph,” Seven moaned as he watched her. “MC?”

“Yes?”

“I wish I could taste you.”

“Me too.”

“Will you...taste yourself for me?”

MC nodded. She pushed her two fingers inside herself, pumping in and out a few times before taking them out and bringing them to her mouth. She moaned as she sucked on her pussy soaked fingers and her mouth made a popping sound as she pulled them out. She reached down and inserted herself again.

Luciel moaned. “You’re so naughty, MC.”

“Mmhmm,” MC said, hand coming up to stroke her tits and play with her nipples again before going back to rubbing herself. “I do this every night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think about when you fuck yourself?”

“I think of you, Seven.”

Seven was grateful she couldn’t see him blush at her words. He let out another moan, pumping himself at top speed now. “That’s so fucking hot.”

“I think of you on top of me, fucking me. I think of your cock in my mouth.”

Seven moaned again. “Add another finger?”

“Yes, Luciel,” she obeyed, pumping her fingers in and out again before adding a third.

“I’m getting close…”

“I want to make you cum, Luciel. Tell me what to do.”

“Turn over,” he commanded, “Bend over so I can see your ass again.”

MC giggled. “I take it you liked my little sneak peek this morning.”

“Yes, hell yes. You looked so sexy, MC.”

MC turned, sticking her ass up in the air toward the camera. She reached behind, pushing her fingers into her cunt again. Seven didn’t dare look away.

“I’m close too,” MC admitted. “Cum with me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, MC, cum for me, please.”

MC continued pumping her fingers in and out, feeling the familiar warmth in her stomach as she prepared to climax. Seven enjoyed the way her legs shook, vibrating the rest of her body, and how her pussy contracted as she pulled her fingers out to rub her clit, as if it was desperate to have a cock inside it. Her moans were loud and messy, screaming his name out over and over.

The sight of her coming undone brought his own orgasm out, spilling out onto his hand and onto his jeans.

As he cleaned up, the realization of what they had just done hit him. He turned as red as hair, and looked up at the monitor to make sure MC seemed okay. She was cleaning herself up as well and got back into her clothes.

“Um, Seven? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here...MC, I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry if I went too far.”

He watched as she laid back, a satisfied smile on herself. “Don’t be sorry, that was amazing. Didn’t you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes. Oh my God, yes.”

“We should do it again some time.”

Seven grinned. “I’ll probably have some free time tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.”

[beyoncesdragon]

title: have a look yourself

× pairing: Jae x f!reader ((I think?)), (established relationship)

× summary: Spending Christmas with Jae sure is entertaining and full of surprises. 

× warnings: none, FLUFF

× wordcount: 1.3k

× a/n: listen, I don’t know? I kinda lost myself there at the end tbh, I never meant for it to go there. Also, I put f!reader because I used the term “wife someone” and I don’t KNOW IF YOU CAN SAY THAT TO A GUY/NON BINARY PERSON I’m sorry. Pls educate me. (also, watch me pretend to know anything about guitars here, lmao bye) Merry Chrism y’all!

main masterlist | day6 masterlist

“Your Christmas gift for me is…my own album?” Jae asked, looking up just slightly confused. You had troubles holding back your laughter as you nodded, trying to muster an innocent expression. How you had waited for today, longed for the moment you could finally give him the gift you’d planned out so carefully. It had taken you months of planning and messaging back and forth with the company, countless nights spent editing in front of your computer.

Jae flipped the red and black box over, suspiciously eyeing the back of it. “Uh…thank you?” you rolled your eyes. “Open it, Jae come on!” he gave you another confused glance, only hesitatingly fumbling with the lid.

“Will it explode? Hey, why are you filming?” you shook you head quickly, motioning him to just finally focus on the task on hand. He sighed, having decided that questioning you or your choice of gift wouldn’t bring him any further now. All that was left was opening the album. With another sigh he flipped the cover open, facing…the completely regular content. There were the preorder-gift polaroids, a bookmark (with Wonpil at that) the lyric cards, photo cards, the photobook and in its back, as Jae knew, would be the CD. Nothing special. Jae was more than confused.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something? Did like, a fairy elevate from it or something?” you only laughed, shaking your head.

“Nope.” Jae sighed, giving you big, very confused eyes. “Jagi, help. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, I just really don’t…get it?” you gave him an innocent smile once again and nodded towards the album.

“Unpack it. Oh come on Jae, have you never unboxed an album before? Do it like me when I get mine in.” he snorted.

“I only make them, what would I unbox them for. And what do you mean, do it like you. Does that mean I’m supposed to squeal over Jackson Wangs face when I see him pop up somewhere?” you threw the discarded wrapping paper at him.

“You’re no fun Jae, seriously. Just go through it, Jesus Christ!” he sighed dramatically before finally, tilting the box so it’s content would fall into his hands. He gave you a quick look and you just nodded, urging him to continue.

“Am I supposed to go through the photobook?” you shrugged. “I mean, what would you do first if you were a fan of yourself and would get this in the mail?” he pursed his lips slightly. “I am a fan of myself. Y/N you’re no help at all.” you only snickered amused. “Jae, you’re a stoic little boy. Hurry up.” He gave you a glare before opening the photobook…and almost dropping it again.

“What the fu-?“ you couldn’t help yourself any longer and burst out laughing. Instead of the group pictures he’d probably expected, there was…something else. Still a group picture, with just the tiny difference that all the members wore Wonpils face. Jae flicked through the pages of the book, scanning over every picture before looking at you with a horrified look on his face. “What did you dooo?” he whimpered, opening the book at the page where he’s supposed to be – and was – but with Wonpils face montaged over his own. You couldn’t answer just yet, your breath hitching with giggled as you watched Jae stare at this army of Wonpils all over the pages of the book with a look of disgust.

“I’m speechless. How did you even get this done, who helped you. JYP himself?” he ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the pictures, now fighting a small smile.

“The demon, indeed.” Jae mumbled, and a tiny smile started to tug on his lips. You were on floor laughing, more than satisfied with your gift, more than happy with his reaction.

“So you wanna tell me…that you went through all this trouble…all of this…just so I would have a book with Wonpils face?” you nodded, teary eyed, sore throated  but happy. “For my favourite boy. A special edition, only copy that has ever been made. You like it?” he narrowed his eyes.

“C’mere you little minx…” and he leaped towards you. With a shocked squeal you scooted out of reach before getting on your feet as quick as possible and speeding for the kitchen. The chase did not go on forever, actually it ended almost instantly. Jae was faster (also because you wore fluffy Christmas socks which made everything dangerously slippery)  and had you trapped in his arms in no time. He picked you up for half a second maybe, right before he fell backwards onto the sofa, where he took it upon himself to tickle the living hell out of you. Only after a good ten minutes he stopped with it and pulled you into his chest.

“You’re so annoying.” Was all he had to say, the fond smile on his lips betraying him. You only grinned, turning around so you could comfortably rest in his arms. He glanced down at you, a smile dancing over his lips. You reached up to press yours against them, as if to catch the smile before it vanished.

“Now did you like it?” he laughed softly, pulling you tighter for a second. “Sure. Would you be mad if I burned it or something?” you stifled a laugh, intertwining your fingers with his, resting them on his belly.

“I kinda expected you to at least frame a few pages. You could hang it up in the studio, right over your guitar stand. The colours would look great with that deep red Gibson you got.” Jae hummed amused before he snapped up.

“Wait the what?” you bit back a tiny smile. “The deep red Gibson Les Paul Studio, you know that guitar. It would go well with the red aesthetic moment you guys got going on in the album.” You repeated, acting as if nothing was wrong.

“I…I don’t have a red Gibson…? I only have a black one, you know the old one…?”

“Are you sure you don’t have a red one?” he sat up, giving you a weird look. “What are you…”

“Oh come on, you didn’t really think I just got you the Wonpil photobook, did you?” his jaw fell slack.

“You got me a guitar?” you grinned proudly. “Younghyun helped me pick the right kind, since I have less than no knowledge about guitars. It’s waiting for you behind the coats in the hallway…I had to hide it somewhere. Go have a look.” Jae was on his feel faster than a chicken on speed and sprinted towards the clothing racks, slithering coming to a stop in front of them.

“Holy shit.” You laughed. “She’s beautiful! I can’t believe…are you serious?” he brushed carefully over the shinny ebony, placing the guitar in a way where it would rest safely on his lap. You leaned against his shoulder as you watched him brush over a few strings hesitatingly. The dark red fit beautifully into the scenery, the light up Christmas tree and cozy atmosphere, accentuating everything with a more Christmas-sy feel. “Damn. I know I shouldn’t swear on Christmas out of everything but holy shit, she’s beautiful.” you shrugged lightly, shooting him a wink. “Suits you perfectly then!” he clicked his tongue and gave you a slightly unbelieving look.

“Keep that behavior up and I’ll wife you before this year ends.” You huffed amused. “Yeah I mean I would, but I do not have the financial capability to do that, good Sir. You can still wife me, tho.” He shot you a quick grin before diverting his gaze back to the guitar.

“You know, I’m gonna do it anyways so...” Jae mumbled almost absentmindedly, gaze still fixed on the guitar. You looked up surprised, feeling a tingle rise in your chest. 

Was he…serious?

“Oh yeah?” he looked up at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “What? Did you think I only got you a box of chocolates and those lame ass concert tickets for Christmas? The ring is in the top drawer of my nightstand, I had to hide it somewhere.” This time, it was your turn to stare at him blankly.

“Shut up Jae, you’re kidding.” He leaned back with a smug grin, shooting you a wink.

“Go have a look yourself, babe.”

— ✩ thank u for reading ✩ —

[zumpietoo]

Meanwhile....

The promised bit of discussion, if you will....

I’m of the opinion the writers on the show all suck, are wildly unprofessional and beyond fucking stupid....I’ve long pointed out the show is filled with cliches, tends towards misery porn as shocker, is horribly paced, makes it obvious there’s generally no REAL plan going forward, invariably misses countless amazing opportunities with its mysteries (GK and the Farm should’ve totally been tied together as a satanic blood cult AND organ harvesting front---AND they never really managed to effectively tie up the GK, anyway....), etc...

Oh and I completely despise “reset” arcs, late introduction of mains who have single purposes that they never fully move away from (honestly, fully applies to Tinkle and Molars....and they showed up in season 2....they still suck on every level....tho less offensive, weirdly, together)....

And I haaattteee misery porn

And OFC, I hate(d) Barfie....

Yet, bizarrely, season five actually worked QUITE well, season 6 seemingly is promising to (despite being pretty confident Plaiderdale PP will be a weak, one noted mustache twirler), etc....which is NOT what I thought would be the case, at all....

To whit:

For starters, I’m not offended in the same way that Jug was written as a “loser”, because his spiral made a fair amount of sense, gave Cole a lot of meaty shit to work with and, effectively, the real plot of the season was him facing his demons, fixing himself and working through all his issues....additionally, unlike much of our juvenile fandumb, I can understand IRL problems like slipping into addiction and debt and then working your way forward.....

Versus becoming a disgusting fascist psycho killah and the fandumb merely deciding that was “bad ass”....

I also looovveeddd that Jug accomplished (and very early recognized this) with Tabs’s very gentle, but supportive and constant help, first as his friend and then as his lover....and while I’d normally haaaattttteee the heavy handed introduction of a character CLEARLY slated to be his LI, here it worked really nicely....

TBH, it probably would just be hackneyed soap if anybody BUT Erinn and Cole were in the roles, but they played it sooo well, sweetly and beautifully, that it truly made the misery porn (including icky Barfie sexytimes) worth it.

Another thing I doubt the writers intended, but it did happen in five was Slizzy being such an utter, selfish, psychotic cuntwipe simply revealed a simple truth: BH was always a spiraling, toxic mess....we just chose to ignore it.

Again, I don’t think the writers were remotely skilled enough, not do they even think out 2 seconds past anything....buuuuutt....it does work out that way and, honestly? I now fully delight in the destruction of all it....which, again, maybe NOT their intent, but most assuredly how it all translates....

It’s to the point where I even lowkey ship jackbooted fascist thug Barfie...cuz, hey, they DO have that in common----and I legit enjoy watching them suffer in this facade they’ve both always wanted, thinking they’ve finally fucked everybody over....while discovering each sucks in bed, is dumb AF and and the only real happiness either EVER obtains in life is from violence and control...

Ditto Vagey ARE well suited (tho I do continue to hope and pray for the hinted quadrangle, cuz everybody miserable and unsatisfying, hopefully finally B&V scratching each other’s eyes out, etc....is FAB)---and I also love them as a near-crime power couple....cuz they’ve both ALWAYS been shady, so I continue to not understand this idea that Vermin’s sweetness and light....she isn’t. But HER criminal leanings take a different tone from the fascism her “best friends” follow.

I also love it cuz remember everybody looking down on gang leader Jug?

It was hypocrisy then, it’s hypocrisy, now....if anything, we’ll get a plot of Vermin legit becoming her dad and realicing she likes it...

Oh and I do love how we’re having less and less Tinkle the social worker (never not fucking hilarious) and moar Minkle/Gholars the violent thugs....I am hoping it means Jug takes back the Serpents and again, transforms to a pack of dogooders...

Soooo....I just realiced, in reality, season five worked (and continues to work) because the reset, again, merely

A) showed us, quite effectively, how all the “OG” couples were toxic, icky shit and really, you probably won’t and shouldn’t be endgame with your high school sweetheart

B) Albeit unwittingly, as @petalsmooth has pointed out innumerable times, Slizzy is now written as a villain. Doesn’t mean she’s gonna be the show’s Big Bad, but she is....so is Douchie (again, fascist thug hypocrites are not “good”), so are Vermin and Ragey always was.....which, honestly, is not a new thing....but it’s now a lot moar overt....and it works....

They were always all shitty people, now the show’s seemingly leaning into that a bit harder....and I loooooovvvvveeee it...

C) Conversely, Jughead IS the hero---or LBR, Tabitha is...and the show fully recognises this...FINALLY....while Pussy is busily Miss Havisham...

D) In retrospect a LOT of campy, which they further leaned into, OFC, in the Vale....but I suspect we’ll see plenty coming up....which, again, works....

So, when all was said and done season 5 didn’t ignore the previous four seasons, it brought everything full circle, wrapped it quite neatly (and, honestly, the show could’ve effectively ended, cliffhangers and all in 5x19 and worked pretty nicely if I’m being real, here....excepting I would’ve wanted Jabi safely making love in their apartment)---and, in fact, fully harkened to everything...

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

heavenly yours (epilogue) | th x fem!reader

Heavenly Yours – a chaotic series

PART 1  |  PART 2  |  PART 3 | epilogue

Summary: A few years passed and some things changed. What is now happening in the Underworld of Hell?

Pairing: KOH!Tom x Angel!Fem!Reader 

Warnings: language, some blood (not much), tones of cute moments, tones of feelings, SMUT including pregnant sex, unprotected sex (use condoms kids), fingering, stimulation and breeding kink (oopsie)

Words count: 10.2k

A/N: first of all: a massive thank you to all the people who supported me and this mini series! you’ve been amazing all along, and i couldn’t have make it without you 🙏🏻✨ also sorry for the delay but i started a new job so i was busy, but then covid-19 happened and here i am now at home 😅 at least i can get some writing done 👀 anyway this mini series is coming to an end with this epilogue, so again a big tysm and i hope you will support my other works like you did with this one 💖💞

masterlist | series masterlist | your support

A few years later.

In the Hell’s Castle.

.

.

❞ You piece of crap, you are such a disgrace even for Hell. ❞

The voice echoes in the throne room. It is not a scream, but still loud, rough and impressing. Capable of giving you the chills or killing anyone on the spot. A voice well-known in the Underworld of Hell. A voice feared by any demon down there.

‘M-MY KING, I-I DIDN’T MEAN TO- I AM S-SORRY PLEASE! SPARE ME P-PLEASE-”

❞ SILENCE. ❞

The voice gets a bit deeper this time. The entire room trembles and so do all the people present in there. No one dares to look directly at him, scared of making him lose his temper even more. The demons care for their life and just kneel down, heads bows, silently.

But boy someone sure is going to have a bad time today.

Tom lazily sits on his throne, one leg crossed over the other and an elbow on the black wooden armrest with his hand supporting his head. His current sitting spot overhangs the room, getting a clear view on today’s “trash to clean”, as he commonly calls them. The strong fingers of his free hands tap on the armrest, his short nails creating a macabre melody in addition to the fragile pleading of the unfortunate defendant of the day. The King’s facial expression doesn’t let through a single ounce of emotion, but who knows him well senses that the King is upset. Really upset.

❞ How many times did we catch you sneaking out of the 8th circle? Five, or more? Either way, you really pissed me off now. ‘ve got other shits to deal with. ❞

‘P-PLEASE MY KING! I WILL DO WHATEVER Y-YOU WANT! PLE-’

❞ FUCK OFF, YOU MISERABLE ASSHOLE. ❞

*slash*

The pleading abruptly stops, letting a heavy silence to take place. The body of the demon then separates in two perfect and equal parts, before falling into a sloppy sound on the now bloody ground. Still no word spoken. Now the smell of death is strong in the room, and the blood of that disgusting and deceitful demon begins to block Tom’s airways.

❞ Take that shit away from my sight and clean quickly that mess ❞ exhales Tom, scratching his temples and frowning at the displeased view.

The demons’ subjects stand one by one and after bowing their head to their King, they start executing his orders.

❞ Actually, give some pieces to Tessa. She will be happy to have something to chew on. ❞

At the sound of her name the aforesaid Tessa makes her way next to her master, her claws clinking on the marble floor as she passes next to the corpse and other royal subjects. Now sitting next to Tom’s leg, her tongue hanging out, the female staffy raises her face towards Tom who understands what she wants.

❞ I know, darling, I know. Now is break time ❞ slightly chuckles Tom as he bends his upper body  to scratch behind his dog’s ears.

Just as his subjects finish cleaning the mess from earlier - not forgetting to bring some “toys” in Tessa’s corner -, Tom catches some stepie steps coming from behind the giant entrance door of the throne room. And he knows these steps. Pretty well actually. He smiles and Tessa seems to ear them too now, her tails batting the ground from excitement.

The devil man finally stands from his throne, extending his black wings on his back. All royal servants are gone, the place shinning like day one. Then a light knock resonates in Tom’s ears, his smile transforming into an amused smirk.

❞ Who dares to disturb the King during his duties? ❞ Tom exclaims in a weird imposing baritone voice, chin up and chest puffed out.

*giggles*

The man beats his wings and keeps his position, quite the opposite of Tessa who excitedly begins running around Tom, knowing who is actually behind the door.

❞ I dare you to enter this room, you little crooks! ❞

The heavy double door cracks as it opens slowly, letting out some creaking noises. Tessa just starts running straight to it as her barks echo in the room. And as the door opens enough, two little bodies appear behind it and are instantly being jumped on by the dog, clearly happy to see them. Then follow lots of laughing and giggles.

‘DADDY!’

Tom finally loosens up his acting at both voices calling him then walks towards them, arms open wide. As Tessa calms down, the two bodies free themselves and run to the King, before jumping right at him. Tom catches them, joining their laughs as he starts spinning around.

❞ How are my beautiful children doing? ❞

Children indeed. Two children. Tom’s treasures and source of happiness. Something he never imagined he could have one day. But he did. On his strong arms are attached his four and a half-year-old daughter Dottie and almost two-year-old son Al, both their little hands wrap around their dad’s waist and torso as they look at him with smiling faces.

Dottie is the clear image of Tom. Same brown wild curls he once had back to his angel’s life, big coffee eyes that are already pro at doing the puppy look, a cheeky smile and very affectionate. A total outgoing daddy’s girl, a bit loud sometimes, but always ready to help and protect the one she loves, mostly her little brother. She is his little warrior, as Tom likes to call her.

Regarding Al, the younger sibling is definitely like (Y/N). The same features from the colour of his hair, eyes and so on that scream he is the reflection of the dear angel who stole Tom’s heart long time ago. But little Al is quieter than his sister, sometimes shy or even diffident, but still kind and radiating gentleness. And a one hundred percent mama’s boy.

To compliment all that, both children display cute growing wings on their back. A mix of white and dark feathers, beautifully arranged and showing the union of their so different parents. But Tom couldn’t stop touching them because each time he does, these feathers prove him everything is now possible, even for him who endure exile and torture alone for so long. The tiny bodies he carries warmly are the fruit of his tenacity to show how much the Kingdom of Heaven was wrong since forever, ruling in the shadow with received ideas which only created sadness in the end.

But not anymore.

❞ Wait, did you two sneak out of your mother’s sight or- ❞

“I’m always close to them even when they don’t know, darling.”

Tom exhales, a smile growing on his face. The lovely and soothing voice of his other half makes his head turn towards it. And there she is. (Y/N). Standing next to his throne as if she was always meant to be there, wings majestically framing her body and the long white lace summer dress he lastly bought her drawing her curves to the perfection. And new perfectly stretching around her growing stomach. The angel brings her left hand up to stroke it, the circular moves drawing attention to the golden accessory on her ring finger which also matchs with his own one.

A wedding ring.

Her longer hair cascades on her back and shoulders, nicely brushed and arranged to welcome a delicate crown on top of her head. Thin and discreet, a few gold stems go around her head, intertwined together, with some clear red spots here and there.

A golden crown of red roses.

(Y/N) is absolutely stunning, she always was, always is and always will be. She manages to take Tom’s breath away each time, even for any little things she does. The angel was the missing puzzle piece since the beginning.

After the night they became one, Tom stake to his words to make the angel woman his queen. As much as Tom wanted a quick and private celebration, his friend and advisor Harrison had to remind him many times that Tom being the King of Hell, he had to mark the occasion at least a little bit to officially present her to the Kingdom of Hell.

And that is what Tom did.

It was a short ceremony but still worthy of the King of Hell. And maybe an occasion to show off a lot little next to his soon to be - and now officially proclaimed - wife, the love of his (after)life. And it would have been logical to give her the title of Queen of Hell, as him being the King of Hell himself.

But no. Tom didn’t want her being associated too much to the Underworld of Hell, title included. So he decided to stick with only “Queen” and that was already enough, and even better. (Y/N) is his Queen, the one he wants to rule his Kingdom next to, the one he wants to be with forever.

‘MAMA!’

The children both squeeze out the grip of their father to rapidly fly right towards their mother, who kindly smile at them as she catches her youngest one in his still wobbly flying. Al and Dottie cuddle into (Y/N)’s body, being careful to avoid her tummy during their embrace.

Tom could look at this scene for hours. Looking at the person he loves the most holding his two other precious ones - soon to be three - all together, radiating of love, happiness and kindness, emotions he craved for so long that he is now proud of being able to have and feel. Unconsciously this put a warm smile on his face, and he couldn’t stop himself from joining them too.

As Tom engulfs them all into his strong arms, his black wings also surrounding them, (Y/N) slightly nuzzles her face into her husband’s neck while still holding both her children close to her. The devil man rubs his nose against the soft hair on top of her head, avoiding her little crown, to smell the fresh scent of flowers coming from it.

❞ You like to just appear and disappear wherever you want to surprise me, don’t you darling? ❞ jokes Tom kissing her temple, which makes his wife giggle.

“It’s not like you don’t like it, sweetheart” replies (Y/N) as she leaves a soft peck on his neck.

❞ Cheeky you. But touché. ❞

One of Tom’s hands slides around her lower back then her hip to end its course at the side of her growing stomach, slowly stroking it through the fabric of her sundress. He kisses both Dottie and Al’s foreheads before resting his cheek against (Y/N)’s temple.

Being able to have his family by his side to love and cherish to his heart’s content is something Tom would never change. His family. These simple words bring so much feelings inside him, warming up his heart each time he says them out loud. With a powerful meaning.

Tom detaches from the little group to take back both his daughter and son in his own arm, freeing (Y/N) from their intense grip. He then walks to his throne and sits on it, putting both his children on one leg on it. (Y/N) soon joins them too and sits on Tom’s free leg, slightly leaning on her husband’s torso.

❞ Alright kids, what did you do with your mother until now? ❞ asks Tom to his children, firmly but tenderly keeping them still on his leg.

As Dottie begins (but mostly tries) to vividly describe all the games they played and Al listening to his big sister, both parents look at them lovingly while cuddling into each other. Tessa soon join them with something in her mouth - definitely a piece of the demon’s body from before -, sitting peacefully at Tom’s feet to chew on her new “toy”.

The macabre room of sentences is now filled with adorable laughers and chitchatting, clearing up the usual bloody and terrific atmosphere for today, at least.

* * * *

(Y/N) lays on the red velvet couch in the living room, her back against tones of fluffy pillows she gathered from everywhere in the castle. Her legs stretched out, she continues reading with the book slightly put on her five-month-tummy. In the background, the angel can hear Dottie and Al playing in the garden with Tessa, their joyful laughers making her smile. Beside her, the fire keeps crackling in the fireplace, warming up the air around her. It is actually the only spot of fire (Y/N) ever saw in Hell, and the only one she is actually happy to light up.

Still immerse in her peaceful reading, she hears steps resonate on the marble of the living room, coming closer to where she is. As the angel raises her head, the silhouette of Harrison makes its way to her. Dressed in his usual black outfit, imposing wings on display, the loyal demon of Hell soon stops at the back of the couch to address to the young woman.

“Good afternoon, Harrison” (Y/N) greets him as she rests the still open book on her stomach, giving her full attention to her friend.

‘ Good afternoon, (Y/N). We just rece- ‘

Harrison gets interrupted by (Y/N) who puts her index finger on her lips, then slowly pointing down to where her book is. Intrigued, the demon leans further over the couch. And to his surprise here sleeps the King of Hell himself, totally squeezed between the back of the couch and (Y/N)’s body, his face slightly on top of her breasts and an arm around her pregnant belly.

(Y/N)’s hand begins to scratch his scalp softly and he seems to snuggle more into her, his breathing calm and at ease. Harrison tries his best to suppress a smirk. Seeing the most powerful demon who terrifies all Hell and beyond in this position, as gentle as a lamb, is for sure destroying the entire myth itself. But at the same time, he never saw his friend this peaceful until he made the impossible to bring his love one back to him.

So in the end, Harrison couldn’t stop the discret crooked grin in the corner of his lips. After silently clearing his voice, he starts again but in a hushed voice.

‘ As I was saying, we just received a letter from Heaven addressed to you. ‘

Harrison holds the aforesaid letter out to the angel woman, who takes it carefully as to not crumple the delicate paper. The letter is rolled up and neatly tied up in a white silk ribbon, (Y/N)’s name calligraphed on it in thin and calligraphed letters.

Looking at her sleepy husband one last time, (Y/N) takes the ribbon between her fingers and slowly undo it, depositing it on her book. Harrison stays at the same place, hands linked on his back as he watches over the woman. (Y/N) rolls the paper out with her two hands and sees a few lines written on it, the handwriting being familiar to her.

“This is from Zendaya” starts (Y/N), now smiling with kind eyes at the letter. “Thank you Harrison.”

‘ You’re welcome, (Y/N). I will be with the kids if you need something. Also... ‘

The demon glances at Tom who has not moved an inch since then, still fast asleep against (Y/N).

‘ ... Make sure he is awake for his afternoon’s duties. Got some important “work” to deal with ‘ Harrison whispers, emphasising the specific word “work” with the intonation of his voice.

“I know I know, don’t worry about it” replies (Y/N) while massaging Tom’s scalp.

As Harrison makes his way outside to keep a close eye on the children - even if in the end, he will totally play with them but never admit it out loud -, (Y/N) feels Tom’s body moving slightly, his legs stretching out but still not waking up fully.

The arm around her stomach tightens a bit, his hand caressing her side almost tickling her thought her dress. He snuggles more against her, a content smile now on his face. Letting her husband enjoy his well deserved nap, (Y/N) can concentrate on the letter she received from Zendaya.

Zendaya. One of the Superior Angels who maintains peace in the Kingdom of Heaven. One with a big heart and a beautiful soul. And the only one who trusted and agreed to help Tom when he was banished and sent to Hell.

Approaching the Superior Angels was, at the time, nearly impossible because they were considered as “the direct messengers of the Holy God”. But Zendaya had always been... Zendaya. Well educated, respected by everyone and also the only Superior Angels close to the other angels. She never feared anyone, even when her fellow Superiors asked her many times to keep her distance with the common  angels.

Zendaya always had a mind of her own and that is also why she developed a certain friendship with Tom. Him being himself loved by everyone in Heaven, she knew since the beginning she could trust him. With time they became confidant to one another, and it is also like how Zendaya learnt about his growing feelings towards (Y/N). She knew her too, a bit less but still enough to trust her deeply and admire her from afar. But everything changed when the Superior Angels suspected something was going on. And, in fact, they didn’t hesitate a single second to get complete rid of Tom without another thought. And Zendaya couldn’t do anything but assist to his terrific exile.  

As time flies, Zendaya felt nothing was the same in Heaven anymore. Mostly when she kept an eye on (Y/N). So much despair and sadness, but well hidden by the young angel to not draw any attention to her. Zendaya admired (Y/N)’s mental strength but she could not not be afraid of her fellow’s mental health. And even with all her will, Zendaya knew she couldn’t do anything. At least not by herself.

Until one day, totally out of nowhere when she thought she had to finally put what happened behind her. That specific day, everything changed as a tiny piece of paper was found under the bench Zendaya usually sits on in her private garden. A simple message non signed but somehow... recognisable, with a black feather attached to it and simply written:

“I’m alive. We need to talk.”

Zendaya kept her devilish correspondence with Tom to herself, being extremely careful each time a letter was sent by one or received by the other. The Superior Angel was the best help Tom needed to bring back (Y/N) to him, even if Zendaya was not really in favour of that idea, at first. But she was the most sensible angel - with (Y/N) - in Heaven and the determined one wishing for a change.

A true and concrete change had to happen. Now or never.

And that is how Zendaya planned (Y/N)’s “evasion” with Tom’s help, also managing at the same time to not declare a war between both kingdoms and opening the minds of angels and demons. What a job, really. But it was worse it because since then, the impenetrable borders between the two worlds finally fell for good.

...

« « My Dear (Y/N),

I hope you are doing good. How is your pregnancy is going?

Recently, the Superiors Angels and I gathered to discuss about sharing our mutual files about the people arriving at the Purgatory’s Gates, but also about the “doubtful” ones. I broached this topic since a bit of time now, but you know how the Superiors are... Still reluctant about this and that, but we will slowly make it.

And how are Hell Boy and your beautiful kids? Hope they at least give you some rest time. Mostly Tom because this man is a mess by himself. I still wonder sometimes how he manages to do anything while you were not here (yet).

Anyway. Tell little Dottie and little Al I love them a lot, to be good and that I can’t wait to see you all again when your new little member will be here.

Wishing you all the happiness to you and your beautiful family.

P.S.: tell Tom to stop being a dick and to read that damn report I sent him last week because I need an answer fast now, thanks.

Sincerely, Zendaya. » »

(Y/N) tries to stop giggling at the last lines of the letter, but still couldn’t really help it. Her chest vibrates against her will, slightly shaking Tom out from his sleep.

❞ What in this letter is making my beautiful wife laugh? ❞ Tom asks sleepily, his voice hoarse and eyes still close as if waking up is not in his plans yet.

(Y/N) caresses and kiss the crown of his head still resting on her chest, now openly giggling at the sluggish mood of her husband.

“Zendaya is waiting for you to read a report from a week ago” the angel slowly starts, her fingers running along Tom’s neck as her lips don’t leave his forehead. “Also she is planning to come visit when our little one is born.”

Tom finally dares to raise his head and meet his wife’s sparkling eyes, his being drown into them again and a smile now on his face.

❞ I can’t wait for them to be born, I want to hold them in my arms so bad ❞ says Tom, kind of lost in his thoughts as he caresses (Y/N)’s stomach lovingly.

“Me too, I can’t wait” the angel replies, emotions of pure happiness overwhelming her entire body.

The two beings share a passionate kiss, full of love, in this moment of silence. Pure calm and solitude while Tom holds his dear queen softly in his arms and runs his hand over her growing belly. Neither of them have to say much in order to know what the other is thinking. This moment is not different.

The joyful laughers of their children in the background constantly remind them how grateful they both are to the Gods for allowing them such happiness.

* * * *

Finally the end of the day.

Tom feels beyond exhausted. As Harrison likes to stick to his plan as strict and a total pain in the ass as they usually are, his fellow demon friend assisted him during his afternoon’s duty in the throne room. All. Damn. Afternoon. Harrison didn’t let him have more than three-minute breaks because he wanted things to be done for good. And since the third heir is supposed to arrive in a few months, there was no way in Hell Harrison would let Tom increase his workload.

But now the night took place over the day long ago. The Underworld fell asleep little by little like the Castle itself. Tom exists the bathroom, heavy clouds of steam following him after an intense and thorough showering. The hot water helps his sore muscles to relax a bit, as he made a way too much good use of (Y/N)’s shower gel to erase the smell of blood and sweat stuck deeply in the pores of his body.

He lets out a sigh, his cheeks still red from the shower and finishs drying his buzzed head and neck with a towel. His wings moves from time to time to dry themselves from the remaining drops of water in them. Lazing throwing the towel back in the bathroom - hopefully in the laundry basket -, Tom adjusts his sweatpants and gazes at the silent and dark bedroom, guessing (Y/N) is still putting Dottie and Al to bed.

Taking advantage of it, the devil man flops down on the bed on his back. Sighing another time once he feels the fresh silk sheets under his skin, all his muscles even the thinest ones de-stress together. His wingspan unfolded is for sure impressive, covering all the bed in its length but the black feathers matching beautifully with the dark red silk sheets.

Complete silence. Only his slow breathing calming down as he closes his eyes, now taken into total darkness. Sometimes Tom remembers some of this kind of days, like today, when tones of judgements had to be done and then sentences to fall right after. And after he would just be like he is now, trying his best to empty his mind. Alone. And the next day, the same episode would repeat over and over again. Always alone.

But not anymore.

The faint click of the bedroom door opening takes Tom out of this thoughts as he slowly opens one eye to look towards it. Silently, (Y/N) appears and closes the door without a sound as soon as she steps a foot in the room. Then she turns to see her husband lazily laying on the bed, letting a little chuckle at the sight.

Such a pleasant sound. The demon King could hear his wife laugh all day, it is pure music to his ears and so much soothing. Sounding divine as looking heavenly.

Tom stares at (Y/N) from the bed noticing her wearing the bronze-nude coloured silk robe he offered her after Al’s birth, loosely tied up. This soft colour, almost looking gold, perfectly enhance her angelic figure as well as her magnificent white wings. His eyes then rakes over her body starting with her beautiful face to her shoulders then her voluptuous breasts, which now press more against the robe and finally down to the swelling of her stomach, which also stretches the silky fabric around her hips.

Tom bits his lip at this sight as he eyes the bump with a lustful look. In addition to not spending endless days and nights alone, feeling downhearted and helpless, (Y/N) is now blessing him with a third child, extending their happy family even more for both their enjoyment but also for the kingdom. The young man feels powerful like he never was, but mostly happy.

All this thanks to (Y/N) without whom nothing of this would have been possible.

“You’re done showering, darling?” asks the angel with her delicate voice, to which Tom simply nods. “Good. And the children are finally asleep.”

(Y/N) slightly stretches, a hand low on her back as she arches it to relieve some muscles. Recently Tom starts noticing some changes in his wife’s everyday life, such as flying more often when she could instead of walking, taking more naps and baths than usual, tiredness showing in her eyes or constantly stretching her back like right now. This being her third pregnancy it may seem understandable at some point, but Tom couldn’t help but worry about her well-being.

❞ Did you take a bath before lunch, love? ❞ wonders Tom as sitting normally on the bed.

“I did, yes but it only eased my back pain for two hours or so... And now, my stomach feels a bit swollen and heavy” sighs (Y/N), frowning a little.

She leans her head on one side while looking at Tom with an exasperated face. Her arms are crossed under her breasts, unintentionally opening the robe more on her accentuated cleavage. Being the perfect husband he is, Tom knows he has to do something... something that would help both of them, actually. It is like he almost planned in advance what is about to happen, wishing it with all his heart.

❞ Come here, sweetheart ❞ Tom breaths also tilting his head on his shoulder, his now hungry eyes never leaving (Y/N).

After slowly swaying her luscious hips while walking to him, (Y/N) then stops to stand in front of her husband, standing between his legs. She then could see his eyes darken as they trail down her body and stop at the swell of her belly that is now showing more than last month.

Knowing perfectly the effect she has on him, (Y/N) exhales longly which makes the robe slide from her shoulders and expose more skin of her upper body. She then run her left hand over the bump, the wedding ring shining brightly as it reflects naturally even with the lack of light in the room. Tom can’t help his hands to rest on the back of her thighs, fidgeting with the fabric of her robe still in between his caresses. Then the angel smiles when Tom’s mouth falls open to release a groan.

❞ Fuck. Get over here. Now. ❞

Tom pats his thigh and (Y/N) could just oblige, balancing her hands on both his shoulders. He grins up at his wife as she climbs onto his laps, both legs on the outside of his thighs to straddle him.

Immediately his hands find their way to her hips, still caressing a little over the silk material of the robe before he just unties it. And Tom couldn’t suppress the satisfied grin on his face as her matching nightgown appears in front of him. His angel being pregnant makes the fabric tighten around her breast and stomach, as much as its slightly raises to mid-thigh.

Tom then guides her to sit fully down on his thighs and chuckles when she sighs at the feeling. (Y/N) slowly flaps her white wings and takes her robe fully off, even around them, the clothing item cascading along her arms before falling at Tom’s feet.

❞ Comfortable like this? ❞ the demon asks cautiously, eyeing his wife’s face for any indication as to how she is feeling or what she is thinking about.

(Y/N) looks down at him with a small smile on her face, nodding. The chill air in the bedroom gives her goosebumps. She traces her hands over his broad shoulders, not without admiring his naked and muscular torso, before wandering her delicate fingers at the base of his nape. Tom’s eyes close once he feels her start to massage his buzzed scalp, and hums in pleasure.

He always loves to feel her hands on him, in general. It never fails to make his "friend down there” throb from excitement.

❞ (Y/N)… ❞

Tom whispers as he reaches up to grab the angel’s left hand before bringing it to his lips. He places a soft kiss on the golden ring, powerful symbol of their love and union, before brushing his rough but still soft lips over her knuckles. He turns her hand over so he can drag his lips across the gentle skin of her wrists, as his eyes stare deeply at her face.

When his lips continue to brush higher on her arm, he hears a sigh leave (Y/N)’s plush lips and watches as her eyes suddenly drop closed. Tom smiles softly against her skin.

❞ My beautiful wife and queen... ❞ he mumbles, never stopping his trail up the skin of her arm before moving to the other one, doing the same straight away. ❞ The strongest woman I know... So selfless... ❞ Tom pulls away from her skin to thread his fingers through her long hair and cradles the back of her neck in his hands.

❞ ... and all mine. ❞

With such sudden fervour, Tom brings (Y/N)’s mouth to his and kisses her, long and passionate. The angel melt in his arms, following his every lead as he bites her bottom lip. (Y/N) willingly opens your mouth to allow his tongue to battle with hers. She gasps in his mouth when he removes a hand from her hair to cradle her bottom, pulling her closer to him.

“T-Tom” she moans, kissing her husband with such urgency.

In all honesty, they did not have sex in two months - if not more which may be more actually and quite surprising - because taking care of one child is kinda alright, but two... is completely another story. And ever since (Y/N) got pregnant of their third one, Tom also had a lot of work to deal with while Dottie and Al still need a lot of attention. Constantly. So basically both adults were lately busy every day, the intimate time passing after anything else... and being almost forgotten, in then end.

Until now (Y/N) has not noticed how much she actually missed feeling Tom’s hot skin against her bare body. Being intimate with him is something otherworldly because, on top of knowing her body so well, the young woman feels secure in his arms. She always had. And in return, Tom would use that to his advantage whenever he wants to show (Y/N) exactly how he feels about her.

There is never a day that (Y/N) would ever get sick of being with the King of Hell, her husband. Totally unthinkable.

❞ You have no clue what you do to me, doll ❞ he growls, pulling away from her lips to trail his kisses across her jaw. ❞ I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you... How I got so lucky... ❞ Tom whispers against her ear before returning to ravish the skin of her neck with his teeth and tongue.

(Y/N) moans breathlessly when his tongue drags across her sweet spot before he sucks the patch of skin between his teeth.

“I’m the the lucky one, baby” she breathes out, bringing her hands back to his head. “You’ve been through so much all these past years, and yet you still find time for me and our children, even when I may not be in the best mood. There is no luckier person here than me.”

Tom’s eyes begin to burn as he pulls away from her neck and places his forehead against hers to look straight in the eyes.

❞ The shit I’ve put you through is nothing anyone should have to ever go through, and yet you’ve handled it all with such grace. Like the perfect Queen you are. There’s no one I admire and cherish more than you, (Y/N). You mean the world to me, darling. ❞

His hands move to cover the expanse of her swollen belly underneath her nightgown as he starts to caress the skin with his thumbs.

❞ You, Dottie, Al and this baby. ❞

Her lip trembles at his words, vision growing blurry with fresh tears. The love (Y/N) has for this man is indescribable. There were no words ever created to explain everything he means to her. He is everything she has ever needed and so much more. And knowing that he loves his kids just as much is definitely one of the best feelings in the world.

“God, I can’t even describe how much you mean to me, Tom. Truly, words do not compare” (Y/N) whispers to him, lips brushing against his as he smiles.

❞ Oh trust me, I know exactly how you feel ❞ the devil man chuckles, running his hands up and down her sides beneath the fabric.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them. Pure calm and solitude while Tom hold (Y/N) in his arms and ran his hands over her body. By now the two of them spent enough time together to memorise each other’s conducts during certain times. So, once Tom breathes softly against her neck, she knows the angel has to hear for herself exactly what is going through his head.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” (Y/N) inquires, pulling away to clearly see his face.

His coffee eyes are still dark, his chest heaving against her lush one. He could still feel her clothed heat against his thighs and now that they are so close, he could feel her stomach flat against his, the bump brushing against his naked abs.

He chuckles breathily before running a hand on top of his head, which creates a scratching noice under his palm.

❞ Would it be crude of me to say that your swollen stomach makes me hard? ❞

(Y/N) gasps in shock at his words, not expecting them in the slightest. Tom looks up at his angelic wife with a mischievous glint in his honey brown orbs, and she couldn’t help but then giggle at his typical cheeky attitude.

“It would but then again, you wouldn’t be Tom if you weren’t at least a little crude at times” she teases as she laughs when he feigns offense.

❞ Ooh you are in for it now, angel! ❞

Suddenly Tom chides before grabbing (Y/N) by the thighs and gently roll their bodies onto the bed, him being now on top of her. The angel squeals at the same time, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and arms winding around his neck.

He smiles down at her before moving down to kiss her, his lips gliding effortlessly against her mouth. The demon king loves to take her breath away with just a touch of his lips. Tom smiles against the angel’s lips while still gliding his lips across hers.

❞ Hope you’re ready, I’m about to rock the world of my gorgeous pregnant queen tonight ❞ Tom grins widely when (Y/N) lets out a loud laugh at his words.

“You’re being cheesy tonight, I see?” she giggles, her cheeks stretching widely to accommodate to the large grin on her perfect face.

Tom admires the glint of happiness in her eyes, with an ounce of mischief too, and tries to process the fact that he is the one and only man making this divine creature beneath him so happy.

❞ Yeah but I mean, you love that about me ❞ the man smirks, kissing (Y/N) on the corners of her mouth then cheeks, forehead and lastly her nose. ❞ And you signed up to it all when you married me so, no going back now pretty lady.❞

Her eyes flutter because of all his kisses, then she smiles softly at her husband.

“Oh yes, I did” she chuckles before continuing “And I love you with all my heart. And I always will” (Y/N) whispers, cupping his cheeks in her delicate hands before running her fingers over his defined cheekbones and jawline.

Tom can’t stop his eyes from burning with passion as his wife proclames her love for him once again.

❞ I love you ❞ he mumbles before capturing her lips for a passionate kiss.

Tom navigates his body fully between her legs, swallowing the strangled moan his angel release when he rolls his hips against her sore one. He then begins to push the silk fabric of her nightgown up to finally reveal her stomach, before he proceeds to cradle her soft visage in one hand while he places the other flat against her round and swollen belly.

He just growls when he feels the bump against his warm palm and pulls away from (Y/N)’s lips. He continues by devouring her neck as he pushes the nightdress higher up to reveal your bare breasts. The demon pulls away from her neck and stares down at her tempting curves and groans, his cock twitching at the sight.

❞ So fucking gorgeous ❞ Tom states breathlessly, reaching up to engulf gently her sensitive breasts in his large hands to massage them. His cock hardens and twitches again when (Y/N) moans from his touch, arching her back and rolling her hips against his to create some friction.

Tom grunts as he feels (Y/N) drag her hips against his still clothed hard-on and decides that both of them are wearing too many clothes for his liking.

He removes his hands from her breasts and tugs the nightdress over her head. The angel then leans up in order to let him take it off entirely, her white wings adjusting on her back. At the same time she also enjoys the sight of him, already standing half naked over her, his perfectly sculpted chest and abs making her bite her lip and almost drool.

Her husband is indeed handsome, breathtakingly beautiful, the scars on his back and shoulders only magnifying that beauty. Every time (Y/N) sees the multiple cuts he tried to hide at the beginning, all she wants to do is kiss every single one to remind her king that he should never be ashamed of them. Ever.

(Y/N) unconsciously licks her lips as she admires him. Tom catches it and smirks down at his wife, newfound confidence surging through his veins. She never fails to make him feel good about himself. One simple look needed and he could tell (Y/N) loves him no matter the scars on his body or who he is.

❞ Like what ya see, gorgeous? ❞ Tom rasps as he runs his hands up her sides, smirking when he feels her shiver beneath his touch.

“Always, baby.”

(Y/N) watches as he smiles ardently at her before he reaches up to cup her right cheek in his hand. He runs his thumb along your cheekbone and then drags the pad of his calloused finger across her bottom lip. The angel slightly turns her head into his palm and starts leaving open mouthed kisses onto it, as her hands wrap around his wrist to maintain him in place.

His eyes darken as watches (Y/N) starts lightly biting the skin of his palm, and then giving it little kitten licks. Tom curses softly when he feels his cock twitch painfully in his now too tight sweatpants, and he knows he can’t wait any longer.

Tom wants her so bad. He needs to have her. Right here, right now. Just the thought of feeling her wet insides flutter around his pulsing member takes the demon to some unholy places in his mind. And he loves it.

Almost reluctantly Tom removes his hand from her mouth and bends down to sloppily lick one of your sensitive nipples.

He hears (Y/N) gasp loudly before he sees her back arch, pushing her breast further into his mouth as he wraps his lips around the now hardening bud.

“Aah, Tommy-” she moans, trying her best to grind her hips against his.

When Tom feels her struggling to get some relief, he pulls away from her nipple with a loud ‘pop’. The angel starts letting out little whines at the loss of his hot tongue on her body.

❞ Worry not, my Queen ❞ Tom says huskily as he finally decides to tug her thin lace panties down her impeccable legs, revealing the secret garden that is her dripping heat to his hungry eyes. ❞ I will take good care of you, like I always do. ❞

He doesn’t tear his lustful gaze away from her, in awe as (Y/N) pants loudly underneath him. Tom then removes his sweatpants, not caring to untie them before hand, the fabric falling on the ground to now expose his naked glory because he definitely went commando after his shower.

The young queen gasps at the obscene yet erotic sight of his hard cock staying flat against his stomach, the tip red and swollen, leaking precum. She feels wetness pool between her legs and just moan, eyeing his hand as it wraps around his length and begins to pump slowly.

Tom eyes (Y/N)’s body hungrily from above her, moving his unoccupied hand to her pussy where he spreads her wet lips to rub her clit with his thumb, not without paying close attention to any sign of discomfort coming from his pregnant wife.

(Y/N) squeals, rolling her hips against his hand as much as her body allows her to, while Tom drags his fingers between her folds and massages her clit. When the angel feels him enter one finger into her clenching hole, she throws her head back and arches even more against his hand.

❞ Fuck baby girl, you are so wet ❞ Tom groans, pumping his hand faster around his cock.

“Tommy- Oh my-!” (Y/N) nearly screams when he adds another finger and pumps them harder and deeper into her warm insides.

Tom’s eyes widen when he looks back at her round stomach, which moves rapidly up and down as she breathes deeply. He feels his cock twitch in his hand and lets out a rough grunt, suddenly taking his fingers out of her core and removing his hand from himself.

❞ That’s it, I can’t fucking take anymore ❞ he growls, positioning himself between (Y/N)’s legs. He then gently grabs the back of her knees to pull her towards him, the angel whining when his hard cock brushes close to her core.

“Please take me, Tommy. I’m all yours, please” (Y/N) moans as she rolls her hips against his cock.

Tom feels like coming straight away but he resists somehow, instead brushing his pulsing member between her wet folds and flicking the head against her clit.

The demon king hovers over his wife’s body, placing his forehead against hers and balancing on his arms on each side of her head as he places the tip of his cock at her entrance. He looks into her bright eyes when he slowly enters the angel, her walls stretching deliciously around him.

Both beings moan in unison before Tom leans down to capture (Y/N)’s lips, swallowing every choked cries and whines as he begins to thrust in and out of her.

“Ooh Tommy, oh, aah-” she gasps breathlessly when he slams his hips into her bloated one.

❞ (Y/N)- ❞ Tom moans in return, pulling away to drop his head on her shoulder. He kisses the soft skin of her shoulder before thrusting faster and groaning into her skin. ❞ You are the best thing that ever happened to me, baby girl. ❞

His words bring tears to her eyes, thanks to the messy pregnant’s hormones,  and (Y/N) almost releases a cry as she pushes her hips in hope to meet with his thrusts. She can feel every ridge and thick vein of his cock as he drives it into her and the purely euphoric feeling makes her dizzy. The angel grabs onto Tom, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders and running a hand through his entire face, his thrusts intensifying even more.

“You are my world, Tommy. I love your more than anything and I promise to stay by your side until the end of the world” (Y/N) moans in his ear, reassuring him.

Tom grunts at his wife’s words, all kind of emotions mixing up in his head as he makes love to (Y/N). Suddenly, he slows his pace a little so now he is rocking into her deep and hard. She whines desperately at this change, grinding against his skin.

The demon pulls himself up so he can look between their bodies, carefully watching as he thrusts slowly in and out of her wet pussy. Then his brown eyes land on her visible baby bump and Tom feels himself pulse inside of her as his eyes roll into his head. He moans loudly, moving a hand between both their bodies to flatten it against her stomach.

❞ Shit angel, I’m s-so lucky to have you... The four of you” Tom almost whines, rolling his hips harder into hers as his pelvic now brushes against her clit.

“Tommy, I’m so close! Aah-” (Y/N) cries out at the feeling and throw her head back, arching against him more.

She then gasps when he growls violently before speeding up his thrusts again and literally drilling into her. (Y/N) grabs onto him tightly and drags her nails against his scalp, stealing a grunt from his chest.

Tom sloppily links his lips with hers when he feels the angel clench tightly around him, so he thrusts deeper and faster before moving the hand that was on her stomach to her clit.

❞ Come for me, my gorgeous wife. My gorgeous queen. Come for me ❞ Tom growls in her ear, rubbing her clit vigorously.

(Y/N) screams at the never stopping stimulation. Her legs start trembling and body shaking as she clenches around his member, coating his cock in cum as she finally reaches her orgasm. Tom watches closely as she comes undone beneath him and lets out a moan, his hips faltering as he releases his seed inside of her tight insides.

He flattens his hand on her belly, feeling the warm and sweaty skin of her baby bump again and comes harder, biting his bottom lip to prevent himself to be too vocal this late at night. Endless streams of his come splash against her walls, their juices mixing together, and Tom rides out both their orgasms until he just collapses his upper body on top of (Y/N).

“Oh lord, Tom, you’re heavy!” the angel huffs as she then giggles at her husband.

Tom only hums in response, his voice slightly hoarse from their previous activity, while wrapping his strong arms around her body. But not feeling too well in this position - also not to accidentally hurt (Y/N) -, Tom slowly lets himself slide on the sheet to now snuggle up against his wife’s frame, remaining inside of her.

(Y/N) looks up at him through her post-orgasmic vision and is pleased to notice him just cuddling onto her with closed eyes, his chest heaving with exhaustion. As a kind smile makes its way to her face, she leans up to kiss his jaw which makes him sigh gently.

“You are amazing Tom, in every way. An amazing king, husband and father. I am so proud of you” (Y/N) softly whispers to him, brushing delicately her fingers against his cheek.

The angel then proceeds to move her hand higher and massage his head, feeling the short buzzed hair brush her palm and paying extra attention to his nape, a bit sweaty. After enjoying her pleasant caresses, Tom opens one of his eyes to peak at the angel.

❞ I would be nothing without you, baby. Just useless, an empty envelop with no reason to live. ❞

(Y/N) looks absolutely breathtaking to him, and since the day they met. The amazing post-orgasmic glow that suits her so well is something he could look at for years. Her lips swollen and impossibly red like her cheeks, hair a mess and eyes half closed. And not forgetting her naked figure which the demon loves to worship during these intimate times, shining with sweat but still an absolute delicacy that only him can savour as he wants.

(Y/N) can feel him start to get slightly hard again when he brushes his fingers over her pregnant stomach. As his face never leaves its comfy place on her chest, the demon king silently wishes to feel his unborn heir move under his touch. His wife continues to leave kisses on his sweaty forehead, closing her tired eyes, almost falling asleep in the lovely embrace of her husband.

❞ ... I’m guessing your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore? ❞

Intrigued by this question, (Y/N) slowly reopens her eyes to lower her gaze on Tom’s face. As she raises her eyebrows, she has no time to answer before Tom speaks again.

❞ Sex is definitely THE best option to ease pregnancy pains. Not like I’m gonna complain about it. ❞

"You better prepare a warm bubbly bath for us and carry me there, before I get upset” states (Y/N), her cheeks even redder now because of Tom’s stupid comment.

And the devil king can’t suppress his cheeky smirk as his wife avoids his gaze, still being cute.

❞ Your wish is my command, my Queen! ❞

* * * *

The bedroom is still plunged into darkness, but the daylight manages to make its way through an open spot left by the curtains. Humming as she slowly wakes up, (Y/N) blinks a few times before staring at the ceiling of the bedroom. Her hands go to her belly by instinct, massaging it as she draws circles on it, before she turns her head towards Tom.

Still fast asleep, the demon king did not move since they both went to sleep - after taking another bath together and dressing up for the night. His build frame stays on the side, an arm under (Y/N)’s head and his free hand resting at the bottom of her now covered stomach.

(Y/N) brushes her plump lips on his chin to then leave a light kiss on his lips, carefully to not wake him up. She links one of her hands with his own that stays on her stomach, intertwining their fingers.

But as the young queen tries to fall back asleep, her mother’s intuition goes on alert and her head turns towards the door of the bedroom. No sound can be heard on the other side of the room, only a deep and calm silence that resonates in the whole castle. When suddenly...

*tap tap tap*

The almost faint noise of footsteps slowly increase in the corridor, now catching the full attention of (Y/N). One corner of her lips raises, perfectly knowing the owners of this sound. Tom still being in the arms of Morpheus, mouth parted enough to let some soft snores at times, the angel prefers to not move until the “special guests” make their final appearance.

And speak of the devil (no pun intended, or not)...

The doorknob starts to slowly turn, creating a quick and discreet ‘click’ which allows the door to finally open. (Y/N) keeps watching closely towards it, trying to see through the half-open door. And as expected, a double pair of eyes can be seen, a bit sleepy, and little by little two very familiar round faces appear.

Dottie and Al immediately find their mother’s eyes as if asking for her permission to enter the matrimonial bedroom. After warmly allowing both her children with a nod and a smile, the two tiny beings make their way inside, Dottie making sure to silently close the door behind her little brother and her, and then fly together towards their parents.

As they kiss their mother on the cheek and tummy - because they already care a lot about their unborn brother or sister -, little Al notices his father still sound asleep between the sheets. Not needing to be asked twice, the little boy careful goes between both his parents’ bodies and tries to make himself some place as he goes under the cover. Tom lightly groans at the movements next to him, but only secures his grip tighter around his wife plus now his young son. (Y/N) then opens the sheets with her free hand, inviting her daughter to join their cuddle. Dottie goes also under the warm sheet, getting close to her mum and snuggling against her. Feeling yet another presence in the bed, Tom’s hand which already maintain (Y/N) and Al close to him now reaches for his daughter.

The silence of the early morning remains still. (Y/N) lets out a pleased sigh, getting even more confortable between the soft warmth of the bed and her loving family. Slowly, sleep overcomes her and her children all over again, soon joining the head of the family for another resting time into dreamland.

Who could have thought about having this delightful type of afterlife?

* * * *

Ten months later.

.

.

« « Who’s the most beautifuuuuuul baby of all time? » »

❞ Give me back my daughter, Z... ❞

Happy babbles echo in the living room, animated first by Tom who tries to take back his five-month daughter Mia from Zendaya’s grasp, and on the other hand Dottie and Al playing together next to the group of adults.

(Y/N) sat on the large couch next to her husband, giggling at his attitude as he almost makes grabby hands to Zendaya, hoping she would finally give the newly born child to him. (Y/N) lovingly caresses his back, getting close to him and eyeing her third child in the arms of her trustful friend from Heaven.

“Thank you for visiting us, Zendaya” begins (Y/N), “Mia seems to like you already.”

« « Obviously she loves her godmother a lot, right little one? » » smiles Zendaya as she keeps smiling widely to the baby, tickling her tummy to make little Mia show her toothless smile again.

Tom couldn’t help the grown leaving his mouth, lightly banging his head against (Y/N)’s. The angel queen kisses his temple in hope of appeasing her husband’s pouting face.

On Mia’s back, two tiny wings start growing slowly. The colour of her feathers is still undetermined but it may be a mix of white and black ones, like her eldest sister and brother. Mia’s features will for sure be a beautiful mix of her parents, her eyes already big and kind like her mother’s and deep brown like her father’s.

Harrison enters the living room, bringing a rolling cart with different drinks and delicacies on it. Both Dottie and Al stop playing as they hear it coming their way, their throat dry and little stomach empty after so much playtime. Dottie stands first and waits for Harrison to stop the cart, meanwhile Al goes to his father asking for some attention. The demon king immediately takes his son in his arms, sitting him on his laps.

‘Can I get some apple juice for Al and I, please Haz?’ Dottie politely asks the demon.

‘ Of course, dear. Right away. ‘

Dottie brings the first glass to her brother, carefully passing it in his little hands before asking the others if they want to drink something too.

“Just a glass of water for me, sweetheart. Dad will share his wine with me.”

❞ Hmm, I still need to think about that, beautiful ❞ replies Tom with a cheeky tone, while slowly kissing his wife’s cheek which makes her chuckle.

« « Don’t get all lovey-dovey in front of your kids, dammit. Gross, ew! Al, look at auntie Daya. » »

❞ Don’t swear in front of my children! ❞

Once everyone got served their drink, Dottie flies back to her mother to sit on her laps, enjoying her apple juice as she vividly looks at everyone but mostly at her new little sister. Then Harrison prepares two little plates to fill with some homemade cakes for both his godchildren.

❞ Honestly, Harrison is killin’ it at being a good godfather with the kids. They might start loving him more than you if you- ❞

« « Shut up, Hell Boy » » interrupts Zendaya, upset but still with her usual sass.

“The kids would love to see you more often, Zendaya” softly takes part (Y/N) while sipping into Tom’s wine glass before giving it back to him.

Zendaya deeply sighs and looks at little Mia catching Al’s index finger into her tiny fist. She brushes the baby’s wild growing hair back while caressing the tender rosy skin with her finger, not helping the smile on her face.

« « I know, (Y/N) and I want to but sometimes, I’m just overflowing under work. It’s not easy to be a Superior Angel, trust me. » »

❞ Being the King of Hell AND a father at the same time is not easy either, trust me on that ❞ sighs Tom back, ❞ But I’ve never been happier so I can’t complain at all. ❞

Tom smiles lovingly at (Y/N), making the angel sit closer to him and snuggle her face against his. Dottie also cuddles with Al as the two siblings look at little Mia, who constantly watches around anything that happens.

The scene warms Zendaya’s heart.

« « Also, you are all welcome to come to Heaven, you know that, right? Mostly because of business talk and all that jazz, but the Superiors would be glad to meet little Mia too » » continues Zendaya as she strokes Mia’s cheek.

“We were actually discussing about it with Tom the other day” says (Y/N), sorting out the feather’s mess of her children because of their last playing session. “Dottie and Al want to visit Heaven again too, am I right?”

‘YES PLEASE!’ both Dottie and Al screams together, little Al saying something like that because he is still too young to talk properly.

(Y/N) and Zendaya laugh at so much energy coming from the children. As Tom put his now empty glass away, he nods to Harrison to join them on the couch as he slides an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders and kisses her cheek.

Heaven and Hell might be opposite places with different rules and ways of thinking.

But in the end, they both have the same goal: giving the right afterlife to people, and fixing their faults when mistakes were done.

.

.

- - -   END OF ‘HEAVENLY YOURS’ MINI SERIES  - - -

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[regrettablewritings]

Animatic/Storyboard Music

Got bored/procrastinate-y on coloring in this ultra intricate card for my mom. So I’m just gonna make a list of songs I think make for good animatic material. Because why not/I wanna foist my musical tastes on people/ @locke-writes got me in a music binge. For the most part, it’s just gonna be me explaining the meanings or the vibe or what they generally tend to be used for, but really it’s mostly subjective so imaginate whatchu wanna.

“Trust Me” - The Devil’s Carnival Originally depicting a story about the Scorpion and the Frog, it’s the perfect song for when you want to depict the dynamic between a gullible or at the very least more grounded character and a figure whose intentions . . . may be less than pure. Or good for anyone, really.

“The Dismemberment Song” - The Blue Kid I have a playlist dedicated to songs whose content and sound are just . . . not married to one another, but got a weird flirtationship situation going on. Anyway, I’ve seen people say that they like to imagine it’s sung through the POV of a scorned housewife who’s finally Had Enough™️. And . . . They’re really not wrong for it. Really, though, it’s just the right song for when a sadist is just ready to gut a fucker but is disturbingly jolly about it.

“Love Me Dead” - Ludo Continuing with my trend of songs about people in less than ideal situations, “Love Me Dead” is straight to the point: The relationship is just awful and the guy gets nothing from it, but he can’t help but be hopelessly in a state of adoration for the woman he’s latched on to (“You’re born of a jackal! YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!!”)

“Constellations” - The Oh Hellos There actually isn’t a plot to this song, it just feels really good (as all songs by The Oh Hellos are prone to be). However, if you feel a need to portray the concept of having to reorganize your thoughts after realizing that maybe they weren’t what you initially thought, and then coming to the conclusion that even though everything changes as a result, you’ll be alright? This is the song for you.

“A Kindling of Sorts” - The Oh Hellos An instrumental piece that is like . . . It’s related to another song of theirs about nationalism called “Torches”, so make of that what you will. (I personally have been using it to imagine storyboarding an opening for an animated The Witcher series.)

“The Other Side” - The Greatest Showman I know everyone and their mom has used this to portray situations like villains trying to get good guys to join their side. But I dun curr, it’s a fun song. That, and I like what Emilyamio did with her interpretation. It’s fun. For a basic rundown, know it’s another song about two characters’ dynamics being explored, with one coming to the other with a proposal that they join them in whatever endeavors they have in store. It’s often portrayed as something evil, but it really doesn’t have to be, as the original context was more about letting loose than anything.

“The Thief and the Moon” - Shawn James A much more mellow piece. Simple and straight to the point: A thief tells the Moon that he plans on stealing her light to shade the world in darkness. The Moon insists that the thief would only doom the world by doing so, to which the thief clarifies that he doesn’t care; if the world is shrouded in shadow, it means he will be able to steal with more ease (“My very existence is a race to attain wealth”). Disgusted, the Moon essentially curses the man with a warning that his greed can and will bring about his end -- and leave him to be forgotten by the rest of mankind, once it happens.

“Villainous Thing” - Shayfer James I’ve seen people say that this song is about singing to a cadaver but I can’t quite find anything confirming that (translation: I’m too lazy to look too into it). Regardless, it’s a fun ditty that yet again portrays someone with less than pure intentions encouraging someone to join him in some good old fashion villainy, as they’ve clearly endured their fair share of hardships and surely wanted to do evil anyway (“You’ll find no ever after here, it’s clear that isn’t what you came for“).

“Necromancin Dancin” - Bear Ghost Straight forward and fun as fuck: A necromancer apparently seems to cross classes and try his hand at barding by not only raising an army of the dead, but by also making them dance in order to make conquering the world easier. Because . . . a body doing Disco Duck isn’t scary, I guess.

"Aquaman” - Walk the Moon A song about one half of a couple wanting to become more involved in their relationship, but still having some nervousness about doing so. If you somehow haven’t heard this song yet, you gotta because it’s the cutest shit.

“Jenny’s Tale” - Ren I’ll be brutally honest, it’s about a woman named Jenny who just wants to get home after a long day of work and an unfortunate encounter with a 14 year old named Screech who gets way in over his head. As in, like, a death happens. That being said, I need. Like. An animated music video of this song. I imagine this shit in gritty charcoal or painted on glass, it just needs this. Somebody who isn’t me who knows what they’re doing, please look into this.

“The Curse of the Fold” - Shawn James As cheesy as it sounds, it basically boils down to not giving up or yielding. But what makes it so cool is the fact that Shawn James makes all his songs basically sound like a western gothic soundtrack. Which helps, because he admits that the title is also a reference to poker, in which giving up too often or too easily can often rob you of a delicious reward gained through perseverance and sacrifice.

“Thank God I’m Not You” - Himalayas I prefer to imagine this for an arrogant asshole of a character. Because that’s exactly what this song is about: They’re a liar and a thief, they’ve been called the son of Satan, and yet they consider themselves lucky -- ‘cause at least they ain’t you! If you have a character in mind who’s a delightful, punchable little shit, this is probably either their anthem or at least on the playlist you inevitably made for them.

"Passerine" - The Oh Hellos So there’s a common trend in The Oh Hellos’ discography that tends to explore the two founders’ experiences with faith and their growth in how they understand it or recognize it. With “Passerine”, the concept being explored is the experience they had when it came to taking a step back and realizing just how many of their supposed “fellow Christians” were actually doing some rather unchristian things, so to speak. When they “prune[d] their feathers”, it became clear that they had less in common with certain people proclaiming to be Christian while also spouting bigotry and greed. However, the desire to move away from such influences comes with the feeling of being torn, as moving too far away from the Bible leaves the singer feeling as though she is betraying something she holds dear. As a result, “Passerine” symbolizes not a breakage from faith, but a breakage from blind faith as they understood it, and the inevitable feeling of being torn that comes along with expanding upon how one views their beliefs and those around them. It’s therefore not uncommon to see Good Omens animatics using this song. (Something I also noticed is that throughout the song, you hear pieces of “Constellations”. TOH have a tendency to reference previous pieces, and considering “Constellations” is a song about changing perspective and the meanings we apply to them, it fits in beautifully with a song about reevaluating one’s stance.)

“Like the Dawn” - The Oh Hellos As stated before, a lot of TOH’s discography draws inspiration from their faith. In this case, it’s an outright retelling of the Garden of Eden, specifically when Adam awoke to find Eve had been created. What makes this iteration stand out to most, however, is that the singer is female, which seems to change the vibe you get. It sweetens the feeling of wonder we often forget the first man might’ve felt upon seeing somebody made for him, creating an air of beauty yet comfort with such lines as “And like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook” or “You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen.” Even without the awareness or an interest in religious influences, it still manages to be a very feel-good song -- which is the mark of an overall good song in general!

“Confession” - RED Dealing with the constant battle of feeling ashamed that how you feel on the inside isn’t in sync with how you present yourself on the outside. That you should feel bad for smiling out at the world while screaming and thrashing -- like it’s a lie. But you can’t help it: It’s what you’re accustomed to. Though it does end on a hopeful note with the singer deciding that they want to reach out for help and rid themselves of this feeling of pain they have inside.

“When I Grow Up” - Matilda . . . Only if you want to cry. Seriously. When you’re a kid, everything seems difficult but you’re positive that once you grow up, everything will change: You’ll be tall enough to climb the trees you were too small to, you’ll be able to carry everything because you’re stronger, you’ll be brave enough to fight the monsters hiding in your room, you’ll finally have all the answers. . . . But life isn’t that simple. We wish it were, but it isn’t. There’s this bittersweetness about this song, about a sense of purity we unfortunately grow out of where we think things will be just the same enough for us to do what we want when we want, but things are more complicated than that. We still struggle to reach, to bear the weight, to not be afraid, to have even a fraction of the answers. But! We’re reminded that just because we’re told life isn’t fair, doesn’t mean we have to take it. After all, nothing changes when nothing happens. And even beyond that? It helps to remember that we’re never quite done growing up; there’s always more to learn, so remember to be patient with yourself.

“Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!” - Will Wood and the Tapeworms This is . . . a song. The lyrics are honestly kinda all over the place and shooting rapid fire, making it a bit difficult to discern what exactly the singer is going on about. It makes for a pretty crazy song that suggests somebody’s going unhinged, which is apparently precisely the intention?? I’ve seen a lot of people interpret this as a song about a guy who is already at a low point in his life but nonetheless is going, “. . . I bet I can go deeper. Hand me my shovel.”

“No Reason” - Beetlejuice God if i had a youtube channel the segment i would spend on this song would be so juicy just ripe and thicc with thoughts and feelings i tell ya rich like a fresh fatty peach the apple that tempted Eve and gagged Adam yes ‘Nother song that explores the dynamic between two differing people and their worldviews. At its simplest, “No Reason” is about two opposite ends of a spectrum coming to a head: Idealistic and hippie-dippy Delia is convinced that everything happens for a reason, while cynical and depressed Lydia asserts that everything happens at random and it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re all going to die. And even though the delivery is ultimately a comedic one, you get more insight as to why one another feels the way that they do: Lydia, as we’ve previously learned, has recently lost her mother to an illness, which has left her depressed and feeling invisible (a theme in the show); whereas Delia’s failed marriage and desperate attempts to nonetheless be happy have left her dependent on the idea that these things had to have happened for a reason, otherwise, her pain would’ve been for nothing. What’s important is that neither side is actually appointed as the winner, with the song ultimately ending that the universe is random for a reason.

“Barbara 2.0″ - Beetlejuice Without spoiling anything (or at least too much), “Barbara 2.0″ is about growth. It’s about learning to put your foot down after a literal lifetime of being passive out of fear of what might happen and just accepting that nothing will happen if nothing happens -- but that doesn’t make whatever happens good.

“Bleed Magic” - IDHKBTFM It’s either about a killer or a vampire. No, seriously: When Dallon Weekes was asked about what the story of the song was, that was his answer. I personally prefer to think of it as a vampire or demon of some kind, given that the song came out around Halloween. Perfect for yet another example of somebody (likely supernatural) having an upper hand on an unsuspecting mortal. ...I have way too many of these on this list, I swear I don’t have a problem —

“Feel Good Drag” - Anberlin A toxic relationship of sorts. In that it shouldn’t be a relationship to begin with. Depicts the singer being approached by an ex, who seeks a one-night stand while her current boyfriend is out of town. However, the singer is aware that trying to continue anything regardless of the situation is a moot point: Even when they were together, their relationship was doomed from the start, and nothing about that is going to change -- especially now.

“Soviet Trumpeter” - Katzenjammer (It’s kinda difficult to work with this one but I’ve seen people work with less or stranger.) Based off the life of one Eddie Rosner, a Jewish Polish trumpeter whose fame within the USSR unfortunately faded due to the Soviet Union’s heavy censorship. Even if nothing is to be done with it, it still paints a melancholic picture of a talented man’s skills being largely unknown as a result of things beyond his control. All wrapped up in a song that denotes a strange deterioration in a way I can’t quite place.

“Apple Blossom” - The White Stripes On its face, it’s a very sweet song: The singer encourages his beloved to be vulnerable enough with him to tell him her troubles and to let him “sort them out for [her]”. She’s clearly saddened, and seeing so distresses him to where he insists that he will do whatever he can to make her happy. However, the tone of the song and certain lines make it easy to twist into yet another song of a character attempting to seduce somebody into a state of vulnerability . . .

“You’ve Got Possibilities” - It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman The one singular song people actually liked from this forgotten musical. Perfect for when somebody intends on giving somebody else a makeover. Y’know, after totally roasting them on their posture and clothing. If you want to add a lil something extra, know that the context is that a lady wants to give Clark Kent a makeover, insisting that in spite of his schlubby appearance, there’s gotta be something underneath. I repeat: She is telling this to Clark freaking Kent.

 “Still” - Anastasia In the context, the show’s antagonist (not bad guy, there’s a difference) finds himself torn between obligation and personal interest: Does he fulfill his duty and live up to expectations set upon him by his father and the society he’s been selected to help uphold? Or does he let a woman he has become fond of go? Is she truly as innocent as she claims? Or is she well aware of what she’s doing? And every time he thinks he’s reached a conclusion, he can’t help but thing, “But still . . .” Good for when you want to portray a character conflicted between obligations of politics and what their heart wants.

“Two Nobodies in New York” - [title of show] Two young men plan on entering an upcoming theatrical festival but struggle with what to even submit. This song in particular focuses on them trying to figure out what to even write, the concept of fame, and if wanting the certain things that may come with fame can mean anything from being sell-outs to getting a sitcom. It’s admittedly specific, but it’s a cute and funny interaction between two guys who are, for the most part, actually in sync with their thoughts and anxieties. For the time being.

“Into the Unknown” - Idina Menzel Look, I refuse to watch that movie. I just do. But I will take this song over That Other One any day. Mostly because I personally like to imagine that the singer in this song is about to embark on a Pixaresque journey after accidentally leaving her home during the night of The Wild Hunt, accidentally separating her spirit from her body and thus giving her a very limited time to get back to it before she remains a soul trapped in a whirlwind of ghosts forever. But first: Let’s sing about that strange howling that coaxes her so.

“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” - The Offspring I sure do long songs that can characterize a shithead . . . Anywho! The smoothest way to go is just to portray some cocky, manipulative shit who’s used to just lying and cheating their way to get what they want before slipping away without any consequences -- to a point. There’s the option of portraying the betrayer’s comeuppance, but there’s also the frustratingly delicious option of just letting them get away with whatever to lie another day.

“Why Should I Worry” - Billy Joel When in doubt, go to earlier Disney. Because like it or not, they had some bops. And when in the need of portraying a happy-go-lucky (probably idiotic) doofus and his more neurotic or cynical friend going about their life with the former just Mr. Magooing it while the latter suffers more realistic consequences? You go with this song. If you want. That’s just me.

“Transformation” - Brother Bear For when you want to invoke a mystical or otherworldly feeling. There’s really not much more I can say except to encourage you to listen to it and watch the scene if you can find it. You’ll get the vibe.

“No Girl’s Toy” - Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure It’s a big shame this movie is relatively unknown and never got a proper VHS release or anything -- mainly because the music in this cult classic is definitely stuff I could see becoming standards. I could see people performing “I Never Get Enough” for little shows, or recycling “Blue” for a different show. Thankfully, somebody was able to upload a clear enough sounding recording of “No Girl’s Toy”, so at least we have that. In context (just...follow me on this), Raggedy Ann’s brother, Raggedy Andy, has had enough of being subjected to “girly things” while in the nursery. Additionally, though, the way the song was written means it can also be interpreted as just a guy who refuses to let himself be yanked around regardless of how thick the sugar being laid on him is. . . . If you wanna poke fun as a character for trying to appear tougher than what he is, here’s the song. (That being said, Andy is a sweetheart at the end of the day. No amount of tough-fronting will hide that.)

“I Enjoy Being a Girl” - Flower Drum Song (It is by sheer coincidence that this song follows the above.) Really, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: The singer enjoys being a girl and what all it entails for her. She loves her feminine form, she loves the attention she gets, she loves dolling herself up, she loves frilly dresses, and she hopes to one day marry a guy who enjoys “having a girl like [her].” And honestly? Good on her! Love whatcha love, lovely! Seriously, though, it’s a cute song for anyone who just wants to indulge in some girliness.

“Chip on My Shoulder” - Legally Blonde Come on: It’s Legally Blonde. You know what this bop is, or at least have an idea of it. But since I love this song, I’ll indulge: Disheartened by her failure to both win back her ex and succeed in the fast-paced environment of Harvard, the normally bright-eyed Elle is ready to call it quits. That is, until junior partner Emmett gets involved. Unimpressed by her story, Emmett reveals that he got to where he was by busting his ass due to having a chip on his shoulder from his rough beginnings — and maybe a chip on the shoulder is exactly what Elle needs to survive. And as somebody driven by spite, I can appreciate that kind of message. Anywho, it all in all is a song about growth and learning how to be “driven as hell” to keep up with an opportunity that may not be easy to take, but is not one to be passed by.

“What Do I Need with Love?” - Thoroughly Modern Millie “What Do I Need with Love?” asks exactly that: He could date a different girl every night of the week if he so wanted, and never once had any desire to go steady before. He considers himself lucky to have never fallen for anyone -- until now. Which he’s not! He’s not in love. ...He totally is and, by his own admission, he’s got it bad it’s terribly adorable.

“Interlude IV” - Zach Callison The entire album is actually a narrative about a failed relationship of Callison’s and I’m sure the other songs are just as great fuel for animatics -- I’m just too caught up on listening to this one over and over. Sometimes, we just wanna listen to Steven Universe cuss and be openly furious. Seriously, though, even without the context of the rest of the story, you get the idea well enough: A spiteful Zach decides to get back at the one that broke his heart in such a painful way, whereas a well-meaning friend insists they just leave it be and move on. While this technically would be the better and healthier option, Zach is just too far gone with rage to let it go and decides to take care of things by himself.

“Evermore” - Beauty & the Beast Look, I know the remake wasn’t anything crazy. But also I don’t honestly care too terribly much. Besides, this song was nice and it really gets me after that key change. We all want a royal doofus to be enamored enough with us to let us go for our own happiness but still know that their life will forever be changed because they met us. Animate that shit. Over and over.

goddamn this list is long lemme just stop this now byyyyeeeee

[mordoriscalling]

Stay or Sail Away (5/6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  (@geraskier-trashh​ @negativenuggetz​)

A/N: oh lord this wasn’t supposed to be 3k words long XD Hope you like it tho!

***

It was a bad idea to tell Geralt not to wear all black. Well, the scarf is grey and the coat and the shoes are black, but they don’t matter. Geralt’s just taken them off to reveal a three-piece suit and a shirt with two top buttons undone, the clothing in a deep, navy blue colour. His eyes stand out beautifully against it. Geralt in navy blue makes Jaskier want to weep and it’s only half-past noon. To add to Jaskier’s tragic swoon, Geralt’s hair is braided away from his face into a lovely plait at the back of his head (which Jaskier suspects is Ciri’s doing). It just shouldn’t look as good as it does. Geralt is so stunning today that words other than what the fuck do not begin to cover it.

Not to blurt out that in lieu of a greeting, Jaskier spreads his arms wide and exclaims, “Ahoy, captain!”

Geralt snorts with disgust. “Never say that again.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Come in, come in,” he says as he ushers Geralt into the living room, “make yourself at home. Are you hungry? It’s last chance for a snack before I put on some eyeliner and we’re off!”

“Eyeliner?” Geralt repeats with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, to finish off this look!” he replies as he gestures at the floral Gucci suit he’s wearing. The outfit’s actually demure considering his usual fashion choices. Bright colours and ridiculous patterns are his go-to but today is the first day of his life when he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Much. “Help yourself with something from the kitchen if you want,” he says over his shoulder, already leaving for the bathroom.

The makeup takes just a minute or two – eyeliner application has become much less of dark magic with practice. He decides to put on some pretty pink lip gloss as well because, although he’s going to spare his family today and won’t flaunt his queerness at them, he still has to do something. It’s not at all because he hopes his fiancé might like it.

(Geralt’s suit)

(Jaskier’s suit)

When he strides into the living room, he poses like a model and asks, “How do I look?”

Geralt, who sits on the couch, stares him up and down. His gaze almost makes Jaskier blush, so does his smirk. Both border on appreciative. “Really good,” he says.

Since Jaskier expected some mean comment, he almost topples over in shock at the compliment. He sputters, definitely flushing a bit, but quickly re-establishes a working link between his mouth and his brain. “Of course I do, darling,” he replies with a wink. Geralt smirks in that sexy way again. Jaskier has to give himself a good mental shake to stop staring. Clearing his throat, he starts thinking out loud, “So! Have I got everything for the party? I’ve got Geralt, and then the present, and then... Ah! The rings!”

Jaskier sits down next to Geralt and pulls the box out of the pocket of his jacket. Raising the lid, he reveals two rings seated within, one silver and one gold. “Should I kneel?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs with delight, then takes out the silver ring and passes it to Geralt. It’a simple but chunky band with tiny engravings. Jaskier figured Geralt wouldn’t appreciate anything too showy. Geralt takes it and inspects what’s engraved on it. “What kind of flowers are those?” he asks.

“Buttercups,” Jaskier explains, “That’s what my name means. My grandma always told me I’m a jaskier.”

Pretty but poisonous. It’s extremely fitting.                                    

Geralt only hmms and slides the ring on his finger. It’s a perfect fit but it’s no thanks to Jaskier’s genius deduction or anything; he simply knew Geralt’s ring size because Geralt told him. After their phone conversation regarding ring preferences, family drama and other things, they kept talking. Geralt even began starting conversations by himself – he’d send some texts about Ciri like “Ciri says hi” or “Ciri’s playing that song again”. It made Jaskier melt every time.

“Look what you bought me in return, darling,” he says, smiling excitedly, and puts on the gold ring. It’s much more flashy than Geralt’s – a signet with a three-dimensional head of a wolf. “White Wolf” is apparently Geralt’s nickname and a pseudonym of sorts. Wolves are his favourite animals, too.

Jaskier holds out his hand, putting it next to Geralt’s on the couch, and admires the rings on their fingers. “They suit us,” he says quietly

Geralt hmms. “They do.”

The drive is two hours long. Geralt insisted on driving even though it’s Jaskier’s car. Jaskier has a suspicion that driving is an excuse not to listen to him as he’s going over the essential family drama, but it’s mostly for his own sake anyway. He just wants to delude himself that Geralt will be well-prepared for everything and all will go smoothly. They will be fine. They must.

When they pull up in front of Jaskier family’s mansion, panic and second thoughts wash over him alternately in cold and hot waves. As they walk out of the car and Geralt hands him the keys, Jaskier hides within himself and observes the reality unravel a sense of detachment. He doesn’t want to be a part of the upcoming disaster.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier only looks at him helplessly. Geralt offers him his arm and Jaskier takes it like a lifeline. He clutches on it, the touch grounding him, as they walk towards the front door silently.

“Should’ve guessed you were rich,” Geralt remarks as he takes in the mansion looming before them.

“My success in music is all my own,” Jaskier replies feistily, “it took me ten years.”

Geralt wisely doesn’t say anything else and Jaskier settles down, letting out a shaky breath. He always gets very defensive of his achievements. Sis parents paid for nothing; he never asked them to. He hates that people assume differently.

The entrance hall is empty when they invite themselves in, but not for long. Just as they manage to take off their coats, they hear someone coming down the stairs. Jaskier looks up to see Rozalia, his older sister. She’s only one year older than him but doesn’t look a day over thirty. In appearance, she’s all mum: luxuriant dark locks, cat-green eyes, tan skin, and regal features.

“Julek!” she exclaims with a smile and rushes down the stairs into Jaskier’s open arms. They laugh when their bodies collide.

“Hey, horror sister!” Jaskier says, the words their special greeting.

“Hey, wild brother!” Rozalia replies, as tradition commands.

When Jaskier releases her from his embrace, he goes on to introduce Rozalia and Geralt to each other.

“So this is your fiancé,” Rozalia drawls after she and Geralt shake hands, clearly amused, and looks Geralt up and down. ���Holy shit. I can see why you kept him a secret.”

Jaskier purses his lips, putting a possessive arm around Geralt’s waist. “Roza, you’re married.”

Rozalia only smirks, then turns on her heel and starts walking down the corridor towards the living room. “Everyone! Julek’s here!” she announces loudly.

“Julek?” Geralt mutters to Jaskier as they start following Rozalia.

“Diminutive of Julian,” Jaskier explains quietly.  

“Sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Jaskier snorts under his breath but doesn’t reply. The sensation of detachment from the reality is there again and Jaskier doesn’t fight it – the distance between him and everything else wards off the impending panic attack.

Like in a dream, he sees his other sister Amelia, who’s five years younger than him, marching towards them, her mop of short golden curls bouncing up and down as she walks. With her sweet face and wide blue eyes (just like Jaskier’s, which they both got from their dad), she looks like an angel. (Spoiler alert: she’s not. She can be the worst. That’s kind of the youngest’s privilege, though).

When Amelia hugs him and Jaskier introduces her and Geralt to each other, he’s still in a daze. Amelia walks on his side as they all enter the living room, chatting about something to him, but he doesn’t really hear it due to the ringing sound in his ears.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice rumbles.

Jaskier looks into the sun-like, concerned eyes. The warmth calms him down. 

He takes in everyone in the room: his parents, Alfred and Wanda. Amelia, Rozalia and her husband Silvio. Dad’s brother, uncle Konrad, with his wife and son Ferrant. Mum’s sisters, aunts Maria, Hanna and Anna with their husbands. All watching Jaskier and Geralt expectantly.  

Jaskier puts on his best smile and lays a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. “Everyone, this is Geralt Rivia. A Royal Navy commander,” he says and observes, delighting in the array of shocked reactions his family display. “My fiancé,” he adds with pride that he doesn’t even have fake.

A round of introductions follows. Geralt shakes everyone’s hands and says nice things like “honoured to meet you finally”, “Jaskier told me so much about you” and “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier”. It’s actually pretty convincing, Jaskier has to give him that. Still, it doesn’t stop one of the questions Jaskier dreads the most.

“But why didn’t you tell us anything, darling?” his mum asks as everyone sits down at the table in the dining room.

This is it, Jaskier thinks mournfully, this is when it all goes to hell. At least Geralt sits next to him. It would be a quick departure – Jaskier will just grab his fiancé and run out of the house.

“Exactly,” Amelia seconds, her slender arms crossed before her chest, “it isn’t like you. You would tell the whole world about your engagement in some wild Twitter thread.”

Shit. She got him there. “W-well, I...”

“I asked him not to,” Geralt comes to the rescue. At the confused looks from everyone around, he goes on, “Not until I go on at least one more deployment and Jaskier’s absolutely sure he wants this. He should have it easier in case he changes his mind. Fewer people know about it, less painful it is to announce.”

Jaskier’s dad frowns. “But why do you assume he’d do that?” he inquires, regarding Geralt with suspicion.

“Being in a relationship with a marine officer is hard,” Geralt replies with a heavy sigh and makes a dramatic pause. Jaskier’s family looks at him with almost bated breath but he takes his time, the bastard. He already has them hanging off his every word. “My deployments are rarely shorter than nine months long,” he confesses ruefully.

A stunned silence falls over the room. Jaskier’s family stare at him with disbelief – they all know Jaskier wouldn’t be able to survive a relationship like that, not with how needy he can be.

Of bloody course Geralt would take it too far at the very start.

“But I’m stubborn!” Jaskier exclaims as cheerfully as he can, “Won’t have anyone else but Geralt.”

“Well, that’s all you,” Amelia says, and Jaskier heaves a sigh of relief.

It’s not that Jaskier doesn’t appreciate Amelia’s inquisitive mind. She’s always had the tendency to analyze and look into everything until every fact and detail adds up. Her character makes her the perfect heir to the family business, which she’s agreed to gladly. Ever since she made that decision, Jaskier choosing music is much less of a painful topic for their family. And so, Jaskier certainly values his younger sister’s nature of constant question-asking, but not in moments like this.

Amelia appears to already know what is going on here and Jaskier only prays she’ll be nice enough not to delve into it too much. Maybe some warning glances from Rozalia and begging ones from Jaskier will stop her. Maybe.

Food is served, alcohol starts flowing. Jaskier’s family begin asking Geralt about himself but Jaskier always tries to twist the conversation so that questions about their relationship don’t come. Until they do.

After they sang dad happy birthday, told him their wishes and gave him the gifts, it’s time to eat the birthday cake. Just when Jaskier puts half of his slice on Geralt’s plate (he doesn’t even like cake), Silvio asks, “When did you two meet?”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look. Jaskier opens his mouth to answer but it’s Geralt who says, “It was two years ago. I walked into a bar where Jaskier was playing. He asked me for a review of his songs after his performance.”

Geralt has the audacity to smirk at him so Jaskier, just to be a little shit, adds, “In three words or less!”

Geralt doesn’t appreciate this contribution judging by how he narrows his eyes at him. Jaskier knows they’re treading a dangerous ground – in their stupidity, they didn’t discuss the details of their “first meeting”. Geralt started it, though.

“And what did you say?” Silvio questions.

“That they don’t exist,” Geralt replies without a beat, still staring Jaskier in the eye.

“Whaaat don’t exist?” Jaskier’s father says what Jaskier himself almost blurts out.

“The creatures in his songs,” Geralt explains.

The affronted noise that leaves Jaskier's mouth is beyond his control. “It’s folk! The genre allows for fantastical elements like that!” He huffs. “But you know, Geralt with his commander mind always wants the facts and only facts.”

“So you don’t like Julek’s singing?” Rozalia asks Geralt.

Geralt denies this with a shake of his head. “Jaskier sings beautifully,” he replies, “Like a siren.” He lays his hand on Jaskier’s and looks into Jaskier’s eyes. “My siren,” he adds quietly.

Jaskier has to gape a little. He barely restrains himself from mouthing are fucking serious? because, really, Geralt can’t just say things like that. When he regains his composure, he decides to be mean. “I told you not to call me that, dear heart,” he says, “Not exactly flattering. Sirens lured sailors to their demise.”

Geralt does that lethally adorable head tilt and answers, “Still would go for you.”

He can hear aunt Maria cooing in the background, bless her heart, but Jaskier almost doesn’t register it. His attention is fully on Geralt – there’s something new in his gaze, beneath the teasing glint. Something guarded, tentative and true. Jaskier cocks his head to the side just a little bit. Geralt notices the question in the gesture (they’re really getting good at reading each other, aren’t they?) and answers by raising an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Jaskier experiences the feeling of a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach when he understands – it’s an invitation. He accepts.

Geralt’s lips stretch into a small smile and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand on the table, intertwining their fingers together. Jaskier’s heart almost gives out and he grins, giddy like a teenager who’s just found out their crush is reciprocated. It’s not that far off from the truth anyway.

Uncle Konrad asks Geralt about the Navy. The two of them start discussing working in the army but Jaskier only half-listens, too focused on cherishing the feel of Geralt’s palm engulfing his. Until Geralt takes his hand away, that is.

With a displeased grunt, Geralt takes his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. The screen displays an incoming call. “I should take this,” he says apologetically and quickly walks out of the dining room.   

The moment Geralt leaves, the assault is unleashed upon Jaskier. His family bombard him with so many questions and remarks at once that he only hears what Rozalia sitting next to him says. “Didn’t know you were into older men,” she comments, swirling the wine in her glass innocently.

“He’s forty!”

She frowns. “Then what’s the deal with the hair?”

Jaskier freezes in panic. Fucking hell, what is the deal with the hair? He has no idea. Geralt refused to answer his questions. “W-well,” he stutters out, “it’s really... uhh...” He clears his throat. “Not my story to tell. Geralt doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Rozalia hums, an amused twinkle in her eyes. “How mysterious.”

“He sure does seem mysterious,” uncle Konrad chimes in, “And...”

“Quiet?” Ferrant suggests.

“Taciturn?” Silvio supplies.

“Closed off?” aunt Hanna adds.

“Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?” Jaskier cuts in, interrupting this merry-go-round offering of adjectives before it spirals into everyone calling Geralt a brute.

“It’s not,” aunt Anna reassures, “It’s just that... I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering how on earth the relationship is even working with him being like this and you being, well...” she trails off and gestures at Jaskier with her fork. “You.”

“Frist off, I’ll take this as a compliment –”

“Of course, dear.”

“ – and secondly, even though we’re different, our differences only keep things... interesting, if you get my meaning.” Jaskier throws in a telling wink, and his uncles chuckle.

“Julian!” both his parents cry out, scandalised.

“Honestly,” Jaskeir goes on, unmoved, “deep down, he and I are quite the same.”

“Indeed?” Amelia asks, “Is he also a bastard at heart?”

“Yesss!” he hisses out, wildly pleased. Sometimes he loves Amelia’s analytic mind.

“He actually seems like a sweetheart,” his mum says, warming Jaskier to his very heart. He loves his mum so much – she always sees the best in people.  

“He’s both, really,” he replies, “He’s certainly a sweetheart to his daughter.” Jaskier delights in shocking his family once again. Then, an idea pops up in his mind, “If you ask him about her, he’ll open right up.”

Before anyone can ask anything else, Geralt returns. After taking one look at him, Jaskier knows something is wrong. There’s tension about him but his face is a blank mask. 

“Something wrong, love?” Jaskier whispers, barely realising that he even said the endearment.

“Work,” Geralt grunts.  

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s father says, “Julian tells us you have a daughter?”

Geralt face lights up immediately. It’s such a charming sight. Jaskier’s chest constricts with how everything in him screams and begs don’t ever go. 

“Yes,” he answers and launches into talking about Cirilla – how old she is, where she goes to school, what she likes doing. How she loved to paint her little hands on the walls when she was six. Soon after that, everyone shares funny stories about children, either their own or themselves as kids.

Jaskier zones out a bit, too busy wondering why Geralt took his hand away when he reach for it.

Later, Jaskier’s parents invite Geralt to stay for the night, which makes the fake-fiance scheme a success; they wouldn’t allow someone who they thought to be a stranger to sleep in their house.

Geralt doesn’t take them up on their offer.

TBC

Part 6

***

A/N: Rozalia is the Horror while Jaskier is the Wild 💕 (Amelia is the nasty angel baby. They adore her for it. Must protecc).

(Also, I love making up OCs, can you tell? XD)