#my oc is well..unhinged a bit

[losminerosinapatheticway]

Hmmmm

My chloe is in a bit of disaster. I would fix it..Idk when but I'd fix it (these two are quiet old)

[edns]

"You kill as if it means nothing to you."

Chapter 4 of Cerise Sun has been out on AO3 for a while! My health was too bad to make a proper announcement and it still kind of is but umm. Link will be in reblogs in a bit!

[toytulini]

I dont know why youve leapt to assuming this post was about the workplace? the original post mentioned friends, family, and going out for drinks, and it feels a bit like a bad faith read to assume this meant for you to try to talk about weird niche TV show interests to your boss, when it seems far more likely to be a post about not letting cringe culture rule your entire life, in a time when its so common for ppl to let themselves become beholden to tiktok microtrends, and being terrified that theyll lose all their friends if anyone finds out they enjoy steven universe.

It’s crazy and fucked up that being yourself is actually the solution.

[evilminji]

Know what's been haunting me? And my Yandere loving brain?

What if... an SI-OC? Fffffucked UP™?

Like? STRAIGHT up "....Oh No. I have? GRAVELY miscalculated."? Cause? And I'm probably wrong here, or forgetting nuisances, but? Dooku? Left the order and began his Fall? NOT because he disagreed with the vast majority of Jedi philosophy... but?

Because of what the Jedi had BECOME.

Senate attack dogs. Indentured servants. Following NOT the Force or their Orders Mandate, but a mere GOVERMANT. Politicians. Straight into ruin and slaughter no less! It was vile. Corrupt. A perversion and degradation of HIS beloved Jedi Order.

He was proud and filled with grief, isolated. Palpatine chose well.

But! He was ALSO a Master Jedi with DECADES of Mastery under his belt. You do not become that with out clear vision of what you want. Who you ARE. And Dooku? Very CLEARLY planned on winning. Killing Sidious and taking his place. An unfortunate necessity, really. In his Grand Plan™.

Too?

Start over, obviously.

Instead of just leaving and starting a NORMAL Religious Schism, building a temple on Serrano, and publicly calling his old Council members lil bitchs. Slap fighting in the town square, as is traditional. Maybe sending pass aggressive notes back and forth in the hands of increasingly spoiled Padawan, because OUR temple at least FEEDS these POOR WAIFS. Etc etc?

Dude went the SITH route. Of... you know... "kill everybody".

Bit extreme. Just saying.

However! Dooku? Not well! In fact, DEEPLY unhinged and masterfully hiding it! Because he is, in fact, a MASTER jedi! And know how to fucking DO THAT. So that slow creep of Deepyly Crazy? No one sees it. Gives ya time to miss the countdown to Boom, as it were.

Which leads to our dearly beloved SI. She? Is a well meaning IDIOT. She can't help it. It's the Force, man. All that feel good juice, clogging up her brain! Making her? Optimistic! Vaguely perky! Wanting to see the GOOD in people!!!

Disturbing, she knows. But it is what it is.

And MASTER Dooku? Feels? Stern but warm. Stalwart. Like one of those ancient trees or great temples in a quite moment. Old and powerful, not necessarily KIND, but certainly not UNKIND. Just... fussy, you know? Proper. Collected and self contained. Doesn't like messy and dirty and needless noise.

So... what's an itty bitty Crecheling to do? To stop this Respected Master from falling? Well... Yoda seems to think "babies" works? And SHE is Baby...

Better scrub down so I'm EXTRA not "why are all children so... sticky?" and make my self look as presentable as possible. Then? Plan: Stalk the Respected Master Dooku Like A Duckling is a GO~! Yoda finds this INSTANTLY hilarious. Starts feeding her insider information (One of his many, later Great Regrets).

Dooku likes THIS tea. Meditates in THIS garden. Ask him about THIS subject, no one listens to him rant about it, he'll enjoy lecturing you about it for HOURS. She actually learns quite a lot! Man's a good teacher. And SHE? Is a dutiful, polite, thoughtful, shining young paragon example of what he feels the Jedi SHOULD be.

She LISTENS. Unlike his foolish peers. She tries to better herself, day by day, instead of running around screaming and playing in mud. Asks after etiquette from the courts he's traveled too, so she does not offend in the future. Does not react with blind disgust to questions others would deem heretical!

Instead? SHE comes from a JEDI place of approach with compassion and consultation of the Force. What creates the most GOOD? How can we strive for the kindest, most ethical, most equal social possible? What brings the universe the most Light? Where do OUR duties end and the duties of OTHERS begin, and when is it time to call them on their failings, should there be any?

It is? Delightful~ if he were not already committed to his path, he would seriously consider taking her on as a Padawn. Like the Granddaughter he never had. In FACT? He is conflicted. While he does not wish to lose the bright little light he has become so accustomed too? He should probably do what is best for her.

He IS leaving after all. Eventually. Perhaps after Qui-Gon finally knights his own padawn. He can convince the man to come with him. A talk between them has been so very, very long overdue. And the man is like a son to him. Young Obi-Wan is a fine young Jedi. Upstanding and collected, could use a bit of tempering. Outrageous flirt. It would be hilarious.

It's a good plan.... right up until it isn't.

Until the Council's BLINDNESS lead his SON to dying alone. For Sidious little games. And the place in HIS chosen lineage is USURPED by some WHINY SAND COVERED BRAT who can not CONTROL himself! No. NO.

Absolutely Not.

As far as HE is concerned? HIS lineage? Goes him, Qui-gon, Obi-Wan, and then SI-OC. No Sand Brat. Is he spiraling? Oh yes. Has been for a while. But now? NOW someone just kicked out a major support beam. The building is a'shaking. SI-OC is worried. Knows this could make or break his Fall.

Doesn't realize that ship has sailed LONG before she arrived.

Jedi Master's do not Fall over night. It is the slow erosion that kills them. Death by ten thousand cuts. He was already thousands deep. Bleeding and bleeding, beyond her abilities to heal. Yoda could have changed things. He is a Master. But a mere Crecheling? An untrained child? No. She stood no chance.

Does not realize that, as she stands in the heart of the storm. The center of the bear trap. As composed Master Dooku grieves and rages, hair disheveled and robes a mess. No, he can not come to the comm right now. No, he is not taking visitors, thank you. Please, Master Dooku. Please! Drink some tea? Eat? Something. Anything. I beg you.

It is a focal point. An anchor to cling to, in that great Fall. As SI-OC fusses with blankets and music that might help, pressing her small and fragile light against his shields like a comforting weight. As though trying to protect him from the pain. As though ANYTHING could protect him.

Sits with him, in remembrance.

Comes with him, to the funeral.... where stands the sand brat. At HER Master's side. As though enough has not been stolen. How dare he? How dare THEY? To allow this!? Hatred festers. Rage. The mania that Darkness brings. He sees now. Ooooo ho ho, does he now see.

The Order has become Rotten. It cannot be saved. The Jedi have lost their way.

The old must be purged... and they must begin again.

It's all so CLEAR now. So simple. The path forward. Its so obvious now, HE is not leaving, oh no, THEY are leaving. It would be madness to leave a vulnerable Crecheling in such unfettered corruption. Exposed to the nonexistent mercies of Sidious and his ilk. Not to mention, Force knows what filth they'd attempt to stuff in her head behind his back!

Knight Kenobi is an adult. Can comport himself and defend his person. SI-OC can not. She is just a youngling. Should have BARELY been a padawn. But... things have changed.

SI-OC fall asleep, comfortable and certain she is perfectly safe, in MASTER Dooku's apartments. Just another Tea Time and obscure Force Philosophy lecture. Maybe some hands-on etiquette lessons. There are many, MANY different ways to take tea. And... man... the room is so cozy. Always so comfortable and tastefully inviting. Warm an... an snoozy... feelin... *thunk of a small child falling over, dead to the world*

Drugged? Sleep suggestion? Soothing bedtime tea? Yes. Yes, he did. She stood literally negative chances. He scoops up HIS granddaughter and leaves droids to pack the rest. Tucks her under his cloak. No one thinks to even check. Who would? He is trusted. Respected. It is well known how he dotes upon the child. Old age has softened him, some jest.

The dangers of attachment indeed. But it is not HIM who is in danger. It is HER who his attachment endangers. Because he can not let go. WILL NOT. Because it can crossed from caring to obsessive. Possessive. To mine, mine, mine.

Children are not property. Not toys or trophies. Teddy bears to squeeze until your hurt stops. They are living, breathing, entities in their own right. Which is something a JEDI would be able to accept. The SITH? No. No, see, his Great-grandpadawn is HIS. This is HIS family. HIS Jedi order. HIS plan to "fix" everything.

She done fucked up.

She wakes up on a ship to Serrano with COUNT Dooku.

His... his eyes turn Interesting Colors now. Ha ha... she is... staying Very Calm. It is REALLY important to stay VERY calm. No sudden movements. We Do Not startle the Darksider! Eeeeeeverones FRIENDS here! R-Right?

Oh of course. Nothing to be worried about, dear. You're just going to his Manor until the NEW temple is finished. (Neat. Terrifying. So, SO many horrifying parts of that sentence). And SI-OC? Pulls the good ol "never argue with the crazy person with a gun" technique. Smile and Nod! Mmmmhmmm! G-great! Can't wait!

(Oh god, help me)

War breaks out. She's on THE Separatist planet. But not? Before crazy grandpa? Has hired bounty hunters to find him force sensitive kids. You know, for the NEW Jedi order. Because we're all pretending here. Smile and nod, fellow hostages. For the love of the Force, smile and nod.

She's not entirely even certain half these children were from families that WANTED to give them up. It makes her sick to think about.

She still has to have Tea Time. Because she, a child, is the HEAD of the New Order. And he has decades of Jedi knowledge to impart. Also? Lonely and fixating. We're a happy family. Because I say so and have hostages. That's why you love you, don't you dear? *SI-OC with a wide, terrified hostage smile* mmmmhmm!

The Jedi? Have figured out what happened. Crecheling mysteriously disappeared at the same time a Count Dooku? They originally thought she tried to follow him. Got lost or grabbed by slavers. But now... NOW? Oh Force they know they horrifying truth. The Darksider stole a CHILD.

Everyone remembers SI-OC. She was the sweet little duckling. Well behaved and polite. A kind child. Worried for Count Dooku. And now look at what's happened?! The CIS is trotting out the "head" or their "new order" and it's their lost Crecheling. Now a teenager. Terror in her eyes and a fixed jedi smile.

The Creche Masters have to be physically dragged away from stealth ships. (They're just going to talk! They're jUST GOING TO TAL-!!!) Plo Koon is fucking HELPING and that's NOT helpful! No, your commander do NOT have "a point"! You can not do just a "little bit" of murder as "a treat"!

A certain Quinlan Vos? Never heard of him, of course, rocks up to this New Order with a smoothie. Has betrayed the OLD order and the Republic. Definitely for realisies and not because he's here to spy! Heeeeey, kiddo. How you holding up?

Answer? Oh THANK GOD, AN ADULT JEDI! Halp! Followed by gross sobbing. So... you know... not GREAT. Wouldn't recommend it.

But! The INTEL. Sweet holy shit, kid. Chips. Palpatine. Dooku behind the Clones. Everything ELSE she's quietly been noting down. Uuuuh, yeah. Yeah that WILL be... real useful.... Holy shit. No, seriously, give him a second. Just like that? Huh. Didn't even have to convince you. Wow. Okay.

Well then! Let's fuck over some Sith!

How the Shadows go about it? Probably very action movie and nail biting. High octane. Sweet big budget cgi effects. They get the De-chipped clones involved. Fox gets to finally, FINALLY shoot his boss. Never a happier man. He deserves it.

But that's not important. What IS? Is Quinlan Vos? Showing up to the Temple, with a burger and smelling strongly of smoke, and like.... over 450 force sensitive younglings, teenage and below. And probably a litter of tookas. Because what? Were they supposed to LEAVE them?

She takes One(1) step into the temple and gets hit with like? Three generations of Guilt Complexes. Man Pain. Yoda, Obi-Wan, AND Anikin? Mother FUCKER, you were 9! What were you supposed to DO? Bite him?! You literally JUST GOT HERE. *SI-OC has used Logic against Skywalker Guilt... it is not very effective!*

When? When will she be freeeeeeee? Cannon Yoda had the right idea.

She should go hide in a fucking SWAMP.

@babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @lolottes @hypewinter @mayfay @hdgnj

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hiii! It's me :D

Anyways can I request a whitebeard pirates x fem child reader?

Reader is a clone of whitebeard having his haki and devil fruit ability (like the seraphims) basically reader is a little insane from being stuck in a lab

The reason why whitebeard has a clone because reader is a weapon for the Marines

Reader is a bit rude and a brat because she's scared of adults

Let's say back in marineford they tried forcing reader to fight back at whitebeard but whitebeard just scoop her up and took her back to the Moby dick (thatch, ace and whitebeard lives)

Reader has a brand on the back of her neck 'W. B CLONE' (whitebeard clone)

Reader also wear a pair of season earrings because she hated using her devil fruit abilities

So basically the whitebeard pirates are doing everything to get reader better because she suffered mental, emotional, and physical pain

(Can you also base reader of this? Reader is kinda base of my oc hehe)

Oh and reader has a sentient plush that listen to her commands and is mute

Don't forget to eat sleep and drink! Have a good day!

-Nobody knew why a child was on the battlefield at Marineford, one that looked like a little doll, holding a stuffed rabbit toy, dressed in a delicate looking dress with bows and lace.

-You were on the side of the marines, but you looked almost angry, like you were upset as the scientist beside you, your handler, shouted at you, “Attack them!!”

-The pirates were appalled, seeing a child soldier, one so young looking, being commanded.

-The scientist lifted his hand to strike you, to get you moving and the moment you flinched, Whitebeard’s giant fist slammed into his face, sending him flying.

-You could feel the pressure he was exerting, Haki from what you remembered as you were facing away from Whitebeard, seeing where the scientist landed, and Whitebeard saw the brand on the back of your neck.

-He had been hearing rumors that the government had been cloning strong pirates and marines, to create an unstoppable army. And this brand was something he had seen in the reports he had been receiving, realizing that you were a clone.

-You turned back, and you squeaked as he instantly scooped you up before leaping back to his ship, putting you safely on the figurehead, “Stay here. You’ll be safe.”

-You didn’t believe him, all your life, despite being so short, you had grown not to trust adults, they were the ones who beat you, who locked you up, starving you, forcing you to hurt others, and with it, your mind broke, becoming a bit unhinged.

-You did stay however, as you saw the scientists and marines who had been so mean to you, trying to get to the ship, telling you to come back to them.

-This was your chance to escape and finally be free!

-When Ace was freed and all pirates were retreating, you grabbed your rabbit, feeling a little scared as all the pirates made it back, including the giant man who grabbed you earlier.

-As you started to sail away, many were looking over at you, before you heard a sound, “Let’s go back Y/N~”

-You turned, seeing Kizaru there and your eyes went wide as you took a step back in slight fear, not wanting to go back to the lab, while the men behind you were ready to charge in.

-Kizaru ran for you, and you clenched your eyes shut, throwing a hand towards him in a slapping motion and instantly he hit a wall, being blown back, just like Whitebeard’s ability, making jaws drop as you sent Kizaru flying.

-Everyone turned to you, eyes wide in shock as you sniffled softly, tears trying to well in your eyes. You hated using your ability, if felt weird and it made you tired.

-Marco came over and you instantly bristled, “Stay back pineapple head!”

-Your sassy words stunned everyone as quickly everyone was roaring with laughter while Marco was trying not to be mad at you as he kneeled, “What is your name?”

-You immediately bit back, “What’s it to you?” okay… you were kind of a brat, but Whitebeard spoke next, “You don’t need to act like this any longer, you’re safe here.”

-You didn’t bite back to Whitebeard, who was looking down at you like you were a shy little rabbit, now knowing that you were his clone, as you had his abilities, and his white hair. You knew this as well, as you had seen him fighting, using the same ability you had.

-Whitebeard turned to all the others on the ship, “Everyone- this is my daughter and your new sister, Y/N!” the ship was quickly filled with cheers, and you felt weird, why were they so happy you were with them as you glared, “Who says I’m your daughter?”

-He ruffled your hair gently, surprising you as you were expecting to be hit, your eyes going wide, which some of them saw, making them curious, and angry, about what you had dealt with.

-Whitebeard just chuckled softly, seeing the front you were putting up, “I do- so let’s go on an adventure together!” You knew about adventures, reading about them in your picture books as tears quickly welled in your eyes.

-Ace came over with a teasing grin, “Aww is our little sister crying?” you instantly glared, holding your bunny up like you were going to beat him with it, “I’m not crying!” They just laughed, thinking you were cute.

-You still didn’t trust them yet, but so far, they were being nice to you and not hurting you. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay with them for a while.

[moodymisty]

*awkward cough*

Mother, I crave luna wolves smut.

(this is my first time sending someone a request *internal panic* so bare with me)

(I'm thinking about the luna wolves bullying a surf fic that you did and now have brainrot.)

Like, imagine being my height (5'1) and having a big "mean" astartes fully aware that I'm sooo horny I'm loosing my mind.

And something about space marines that I can't stop thinking about is how they smell. Like the amount of testosterone.. Their sent has to be immensely horny inducing for a female.

Like- damn. Gigantic, absolutely shredded, smug ass smile and, teasing comments, absolute bastard of a super human. Asking you to do stuff that requires a lot more physical closeness than normal. Getting absolutely wrecked by the astartes smell(TM).

Eventually deciding to "help each other out" hot and heavy Make outs, grinding, humping, neck kisses and neck bites, the absolute WETness, SERIOUS man handling..

Jeez sorry I'm so down bad. Feel free to ignore me lol.

Big fan of your writing, hope you're doing well.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: i am unhinged. Decided to make an actual Luna wolf oc for this one just cause. This idea is my fucking jam but for some reason I had a lot of trouble with this one, I think it's just because I'm getting a bit burnt out finishing the last of the requests. I hope you still enjoy.

Relationships: Artyom(Luna Wolf OC)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mild NSFW, Grinding, Groping, Some mild manhandling

“Careful.”

The Thunderhawk shakes as the air cools during its ascent, and Artyom puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you in your seat. You don’t have any risk for falling over, but he still does it anyways. You look up at him and give him a small nod in thanks.

The other refugees however are largely fending for themselves, grouped close together and muttering amongst themselves.

You don’t mind not being part of it. You barely know any of them; And throughout this entire ordeal, you've found yourself growing closer to Artyom than any of them. He doesn’t seem to mind, and if anything, seems to find it amusing. During the few times you’d see him wander through the base he’d always make a point to call you out, say hello before returning to his duties.

The other refugees found it odd. While Astartes are respected and admired, being in their attention isn’t seen as the most positive. They are mercurial and unpredictable on the best of days, intimating masses of muscle that can kill with ease; And enjoy doing so.

Artyom is an oddity among the Luna Wolves, to enjoy poking at a human. Even if it's only one, and he regains his stoic, almost sleepy expression when barking orders at any of the others.

Once the Thunderhawk docks into the landing bay of the battlebarge, everyone makes their way off. The Astartes leave silently other than an apothecary who ushers the refugees along to where they’ll stay before being placed. More than likely the first Imperium port they come across, where they'll become the Imperium Guard's logistical problem.

You move to follow along with them, assuming that will be your place, but Artyom grabs you before you have the chance. His hand claps your shoulder, nearly painfully heavy from the size and weight of his gauntlet.

“Come with me instead.”

You look up at him before following closely, halls rapidly becoming filled with only Astartes. They all look curiously at you, as if wondering what a baseline human is doing in this area. Clearly they're not used to them being here. You continue following Artyom anyways however and try to ignore the questioning gazes, until he pulls you inside a room filled with armoring equipment.

“Here. Hold this while I remove my armor.” He hands you his knife, while his bolter and rifle go on a rack made specifically for them. The knife clearly has more sentimental value, you assume.

“Why did you have me follow you?”

You say, holding the knife tight as machines slowly peel away plate after plate of ceramite. It's such an odd thing to see, watching him go slowly from a near machine in massive armor to something you would consider more human; Even if still very different.

“Those refugees are going into the serfs quarters until we pass by a human settled world. It will be a tight fit.”

The material of his black skinsuit is revealed bit by bit, until no armor remains. Your hands tighten around the handle of the large knife. The suit leaves nothing to the imagination as the name implies, stretching over his entire body other than his upper neck and face, and interface ports.

“So I won’t stay down there? Where will I sleep then?” You feel disrespectful for asking, you should be thankful his legion even bother to saved you. Artyom however seems to find no intentional disrespect, or at least doesn't point any out.

“You can stay in my quarters. Unless you would prefer the serfs.”

Slowly he starts to peel away his black skinsuit, revealing bare skin. The farther down it peels away- neck, collar bone, chest, hips- the farther down it drops the more you force your eyes to remain at strictly shoulder height and higher.

Once everything is removed, he pushes his shoulder blades together and they let out a crack, flexing his shoulders and chest. You swallow a knot in your throat, the knife being strangled in your hands.

“Hmm?”

Artyom hums, grabbing one of the sets of trousers and pulling them on. You shake your head and try to dispel thoughts you are sure would get you into an unspeakable amount of trouble away.

“Oh, nothing. I'm sorry.”

Now dressed you can worry less about your eyes wandering to places they shouldn't, but not completely; the waistline of his trousers exposing a good portion of his hips and lower stomach. You hope he didn't catch the way your eyes lingered on the v of his hips for a bit longer than they should have.

He walks closer, closer enough that you have to take a step back. He gives his neck a crack, and for a moment you wonder if the armor is that intensive on them; In it they never seem to mind, almost as if it's a second skin.

“Are you sure? Your heart is loud.”

He can hear it? You're throat tightens; You wonder what else he can hear. Can he hear your ragged breathing? The way your blood is thumping in your ears and downward between your legs.

“Oh, I just… A lot has happened. It's a lot to think about.” Artyom gives a gentle, sleepy smirk, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Do not worry. You are safe with me.”

Perhaps from physical dangers; but your mind is now a battleground between common sense and base instinct.

The way his shoulders make your body seem so frail, towering over you. The way his muscles stretch across his neck, his collarbone, the smooth taughtness of his stomach drifting into the v of his hips.

And perhaps he may not smell the nicest in first impression, there’s something underneath it that is oddly, not terrible. You find yourself swallowing a large knot in your throat as he looks down at you, his smirk shifting the taught skin of his facial scars. You skin feel like it's on fire, like you're boiling from the outside in, and you swear you've never felt this aroused in your entire life. The way you feel like your cunt has an actual heartbeat.

"You must still be quite unsettled, if your heart is still racing."

He steps closer, putting a hand on your shoulder; Though it's large enough that it pushes against the crook of your neck. He squeezes it just a bit, and you try to resist letting out an audible hitch in your breath.

"I'm fine, really. I thank you for your concern, though. It means a lot coming from you."

You feel like you're beginning to sweat, and your lower body feels tight and hot. You squeeze your thighs together subtly and instantly you can tell you're getting wet.

Artyom takes a step closer, and you didn't realize how close you were to the wall until your back presses against it and you're near entirely consumed in shadow. The armoring room is quite small, you can only assume because the battlebarge lacks the size of their larger ships.

"You are not a good liar," He says, his smile changing form. "I can smell you."

His hand moves from your shoulder to around your waist, easily able to cover a significant portion with how large it is.

"It took me a bit, to realize what that smell was whenever you were around me."

You don't suppose that's surprising; Being an astartes is surely a secluded fate, without much room for fraternizing. And the smell of someone being so aroused is probably unique and quite subtle, not an easily explainable thing.

He pulls your body forcing you to arch your back towards him, shoulders still against the wall. Your hands press against his body, and you can feel the overwhelming stuffy heat of his skin. He's nearly naked with only his trousers, yet he still feels like he has the body heat of a man who's just run for miles and miles.

His other hand also wraps around your waist, and you feel his fingers pushing up against the bottom of your chest.

It's bit awkward for him to lean down closer to you with his size, but it's easier when he forces his knee between your legs, rising you to your tiptoes. The feeling sends jolts of sensation right up your spine, and your cunt throbs. It's a intentional, painful act to not grind yourself against his thigh like you were desperate, no matter how in reality it was true.

"You're so small," He jokes, shadowing you. "Do you think you could even help me remove and put on my armor with those little hands of yours?"

His lips ghost over yours, the bow of his lip brushing against yours as he teases you. You can't help the way your hips twitch forward slightly, ever so subtly grinding against him as he moves in to kiss you. During so, his hands slide down from your waist to your hips, and forces you to push down on his thigh harder, as well as raising his knee up against the wall just a bit more to force your weight even more on him. His leg is still barely bent however; He could easily take your feet all the way off the ground if he wanted.

His hands grip your hips tightly and force you to grind against his thigh, causing you to moan and whimper. Your hands grip his own body weakly, leaning forward into him and pressing your face into his collarbone. You can feel the heat and hardness of his cock against your leg, and your cunt keeps tensing around a disappointing emptiness at the thought.

You want it so unbelievably bad. You would do just about anything for it. You don't care who hears or who sees, you just want him inside of you and you'll be more than willing to beg and plead and cry for it.

His lips pull away from yours, lips swollen and well kissed. You feel your spit mixed with your own against them.

"Be my personal serf. It'll be a far better life than whatever a refugee's will be, where ever you and your fellow humans end up."

You can't deny what he says is true. But the lust-driven cloud fogging your mind is more than a significant contributor to the 'yes' that you utter to him. It makes his smirk wider, and his eyes darker.

"Would I, still stay in your quarters?" His hands still grip your hips tightly as you speak breathlessly, trying to whimper and grind yourself against him further.

"There's serf's quarters right next my own I can requisition just for you." His lips move from your mouth to your neck, pressing against the pulse point just below your right ear.

"But if you'd rather stay in my own, I won't complain."

[relic-seeker]

IT !!! ohh…. they are so beautiful, handsome, graceful :-)! you captured them wonderfully!!!

ATTACK AGAINST @relic-seeker

DUKE IS SO COOL LOOKING !! FUNKIEST VESSEL AROUND !!

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: All you wanted was for Ben to have a nice Thanksgiving, but when your daughter brings her new boyfriend over, all hell brakes loose! This one-shot takes place in You Call It Madness But I Call It Love universe! Reader is described as "Curvy."

Tropes: Fluff, Awkward Situation Over The Holidays, Bringing A Boyfriend Home For The First Time.

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. There is some swearing, Heated Kiss (a few), Sexual Innuendo, Implied Sex, Flirting, References to Sex (it happens quite a bit), Ben loves his wife, Ben REALLY loves his wife. Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). SOFT Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy might be a little OC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: Truthfully this is a lot of fluff and soft Ben, having a proper family Thanksgiving (well sort of). Really, just Ben showing how much he loves his wife... AND I had this completely unhinged idea forever ago, but everyone say thank you to @anna6307 for reminding me to write it. ❤️

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy POV

Ben reaches out his arm to your side of the bed as he wakes up without opening his eyes, but his hand finds cold empty sheets instead of your soft warm body.

His eyes blink open, the light from the open windows at the foot of the bed brilliant as he looks out at the view of the backyard, seeing the peaks of the thick trees that point upwards to the sky and just a glimpse of the sea beyond, sparkling in the early morning light.

It was Thanksgiving, Ben's first since he came back from Russia and despite his numerous insistences that "it wasn't a big deal" you weren't listening to him.

Honestly, what was new? Ben thought to himself with a sigh.

Holidays for him were always bittersweet.

When he was a child and in his teen years he spent the holidays at the elegant parties your parents threw in your family home sneaking eggnog and sips of whiskey from the flask in his coat while the two of you avoided his plastered father, and while he was with you he had a good time, but it was the quiet that came when he went home to the cold shell of his father's house that left a chill behind.

Truthfully, Ben would have just stayed at the boarding schools during the holidays if he hadn't been so eager to get back to you. He liked going to your family's parties, liked standing next to you and taking the brunt of your mother's disapproving glances. When he wasn't there he knew that she turned those looks on you and knew that she was less likely to make a comment about how you looked when he was a worthy target, and he was more than happy to take it, if it meant that he would get to see you smile and enjoy yourself.

Ben didn't care much for holidays, hadn't since his mother died, but he knew how much you loved them and he knew that you had sacrificed that love for them when you came with him to become a supe.

Your mother had banned you from your home the minute you told her that you weren't going to marry Howard and that you were going with Ben, and despite your father's insistences, your mother refused to let you return for Thanksgiving and for Christmas. Which meant that you were left with nowhere to celebrate and nowhere to go for the holidays you loved so much.

Ben did everything he could to make sure that the two of you celebrated in your own way. The early Thanksgivings were spent eating turkey sandwiches in Central Park, while Ben tried his upmost to make you smile, but the later ones were spent at the lavish parties that Legend threw. And no matter how many women tried to pull Ben away from you, he stayed beside you making sure that you were having a good time, but even at those parties you never seemed as happy as you had when you were back home in Philadelphia or when it was just the two of you.

It always made a sick feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, because it made him believe that you regretted coming with him.

But today would be different.

It would be the first Thanksgiving that Ben had spent with you since he left. You told him that Rosemary, Lou, and you always spent the holidays in the house in Maine and Ben didn’t complain. He liked the house and he liked how happy you seemed there, how you seemed to leave any anxiety you had back in the city.

And despite all the other Thanksgivings the two of you had spent at Legend's blowouts soaked with booze, Ben saw that you were genuinely excited and happy this year to celebrate, and it made him feel like he'd done something right for once.

But of all the things that Ben had learned about you after he came back, the fact that you liked to cook and knew how was still astounding to him. Sure, he had some dated ideas about what women's roles were, but when you'd still been a supe with him in the past Ben hadn't seen you cook once. The only time you'd gone into the kitchen in the past was to make coffee.

And hearing that you were going to cook Thanksgiving dinner almost made Ben start to look for pigs flying around outside.

He and you had come to the house in the Maine countryside early to get everything set up while Rosemary, Lou, Ryan, and Rosemary's new boyfriend were coming today to stay for a week. Ryan's school didn't give him the full week off, and Rosemary's boyfriend was working up until Thanksgiving day.

Ben frowned when he thought about Rosemary bringing home a man with her for Thanksgiving. He already didn't like the thought that Rosemary was bringing some random guy around Lou that Ben didn't know anything about and despite Ben not being around for forty years, he didn’t like the thought of some creep dating his daughter. Ben might not have been a huge influence in Rosemary's life, but the thought that some asshole was just screwing around with her made Ben furious. He knew exactly what men wanted from women and like hell some dipshit was going to get it from his daughter.

When he told you that you'd kissed him on the cheek and told him that he was "being cute" and that Rosemary was old enough to make her own decisions. But at least you hadn't seemed too keen on meeting the guy either.

When Ben had asked you if you knew anything about Rosemary's boyfriend, you'd said that Rosemary hadn’t told you too much, wouldn't even tell you his name because she didn't want you to "stalk him" so all you knew was that he worked at Supe Affairs, and that he was nice. Lou had piped up and said that whoever this guy was brought by flowers for Rosie each time he showed up and always made sure to bring Lou a sunflower because he knew how much she liked them.

Ben had tried to get Lou to tell him who this guy was or at least what his name was by bargaining with ice cream, but Lou had refused, said that she "made her mommy a promise" and that she "wasn't a snitch." Ben was proud of her for holding her ground like that and took her out for ice cream, but it didn't make him any less frustrated when he tried to figure out who it was that Rosie was bringing here for Thanksgiving.

Ben was racking his mind trying to remember a moment that he would have seen her and her boyfriend together at work, but Ben hadn't seen Rosemary talking to anyone new at the office, just the team.

Not to mention, Ben didn't want to be trapped in the house with the guy, listening to him rail Ben's daughter. There were moments where Ben wished he didn't have supe hearing, and that certainly seemed like a moment he wouldn't want it.

Rosemary felt the same way of course. She also had supe hearing and had woken up in the middle of the night the last time she stayed with Ben and you at the Maine house and had witnessed something that she said was "grotesque." Personally, Ben was no longer embarrassed about that kind of thing, not to mention he liked how loud you were and how loud he could make you, but you certainly hadn't been able to look your daughter in the eye for a week when you realized exactly what she'd heard.

And then you had made the rule of no sex while Rosemary was around.

Ben hated that rule and it was difficult for him. He didn't like going too long without touching you, not to mention he liked it immensely when you touched him, so last night Ben had tried to get it all out of his system and give you a little bit of stress relief from all the meal prep and cleaning. He hated seeing you so stressed.

Of course the rule also meant that Ben could tease you as long as he wanted to. And that usually lead to you dragging him out to the car to run “errands,” when the two of you ended up parked a few miles away running errands in the front seat of his car.

The window was open, allowing the chill in the wind to creep through the opening, the leaves on the trees beyond were burnished gold, red, and orange, and Ben could hear the crashing of the waves along the rocky shore.

He enjoyed being here as much as you did. Walking along the shore holding your hand, barefoot while the waves lapped at his feet, sitting on the couch in the den with you in his lap listening to music, watching you paint in the screened in back porch that you'd turned into your studio while he read his newspaper, and falling asleep with his body curled protectively around yours pressing kisses into your bare shoulder as you drifted off with a soft smile, holding on tight to the arm that was wrapped around your waist. He didn't think that his life would ever look like this, sure he'd thought about what it would look like to be with you, but he didn't know how he'd gotten it and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Ben turns his gaze to your side of the bed to confirm what he already knew, that you're not there and he sighed.

Ben didn't like waking up without you, he also hated going to sleep without you, but waking up in an empty bed only made him think of all the mornings that he spent away from you, the mornings when he was away on a film shoot and to remedy how much he missed you he called just to hear your voice, other mornings when he'd wake up to a cold bed after whoever he'd slept with had left, and other mornings from his youth where he was away at another boarding school and he missed the weight of your body next to his.

Usually as you slept, you would subconsciously curl into him, and he would wake up with you on his chest, your head over his heart, your left arm curved over his torso to hold him closer to you. He liked that, because even if you woke up before him you didn't move. Instead you would stay there, pressing a kiss over his heart, running your hand up to stroke his cheek, or push his hair back because you know how much he likes it. It was a nice way to wake up.

With you there, smiling at him, looking at him as if he's all you see, as if you can see through him, through bones and flesh into his soul. And you never look away no matter how much you see. You accept him as he is, all the parts that Ben worked so hard to hide from the rest of the world like his father taught him, the other parts that he isn't proud of, and yet you love him.

You'd worn many titles over the years. His best friend, his teammate, the woman he loves, and now his wife. And at every stage, every ascension to a new name place, Ben still didn't deserve you and everything you did for him.

He never had and he knew that he never will. He'd never met someone so happy to love him, so eager to give him all of you even after all the shit he'd done to you, and so excited to spend the rest of your life with him. Ben's eyes drop to the ring on his left hand and he smiles to himself. It had been three months since the two of you stood in front of a small group of people, you radiant in white and holding a bouquet of lavender listening to him make a promise to love you and protect you for as long as he lived and him listening to you promise the same thing. It was the one thing the two of you should have done ages ago, but all Ben cared about was that he had you, that he wasn't going to lose you ever again, and that you were his and wanted to be his for the rest of your life.

And he couldn't have been happier. Ben had never been this happy in his entire life and he knew that it had everything to do with you.

Funny, if someone had asked him in the past if he was happy he would have said yes without hesitation, but now he knew that he wasn't. This was happiness, being with you, spending the rest of his life making up for the past, making you smile, and feeling the unconditional love you had for him each day as you eased any worries he had about expressing too much, when he'd spent his life expressing the bare minimum of emotions that he usually locked away.

But waking up in bed without you made him unhappy.

He frowned and sat up, the blankets falling away from his bare chest with the movement as he looks around the room for signs that you were there, but the bathroom door stands ajar and the bedroom door is cracked open.

Ben focuses his hearing and hears you downstairs banging around in the kitchen. He sighs again.

How long has she been down there?

He thinks with a groan getting out of bed and trying to find his sweatpants. Ben wasn't sure where you'd thrown them when you ripped them off of him last night, but after he finds them halfway under the dresser he makes his way downstairs. His fingers run through his hair, brushing it back away from his face, his bare feet padding down the hardwood stairs.

The smell of turkey, fresh bread, cinnamon, and cloves wafted up the staircase and there was a warmth in the large open kitchen that came from the oven and from the wide open bay windows above the sink where the rising sun bathed the room in a honeyed glow. Ben could see you swaying to music where you stood at the sink, trying to wash some of dishes that were stacked high over the lip of the marble countertops.

You had flour smudged on your right cheekbone, and stuffing in your hair that was tied back from your face with a bandana and you were wearing one of his oversized shirts and the pair jeans that Ben loved on you, the ones that hugged your curves just the right way to drive him crazy.

Truthfully, Ben was happy that you were getting more comfortable wearing things that actually showed your curves again, especially after all the years you'd spent being swaddled in monstrosities of lace, choked by shape-wear, and stuffed into clothes only created to hide the curves that drove Ben mad whenever he saw them. Even in your years as a supe, you'd been hesitant to wear anything form fitting, still feeling the cold disapproval of your mother almost decades after she'd been put in the ground. If anything Ben liked how curvy you were, he liked that you had just a little more that he could hold on to and squeeze.

And like hell Ben was going to let his wife feel insecure in her own body, especially in one that made him feel like he was a damn teenager again whenever he got his hands on you.

There were remnants of potato peels, bundled plastic wrap, and tops of carrots scattered like fallen leaves over the kitchen island. Not one piece of countertop was spared by the destruction of your preparation for Thanksgiving, only sweeping chaos left behind in your wake.

Ben expected that. Your art studio back at the apartment was the same way, and whenever he teased you about it, you'd only roll your eyes at him and say that "there was no point in a creative space without having a little chaos."

The speaker in the kitchen is blasting one of your favorites, "You're All I Need To Get By" by Aretha Franklin. Ben personally didn't like her work, thought that she catered more to a feminine audience, but he knew how much you loved her. He had taken you to a private concert once for one of your birthdays, sat through the entire thing trying not to  grimace, but each time he almost did, he'd look over at you and see how happy you were and he'd smile instead.

You were singing it to yourself, swaying your hips along with the melody in a way that reminded Ben of exactly what you'd done with them last night.

He couldn't understand how he got so lucky and again he wondered how he ended up here with you.

Ben leaned against the doorway to watch for a few minutes, trying not to make a face when you'd screech. You were never the best singer in the world and Ben had been subject to your singing more than once in all the time he'd known you, more often on nights when the two of you would go out for drinks at the bar down the street from your childhood home in Philadelphia. You would belt songs as loud as you could on the drunken walk home, wobbling on your feet, while Ben tried his best to keep you walking in a straight line and keep you steady to avoid you falling on your face and busting your lip open on the curb.

He steps forward into the room, creeping up behind you, reaching out to grab you when-

"If you're trying to scare me that's not going to work." You say, scrubbing at one of the stainless steel bowls in your hand with a scrub brush.

Ben snorts and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. You smelled like him again. "Didn't think you'd be able to hear me over the screeching."

"What screeching?"

"You trying to sing."

"I don't think you're exactly Frank Sinatra."

"Fuck, I miss that bastard. And the Rat Pack, we had some good times-"

"Yes. I remember something about you destroying a suite in Vegas and me sweet talking a cop to get you out of it." You hesitate, pulling your hands out from under the warm water. "Sinatra was quite the charmer, voice like velvet, not too bad looking and-"

"Just like me."

You laugh and lean back into his embrace, while Ben begins to sway you to the music. "I'm not too sure about that."

"Hmm." Ben sighs into your shoulder. "Why weren't you in bed when I woke up?"

"I'm sorry." You turn to kiss him on his bearded cheek, lingering for a minute longer in a way that makes Ben feel his heart thud an extra beat.

"What time did you get up?"

"5."

"Why the fuck have you been up for six hours?"

"Because I had to start cooking."

Ben can see the anxiety thrumming beneath your skin, settling over your shoulders, at the thought of how much you had to do. He didn't like it so he began to press his lips along the slope of your neck, feeling you sigh and relax in his arms as he pulls you closer against his body.

Fuck, you felt good.

You were always warm and soft in all the places that Ben was muscular and hard. You always fit so perfectly against him, in a way that made Ben refuse to believe that anyone else did. You were his in every possible way, had been his in every way since you were kids even if he was too afraid to admit it.

"I had to chop the carrots, boil the potatoes, make the pumpkin pie, stuff the turkey-" You continue with a sigh.

"You've been talking about stuffing that damn turkey for two days. Why don't you let me stuff something for a change?" Ben murmured, beginning to kiss down your throat, and moving his hands that were on your waist up under the oversized shirt you were wearing, trailing over your warm skin.

"You're a disgusting old man." You groan, but Ben can hear the smile in your voice without opening his eyes.

"You knew that when you married me Sweetheart." Ben smirks.

"Unfortunately."

"I think it's what you love most about me."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's how humble you are." You laugh at your joke and Ben squeezes you in response.

Ben moves his hand higher underneath your shirt stopping just below your bra, nibbling on your earlobe. "Come on Sweetheart, I want to have you one more time before Rosemary shows up."

"Ben-" You groan, your hands braced against the counter he'd pinned you against. "I can't I still have to-"

"By the time you finish arguing we could already be getting to the fun part."

You smirk at him over your shoulder. "Maybe I think the arguing is the fun part."

"Oh really?" Ben feels his smirk grow and this time he doesn't stop his hand from reaching past the edge of your bra and you gasp softly.

Ben couldn't get enough of the way you responded to him when he touched you, the sounds you made into his mouth when he made love to you, the little gasps, cries, and moans of his name that he replayed for himself whenever he was away on a mission and the ones he loved to recreate when he returned home to you. "Are you saying that you didn't have fun at all yesterday? Or last night?"

"No-" You say, trying to keep your voice even, but Ben can feel the tremor that courses through your body when the memory of what the two of you did comes roaring back.

"You're lying." He breathes into your throat. "You know I can tell when you lie."

"Ben really-"

Ben fits his lips over your mouth,  swallowing whatever excuse you were going to say whole. “As much as I like you in my clothes, I think it’s time you take this off.” He tugs at the bottom of your shirt.

"Ben I've still got to-" You try again, but this time Ben begins to suck a mark just under your jawline, next to the other one he left last night.

He liked doing that, as if the ring on your finger wasn't enough, Ben felt a primal urge to mark you so anyone who sees you knew that you were taken, and that you were his. He also knew that you liked it too. He could practically taste how much you wanted him against your lips, could feel it buzzing through your skin everywhere he was touching you. Ben loved that after all these years, he still had the same effect on you.

You sigh, reaching back to tangle your still wet hand in his hair. "You're fighting dirty." You say in a pout.

"By now you should know it’s the only way I know how sweetheart." Ben laughs against your skin, and he can feel your resolve begin to waver.

You groan again, tightening your hands in his hair and pushing your body back against his chest as his hands roam over the curves he loves so much.  "Fine." You mutter in utter defeat. "You get ten minutes, but if anything burns, Benjamin I swear I'm going to divorce you."

"I'd only convince you to marry me again doll." Ben chuckles. "And I only need 7."

*Exactly 27 minutes later*

Reader POV

"I'm going to get the divorce papers as soon as I take this turkey out of the oven! You said 7 minutes Benjamin!" You shout reaching for the oven mitts that you left haphazardly on the counter before Ben dragged you back to the bedroom.

Well, dragged is a relative term given how he carried you up the stairs with your mouth locked with his and your hands tangling in his hair.  And you might have complained about how long the two of you were upstairs, but you don't think that you would ever complain about anything Ben did to you.

You couldn't. Not when you still couldn't quite feel your legs and could feel your heartbeat thudding hard against your ribcage while you tried to catch your breath.

You take a step on shaky legs towards the oven, but Ben intercepts. "Let me do that doll." He gives you a knowing smirk that makes you weak in the knees. "Wouldn't want you to drop it."

"I hate you." You mutter under his breath when Ben reaches in to pull out the turkey, not bothering to put the over mitts on. You didn't need them either, but you liked using the oven mitts, they made you feel normal.

"I love you too sweetheart." He winks as he puts the turkey on top of the crowded stove. "Looks good."

"I love how surprised you are that I can cook."

"You weren't exactly Julia Child before I went to Russia." He says surveying the different foil covered dishes on top of the stove.

"I had to learn how to cook after I had Rosemary, toddlers get kinda hangry if you don't feed them, but Melanie helped. Taught me everything I know. I owe her so much." You smile at the memory of the older woman who welcomed you into her home when you felt so lost after Ben broke your heart and was taken to Russia. The woman who was more of a mother to you than your own flesh and blood. It was Melanie who brought you back from the darkness that threatened to consume you in the wake of what Ben had yelled at you at the premiere after you walked in on him and Countess.

Something that you no longer stung as much as it had. Ben had made it up to you, and despite how many times you told him not to feel guilty over what had happened, and that you had forgiven him, he refused to stop making it up to you everyday. And you'd never been so happy in your entire life.

"I do too." Ben murmurs pulling you close to him again and dragging his fingers over the plains of your face to push back your hair.

You knew that he still felt guilty for not being there when Rosemary was a kid, but you believed that the relationship that he was building with your daughter was making it better. Although it had a rocky start, Ben and Rosemary were getting along a lot better than they had been. You attributed that to how close they were working together, but you knew that Ben was becoming more optimistic about their relationship.

 "And why couldn't Rosemary help cook some of this shit? Why does it have to be just you?" Ben frowns.

“She’s bringing some things. I just didn’t want to make her bring too much because she’s got Ryan and Lou.”

“And that asshole.”

“We don’t know he’s an asshole.” You snort.

“He’s a guy.”

“You’re a guy, Ben.”

He frowns, and you couldn’t help but think that it was cute how protective he was acting. “So? He’s probably some pompous jerk.”

“It’s her life. And trust me, after everything that happened with Charlie, Rosemary is definitely making sure that  he’s not a creep.”

“But why won’t she tell us who the fuck he is?”

You press your lips together into a tight line. You’d also thought it was weird how close lipped Rosemary was being about the guy she’d been dating, but whenever you tried to bring him up she refused to talk about him. You didn’t understand why she was being so secretive, but the last time you'd asked her why she wouldn't tell you she said that she didn't want you to "scare him away."

Honestly, it's like she thinks I'm Ben or something. And I was nothing but supportive about Charlie and look what happened to him!

But you trusted her to make a good decision, figured that everything that happened with Charlie made her more wary about who she fell into bed with.

You fight the wave of nausea when you think about Rosemary having sex with her boyfriend.

Please let them not have sex in the house.

You think with a shudder.

The last thing you wanted to hear was Rosemary and her boyfriend having sex in the bedroom next to Ben and yours. It had been embarrassing enough when she heard Ben and you the last time, before you instituted the rule that Ben barely followed.

To be fair you hated that rule as much as he did.

 Of course, you knew they were sleeping together. Whenever she'd come home late from a date and practically floated into her apartment on nights Ben and you babysat, you could smell him all over her.

What was even weirder was that the smell was familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

But you liked seeing how happy she was, she deserved that after everything that happened with Charlie.

“I don’t know, she probably doesn’t want to say so you won’t show up and do whatever this is that you're doing." You reply.

"And what the fuck do you think I'm doing?"

You smile and pinch his cheek, making his frown deepen. "Being absolutely adorable."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? You are. I love it that you're going full protective dad mode." You smile.

"Don't tempt me doll."

"Oh baby." Your smile turns more into a smirk, working your hands up his bare chest and feeling a groan vibrate through the palms of your hands. "We both know how much you love it."

Ben's eyes darken in a way that reminds you of exactly what the two of you had just been doing that almost resulted in the burning of the turkey.

You arch up to kiss him, but right before your lips touch his, you pull back. "Go get dressed. I'll be up in a bit to change before they get here-"

"I was going to wait for you to do that." Ben's eyes are still dark when you turn to the stove to find the meat thermometer.

"Why?" You ask leaning over the turkey to inspect it.

Ben pulls your body back into his. "Because I figure you're going to need a shower and I thought we might as well save some water."

"You're insatiable."

"Only for you sweetheart." Ben's lips press against your ear, the warmth of his breath making goosebumps skitter over your arms. "We both know how much you love it." He murmurs using your own words against you.

One of these days, he's going to make me spontaneously combust.

But you did love it. You loved every minute you spent with him, loved the way he looked at you, loved the way he touched you, and loved the way Ben made you feel loved. The way you imagined this life with Ben when you were younger, was nothing compared to the real thing.

"Give me thirty minutes." You whisper kissing him once more.

"I'll be waiting."

Reader POV

You fidget with the collar of the oversized black sweater, hoping that the edge is thick enough to cover the collection of marks on your neck that Ben left behind, while listening to the car come to a stop at the end of the long driveway outside the house.

Ben catches your hand to pull it away from the top of your sweater. "Why bother hiding it Sweetheart?" He purrs with a smirk, his dark hair still wet from the shower and hanging into green eyes that shine with mischief. Just as they did when you were kids, and even after all of these years, it still does the same thing to you. It still makes your heart beat an extra beat, still makes a warm tingle travel down your spine, and still makes your chest just a little tight.

"Because I'd like to not be covered in hickeys when I meet Rosemary's boyfriend for the first time."

He shrugs. "It's not like Rosemary doesn't know what we were doing before she showed up. He might as well learn early. And you never try to cover the marks you leave on me-"

"Because most of the ones I leave on you aren't as visible when you're wearing this many clothes." You roll your eyes, but give his hand a squeeze where it still holds yours. "And aren't I a little old to be having hickeys?"

"You're never too old for something like that doll." Ben leans down towards you, the mischief flickering into something else, morphing into the love that he'd shown you the minute he came back into your life. "Especially not when you keep me young."

"Well, you are older than me."

"Only by a few months."

"It makes all the difference. How does it feel to be old and rickety?"

Ben chuckles under his breath. "You didn't think I was old an rickety earlier."

The front door knob jiggles, stopping whatever you were going to respond with when Lou comes running into the room like a shot out of a cannon.

“Grandpa!” She crows and runs past you to leap into Ben’s arms.

As adorable as you thought it was how much that Lou loved Ben and how much Ben loved her, you couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous that Lou didn't say hi to you first. But the look on Ben's face when he hugs his granddaughter back makes all of that go away.

You remember how afraid you were to tell Ben about Lou and Rosemary, but each time you saw how genuinely happy Ben was to spend time with his granddaughter made your heart feel like it would burst. Because all you saw was the man you loved and the boy you grew up with. There wasn’t one shred of the persona Ben adopted as Soldier Boy and it made you love him more.

“Hey Louie.” Ben smiles picking up Lou so he’s not bending down. “How’s my favorite girl?”

“I missed you Ben!” Her little arms hug around his neck tight.

“Guess she didn’t miss me.” You mutter under your breath giving Ben a pointed look.

He only smirks at you over Lou’s shoulder.

“I missed you too grandma!” Lou says, her own supe hearing picking up what you whispered. “I just figured that Ben needs more hugs.”

“And why is that?” You laugh.

“Because you’ve been here longer and Ben has missed out on so many.” She reasons hugging Ben tighter.

The look in Ben's eyes when she says that shifts to something softer as he holds her close to him, hugging her back as tight as he dares. “Thank you honey.”

Ryan comes in next, holding a brown paper bag that must hold the sides that you asked Rosemary to bring with her, but she and her boyfriend still haven't made an appearance in the kitchen.

"Hey grandma. Happy Thanksgiving." Ryan smiles. "Where should I put this?"

"Just on the table is fine, but can I have a hug. I'm feeling a little left out." You joke throwing another glance at Ben and Lou.

Ryan hugs you half-heartedly. He was getting into his teen years, so things like hugs were always going to be a little awkward for a while, but you didn't care.

You liked that he was adjusting to his new life. He'd made a few friends at the school he attended, and Butcher would come by to make sure that Ryan was still doing his homework and to hang out with him.

You felt a little bad that Butcher would be spending Thanksgiving alone, you'd asked Ryan to invite him to come with them so Butcher could have a place to go, but Ryan had said that Butcher had "plans" and you'd missed the smile that Ryan hid when you turned away.

"Where's Rosemary?" You ask him when he pulls away.

"She's getting the bags."

"And you're not going to help her?" Ben raises an eyebrow at the teenager.

"But she's a supe-"

"That doesn't matter, go on." Ben nudges his head in the direction of the front door, a stern look on his face.

"But-"

"Don't argue with Ben." You say, gently pushing Ryan towards the door.

"Fine." Ryan mutters.

"I can help too Grandpa!" Lou cries, squirming so Ben knows that she wants to be put down.

"No sweetie." Ben puts her down, but she keeps a tight hold on his hand. "The only thing I want you to worry about is giving your grandma a hug."

Lou grabs on to you so tight that you're sure there's a bruise somewhere, but you don't care. You love your granddaughter even more than Ben, which was saying a lot, and Ben didn't need to know that.

I mean… he already knows.

"Happy Thanksgiving Grandma." Lou breathes.

"Happy Thanksgiving baby." You say, holding on to her.

You were happy to see your granddaughter, but you could feel the thrum of anxiety beneath your skin. You were a little nervous about meeting Rosemary's boyfriend. Maybe it was because you knew absolutely nothing about him, but for some reason it was making you more anxious than making a giant dinner for your entire family.

"Hey mom. Hey Ben. Happy Thanksgiving." Rosemary smiles at the two of you, holding a giant multicolored cornucopia of flowers. You'd told her that you wanted a centerpiece and despite being an artist for most of your life, Rosemary was better at merging together different flowers and textures to create truly awe-inspiring centerpieces.

You didn't know she did it, but each time she managed to surprise you with something that altered your brain chemistry.

"Happy Thanksgiving." You pull her in for a one armed hug. "Wow you've really outdone yourself with this one." Your eyes skate over the Sunflowers, red Daisies, orange Mums, and dark blue delphiniums in her other hand. There was a strong smell of cinnamon in the air, coming from the looped cinnamon sticks that she had woven in around the blooms.

"Thanks." She beams.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Ben asks, leaning against the counter. He'd be the picture of casual if you couldn't see the frown on his face, that he didn't even bother to hide.

"He's helping Ryan with the bags." She steps around you to move the centerpiece into the dining room, squeezing Ben on the arm as she walks past.

It makes you smile to yourself. Rosemary and Ben still had a long way to go before she was up for hugging him, but you could see that she was trying to get more used to him being around. You think that Ben marrying you helped. Not that Rosemary was old fashioned, but you think it solidified something in her head that Ben wasn't going anywhere and that he wasn't going to leave you again. You also think that Rosemary seeing the gentle way Ben was around Lou helped too, that Rosemary saw another side of him other than the side she'd seen in all those ridiculous movies, music videos, and pictures of Soldier Boy she'd seen growing up.

But you could also see the way it was making Ben feel better. When they first met he had been so discouraged by that way Rosemary treated him, but now when they spent time around one another you could see how happy Ben was and it warmed your heart.

You wanted Ben to feel like he belonged, it was his family too, not just yours. And every day you saw how Ben was starting to believe that more and more.

Ryan comes back into the room, loaded down with bags, but the man who comes in through the front door behind him isn't Rosemary's boyfriend, it's Billy Butcher.

He stops just inside the doorway, looking from you to Ben with an odd expression, as if he's not sure what to say.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ben frowns at the man.

Ben barely tolerated Butcher, after missions he would come home and complain to you about something that Butcher ordered him to do. Personally you never thought that Butcher had Ben do anything that sounded like something Ben should complain about, but you knew that Ben had always had a problem following orders.

Weirder still was that Ben often said when he exploded on Butcher, it was Rosemary who would step in to try and calm Ben down. You didn't know why that was.

Honestly, you didn't hate Butcher, but you were wary of him. You thought he knew too much about your family and were often worried that he would sell all of you out for the right price. It did make you happy to see Ryan so happy with Butcher, but you weren't sure if you could trust him. He was one of the only people who knew what Lou could really do, one of the only people who knew what your power really was, and one of the only people who knew that Lou was the one who took down Homelander.

But at the same time you were happy that he was there. He was the closest connection that Ryan had to his mother, and you were glad that Ryan could have another person in his life who loved him. You'd seen what had happened with your own son and what happened to him when no one loved him. And you didn’t want that to happen to Ryan.

You elbow Ben hard in the stomach.

"What'd you do that for?" Ben asks.

Butcher clears his throat to say something, but you speak before he can.

"Please ignore Ben. I'm so glad you decided to join us. I was worried that you were just going to spend Thanksgiving holed up in your apartment. Ryan always talks about you when you're not here."

"Uh-" He clears his throat again and it's the first time that you’d ever heard him sound nervous.

You smile widely to make him feel more comfortable, taking his awkwardness as a reaction to what Ben said. "It's a good thing too, because I think I made way too much food."

"Right." Butcher clears his throat. "These are for you." He holds out a large bouquet of Lavender wrapped in crinkling brown paper towards you.

"Oh wow. Thanks." Surprise flits across your mind when you try to reason why Butcher brought you flowers, but you still take them. Ben seems to also consider this because, he frowns at the flowers as if he's debating whether or not to throw them away or if he should take it as a threat.

"Rose said they were your favorite." Butcher cracks an awkward smile.

The nickname makes you pause.

Rosemary hates it when anyone else other than us calls her by a nickname…

"And this is for you." Butcher holds out a bottle of whiskey towards Ben, who takes it, also confused by Butcher's sudden generosity.

"Thanks." Ben grunts, but he doesn't smile.

"You didn't have to bring us anything." You look down at the flowers, inhaling the fragrant blooms. "I mean, the invitation out here for Thanksgiving was not contingent upon gifts."

"I thought it was a good idea." Rosemary says, reentering the room with Lou following behind her. Butcher glances at her like a lifeline.

"Why?" You ask hesitantly.

A sick feeling begins to bubble in the pit of your stomach. You had a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, but you were still holding out for a miracle.

Ben looks past Butcher towards the front door of the house, looking for the boyfriend who was supposed to be getting the bags out of the car, but no one appears in the doorway. "How long does it take to get bags out of the car? Is your boyfriend hiding outside like a fucking pussy or something?"

Rosemary steps even closer to Butcher and this time she takes his hand.

Oh. My. Fuck.

"No. He's right here. Mom, Ben, You guys both know Will." She smiles up at him the same way that she used to smile at Charlie, when she was head over heels and nothing could drag her away. Her whole heart open and you can see the flicker of the same feeling reflected in Butcher's eyes when he glances at her.

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, the awkward silence hanging over you all like a anvil choosing a target.

If Rosemary had come in here and announced that she was pregnant with an alien's baby you would have been less surprised than what she has just admitted. It was so far out in left field that you felt half-way to China. You had no idea how on earth this had happened or why it had happened.

There's a high pitched cracking noise, followed by an audible smash, as pieces of what was the whiskey bottle rain down from Ben's hand. He'd crushed the whole thing by just flexing his fingers.

"Surprise!" Lou grins ear to ear, swinging from Butcher's other hand, unable to read the room.

There's an awkward silence hovering over the room in the wake of their confession. Honestly, you're not sure what you’re feeling. Sure, you felt a little bit betrayed that Rosemary kept it from you for so long, but the feeling racing through your veins was unnamable.

"Lou go upstairs with Ryan." Ben growls in a low voice.

You had no idea how to respond to this. The only voice in your head was screaming "WHY HIM?"

Because really, why Billy Butcher?

"But-"

"Listen to Ben sweetie." You say in a tight voice, your eyes not leaving Butcher and Rosemary.

Rosemary's smile falters for a minute, as Lou goes up the stairs and no one speaks again until you hear her bedroom door close.

"No." Ben states calmly, wiping his hand with one of the dish towels.

"No, what?" Rosemary asks confused. She's still holding on to Butcher's hand, who looks as confused as she does.

"No. You're not allowed to date this British Fuck!" Ben shouts.

"Calm down mate-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" He takes a step forward and you hold out your arm to stop him. The heat of his skin is burning through his clothes where your arm makes contact with the front of his shirt. "And get your hands off my fucking daughter!"

"You cannot tell me what to do Ben! I am a grown woman and-"

"I don't give a single fuck. You're not going to date this Son of a Bitch." Ben's eyes narrow, pointing with one finger.

"And I don't give a single fuck what you say! I'm forty years old and you don't get to tell me who I can and cannot date." She shouts back.

"I am your father-"

"You're just the guy who got my mom pregnant!"

"Hey!" You shout interrupting the retort that is about to come out of Ben's mouth. "We're not going back to that."

"But he's being absolutely-"

"Rosemary." You clear your throat, interrupting her. "How long?"

"I don’t see why that matters-"

"How long?" You say again, interrupting her.

"Four months." Rosemary replies.

Butcher still looks like he's unsure what to do or what to say.

"Four months…" You nod methodically, and then you lose your last shred of composure. "Four MOTHER FUCKING MONTHS?!" You shout. "Are you insane?"

"Mom-"

You hold up a hand. "No. No. You had your chance. You've been sneaking around with William Fucking Butcher for four months! Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I knew you would react like this."

"React completely justified to finding out that you're dating the guy who has killed countless people and tortured others to-"

"Look who's talking!" Rosemary spits.

Ben's body goes taunt next to you and you can practically feel the air heat with the force of his anger.

"Don't you turn this around on Ben!" You snap. "We're not discussing him right now. We're discussing you and him." You make a wild gesture at Butcher who looks even more uncomfortable now that you've started shouting.

Probably was just expecting Ben to freak out.

"I don't care-"

"Well that appears to be seen." You sigh heavily and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying very hard to make the images of Butcher and your daughter rolling around in bed together dissipate.

They weren't and there were so many.

"I can't believe that you did this. That you're-" You can't even get the words out of your mouth.

"Will you just listen to me for one fucking minute?!" Rosemary screams over you.

"Don't talk to your mother like that!" Ben seethes.

"And don’t you talk to Rose like that you arrogant wanker!" Butcher mirrors taking a step forward.

"That's it!" Ben tries to step around you, but you shift to intercept.

"You're not going to kill him in my kitchen." You say to Ben.

"Thank you-" Rosemary begins to say.

"Let's take him outside and kill him there." You continue.

"Good idea sweetheart. Less mess." Ben agrees.

"No!" Rosemary is now standing between Ben, you, and Butcher, shielding him from the two of you. "I love him and I'm not going to let you touch him!"

Her words make you freeze.

Sure, Butcher was hot and sexy in a rugged unwashed sort of way but you'd never believe that Rosemary had fallen in love with him. You weren't even sure that Butcher was capable of falling in love with anyone else after everything that happened with his wife and yet here he was standing in your house, in your kitchen, holding on to your daughter's hand, looking into your daughter's eyes as if he had fallen for her.

Since Charlie, Rosemary hadn't been on one date, hadn't spoken about anyone or made a comment about someone that she met at work. Before Charlie, Rosemary had only had a handful of dates. He was her one big love, the one that she fell head over heels for, the one who swept her off her feet, and then shattered her heart.

You had not once seen Rosemary look as happy as she did in the years since Charlie, except on nights that she spent coming home from a date with Butcher. You wanted her to be happy, you wanted her to find the same love that Ben and you shared, you wanted her to find someone who understood her completely the way that Ben understood you.

"Mom." Rosemary breathes. "You once told me that love shouldn't be a burden or something that I'm ashamed of. That it's not prideful or selfish, it's about giving pieces of yourself to someone else and receiving pieces of them so the two of you become something wonderful together." She sighs. "I spent months pushing Will away because I didn't want what happened to me before with Charlie to happen again. I-"

Butcher's hand finds hers when he senses how upset she is, and the motion makes your throat thick, but you let her keep talking.

"I thought that I was in love with Charlie, that he loved me, but I wasn't. And when Ben came back I struggled for a long time to understand why you let him back in after everything that happened, after he said those things and did those things to you. But then I fell in love with Will and I understood." She looks at Butcher with a half-smile. "I love him. And sure maybe he annoys the shit out of me and maybe he has the maturity of a teenage boy and-"

"You're not exactly making me feel better love." Butcher murmurs.

"And maybe he's not the most patient man in the world." She snorts with a shake of her head. "But I love every part of him, even the parts that make me want to throw him out the window. And I understand now why you couldn't let Ben go. Because I'm not going to let Will go. And if the two of you hate that, then it's too damn bad. Because he's not going anywhere."

"I'm not." Butcher re-affirms. "Even if the two of you throw me out I'm going to keep coming back."

"Like a damn cockroach." Ben murmurs under his breath. He'd drifted closer to you, so close that you could feel the warmth of his body against your back, a comfort right now.

"Exactly." Butcher flashes a shit eating grin.

You can’t help but respect him for that. His confidence in the face of certain death was admirable, and you could see some of the traits that Rosemary found so lovable. In fact, you could see a few of them in the man you loved with all your heart.

The four of you stand in complete silence listening to the what she just confessed, her words still ringing in the air of the warm kitchen.

"Mommy can we come down yet?!" Lou shouts from upstairs.

It breaks through the awkward tension and makes you smile.

"Fine." You say after a minute, extending your hand towards Butcher.

He takes it surprised, his other arm wrapped around your daughter's waist.

You yank him forward. "But if you break her heart, I'm going to make you wish you were never born. Understand?" You smile as widely as you can, with Ben glowering over your shoulder for effect.

"Yes ma'am."

When they go upstairs to put the bags away you sigh heavily and lean back against the counter, your head spinning. Ben is almost deathly silent, watching the two of them go, with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You ask him.

"Nothing." He shrugs, his dark hair falling forward into his face. "Just thinking of all the ways I can kill him if he breaks her heart."

"Good. We can make a list together and compare notes."

"And just when I think I can't love you anymore, you go ahead and say something like that."

"It’s a gift." You snort, placing your hand over Ben's heart and looking into his green eyes. "Well, I wanted your first Thanksgiving back to be memorable, but I didn't expect it to be like this."

"Honestly, I thought that it would end in a fight."

"The day is still young."

"It wouldn't be a normal day for us without a few surprises."

"I hate to admit it, but you're right."

"Always am."

"No you're always full of sh-"

Ben pulls you in for a kiss, his hands curving up over your hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your shirt against your skin. "Happy Thanksgiving Sweetheart." He murmurs into your mouth.

"Happy Thanksgiving Ben."

A/N: Again, just a little holiday fluff from the fam!

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments, are not required, but are always appreciated! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series/universe, please let me know! 😊

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[leonenjoyer69]

@thedangerwizardparttwo hi I have many thoughts on Mind Jekyll 😋😋 my evil little freak

So!!!!! In my Lanyon takes the potion AU (with Elias, the little fella), Lanyon's mind scape includes both Jekyll and his father :3 not because they represent some perfect thing for him, but bc they're the most influential people in his life. He doesn't really obsess over becoming anything perfect like Jekyll does, nor does he really idolize people.

But!!! The silly--- (I need to draw him more fr 💔)

Mind Jekyll takes on a few traits from Hyde, since Lanyon knows that Jekyll and Hyde are the same guy and it kinda skews his perception of Jekyll. Thus, mind Jekyll is quite emotionally unstable at times. Otherwise, he's very manipulative, and what I like to call a living sparkle machine, bc holy shit does this guy try to abuse his charm. He acts quite posh, but can sometimes still act very,,, mad sciencey? Idk, he can get a bit unhinged tho, prone to succumbing to his temper if pushed too far or set off by something.

Hes definitely not a great guy, especially towards Elias (Lanyon's "Hyde"). He plays very nice at first, charming Elias up, making him feel safe, before finally kinda breaking and becoming the evil little shit he really is :3 he basically wants Elias gone, like Mind Lanyon did with Hyde, except he's much more cruel about it, kinda trying to emotionally destroy poor ol' Elias too. There's this whole little mindscape ballroom scene thing I've rambled about and drawn something for too, under the oc tag for this guy, but yeah, he's not great lmao.

He does like Lanyon tho, and is actually kinda genuine nice to him, though he still tries to abuse his charm to get Lanyon on his side about things-- especially the whole "we need to get rid of Elias" thing.

Mind Jekyll also plays on Lanyon's fear of potions and sciencey stuff, being kinda sinister with any "creations" of his. He's also quite the charmer around Lanyon's little mindscape ballroom, especially with the women, since Lanyon was scared of Jekyll leaving him for a woman in university teehee.

Uhhhh I think that's all I have for now?I know I've already said some of this, but yeah, Idk, I need to build him out more, as well as Lanyon's mindscape in general bc ughhhh it's so cool and fun, I love picking these silly guys apart.

[fokrons-art-hell]

The full local group for my iterator ocs, smiles and grins :]. Every single one of these losers has issues and problems.

From left to right: Reason for Faith (she/her gen2), Unyielding Iron Gates (he/she gen2), Endless Celebrations (they/them gen4), Nine Promises (they/them gen3), Chasing Light (he/him gen3), and Reflections on Rippling Water (he/they gen1)

More detail tidbits below the cut...

RFF: self proclaimed only 'normal one' of the group. introverted, snippy, sarcastic, but unfortunately does actually give a damn about the rest of her group. has a complex for not causing problems and being self-sufficient, which bites her in the ass later once the ancients are gone.

UIG: rule-stickler and responsibility-driven. Serious yet easily flustered. Volunteered to be acting group senior despite being the second oldest after RORW had a mental break. Gates often feels in over her head with tasks/responsbilities, but enjoys being helpful. Secondary purpose of his structure is his city was designed to house/train the ancient's military and manufacture/store munitions.

EC: youngest of the group. Structure was created for a similar secondary purpose to Nine Promises (as an entertainment/tourism hub) so Nine Promises serves as a mentor role to them. 9P and EC also were made by the same ancient. (EC was actually made to replace 9P for reasons but... neither of them know this initially </3). Excitable, fun-loving, and maybe a bit too forgiving, EC is a people-pleasing and easily pushed around

NP: my favorite freak who the whole plotline is central towards frankly. Cheery jokester of their local group, who has more of a cynical, grim side they tend to hide… drives the rule stickler, responsibility-driven acting senior of their group (Unyielding Iron Gates) crazy. as mentioned previously, NP's structure was designed to be a entertainment/tourism hub! they love parties + playing pranks + socializing with others, and get lonely quickly when nothing is going on... especially since ancients have been visiting their structure less and less of late... Tho NP's fickle and unhinged behavior tends to either charm or anger most other iterators, their stubborn cheer has held the local group through many hardships.

CL: was created as an emotional and structural support for RORW after RORW attempted self-sabotage and self-shut down of their own structure. Very perceptive of others emotions and generally anxiety-ridden himself. Quiet, compassionate, but with a sarcastic side that only occasionally leaps out. With the right topic, CL is very talkative.

RORW: ex-acting senior of the local group, and the eldest of the group. Was always rather disillusioned by the great problem, and as their bitterness towards their place and resentment for the ancients grew... had a mental break where they attempted self-shut-down. This was stopped by the ancients, who had invested waaaayyyy too many resources and individuals into RORW's structure+city to let him do that. post this event, pretty much demands whatever they want of the ancients to give them under threat of 'well I'm gonna KMS if u don't lol'. CL was built very close to RORW as a failsafe/secondary storage and as motivation for RORW not to self-sabotage, as doing so would also affect CL. RORW has a love for plants and fashion, and is a jokester to a lesser degree than NP, but definitely enjoys some drama/creating problems. Demeanor is sarcastic and grim with a great amount of morbid humour. RORW is generally extroverted, at least when it comes to other iterators, and is the type of guy who enjoys arguing for the sake of arguing.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Helloooo, happy to distract you with unhinged headcanons...

So, my mind is a random place and it takes me back to the A or B Headcanons constantly 🤭

While I wholeheartly agree with all of them, I also think that Mihawk would be more of a neck and shoulders man because vampire aesthetic 🦇😚 An off shoulders dress and he's gone.

And then I think of Bogard because Noir Husband lives rent free in my head. He's a total legs man to me 🦵 Just let him take off your stockings already!

Who I can't pin point is Beckman 🤔 Which body part would be his obssession??? 👀

Ooooh yes this all of this 🥴🫠

Agreed heavily on Mihawk. Since it was ass or boobs specifically on those headcanons I didn't think on much else at the time. Actually already had something planned involving a red off-shoulder dress in Flight Risk for this exact reason 👀

Legs make sense for Bogard. I have no idea why, they just do. Maybe because he's so tall. Garp is listed as being around 9'5" (287 cm) in manga/anime canon and Bogard is just a bit taller than him. The correlation makes sense in my head anyway.

In my continued (rather slow) work on my ABC headcanons for Beck, I've come to the conclusion that it's waist/tummy area.

He's not as tall as Bogard (6'9") but he is BROAD and has particularly large hands, perfect for splaying across your stomach and guiding you to lean back against him so he can wrap his arms around your waist and keep you close. This comes a lot from the protective-gentle-giant vibes I get from him. Same reason I have an OC in my Hearing Problems AU-canon (who I've mentioned maybe once on this blog like a year ago) that I ended up pairing with Beck, who's around 5'3" and incredibly anxious/mistrustful around men in general with Beck being the only real exception. I've been drafting their back-story in a characterXreader format for a while that I'll post once it's finished, but she'll eventually show up in Hearing Problems as a named character as well.

[prof-peach]

Bit ooc but I have a question. How you do go about planing out your PLA comic? Like how do you actually turn your ideas/ storyline into comic form? Is it chapter to chapter or do you have the whole idea already planned out? Trying to find my own way in comic making so I’m just wondering if you could give any advice. Feel free to ignore if you don’t feel comfortable answering

So, at first this was al i could think to send.

because its incredibly accurate to my process.

Jokes aside, a lot of how i work is back and forth chaos, fighting with ideas until im happy with them. I will start with a list (usually not written down because im unhinged and keep a ot of it in my brain) and organise it in a way that makes sense to the situation, in this case workign with a game with an established plot...not that its a very strong one.

with a set of ideas, and a game to work around i will ramble and rant to a few choice people who i bounce well off, and also stare into space for hours on end building the ideas. This process can be days, it can be years. For context, i have some notes from 2019 about things i wanted to include that are still relevant. I have been scheming how to break and rebuild this OC for ages. Theres no correct time frame, so long as you simply do the work.

Once i have a fairly loose plan, i start to solidify the benning and the end. What is required to make a character compelling, what makes them believable, what makes them human in a way that we recognise. this isnt always a positive thing, people like to call characters who do bad things problematic, but its human nature to make mistakes and be damaged or difficult, the process of the story is not always rainbows and sunshine. For me, this hits even harder, as im trying to tell a story from the perspective of someone fundamentally broken, so showing those breaks and cracks has to be done wisely.

This is the point where i make notes about things that need to change from the start to the end. And ill say one thing, this story in particular, I have not solidly planned the middle. I am allowing space for me to come up with new ideas at points. Being locked into a dead set of ideas can be quite limiting, and as creators we consume and process things constantly to generate new stories. Id be a fool to make a plan and stick to it. everything i do is vague guidelines.

However, I know exactly how the story ends in Hisui, and where it goes to from there. And i think me personally knowing the end goal makes it easier to plot steps towards that, and some of those steps are anything but progressive.

If nothing else, the end was the only thing i saw clearly, and it has only become more complex and loaded and emotional as the rest of this has fallen into place. If you can see the goal, you can work out how to get there with time.

Regarding the chapters, i tend to draft plan up like 3-4 of them at a time, and then go in order to sketch out one after the other, so i have plenty of time to change things while i adjust. its constantly a process of seeing what you make, seeing issues, and scrapping whole parts just to redraw something better or new, unique even. I dont think a single page ive posted has resembled the very VERY first draft thumbnail ive made, and thats just how i do. Every panel, how big they are, the angle you hand the viewer, the way you light things, the expressions, this all dictates SO SO much.

Taking time over it is kind of the job, and let me stress, this is normally a job done by a team, especially the highly popular comics. one inks, one colours, one shades, one handles text, one edits, theres so many people behind it, so dont be bothered by the pace at which things are made if youre working alone like i am. One person means longer production times, if you can, spread the workload out, but its not required. Its why i always say it doesnt matter how long it takes to make, so long as youre still making.

I think its also worth noting, comics are consumed quickly, the bakcgournds and small details can be lost in the ace of the storytelling, pick and choosing your battles is wise, save your time on panels where you want the reader to shift along quicker, keep that pace high, and add in more detail and depth to panels you want to champion or get the viewers to hang around on more. its ok to let go of a "perfect" image in favour of getting content out, if youre being driven nuts by it. Again, time be damned, be happy with it. And if you can let go of petty details, id suggest doing it when possible, so long as it doesnt effect the storytelling.

I mean what else can i even say. This work is a passion project, I love it, more than i can even put into words, and i think you kind of have to, to make comics without monetary motivation. sure you can get lucky and find ways to make it big, but for most of us, its the love of the story. So maybe try not to be your biggest hater, its easy to slip into the behaviour, so try be gentle on yourself and the process. I should take that advice myself haha! but i really do mean it. This is HARD work, so be kind to yourself over it.

anyway, with a rough idea, a bunch of sketches, and time, they get inked and fussed over, i make a billion changes to layout and story, and eventually posting can happen but not after fighting with the monster that is creating. Idk what else i can say. This is not work for the feint of heart, but anyone can learn to do it.

Good luck, comic artists can always use it!

[the-golden-comet]

✨Writer Questionnaire Tag ✨

Thank you for the tags @wyked-ao3 here, and @thatuselesshuman here and @nczaversnick here. Y’all are great! 💛✨

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I’ve had this blog since….end of April? Early May?

What led you to create it?

When I set up all my socials, I wanted to use this as a way to build a writing community, share my stories, and exploring and sharing the ideas of other likeminded individuals.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

How kind and welcoming writeblr is. The community is supportive of everyone’s stories and OCs, and everyone has some wonderfully unique and fascinating characters.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

You are always. Always. ALWAYS welcome to tag me, message me, send asks, interact with me. I absolutely endorse the engagement and excitement in this community, and even though I may miss a few tags, just know that seeing you tag me to see your stories brings the biggest, goofiest smile on my face. Thank you for being you and sharing your creative minds with us 💛✨

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Kindness, support, and creative stories. Keep writing, keep inspiring, keep on keeping on.

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Your Wish Is My Command is my current WIP at about 75% complete. I have a little bit to share from Tenshito as well, but the latter will have to get majorly cut down and restructured before it’s ready ✨

How long have you been working on them?

Planning and ideas began a couple of years ago. Writing them down? For YWIMC since early May, and Tenshito since 2020 (took a hiatus to focus on work and big life stuff, like moving twice and getting married)

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

My love of storytelling, video games, and Disney. I wrote and published Peter Hart based off of a few of my favorite video games 🏴‍☠️💛✨

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

All the time. At least once a day, if not more. My stories help me get to sleep…when I eventually GET to sleep 😴💤

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

BL romantasy novels. It encompasses every person asking, and umbrellas many subgenres.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created.  Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Oof that’s a big list. Let me just do major protagonists/antagonists from stories: Peter, Benjamin, Davey, Ali, Noah, Tenshi, Itazura, Yoji, Tyr, Gustav, Jak, Johnny, Nathan, X, Ollie, and Callum

Who’s the most unhinged?

Peter 🏴‍☠️💛✨

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Peter 🏴‍☠️💛✨

Do you ever cringe at them?

Sometimes….depends on what they do. I never cringe at my stories, but sometimes my characters make choices that personally make me go “😬”

How much control do you feel you have over your characters?  AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

(Slowly looks over at Peter)

Peter: …..What?

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

Oh always!! ALWAYS!! Any method is absolutely fine and encouraged by me, but I ALWAYS love when people leave AO3 comments on my stories 💖💫✨

On writeblr engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I scope out the content before I follow for sure. Because I write adult fiction, I look through posts to make sure that our interests would align, and that the blog mentions an age that is 18+. If I am ever uncertain or have a suspicion beyond a reasonable doubt that the blog is run by a minor, I won’t follow them (and unfollow if I get suspicious of their posts)

What makes you decide against following?

I use discretion on age, politics, and religion before following. Any homophobic, transphobic, or otherwise hateful conduct gets automatically blocked. The world needs more kindness and uplifting of one another. We need to bring each other up, not tear each other down.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

I try to! Usually in the form of reblogs and ask games. My pile for work and tumblr keeps stacking though, so I find myself getting very busy very often (and that’s a good thing! ✨)

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

All the time, every time. To name a few mutuals: G.J, Jamie, Gioia, Casper, Tobin, Jay, Wyked, Gina, and Jev have characters that are my current hyperfixations. But there are SO, SO many that are so interesting that I want to learn more!! ✨

Thank you so much for tagging me, you two!! Going to alert the tag list on this one 💛✨

✨Tag list for writing snippets below. DM me if you’d like to be added 👇✨

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)

@jev-urisk , @sunglasses-in-the-bentley , @wyked-ao3 , @glasshouses-and-stones , @alinacapellabooks , @gioiaalbanoart , @fortunatetragedy , @deanwax , @dyrewrites , @honeybewrites , @paeliae-occasionally , @lychhiker-writes , @thatuselesshuman , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @zackprincebooks , @fantasy-things-and-such , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @far-cry-from-finality , @froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @thecoolerlucky , @willtheweaver , @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives , @theink-stainedfolk , @ominous-feychild , @saturnine-saturneight , @words-after-midnight , @sableglass , @cowboybrunch , @moltenwrites , @pixies-love-envy , @davycoquette , @writeahurricane , @greenfinchwriter , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @lavender-gloom , @smellyrottentrees , @aintgonnatakethis , @thecomfywriter

[celebbun]

Rejoice, children, for I have decided that an unhinged rant is in order

I have come to the conclusion that, despite what much of the fandom would like to think, Legolas is, in fact, not a prince. My reasoning to back this up is based on two main pillars: the Woodland Realm’s monarchy system and Legolas’ lack of royal title throughout the books.

In regards to the Woodland Realm/Eryn Galen/Eryn Lasgalen: it was founded when Oropher and Thranduil arrived at the Greenwood with a handful of people and integrated into Silvan society, with the Silvan later making Oropher their king. Now, I can’t find the exact passage that describes Oropher becoming king. It’s not in the Unfinished tales of the Appendix B of The Return of the King; it might be in The Peoples of Middle Earth, but I can’t find a pdf of it to save my life. However, the Tolkien Gateway describes his ascension as him being “taken up by the Elves of the wood as their king” and “taken by the Silvan Elves as their lord” in the pages for Oropher and Mirkwood, respectively. The Thranduil page also uses very similar phrasing.

The implication here is that the Silvan chose Oropher as king, rather than he declaring himself as such, which led me to think that this could very well be taken as Oropher being elected king; and therefore the Woodland Realm would have an elective monarchy. In regards to Thranduil being king after Oropher, I’d chalk it up to a mere coincidence. After Oropher’s death at Dagorlad, Thranduil led Greenwood’s armies for almost the full 7 years of the Last Alliance, so it’d only make sense if he were the one  elected as the next king.

In an elective system, only the person who’s elected holds the title that they’ve been elected for, so there is no Royal Family, or titles adjacent to that of king. In the case of Oropher becoming king, only he would hold a royal title, which means Thranduil would be the son of the king, but not a prince. Later, that same pattern would repeat itself when Thranduil is elected king. Legolas is the king’s son, but that doesn’t grant him any titles or authority.

In fact, Legolas’ lack of titles is something that stands out quite a bit in the books. Despite him being introduced as the son of Thranduil, he’s never once called a prince, and his parentage is never acknowledged by any other character. Even when Aragorn introduces him in Rohan, he does so by calling him “Legolas of the Woodland Realm”, once again ignoring who his father is, and foregoing any weight or influence of name dropping the Elvenking. Sure, it can be argued that in this instance, Aragorn wasn’t sure of where Rohan stands in regards to the war, so revealing Legolas is the child of someone important might be risky, as well as that he emphasised the Woodland Realm to differentiate Legolas from the elves of Lothlórien, whom the people of Rohan distrust; still, it’s quite interesting.

“But what about the queen?” No queen. “Oh, but Thranduil had a child, so he must have had a wife!” Why? Because you believe in the myth of the nuclear family? Can a single man with not a drop of mental health not raise a child alone as though it’s his emotional support crusty white dog? He even followed the guidelines: adopt, don’t shop. “Oh, but the movies!” The Hobbit movies have dealt irreparable damage to Thranduil’s character and nothing they said matters to me. I was in this fandom before they came out, I remember the glory days of Thranduil’s tag on Tumblr and AO3 and, yes, I’m bitter.

Anyway, even if Thranduil were married to whatever “heart of gold, died tragically” OC the fandom has lined up, she wasn’t voted in, so no royal title for her.

But yeah, Legolas isn’t a prince, he’s just some guy who happens to have a very powerful dad and no authority of his own.

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 7 / The Interrogation

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 2.3K

Story navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary/Setting: Based on the prologue/premise from my OneShot "A Midwinter Carol."

Astarion and the OC broke up after his ascension. She left Baldur's Gate for fifteen years, only to return just recently. Following the events of "A Midwinter Carol," Ascended Astarion has been convinced to pursue a new beginning. Will he be able to change who he has become, with the help of his ex-lover? Or will he ultimately fall victim to his pride and desire for power?

Preview:

Another surge of acid through his veins. Another healing potion. The Lord sits quietly next to Ani and watches the slow rise and fall of her breath as if in contemplation. Her fever finally broke not long ago.  Her arm is still deteriorating. Astarion leans forward and brings his bloodied, cracked hand to gently stroke her cheek along that tiny patch of vitiligo. And then he lifts two fingers to his lips, kisses them, and presses those fingers against that same spot, thinking about how he used to kiss it morning and night. 

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion's past trauma

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE.

A/N: And here comes AA with some absolutely unhinged behavior.

-----

At first, Astarion hires Delilah for several hours at a time. Typically, a half day, but sometimes more.

It’s always the same experience.

He pays her to morph into a likeness of Eirianwen, based on sketches from the Baldur’s Gate Gazette and his own descriptions. She never gets the vitiligo quite right, but the Ascendant, in his desperation, will take what he can get. 

In the beginning, he simply lays in bed as Delilah runs her fingers through his silver curls and hums. Sometimes he trances, sometimes he watches her without saying much at all. 

For the first time since Ani left, he experiences uninterrupted, nightmare-free sleep.

And the woman is smart enough to simply follow instructions and not pry. At least at the start..

Eventually, Astarion has Delilah make private calls to the Palace. He pays a ridiculous amount of gold for this, but it’s no matter. 

Most nights, she’s still a glorified sleep aid; other nights, he becomes more physical. But the voice and the vitiligo are wrong every time, and it takes weeks before he’s able to fully commit to the act. Even then, something feels not quite right. But it’s as close as he can get.

And then finally, several months after their peculiar agreement first began, Astarion, after far too many bottles of wine, reveals he’s a vampire to the shapeshifter.

“As in a true, blood-sucking vampire?” Delilah asks, eyebrows furrowed as she assesses the Lord. It’s a rare moment in which she’s in her own chosen form, rather than the likeness of Ani that he pays her for. 

“Something like that,” He laughs, though it comes out quite wry, “I can drink blood; I no longer need to for survival.”

“Show me,” She responds, her curiosity getting the better of her. Delilah is wholly aware she is flirting with danger, but she’s never been one to shy away from an opportunity, especially one that comes with the allure of money or power. 

Astarion stares at her for a long while, finishing off the final bits of his goblet, his thoughts entirely imperceptible. He taps his cup with his index finger as he tilts his head and watches the woman. She thinks he’s going to reject her request.

And then, surprisingly, he nods, “Very well. But you must morph, first.” 

Delilah obliges, and at first the Lord brushes her hair from her neck and moves to sink his fangs there. But he retracts at the last moment, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. 

It’s not really Ani, he reminds himself. 

After a brief pause and a sharp inhale, Astarion takes her hand and turns it, finding the pulse point on her wrist. He keeps his eyes locked onto the distorted appearance of his ex-lover as he bites into the changeling’s flesh.

And what a terrible decision that was. He’d just invited a devil onto his shoulder and a snake into his bed.

*

The constant bashing of Astarion’s fists sounds like a poorly played drum as he repeatedly swings into Edmund’s hanging body. The human is strung up by his arms in the office, dangling so that his toes barely brush the white marble floor. 

The bastard is annoyingly sturdy, and manages to stifle most of his grunts as the Ascendant continues his torment. This only angers Astarion further, and he begins to hit harder, now intentionally aiming for the man’s face every time and splattering dots of crimson around the room.

Great. He will have to call the servants into his private office to scrub the floor and walls. He might have to replace the curtains.

It’s clear that whoever turned this vampire has conditioned him quite well. It’s been an hour of repeated strikes and the human seems nowhere near his breaking point. 

Between the physical exertion of pummeling Edmund and the draining effects of his ring as Eirianwen continues to burn the poison through her system in the next room over, Astarion is beginning to tire. He is sure he must escalate his methods to rip any information from Edmund, but he refuses to give the spawn a single break in his torment.

So he barks an order at one of his own spawn standing guard not far behind him, “Thrak! Continue where I’ve left off. I have more important things to attend to than beating this disgusting vermin.” 

A final blow to Edmund’s face and then Astarion spins on his heels with a sneer, flicking his hand up to examine his cracked knuckles and bloodied nails in distaste. 

Thrak is a large half-orc with slashes running vertically down his chin. The marks are an intentional, cultural scarification, Astarion is told; his sister, Melga, has the same ones. 

Astarion focuses his eyes on Melga, where she is now watching her brother assault Edmund with mild interest. A few gestures of his hands, and the Vampire Lord communicates to the female orc that he wants to be informed if Edmund breaks. 

Melga quickly gestures her understanding. Astarion is not fluent in the sign language Thrak and Melga speak; it appears to be a mixture of Thieves Speak and something else he does not recognize. Perhaps they made it up themselves. But over the years, he has learned enough to get by and Thrak has always willingly worked as the translator. 

When the Ascendant first offered immortality to Thrak, the half-orc indicated he and his sister were a two for one deal. He would change with his sister or not at all; he hoped vampirism would restore the hearing she lost as a child. And the Ascendant, still thinking himself better than Cazador in that he did not change people against their will, agreed. 

Unfortunately, there are some conditions vampirism cannot fix.

*

Jaheira took leave to return home and check in on her wards. The druid indicated she needed to delve into her medicinal stores and confer with Halsin on the matter of Eirianwen’s affliction.

Mention of the wood elf’s name instantly caused Astarion to bristle. If Halsin had a solution, it would not be the first time the oversized elf helped Eirianwen in a way the vampire could not. The Ascendant is quite sure he loathes that man more than any of his other former campmates; he idly thinks it’s a bit of a shame it’s Edmund instead of Halsin strung up next door. 

Another surge of acid through his veins. Another healing potion. The Lord sits quietly next to Ani and watches the slow rise and fall of her breath as if in contemplation. Her fever finally broke not long ago. Her arm is still deteriorating.

Astarion leans forward and brings his bloodied, cracked hand to gently stroke her cheek along that tiny patch of vitiligo. And then he lifts two fingers to his lips, kisses them, and presses those fingers against that same spot, thinking about how he used to kiss it morning and night. 

Thrak continues to pound his massive fists into the foreign spawn next door, and now the Ascendant can hear the sounds of Edmund's resilience breaking. The pained grunts and sobs are music to his ears, and he smiles in sadistic delight at the spawn’s suffering as he simply lounges in his chair, continuing to watch the sorceress breathe. 

“We’ll figure this out, little love.” He whispers before he brings his hands together as if in prayer and analyzes the cries of agony from the next room. 

Not long now. 

*

He’s on the freezing marble floor. Cazador is straddled over him, pinning Astarion’s arms down with his knees. They’re in the spawn dormitory, in front of all his brothers and sisters. No one steps in to help him. 

In the end, it’s all about self-preservation, isn’t it? 

His master yanks at his silver curls and bends so close to Astarion’s face he can feel Cazador’s hot, disgusting breath on his skin.

“Where is it?!” The older vampire questions, pulling Astarion’s hair with vitriol and forcing a pained wail out of the spawn, “Where did you hide it?!”

“H-hide what? Master! Please, I don’t know what you’re–” 

A solid strike to Astarion’s face causes him to stop his defenses mid-sentence. 

“Petras! Leon! Bring me a barrel of water, rags, and a pillow case.” Cazador orders coolly, as his eyes briefly flicker to the elf’s siblings. The two other spawn quickly run to retrieve the requested items for their enraged Master. 

“You traitorous leech. Where is it?” Cazador asks through gritted teeth, gripping Astarion’s chin so tightly he is convinced the bones in his jaw are cracking under the force. 

He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t know where it is. If Astarion knew, he would’ve already spilled all his secrets. It never takes this much to rip a confession out of the elf nowadays. 

He’s stunned into silence, staring wide-eyed at the older vampire, unsure what to do or say to make this interrogation stop.

Nothing. There’s nothing he can do or say. Astarion knows it and the thought fills him with dread.

Cazador growls and spits in the elf’s face before shoving a cloth in Astarion’s mouth and completely shrouding him in darkness with the pillowcase. Leon and Petras are instructed to hold the elf’s limbs as he emits gagged screams of anguish. He tries to break away from his brothers, but it’s to no avail. 

He was always one of the weaker spawn.

Astarion’s screaming is stifled by a shock of icy water filling his nose and throat as Cazador begins to waterboard him. He doesn’t need to breathe, but the sensation alone is terrifying. The silver-haired spawn continues to thrash against his siblings as their Master enacts his violent punishment. It feels like it goes on forever. The entire barrel is emptied over him before Cazador stops.

Astarion knew it was mostly for show. Cazador often made an example out of him to deter anyone else from committing the same act he was blamed for.

In the end, Astarion was thrown into the kennels for further torture. He never truly knew what it was, though he suspects he found it much later.

*

The Ascendant is straddled over Edmund as Thrak and Melga hold onto the foreign spawn’s bound limbs. Long, pale fingers grip the vermin’s jaw, prying it open with nearly enough force to rip the mandible from its joint.

“Last chance. Who is your master?” Astarion asks, tone low and coming across as far too bored for the violence that has recently ensued within this room. He’s watching Edmund with expectant, cold eyes. 

“Fuck you!” Edmund responds in a venomous hiss, glaring up at the Vampire Lord with what little expression in his face he has left after the hours of repeated blows.

“Wrong answer.” The elf sighs, and then he procures a spoon from his pocket and forces it into the spawn’s mouth.

Astarion chuckles sadistically as Edmund begins to thrash and twist against the half-orcs. The spoon is quickly wedged underneath the spawn’s gumline, and the Ascendant begins to slowly pry out the traitor’s left fang, grinning all the while. 

He could do this much faster, of course, but what’s the fun in that? The bastard deserves to suffer. 

The bastard deserves to die. And he will. Just not yet. 

First, Astarion gets to have his fun. A chance for him to make someone bleed was a rare, delectable thing nowadays. The temptation was difficult for the Ascendant to resist.

Edmund is screaming now, flailing around in agony and fighting for an out. But it isn’t going to work; three on one is never truly a fair fight. 

Especially as a starved spawn. 

“WHO. IS. YOUR. MASTER?” Astarion bellows over the tortured, terrified wails of the spawn. His curls are falling out of place, dangling in front of his narrowed scarlet eyes and obscuring parts of his vision as he continues to slowly peel fang from flesh, undeterred by the useless, pitiful crying and bucking underneath him. 

Eventually the left fang pops out with a spatter of blood across Astarion’s hand and he scoffs in disdain before cleaning his hand on Edmund’s barely recognizable, heavily swollen face. 

Disgusting vermin. 

“FUCK YOU!” Edmund screams, but his voice cracks at the end and he is no longer able to hold in the tears rolling out of two swollen sockets. 

Astarion tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if disappointed. Then he sighs a long, belabored breath as he rolls his eyes at the spawn, “You are strong, Edmund, I must admit. But what you have in brawn, you certainly lack in brains, don’t you?”

And then the Ascendant abruptly plunges the spoon into the human’s gum line just above his right fang. Edmund jerks his head at the last moment and the dull instrument slices against his mouth and tongue, still causing a laceration due to the amount of force Astarion is using on the manufactured weapon. 

Blood quickly pools in Edmund’s mouth and he spits it at the silver-haired elf in a final act of defiance. 

The switch is instantly flipped.

Astarion’s face contorts with pure, unfiltered hate. His heart starts pounding in rapid fire. Whatever modicum of control he had over his violent desires instantly slips from his hands as his grip around the spoon tightens. 

He doesn’t realize he’s wrapping his hand around the spawn’s neck and crushing it with the full force of his Ascendant power. He cannot think past his red, blinding rage as he’s stabbing into Edmund’s chest with the blunted instrument. 

He pierces through the spawn’s flesh over and over and over and over. 

When the Ascendant finally gains control of his senses, the first thing he sees is Edmund’s mangled body beneath him and his hands coated in scarlet. The first thing he hears, however, is a woman’s scream ripping through the office. 

When Astarion jerks his head toward the source, he sees Ani standing in the doorway, both hands clasped over her mouth. 

He hates what he sees.

Terror. Pure terror. 

She’s terrified of him. And she runs.

[annabawritersdream]

So...today I answered an ask about my dream fic plot and I say that it would villain redemption story. While that is true, I am aware that I can't write it myself. I lack the experience to actually write it well and giving any villain a redemption arc kind of means that the story has a happy ending...? If you know me even just a little bit, you'll probably guess it's not really my cup of tea. I'm a sucker for angst and tragedy and that's what I feel most comfortable writing. Which is why I decided I will indeed attempt to write a villain story, but it will be more of a character study. The main character will be a fallen Maia named Moyeldë (one of the many OCs that will appear in my main WIP The Lady of Ithilien and additional one-shots/snippets related to it) who is basically Sauron's main love interest (or so she thinks) in the Fourth Age. Our little fiery Maia comes back and does some stuff, but that will be addressed in LOI.

This new project is about Moyeldë (her name was given to her by Morgoth when she followed him in the aftermath of his rebellion against Eru and it is Quenya for "slave-daughter"=> I combined Mól=slave and Yeldë=daughter).

She's always been in love with Mairon and had a major rivalry with Thuringwethil as the both of them wanted to be his one true love. It is my headcanon that Mairon had a whole Harem in Angband and enslaved Elf-maidens as well as Maiarin women fought one another all the time to be THE ONE FAVORITE. Since it is unclear how Thuringwethil died, it is my headcanon that it was Moyeldë who finished her with Mairon's full support and approval. (Huan only wounded her).

Moyeldë will be eventually killed by Eonwë in LOI, but this new fic will explore her whole life (or maybe just parts of it) and her descent into madness and her delusions as she becomes more and more ruthless. It's a character study basically.

Fancast for Moyeldë is Meryem Uzerli, specifically her role as Hürrem Sultan in the show Muhteşem Yüzyıl (Magnificent Century). She has a slightly unhinged, psycho quality to her that I think fits Moyeldë perfectly.

Crowns and jewels all made by Mairon himself of course.

Here is a little edit of the evil power couple by yours truly.

She doesn't need to know he doesn't give a flying f about her. She is just a concubine to him, a slave who happens to be more useful to him than others.

She's literally admiring him and he's clearly about to scold her. That's their usual dynamic.

Let me know what you think! Does it sound like something you'd like to read? (I will probably write it anyway, but I would like to hear your opinion ☺️)

Thanks!