#not even gonna bother posting this to ao3 lol

[anadorablekiwi]

So as some of you know, I finally got Diluc after a long 2+ years of simping for him

And as i was chatting with Tellie about it, inspo struck

So here, have a half crack drabble about it 🤣

[while I obviously simp for Diluc, this isn’t intended as Diluc /Traveler ship lol. Moreso just me inserting myself in Lumine’s place 😂]

Drabble under cut~ (and a bonus scene that is somehow longer)

Kaeya smirked. “Took you long enough.”

“Diluc!!! Hang on, let me go get your stuff! I’ll be right back!” The Traveler ran off excitedly, greeting Gaming with caution.

Diluc huffed.

“Oh? Someone is jealous~” Kaeya said in a singsong tone.

“I am not.” Diluc frowned, eyes not leaving the Traveler. She collected various artifacts and materials, placing them in a box and happily chatting with Gaming, who was helping her.

“Here,” Kaeya offered. He held out a plate of mint jelly.

Diluc scowled. “What is this?”

“Mint Jelly of course! It’s your new signature dish~”

Diluc glared daggers at his brother.

Kaeya just laughed. “I cannot believe you. Jealous of a child? I would have thought the head of Dawn Winery to be above that sort of thing.”

“I am Not jealous.”

“Oh? Then why is it that you arrive the day after she gives your prefarmed artifacts and planned weapon to another Pyro user, with whom she is having fun?”

Diluc huffed. “Merely a coincidence.”

The Traveler came running back, box loaded with items.

“Here Diluc!! Your artifacts, and I prefarmed your ascension materials! I had originally prefarmed some talent books, but Mona needed them and you weren’t here yet so I used them, sorry about that. Oh! But today is the right day for the domain! So I’ll do a few runs of that right away! Here!”

She shoved the box into his arms, then retrieved two claymores.

“You have a couple weapons to choose from, both would be really good I think! I’ll be back again!”

Diluc smiled slightly. “Thank you. It is good to see you again, my friend. Don’t work yourself too hard for me.”

Traveler grinned. “It’s good to see you too! Don’t worry, I’m taking care of myself! Be right back!” And with that she ran off again.

Kaeya chuckled. “You know, she only sees Gaming as a little brother at most.”

Diluc’s usual grumpy expression returned instantly. “I’m aware.”

“Couldn’t handle another pyro claymore user in her heart, huh? Even if it’s familial?”

“Kaeya…” he growled.

The Cavalry Captain laughed. “Alright, I’ll stop. But only because someone is all geared up now.”

The two men stood in silence for an awkward moment.

Kaeya coughed, eyes studying the sky and pointedly away from his brother. “You know, Diluc, the Traveler isn’t the only one who missed you.”

Diluc froze, then the slightest curve of a smile graced his lips. “I’ve missed you, too, brother.”

~

Bonus Scene

“Sorry about that Gaming, I didn’t mean to take what I had only just given you yesterday.”

The boy flashed a bright smile. “Hey, no problem! From what you told me you’d been waiting for him for a while right? And it was intended for him anyways! I don’t mind.”

Traveler smiled. “Thanks for being so understanding. As an apology, i got something for you!”

The Traveler brought out a large box, labeled ‘For Gaming’ on the front in big red letters.

“Whoa, is this all for me?”

“Yup! Its all yours. And not just to borrow. Open it up!”

He opened the box, and his face lit up immediately. “Dang, how much did this put you out? You shouldn’t have! I promise to put it to good use!”

The Traveler smiled. “Turns out I had enough good quality artifacts to give you your own set already! I was planning on farming a set for you at some point anyways, and when I get the chance I’ll definitely see if I can get both of you even better ones.”

She retrieved a glowing blue and gold claymore from thin air, grinning. “This is also for you! Diluc liked the other claymore option better, so he said you can keep the five star!”

Gaming accepted the claymore, smiling from ear to ear. “Oh man, you’re trusting me with a lot of power here. But I promise you, its in good hands! I’m gonna ramp up my kung fu training and hustle hard, watch me!”

The Traveler giggled. “Don’t work yourself too hard now. We all need to make sure we’re taking good care of ourselves, or Kokomi will lecture us about it.”

“Right! You can count on me! Oh, and tell Master Diluc thanks for me! This is Dope!!”

“You can thank him yourself, I think he’s just right over there.” Traveler pointed off to the side, where Diluc was examining his new greatsword and pretending to not be eavesdropping.

He glanced up as they approached. “Hm? Did you need something?”

“Thanks for letting me keep the five star sword Master Diluc, sir! The sword is totally dope!”

“You’re welcome.” He then paused, a look of confusion on his face. “…’dope’?”

“Yeah! It means very good, or cool!”

“Ah, I see. Well, it was no trouble to me. This other sword Traveler offered me is just as good, so I decided to let you keep the one you had been using. Even if it is a little… less cool looking.”

“What do you mean, that sword looks epic! Is it magic or something?? How does it hold up so well?”

“Its a magic sword from the melusines over in Fontaine,” Traveler answered. It was a thank you gift for helping them out so much, and they poured all their love into it!”

She glanced at the sword, then giggled. “As did someone else I know it seems. I see Kayea has been babysitting Klee today?”

Diluc grunted. “Yes he has. She wanted to see this ‘super cool magic sword’ Kaeya told her about, and add some stickers of her own.”

“Aww, how cute! Are you good with kids then Master Diluc?” Gaming asked.

Traveler giggled, avoiding Diluc’s questioning gaze.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am, but Klee seems to have grown fond of me regardless for some reason.”

Traveler grinned. Hanging out with Jean and Kaeya will certainly help with that I’m sure.

“At any rate, now that you two have officially been introduced there doesn’t have to be any jealousy anymore!”

“Huh? Jealousy? What do you mean Traveler?” Gaming tilted his head in confusion.

Diluc glared at Traveler, although there was no heat to it. “No one was ever jealous that I know of.”

Traveler clapped once. “Good! Now come on Gaming, I want to introduce you to some of the others. I think you and Razor would get along great! You and Bennett would definitely need some supervision though. Oh! And Fishl, it takes a bit to get used to her but she’s fantastic!”

Diluc watched the pair go, ignoring the warm feeling welling up inside him.

He has enough children he has grown fond of already, there is no need for another (as if his heart would ever pay his wants any heed).

~

[scrunckled-idiot]

ok so i've been putting this off for WAY too long and ermm- yeagh :D

here's my silly mini fella <3 (design will most likely change in future posts with this guy cus im not too fond of the outfit)

(in case writing in the pic is hard to read:)

"a mute, miniature, blu super human experiment gone rouge to red, the pocket merc proves themselves to be a highly dense and nimble asset to their team... when the aren't hiding in walls or being trod under a barrage of boots"

this little fella was from a fanfic i wrote for myself before Tumblr. thinking about cleaning it up in the future and posting it on my ao3. idk.

additional heap of info! (im... not good at these AUGJ-):

because of their densely and tightly packed form, they're pretty much invincible to anything, from temperatures up to 1600c, as cold as -197c, and can withstand a weight limit of 30,000 tons. so medic didn't even bother adding a respawn chip to them. but he didn't count for the fact that every. single. one of those hurts like hell. death isn't even an easy way out. either wait for help, or get out of the situation themself.

lol again wtf is gender my bitches, bastards, and cunts in-between 😎

on the field, they're mostly used as a pest to distract the enemy so that their teammates can get the final blow.

lives in a hole punched into the wall by heavy in engineers workshop.

though they're a nervous wreck and cowardly most of the time, once attacked, or a teammate is in trouble, they act on an apeshit instinct and go as ham as they can, mostly going for the eyes, nape of the neck, or even the groin at times. its hard to hit something so small y'know.

they, engie, and pyro hand out most of th time. family bonding <3

literally experiencing the terrors everyday. pls help them.

they're mute because blu didn't create them with vocal chords since they were just gonna attach a camera with a mic to em. so since they cant talk, they use a lot of hand gestures and charades, sometimes using objects around them. fuck sign language that shits too hard to learn 😔

engie made their lil' suit, boots, and nail gun. had a blast with it since it reminded him of those minifigures sets he used to own as a boy.

nail gun works like a rifle but with arching projectiles. the arc aint that big, its mostly a straight shot.

its lonely being so small and miles apart from everyone.

idk what else to add ahah :) wugahy

relationships:

likes:

engie. heavy. demo. pyro. sniper

tolarates:

scout. spy.

dislikes:

medic.

miscellaneous:

soldier. they aren't sure. he's sending mixed messages. wtf.

ALSO CAN POCKET PLEASE MEET UP WITH @bluespace-skull CELINA AND @moon-0f-m4rs CIG pls i beg on my knees it would be so awesome sauce. the holy trinity.

(ahah)

[michellemisfit]

✨Weekly Tag Wednesday ✨

Thanks for creating the game and for the tag @jrooc thanks for the tag @vintagelacerosette

Today we’re talking fandom. Come play!

Name and A03 handle: Michelle, michellemisfit

Current Location: Living room, surrounded by feathers, as I’m currently fletching some arrows

Favourite picrew: This one is pretty fucking spot on. Or at least it was at the time. Hair is very different now. But then, hair is always different… lol

Also this one is spiritually VERY me

What's one thing you want in a picrew? Ability to add coloured streaks! And a wide selection of scars, or alternatively the ability to move them around the screen. Either is fine. But mostly the hair thing. My hair is generally 4 different colours. Don’t try and limit me to one!!

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom? Erm… 3 way tie between Mexico Gallacrafts, Fimo Gallavich, and Cookie Gallavich? Maybe? Argh. Turns out, looking back at my art tag… I’ve created some pretty cool stuff. Huh. Yay me.

Why is it your favourite? I don’t really do photography, and I’m really proud of the idea behind and the execution of that photo. And while I LOVE drawing more than anything, I don’t think I’m exceptional or anything. But I’m damn creative when it comes to silly 3D craft projects, so both Fimo Gallavich and Cookie Gallavich make me happy and feel like something not just anyone could do… I dunno.

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? It was LONG to create. Both cookie and Fimo Gallavich took several days in total. And I think that’s the other thing I like about myself. I am willing to put in the work, and it usually pays off.

Last ao3 fic you commented on? Hah! You’ll be able to corroborate this, I’m not just sucking up!! LOL I’m currently reading Camp is a Battlefield by @blue-disco-lights, @jrooc, and @mybrainismelted, with artwork by @creepkinginc, so that’s the last one I commented on :)

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? I mean… every single WIP I have ever started reading, only to realise that maybe there won’t be any more of it… 😱 Every. Single. One. They’re all special, and they all hurt in their own special ways. And I will remain subscribed to all of them FOREVER, because you never know!!

Also? Comment on WIPs. Tell authors how much joy the story brought you, how much space it’s occupying in your brain, how much you would love to see it continue but how happy you are to have read as much of the story as there is because it’s changed your brain chemistry… do NOT comment saying ‘next chapter when?’, cause that makes you a dick bag.

Favourite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? I’m a sucker for fake dating, only one bed, and a soulmate AU 🤷🏽‍♂️

Least favourite? ��not a huge fan of kid fic, but hey, all it takes is a great author to make it work.

Secret or surprising kink or trope? Again, do not kink shame, because you’re only ever one good fanfic away from discovering something about yourself you did NOT see coming…

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? Exhausted and antsy. Is it good enough? Are people gonna like it? Should I even bother anyone with this? Why don’t I just go and hide under a rock forever?? I felt okay about this when I finished it, why is it suddenly the worst thing to have ever been created??? …I wish there was a sense of calm and accomplishment. There is not. Brains suck!

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: @deedala - I so appreciate how we’re on a similar wave length when it comes to art as well as ‘everybody wants to hunt me for sport’ vibes. I know I can always count on you for kind but honest words, and that’s so important!!

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? Read comfort fic. Probably Like Real People Do or None the Wiser.

Edit: Also? Go and read comments and tags on old art posts. That’s a sure fire way to cheer me up!

This was fun, and made the 15 minute wait between fletching each feather pass much faster. Thanks!!

If you are currently making your own arrows and need something to occupy your wait time with… how about completing a tag game? lol

@heymrspatel @loftec @creepkinginc @deedala @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @iandarling @iansw0rld @ian-galagher @mybrainismelted @palepinkgoat @crossmydna @mikhailoisbaby @sickness-health-all-that-shit @rereadanon @rutherinahobbit @energievie @junemermaid @francesrose3 @deathclassic @faejilly @rutherinahobbit @gallawitchxx @look-i-love-u @jessij1997 @callivich @celestialmickey @wehangout @doshiart @lynne-monstr @the-rat-wins @blue-disco-lights @suzy-queued @sleepyfacetoughguy @spookygingerr @burninface @gallapiech

[yutasbimil]

Raincheck

woozi x fem!reader | seventeen ff. [one-shot] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: fluff cw: hogwarts!au, slytherin!woozi, prefect!woozi, sly gf testing jihoon's nerves lol, teasing, couch cuddles, you're different houses with jihoon, established relationship, fluff! note: this is an old piece I wrote! just wanted to share it here as well :3 ! also, not that comfy w/ 2nd POV, tho hope 3rd POV is good for y'all ♡ word count: 1.1k

do not repost © yutasbimil (2018)

The rain pouring hard outside can't seem to be heard well in the Slytherin common room.

The only thing that can be heard from the dimly lit room was the mild crackling embers by the fireplace, and the blond Slytherin humming along as he got himself comfortable on the couch.

Maybe it is actually the resounding, non-stop downpour outside or is it that Jihoon got too engrossed in a book he got from the Restricted Section that got him too preoccupied, that he didn’t even notice someone creeping into him.

"What are you doing here?" He says, almost a hiss at the figure of the person he's so familiar with. 

He almost flinched at the sudden presence, as if she apparated in front of him. His voice reverberates a bit too uncomfortably due to the lack of people occupying the room, it's as if both their breathing echoes along the droplets of rain.

Y/n just comes in and sneaks into the Slytherin common room as if it's her usual thing— quite a common… room occurrence to put that pun lamely out of the box.

Well, it might as well be, but it isn't as settling for the older male as she's so casual about it.

His eyebrows remained knitted together, looking at the girl standing before him. He was so sure that everyone was out since there are still classes on-going...

"Y/n, seriously, this is not the time that..."

She shushes him quickly. Not even bothering about the daggers he's shooting at her as she quickly makes herself comfortable on the couch.

This is definitely not the time I am in a particular mood to see my girlfriend busting into another house’s territory.  Let alone her breaking the rules.

‘Rules are meant to be broken,’  a smug tone rings in his ears. Jihoon could already hear her mischievous lips saying those exact words to retort to him.

He remains his glance over her, following her every move like a hawk hunting for its prey. He suppressed a sigh. Even seeing her in her pajama pants, feeling way too comfortable and home-y to be even in a different house common room.

Jihoon just grips on the book at hand and then settled to place it on the table nearby.

“Come on. I’m asking you. Answer me,” he pressed with a tone full of authority.

But she gave no flying broomsticks about it.

“How bossy,” she snickers, finally talking after being silent at Jihoon.

He just glares at her.

“Come on. Jun told me how to get in… And I know things around here already.” She says nonchalantly, as if it’s gonna convince him. He just puffs, way too distracted to even go back to the book he’s reading.

He stares right at her.

“Have you even forgotten about that ‘raincheck’ we talked about, Ji?” she slightly tilts her head sideways, then puts her lips into a thin line. “Earlier?  …this week?”

More staring.

“You told me? Because you were busy and…” She bits her lip, necessarily pausing to give time for him to put the puzzle pieces together, but he’s just left with more pieces. Y/n suppresses a huff.  “Nothing…?”

She crosses her arms when Jihoon looked more confused than he already is with handling plants in their Herbology classes. And FYI, he got an E on his O.W.L.S. result.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says in defeat. Y/n only nods absentmindedly, leaning in close to him to remind him of some things.

“You told me that I can come by this week since your schedule’s more free, and that if I can come by at my convenience… I can then spend time together with you in the dorms...” she says, as if laying out a parchment of proof for him to remember. Exams might’ve taken a huge toll on his brain power hence being so absentminded.

Jihoon goes back to his stern look at her, as if he really can’t trace back on anything that he might possibly said.

Y/n slumps her shoulders yet again.

“At least look like you’re happy to see me.” Y/n cooed, gesturing a bit of affection to trickle out of the male’s sharp expression.

Finally, Jihoon’s features soften.

Okay, he does remember some of it coming off his lips, but I didn’t mean it in a sense you barging in here like a mad woman…  He holds back a sigh.

“Well, I am, but still…” He looks away for a moment, worrying his lower lip. Being a prefect he is… he’s also bothered of course. She might get in trouble.  Not on my watch that she’ll get away with it, that is.

“Stop worrying too much, and let me be…” She says in retort, automatic as if reading his mind. But that’s full of guts for her to express. “Besides, the seniors know me too well. I assure you I am safe here.” She stretches a bit, and even gets comfortable by the toasty fire nearby. It contrasts with the cold stares the older male is giving her, along with the cold weather cooping them inside.

He rolls his eyes at her, letting out a chuckle. 

“This is why you get issued on how much of a Slytherin you are.”

“And do you think I care, Oppa?” Y/n sat right up at that, then pouts her lips, playing with the ends of her sleeves. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing though.”

“Like I said, so Slytherin-like of you.”

Y/n emits a soft laugh at that, standing up to even do a curtsy for him. “Thank you, my good Sir.”

It remained quiet after a while.

Even as she gives him a smirk, she still gets silence from the older male. The coldness surrounding them reflects the feeling like the foggy glassed walls enrapturing the muddled stares between them. It’s a distinct type of tension, no words are needed to be exchanged to reveal it.  

Y/n shakes her head lightly, perking a brow at him followed by a cheeky smile. “So that means to say I am welcome here anytime then, huh?”

That finally got a reaction from him.

“Unbelievable.”

“Dude , you’ve been seeing bizarre, floating things and disappearing objects on and off for almost two decades,” she throws her hands high, then gesturing at him and to herself, “and you do not believe in an enchanted lady like me?”

“I do agree with the ‘enchanted lady’ part.” He responds and then clears his throat.

Jihoon avoids his gaze as he begins to feel he’s letting himself loose. He shrugs off the blush across his ears and cheeks with a question he had been throwing at the younger.

“What actually brings you here, Y/n?”

She laughs at that, putting both her hands behind her. “Oh, come on, babe. No need to sound so casual.” Y/n smiles. 

He just sounded stiff there at his probe.

She pats him on the head. “Lighten up a bit.”

In these instances, he begins to question if they really switched houses. He gets quieter and curious-er whenever she’s around, and her being the sneaky and more of the talker between them.

“I will, now that I got you here.”

Without a word, Y/n envelopes Jihoon in her arms, giving him a light peck on the side of his face. Jihoon wraps his arms around her as he kisses the top of her head.

He breathes in her scent, feeling her legs wrap around his. Jihoon stares at her. “You missed me too much, huh?”

Y/n just warmly beams, nodding in response.

Jihoon then puts a stray hair of hers behind her ear, tucking more of her hair behind her jumper. He leans closer to her again, seeping in more of her warmth.

She scrunches her nose at that, with Jihoon’s eyes forming into light crescents as both of them are immersed into each other’s world again. 

They just let the sound of the loud pouring rain seep into them, letting the warmth of each other be enough to ease the coldness they feel.

“What are the odds to have both our classes cancelled, huh?” Jihoon asks after a while, content as the sound of the rain is still evident outside. Y/n finally has done her explaining to him.

“And what better way to spend it like this then.” She leans more on his chest, breathing in his fresh scent with ease as she felt vibrations from him as he lets out a chuckle.

“It does feel nice…” he says, more of a thought out loud.

“And come on, champ, let’s not use our spare time thinking about that and just spend it wisely instead.” she prompts with a pat on his shoulder, scootching closer till they’re no longer hair strands apart. So clingy.

“I’m just saying.” Jihoon moves his arm above the shoulder, playing bits of her hair.

She feels his shoulders relaxing as he heaves in a deep breath.

It feels nice here, it gets more comfortable as time passes, she thought, closing her eyes.

Like home.

She lets the silence envelop them, a smile slowly forming a similar curve on both their lips.

Maybe she does belong here after all.

She accepts her Slytherin side more so in these instances.

And imagine if they were in the same house though… She can get all the time she needs and wants to have him at arm’s length and look after him.

But for now, she can manage very well to slither in their dorm to her convenience.

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

[daddy-dins-girl]

Playdate - Chapter Nine

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 9.1k

Notes: All the feelings in this chapter... I'm so sorry everyone. I swear I have an end goal in mind and I'm gonna make it better... just not YET.

Chapter Warnings: (skip if you don't wanna be spoiled, if you've made it this far in the series, you'll be fine). 18+ MDNI. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Confessions of infidelity. Dry humping. Oral Sex. 69 sex position. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Daddy Kink. Rough sex. Breathplay. Daddy!Marcus. Dom!Marcus. Aftercare. Consensual somnophilia. Lots of feelings. Severe lack of Dave York (I'm so sorry, I'll make it up to you I swear).

HUGE thank you to @janaispunk for beta'ing and letting me talk her ear off when I get an idea in my head and helping me work it out lol. And also for calming my anxiety every time I go to post a chapter :P

You woke up to a bed that seemed suddenly too large and missing the warmth Dave’s body heat provided it with. Marcus was sleeping soundly next to you and you’re not even sure when that had happened or when he got in but clearly it was after you had passed out.

But where was Dave? Did Marcus walk in and find you and him in bed together and an argument ensued? Surely that would have woken you up so you quickly shake that notion from your head. Maybe everything was fine and you were freaking out preemptively over nothing. Dave had probably just gone down to the lobby again for coffee and when he came back the three of you could sit around and hopefully have an honest and open conversation. That sounded, to you, a logical reason for his whereabouts as any so you decided you weren’t going to begin to fret about something without any warrant and snuggled up to your husband to wait, but when nearly half an hour had passed and he didn’t return, you decided to pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat.

Your throat nearly dropped into your stomach at the words that greeted you when you opened it.

Dave York has left the group.

Without giving it a second thought you quickly scroll through your contacts until you find his name and hit the call button but after a single ring it goes to voicemail. Unsure what exactly that means you try for a text instead. Simple, direct, to the point.

Hey, are you ok?

The blue bubble pops up on your screen and you wait, however neither the “delivered” or “read” notification appears underneath it and that’s when it hits you.

Dave has blocked your number.

Confused and hurt, you toss your phone over to the nightstand where it clatters to the surface, skids across the smooth wood and then falls to the carpeted floor with a light thud, though you couldn’t be bothered to care right now. The commotion however rouses your husband who, lying on his stomach, quickly pushes himself up onto his elbows and glances around the room before his gaze lands on you.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, voice groggy with sleep.

You don’t answer him right away, because, how could you. Everything. Fucking everything was the matter! What you had done last night, it all comes flooding back to you in an instant and you suddenly feel overwhelmed with emotions and you have no choice but to burst into tears, your knees coming up to your chest as you wrap your arms around them and bury your face, shoulders shaking with every sob that leaves your body.

“Honey! What…” Marcus sits up in an instant, panicked. His arms immediately envelop your frame and his voice frantic as he pulls your whole body into his lap and holds you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey, shhhhh. Sweetheart tell me what’s wrong” he tries, fear still lacing his tone as he attempts to appear outwardly calm, holding you to him and gently rubbing a hand up and down your back.

You feel so absolutely wracked with guilt that you can’t even find words to even begin trying to explain yourself to Marcus so instead you just bury your face further into his throat and let him comfort you, though you know you don’t deserve it. The moment he hears what you have to say for yourself you fear he’s going to be putting as much distance between the two of you as possible so you need him to just hold you a little while longer before that happens. It’s selfish. You’re selfish. But at this moment, you don’t care. How could you have done this to Marcus? And for what? For Dave to just leave you both like that? Like these months have meant nothing to him? You want to believe that’s not true, but what choice has he left you with?

Marcus worries endlessly as he holds you in his arms, honestly surprised you’re even allowing him to hold you but he’ll take it for as long as he can get it. Dave must have told you what he’d done yesterday while you were asleep and now look at the problems it’s caused.

You both lie there in each other's arms, taking in whatever comfort you can get from one another. You’re openly sobbing while Marcus’ tears are more subdued, but definitely still there. You can feel them on the naked flesh of your shoulder as he buries his face in your neck and the two of you clutch onto each other, terrified of the other letting go. What you don’t realize is that you’re both fretting over the exact same thing.

After several long minutes of just holding each other your words echo each other as you both let them out at the exact same time into the heat of each other’s flesh.

“I’m sorry.”

The words cause you both to stiffen momentarily and then slowly pull back, finding each other’s watery gaze as you both stare, confused.

The murmured apologies eventually turn into a good hour of confessions from both of you. You take turns spilling everything about what happened last night without the other present all while failing to hold back the flow of tears. Marcus admits not only to his indiscretions in the shower with Dave, but how there was no work emergency last night and he’d lied to you because he was too scared that he’d ruined everything. He tells you how absolutely horrible he’d felt, leaving you on your birthday like that but he felt so confused after what had happened, he couldn’t even bear to have you look at him knowing what he’d done and was keeping from you. The admission about what he and Dave had done in the shower nearly had your eyes bugging out of your head, though you tried your absolute best not to outwardly react too much, you didn’t want to make Marcus uncomfortable or have him hold back anything so you kept quiet and mostly just nodded your head, though your brain was working a mile a minute trying to process everything. You’d decided near immediately that you weren’t upset at him for it. The only thing you were upset about in that scenario is that you hadn’t been there to witness it; though you keep that admission to yourself for now. You were upset, however, that he had left. If he would have just stayed maybe you all wouldn’t be in this position now. Maybe Dave would still be here. You know though that Marcus isn’t the only one to blame and it’s not fair to put this all on him. The fact was he did leave, and you did what you did afterwards, knowing full well how it could affect things.

You tell Marcus how Dave had originally left but had come back and that the two of you had slept together. Your tears turned into sobs as you admitted the last part. You knew it was wrong, you felt in your heart that it was cheating, regardless if Marcus saw it that way or not. He’d tried to quickly shrug it off at first, to make you feel better, reminding you that “you’d slept with Dave lots of times” but when you responded with a quiet “yeah, but not like this…” and were unable to look him in the eyes, you could see the moment the realization dawns across his sad, handsome face and he lowers it to look away, gently nodding in understanding.

Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat but wrapped his arms around you and held you tight to his chest, peppering kisses to your hair and ensuring you over and over that he loved you.

It only made you cry harder.

Eventually the tears subside and Marcus drapes the bedclothes over you both and pulls you into his side, gently petting your hair until you both fall back asleep, it was barely 7am after all and you didn’t even know how late Marcus had got in. You still had a lot to discuss but you were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. Your head was pounding from the amount of tears you cried and you just needed to shut out the world for a little while longer, held safe in the comfort of your husband's arms until you fell back asleep.

When you do wake up again, barely an hour later, Marcus is already out of bed and wandering around the suite, freshly changed into a new set of clothes and shoving his old ones into the suitcase you had already packed. There’s a takeout coffee cup waiting for you on the bedside table when you open your eyes and you sit up, wordlessly taking the simple peace offering and taking a drink.

You get through a few sips but your stomach is doing somersaults. All the anxiety and emotions of the last twelve hours or so wear heavily on you so you place the cup aside and climb out of bed, holding the sheet tight around your frame as you head over to the dresser where Marcus had kindly laid out your last clean outfit for you.

You barely speak a word to each other as you both get ready to leave this room behind. Occasional questions like “did you remember to grab your toothbrush” or “is this your lotion or the hotel’s?” as you putter around the room and prepare to leave.

Finally everything is packed, you're both dressed, the room is mostly back in one piece and you’re ready to go. You meet Marcus at the door and you both take a breath, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as your shoulders settle and you reach down and slide your hand into his. His fingers interlace around yours and for the first time all day you finally feel grounded again.

“Come on, let’s go home” he says, pulling the door open with his free hand and guiding you out.

The first week that you’re back home goes by in a blur. You both had to go back to work on Monday and you manage to settle back into your usual routines easily enough but there’s still a strain between the two of you. You know you need to talk more but had both decided you needed time to just let everything sink in and process. You missed Marcus immensely, despite the fact that he still slept in your bed every night and kissed you goodbye every morning, things were far from how they were before your birthday weekend happened.

Perhaps fortunately or unfortunately for you both, your work lives were very busy. Typically Marcus left before you because his commute was longer and you both worked long shifts most days so your time together at home while you were both still awake and functional was limited. Some nights you managed to both be home to eat dinner together, but this week it was a pretty quiet affair. You’d ask each other about your days, small talk mostly, and then if you weren’t too exhausted you’d cuddle on the couch and watch a little tv before bed and start the process over again the next day. Despite the rift, you still wanted to be close to each other. Neither of you were angry at the other; more so at yourselves than anything. That, and you were confused. It was hard to have a conversation together about all the feelings you were having when you hadn’t quite sorted them out for yourselves. And with Dave AWOL it made it even more confusing and hurtful to navigate. It was difficult to figure out where the three of you stood when there were only two of you willing to talk things out.

Your mind often wandered to Dave, particularly when you were at work and would have a few minutes of downtime. You pulled up your private message chat with him every couple of days too just to see if your single text to him ever got marked as ‘delivered’ or ‘read’, wondering if he’d unblocked you, but nothing. What was so frustrating is that you know it wasn’t one-sided. It couldn’t have been. You know what he felt with you that last night together because you felt it too. Perhaps the real reason he left is because of his loyalty to Marcus, he didn't want to be a burden on your marriage, but the truth was Dave just enriched it. And you had a feeling Marcus might feel the same way, you just needed him to admit it to you. You hoped the two of you would have a good chance to talk this weekend, you felt like it was time.

Saturday evening was finally upon you and you lay on the couch after a simple dinner, wine glass mostly untouched on the coffee table in front of you as you half paid attention to the movie playing on the TV. Marcus had had a busy day, having to work for a couple hours from home in the morning and then running some errands for his elderly father that he typically would do on a Saturday. Today took a little extra long due to him being away last weekend for your birthday so by the time he got home he was exhausted so you had offered to cook and now the two of you were laid out on the sofa, Marcus behind you with his back to the cushions and you on your side snuggled with your back to his chest and laying your head on his arm.

You attempt to focus on the movie playing in front of you because you know how tired your husband is, but he makes it difficult when the fingers of his right hand trail absently up and down your side where your shirt slightly rides up, the delicate trace of his fingertips leaving goosebumps on your flesh in their wake. You shift slightly and in doing so the fabric of your shirt catches a little more on the seat of the sofa and rises up further, and Marcus’ hand reaches a little higher too until his fingers are at your ribs. You let out a little whine at the contact. He’s barely touching you but it's more than you’ve had all week and you’re missing him so desperately so you give up the facade and turn fully onto your back, causing his hand to slip even higher until it rests just underneath your breast.

You hear his breath hitch slightly and he turns his head down to look at you, your soft, wanting gaze boring into his. Wordlessly you reach your hand up to rub at the side of his neck and turn your body again so that you’re face to face. He moves his hand voluntarily, finally, splaying it across your breast and giving it a gentle squeeze, his breath catching in his throat when he sees your eyes fall shut and your lips release a hum of pleasure.

“Marcus” you whimper, your voice barely a whisper. “Please”

It’s all Marcus needs to hear. In a moment he’s got both his hands going underneath your ass and hauling you up on top of him, positioning himself on his back with your full weight resting on him, hands still on your ass and pushing downwards to grind you against his already stiffening length. You surge forward, sealing his mouth with yours. The kiss is sloppy and desperate and filled with pent up sexual desire and you’re both moaning into it, reveling in the dominant dance between your two tongues.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” he asks breathlessly a few moments later when you’re forced by lack of oxygen to pull apart.

“Mnnnm mmm” You shake your head before your mouth latches to his again. “Need you” you mumble against his lips. “Take me right here”

“Fuck” he groans, both hands squeezing roughly at your ass as he continues to ground you down into him, his own hips thrusting upwards to meet yours. “God I fucking missed you” he confesses, mouth trailing down the side of your throat now instead as his hands reach up to the waistband of your sweats and push them down along with your underwear.

You help him free you of the confines of your pants, kicking them down your legs and finally flinging them off to the floor while Marcus grabs for the hem of your t-shirt and pulls that over your head. You're grateful at this moment that you had foregone a bra tonight, dressed for a comfortable evening at home. Marcus, on the other hand, is far too overly dressed in your opinion, still in his jeans and a long sleeve Henley. Though you find it hard to complain at the delicious friction the unforgiving denim gives to your now bare core and it's no secret to Marcus either, the way you moan and writhe against him.

“Baby, please” you whine, hands desperately grasping at the buttoned enclosure of his jeans. The button pops open and you manage to drag the zipper down but before you get any further he’s growling into your throat and shaking his head, repositioning your body until you're straddling on just one of his thighs.

“Need you to cum for me first” he demands, already sounding wrecked and breathless and you think he needs you to for his sake as much as your own, probably trying to extend this experience for longer than it would have been were he to push inside you right now like you both so desperately want him to. You let out another moan, eagerly obeying his wishes as your hands go to his chest and you push yourself upright so you’re sat on his muscular thigh and begin to rock back and forth against it, the delicious drag of denim against your weeping cunt creating a wet patch on his jeans that neither of you could be bothered to be embarrassed or care about. His large hands come up and each grab hold of a breast, expertly manipulating and teasing the soft mounds of flesh, thumbs and forefingers coming down to pinch and squeeze at your nipples until they’re hardened peaks under his touch.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, head thrown back as you continue to ride his thigh, amping up the pace as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm that is just within reach.

“That’s it baby,” Marcus encourages, his own pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you arch your back and grind desperately against him. His hands leave your breasts and go to your hips, helping you reach that point of long awaited bliss. He bares his teeth as he watches your features contort into what can only be described as pure ecstasy and growls out the words that have been lingering on his tongue since he actively took charge of your impromptu makeout session just minutes ago, “Good girl, come on, you’re gonna fucking cum for your Daddy now.”

“Fuck!” His words, along with the relentless rocking pressure of your cunt digging into his thigh sends you flying over that edge with a screamed curse leaving your lips, your arousal pooling out of you, body trembling and spent but Marcus doesn’t let up, continuing to drag your folds along the strong muscle and it’s too much, you try to push off of his chest with your hands but his grip is strong and fierce at your hips, ensuring you get every last drop of pleasure from your prolonged orgasm.

“Fucking soak me baby” he groans and you look down to see the own wet patch he’s created in his boxers that are peeking through his partially opened jeans. It doesn’t appear to be enough that he’s finished and he’s still visibly hard as steel underneath the soft cotton, but he’s certainly gotten himself worked up to the point where the precum is eagerly flowing from him.

Evidently satisfied with you as you slow the rocking of your hips to indicate the waves of pleasure have subsided Marcus repositions you again so you’re lying back fully on top of him. He pushes his jeans down to his thighs but leaves his boxers in place as he gently ruts into you from underneath, the strained fabric of his boxers rubbing against your oversensitive sex, causing you to whimper and tremble.

“Let me suck you baby” you breathe against the hollow of his throat where your face is currently buried. Not only does your cunt need the reprieve but he’s got you so turned on you feel like you might just combust if you don’t get him inside of you in some form or another.

“Yeah? You wanna suck my cock, dirty girl?” Marcus growls and lord help you if it doesn’t send another pool of wetness right between your legs. Marcus was not normally like this. Sure the two of you could get a little kinky sometimes on your own but he’d never been like this before and it was driving you crazy with want.

You both knew what he was doing, filling a void a certain someone had left behind. Something you both craved without having to admit to each other. You both needed this, and so, you went along for the ride.

“Please Daddy, want you in my mouth, please” you beg helplessly, your lust-filled brain reduced to complete mush and barely able to string a sentence together and Marcus audibly groans at your submission to him.

“Turn around, want you to sit on my face while you do it” he breathes against your cheek and then slides his hands down to grab at your ass and squeeze firmly. His hands release you but he gives you one sharp swat to your left asscheek that has you crying out and arching into him before he helps you reposition yourself so you’re kneeled overtop of him with your knees on either side of his head and bent over his body so your face hovers above his pelvis. He pushes his boxers down to meet his jeans at his thighs then brings his hands to your hips to lower you down to his mouth just as your head retreats to take his leaking tip between your lips.

The groan he lets out into your cunt as you fully envelop him in your mouth has your lower half spasming, your thighs involuntarily squeezing his head as your hips chase the pressure of his tongue.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out, mouth falling away from him as you crane your neck back to try and get a glimpse of the feast Marcus is making of what’s between your legs. It doesn’t last long however because his hand comes up and swats at your ass again, reminding you without words what you’re supposed to be doing and you quickly oblige, turning back and doubling your efforts on sucking him off, taking him as deeply down your throat as your body will allow and swallowing down before you ease back up and repeat the action. Your hand soon joins your mouth, wrapping around the base of his shaft and stroking it in time with each bob of your head and he hums and groans his approval of your actions into your core as he continues to lick and suck and prod at your clit and hole with his talented tongue.

When he feels your thighs trembling again and his own release too rapidly approaching he goes for what knows drives you crazy and will easily pull another orgasm from you and sucks your clit into his mouth, relentless and unforgiving until your mouth rips off of him and you cry out, your hand pumping him furiously as wave after wave of your orgasm crashes around you and you ramble out little mewls of pleasure and praise at how hard he’s made you come.

He lets out a content, satisfied sigh as he slows the efforts of his mouth, gently bringing you back to earth with slow licks and prods of his tongue until you're shaking and trembling begins to subside and your rocking against his face finally slows. Your hand wrapped around his length has also slowed to barely moving, not having brain capacity or muscle coordination to simultaneously pleasure him and ride the aftershocks of your own orgasm but Marcus is thankful for the reprieve, needing to be inside you before he finishes.

“Up,” he gently demands, tapping lightly against your hip and you pull away from him with a long drawn out groan, your limbs feeling like jelly as you attempt to get control over them again. Marcus chuckles a little but is quick to help you, gently raising your hips and then pushing you forward as he manages to snake his own body out from underneath you until you’re on hands and knees on the couch and he’s behind you.

“Lean forward, just relax” he instructs, pushing lightly on your shoulders so your elbows collapse and you slowly slide forward, knees still bent and kneeling on the couch but your face now buried in the seat cushion. “Yeah, just like that” he coos, fingertips tracing down your spine and you arch at his touch, desperate and ready for him. He lets his hand trail further still, over the swell of your ass until he’s between your legs and he gently plays with you, fingers gliding through your slick folds and up to circle at your clit before they slide back down and prod at your entrance.Your body keens at his touch, back arching, ass up in the air as your arms stretch out in front of you, not unlike a cat waking up from a long nap in the sun and Marcus lets out a little chuckle.

“Yeah, this is where you need me, hmm?” He rasps, voice low as he teases at your entrance with his fingers. “Poor baby needs her pretty little pussy filled up?” His hand leaves you only to go to his own mouth so he can wet his fingers with his own saliva before he brings them back between your legs and presses two inside of you, curling them just right and sliding in and out of you a few times before he adds a third. It’s so much, feels so good, and yet still not enough.

“God, Marcus, please. Please fuck me” you cry out, desperate and needy, hips beginning to rock back and forth against his hand, anything you can do to get some relief.

He gets up from the couch suddenly to rid himself of the rest of his clothing before positioning himself behind you again, grabbing hold of his hard, leaking member and guiding it between your legs. He groans when his naked flesh finally makes contact with yours, his smooth length pushing back and forth between your wet folds, coating himself in your slick and the tip of his cock teasing at your clit. You whimper unintelligibly at the contact that stimulates every last one of your nerve endings, your whole body keening with delight.

Marcus marvels at how soaked your folds are as he slides through them with ease. “Yeah you’re nice and ready for me, hmmm? Gonna be my good girl?”

“Yes, please, take me. I fucking need you so bad.” You’re not above begging at this point, especially if it gets you want you want, need, crave.

With your desperate pleas still lingering in the air Marcus lines himself up at your entrance and presses forward, filling you completely on the first push of his hips until he’s buried to the hilt, his hands gripping tight around your waist, thumbs digging in deep to the meat of the top of your ass.

“Holy fuck” he groans as he takes a moment stilling inside you, needing a second not only to let you adjust, but to resist his own temptation to let go and finish before he’s even begun. It’s only been a week but it somehow feels like an eternity since he’s last had you. He’s done his best to distract himself with work and other obligations but not a minute of the day has gone by where he hasn’t thought about you, about how much he missed you, how much he needed you. It had taken everything in him not to beat himself off in the shower every morning this week, the only thing holding him back was knowing how much better it would feel when he finally gets the relief the way he wants it; being inside of you.

After a few long moments and steadying breaths, Marcus manages to collect himself and center himself back into the moment. His hands grip you a little tighter and he finally begins to move, pulling back with a slow and delicious drag of his cock against your walls until he’s almost fully out before he slams forward, driving himself back deeply inside with a single snap of his hips that sends you lurching slightly forward, something between a gasp and cry punching out from your lungs.

“Marcus! Oh my - fuck. Baby, fuckfuckfuck” You’re a mewling, writhing mess underneath him as Marcus keeps up his steady pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon, hips pistoning back and forth, fast and hard.

“Yeah you like that” Marcus grinds out through clenched teeth before he lifts his right hand and lands a sharp smack to your ass, causing you to jolt forward again. “Can feel you fucking trying to squeeze me out baby, choking my cock. Good girl. Good fucking girl” he groans, railing into you even faster and you’re reduced to just mumbled cries and gasps into the couch cushion your face is still buried in.

“I can’t hear you” he suddenly growls, one hand leaving your hip to grab your hair and force your head to tilt up and oh fuck if Marcus pulling your hair doesn’t do something to you.

“I fucking love it!” You cry out, breaths coming out hard and fast. “Love taking your big cock Daddy, don’t stop”

“Shit… baby, shit I… fuck!” Marcus curses, not faring much better as he ruts into you like a man possessed. He lets go of your hair and repositions to your hips, his fingertips digging into your sides so desperately that you know come tomorrow you’ll be bruised but you don’t care. You want the reminder, you’ll welcome it even.

“Take me. Takemetakemetakemetakeme” You chant breathlessly, the words punching out of your throat timed perfectly to each of his rough forward thrusts.

Somehow despite you being fucked into a near stupor, you find the wherewithal to sneak a hand underneath yourself and reach between your legs, fingers desperately rubbing fast and furiously against your aching and needy clit. It only serves to empower Marcus, seeing how desperate you are to climax again and despite the less than comfortable position he’s got himself into kneeled on the couch he takes full advantage, leaning down slightly to wrap an arm all the way around your throat so it’s caged in by his bicep, the other gripping the back of the couch to get as much leverage as he possibly can from the position and he doubles his efforts. He pushes harder and faster until the room is filled with the debauched sounds of wet slaps of skin and heavy breathing and moaning and within a few short moments your vision goes white behind your eyelids and you cry out a shuddering gasp turned moan and your hand falls away from your now oversensitive sex as your orgasm takes over, the effects of it gushing out of you and coating Marcus’ length, dripping down to his balls and surely leaving a mess on the couch that you can’t begin to care about right now.

“God Baby, you’re so fucking good, fucking soaking me” Marcus manages, voice faltering along with the steady rhythm of his hips as he bucks into you sloppily now, the sheer force of your constricting walls inciting his own release and with a few more pushes of his hips he begins to paint your insides.

“Holy fuck” he reiterates, body spent and breathing heavily as he slowly continues to rock in and out of you. You whimper and moan underneath him, the overstimulation bordering on too much as you wait for your trembling to subside.

Marcus’ grip on your throat loosens significantly so you can fully catch your breath and he brings his hand up to run soothingly down your back instead, still fucking into you deep and slow and honestly you don’t know how he’s found the stamina or managed to stay hard but you’re not about to complain, he feels that fucking good.

“You want me to stay inside you?” He asks, though you both know he already knows the answer.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth and manage to mumble an affirmative “mmmhmmm” into the couch cushion.

“Fuck you full of my cum, you like that baby?”

“Yes, fuck,” you tear your face away to the side so your words are no longer garbled into the couch cushion, you want him to hear you. “Fucking me so deep Daddy, holy shit it feels so good.”

Marcus hums his apparent satisfaction at your words, his hand that was gripping the back of the sofa coming to join the other to soothe up and down your back and sides, occasionally smoothing over the globes of your ass before they come back up and make their way up towards your shoulders again. He manages to keep going for another minute or so until he physically can’t, his cock softening inside of you eventually slips out and you both groan at the loss but his hands don’t stop touching you. When his spent dick leaves your swollen sex he leans down and places little kisses all over whatever inch of flesh on your back and shoulders he can reach until finally he pulls away, standing up from the couch and offering his hand to you. You take it, and with a groan (and Marcus’ help), manage to pull yourself up from the sofa. His fingers interlace with yours when he grabs your hand and he wordlessly leads you out of the living room, up the staircase to your bedroom.

Once inside he guides you immediately to the ensuite bathroom and turns you to rest with your back against the countertop while he busies himself grabbing a fresh facecloth from the linen shelf and turns on the hot water, wringing the cloth out a few times before turning off the taps and turning to face you. To your surprise, and a night and day contrast to how he was acting just minutes ago, he sinks to his knees on the unforgiving marble flooring and gently pries your thighs apart and then stares up at you, holding your gaze as he gently cleans up the mess between your legs. Your hand comes down to push through his hair, pushing it back past his forehead and a smile pulls at your lips. Once he’s finished cleaning you up he rises to his feet again, tosses the cloth in a nearby hamper and then his hands go straight to your hips, a gentle barely-there hold and he looks down at them, murmuring under his breath at the little discolored indents on your soft flesh, “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

It catches you off guard, the question. He seems unsure and maybe even upset with himself and you frown, reaching for his face and forcing his gaze back up to meet yours.

“Baby, no, of course not. You could never hurt me”

“Promise?” he asks just to clarify, soft, round brown gaze boring into yours.

“I promise. Marcus, that was… thank you” is all you can think to say. He seems to accept your answer, leaning forward and capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, hands leaving your hips to come up and cup your face as his tongue parts your lips and slips inside to entangle with yours. When he finally pulls away you’re breathless and lean your head forward to rest on his shoulder, arms going around his waist.

“I just love you so much” he whispers against your hair. “I’d do anything for you, you know that?”

“I know” you murmur. “You do do everything for me Marcus. I love you too, more than anything” Your arms tighten a little more around his middle and you bury your face in his neck, unable to hold back the few tears that spill out. Marcus nuzzles at the side of your face and you can feel his own tear stained cheeks as he holds you close in the quiet serenity of your bathroom. You both take a minute to just let the moment settle over you before finally Marcus heaves a little sigh and pulls back, quickly wiping away at his face with the back of his hands.

“Come on, let me take you to bed”

You spend the night in his arms. The steady beat of his heart where your ear lays pressed against his chest lulling you into a peacefulness that you hadn’t felt in days.

Sunday is a whirlwind. The first time you wake up it’s to Marcus with his head between your legs, slowly lapping at you like a cat with a bowl of cream. He’s not hurried or frenzied or even seemingly trying to work towards an end goal of an orgasm for you, he just needs to be close to you, taste you. He lazily licks and kisses and sucks at you while you gently writhe your hips against him, hands lost in his soft hair and fingernails occasionally scraping against his scalp, which you know he loves. He murmurs little sweet nothings into your heated core while he pleasures you for what seems like a small eternity, never tiring or complaining, just reveling in the closeness. You end up orgasming twice during his time down there, which you’d guessed to be about an hour, both coming on quick, strong and sudden and from seemingly nowhere. Your hand fists in his hair and your hips arch upwards and still as he works you through each one and then he continues on. By the time your second orgasm has fully settled you gently push at the top of his head and he takes your wordless request, single digit slipping out of you and mouth moving away from your over sensitive sex to kiss and lick at the insides of each of your thighs, the top of your mound, and eventually making his way up your body until he’s lying on his side next to you.

He’s being his soft, sweet, gentle self this morning, you think it’s his way of making up for last night. Not that he has anything to make up for, at least in your mind.

“Baby,” you sigh, right hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“I love you” he says, in a way that makes it seem like he needs to remind you, like he’s saying it for the first time and needs to ensure you hear him.

“I love you too” you assure him.

He opens his arms and you crawl into them without question, letting him hold you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and you half draped over top of him with your face resting on his chest. He gently pets your hair and places little kisses to the top of your head while he holds you and you let out a content little sigh, snuggling deeper into his chest. You feel the unmistakable hardness of him between your two bodies but he seems to be trying to ignore it so you do your best not to grind against him like your body’s instincts want you to.

“We should talk” he murmurs against your hair and you gently nod your head in agreement.

“We should”

“How do we start?” He wonders honestly and you shrug your shoulders a little.

“I think first and foremost we need to be honest, no matter how hard it is to say or how hard it may be for the other person to hear”

“I agree” he says quietly, heaving a sigh.

A long silence stretches on before you realize you’ll have to be the one that starts this conversation.

“I miss him” you decide to start with, straight out of the gate. You agreed to be honest, after all, and that was the first thing on your mind, and it’s been on your mind all week. Your voice is quiet, meek even, but loud enough you know he’s heard you.

“I do too,” Marcus confesses, his arms tightening a little more around you, like he’s afraid you’ll be upset with his response.

You do gently pull away from Marcus’ hold, but only because you want to be able to look him in the eyes while you have this conversation so you gently push back and raise yourself up a bit so you’re fully on your side facing him. You settle his nerves by quickly wrapping both your hands around one of his and giving it a firm squeeze, bringing it to your lips to place a kiss on it.

“Why do you think he left?” You ask next, unable to hide the hurt in your voice.

“I don’t know” Marcus sighs deeply, his free hand coming up to scrub over his face. “I thought, at first, maybe you know it was me? Like what we did… he… didn’t like it or regretted it or something”

“Did you like it?” You flip the question back to Marcus. You assume he did, but you two really hadn’t had much of a conversation about it. He’d told you what they did, but didn’t dwell on it or how he’d felt about it.

“Um,” Marcus turns his face slightly away from you and you can see the tips of his ears turning a brighter shade of pink.

“Hey,” you say firmly, hands dropping his so you can place one on his cheek and force his gaze back to you. “Honesty, remember? There’s nothing you can say that will change how I feel about you, ok? Ever”

“I know, I’m sorry” he closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again and his gaze finally settles on you. “I… I mean, yes, ultimately. It was amazing. I came like… really fucking hard” he admits with a laugh to cover his obvious nerves and you offer a reassuring smile, nodding your head for him to continue. After a moment, he does. “I don’t know though, like I’ve never done anything with a guy before, or ever wanted to, so I think it was more so because it was Dave, rather than what we were doing? If… if that makes sense?” He tries, trailing off and unsure of how to articulate himself.

And it does make sense. At least to you. Because what had started between the three of you was supposed to be Dave offering you both something different, new, but then last weekend you had been with Dave in a similar way that you are with Marcus and you’d loved that too. And last night how Marcus was with you was everything Dave typically brought to the table and you loved that as well and yet, you still missed Dave. Not just the way he grabbed your hair when your mouth was around him, or the filthy words he’d murmur against your ear when he was deep inside you, or how his hand would tighten around your throat and release just moments before your orgasm inevitably crashed around you, but you missed him. You missed Dave.

“No, I get it” you finally say out loud, gently nodding your head. “Last night was… God Baby, that was fucking amazing” you admit, grin stretching across your features as you tilt your gaze back up to look at him and his own smile tugs at the corners of his lips like he’s elated to hear you say that.

“Yeah?” He questions with uncertainty in his tone.

“Yeah” you affirm with a solid single nod of your head. “But that’s kinda my point. Last night you gave me everything I could’ve wanted before and you did it so perfectly but…” you trail off, wanting to make sure you choose your words carefully but then you don’t have to because Marcus picks up on it immediately.

“But you still miss him”

“Yeah,” you shrug, your voice soft and you bring your gaze down to your lap, fingers absently picking at the sheet covering you. “Is that okay?”

Marcus heaves a sigh, pulling you close into his chest again and you go willingly, snuggling in his warmth and letting him hold you.

“Of course it’s ok”

There’s a long stretch of silence until finally Marcus murmurs into your hair, barely above a whisper but you hear him clear as day, “do you think you love him?”

Tears instantly well in your eyes and you turn your head to bury it in your husband's neck, bringing your own arms out to wrap around him and keep him close. You don’t give him any type of verbal confirmation or denial, because you haven’t really figured that out for yourself, but the non-answer is perhaps an answer enough itself for Marcus. He knows it the moment he feels the hot tears on his skin and he hugs you tighter, large hand splayed across your back gently smoothing up and down your spine and whispering quiet little affirmations about how it’s ok as he holds you in his arms.

You don’t need to assure Marcus that you still love him, or that your feelings for Dave in any way take away from what you feel for him. He knows, because deep down inside in a place that he hasn’t allowed his head or heart to go yet, he knows has similar feelings for Dave too but that it doesn’t change a single solitary thing he feels for you.

“I know, I know” he gently soothes, slightly rocking you in his arms as your tears begin to flow freely.

He continues to hold you, letting you cry until finally he hears you sniffle a few times and he knows the tears have begun to subside before he speaks again.

“I uh… went by his office. This week”

That gets your attention. You gently push away from his chest, quickly swiping at your wet face with your hands before you lean back enough so you can look at him again.

“He wasn’t there” Marcus quickly offers, before you get too invested. “But I asked around and someone eventually told me he took a sabbatical. I guess he was due for one for a while and never took it but Monday morning he came in and put in the request and told them it was urgent so they let him take it” Marcus finishes with a shrug.

Your heart sinks even further as Marcus tells you this. You had no idea it was this bad that Dave would rather abandon his job just to avoid seeing either of you. You still don’t understand it all, what happened. You wish he would just come back and talk to you, explain himself. Even if it was to officially end things, at least you’d know where he stands.

“Wherever he is, I hope he’s OK” you sigh, snuggling further into Marcus. At least you still had each other. Your mind doesn’t want to wonder whether or not Dave has someone in his own bed to help ease the pain away. Not that he doesn’t have every right to, but it hurts your heart too much to even consider that he might.

“Yeah, me too” Marcus echoes your sentiment, bringing his lips down to press to your forehead.

You spend the rest of the day naked in bed together, making love for hours. It’s slow and sensual at first as Marcus explores every inch of your body and you of his, re-cementing your bond through every touch and kiss. You both need this. When more urgent needs arise your pacing and breathing picks up but what doesn’t change is the way you hold each other's gaze the entire time, refusing to look away even as you both reach your climaxes and your eyes beg to squeeze shut. As the day drags on and the sun begins to set outside your bedroom window you’ve lost count of your combined orgasms, only taking breaks when you need a refractory period during which one of you will patter off to the kitchen to get something easy to eat in bed along with some water and bring it back for you both to refuel your energy.

You talk more too, in those in-between moments when your bellies are full and your libidos are taking a much needed rest. Eventually you even get into hypotheticals, what you would have done had Dave not left that night, how it would change things for your relationship going forward. You both agreed you wouldn’t mind him being a more permanent fixture in your lives,if that’s what he wanted. And not just for sex. You wanted to have dinners with him, and lazy Sunday mornings in bed. You wanted him to come over after a long day at work and all cuddle up on the couch together, or for him to let the two of you take care of him in whatever capacity he needs whenever he needs it. You just wanted Dave. Both of you did.

You realize though that talking like that only makes it hurt more, knowing Dave clearly didn’t want the same thing. Maybe you and Marcus had gotten too familiar with him, too close, and that’s why he left. He never signed up to be part of your marriage and maybe what you’d thought you’d felt that last night with him was just delusion on your part. If he’d felt what you felt, how could he have just walked away?

You both ultimately resign to the fact that it’s over, whatever you had with Dave, and you mourn the loss together and make the united decision to put all your efforts into building your marriage even stronger than it had been before. The two of you need each other more than ever to fill the Dave York sized hole that was left in both your broken hearts.

Less than a couple hundred miles away the man in question sat at a small dining room table in the overly priced and blandly decorated vacation cottage he had rented for the summer. The sound of his children laughing and playing in the front yard brought a smile to his face just as he lifted his coffee cup to taste that first morning sip. He’s thankful in this moment to his ex-wife for allowing him to take his girls on an impromptu summer getaway to the quaint little beach town just one state over in Delaware. He missed them, of course, and always wanted more time with them, but really and truly he needed an escape from his life. He knew it was only a matter of time before you or Marcus would come looking for him and knew that Marcus could easily get access into his office building with the credentials he had so he felt he had no choice. He couldn’t face either of you right now, it was too painful. He knew if he didn’t stop seeing you now, he’d never want to stop, and that’s not what either of you had signed up for. It was easier for everyone this way, he’d let you get back to your lives and he would rebuild his own into what it was before. Quiet, solitary, comfortable.

Over the two and a half months he was away he would occasionally pick up his phone and check on your social medias. Neither of you posted a lot, but when you did you always looked happy. Marcus with his arm around you at an outdoor music festival, cocktails on a patio somewhere at sunset, a picture of Marcus in a sharp suit at one of your work fundraiser events standing next to the coat check with a slightly crooked smile on his face and holding your purse for you with your cute little caption that read ‘name a more perfect husband, I’ll wait’. Marcus had ‘liked’ and replied to the post saying “anything for my perfect wife.”

And they were perfect, Dave mused with a heavy sigh, clicking off his phone and tossing it across the table before burying his face in his hands. He needed to stop this, it only made it harder instead of easier. His children were a great distraction during the day, but at nights when he was alone in bed, his mind and his dick always betrayed him and thought of the two of you. He’d wrap a fist around himself and close his eyes, picturing the way you looked up at him on that last night together when he stood broken and desperate at your doorstep. Or Marcus sinking to his knees in front of him in the shower, or the way he felt when tremors racked his body as he came with Dave’s strong arms wrapped around his wet body.

God he missed you. Both of you. And unfortunately for him his sabbatical was coming to an end and the school year would be starting for his kids again and he had to go home, face reality. It was ok though, he doubted you still thought of him or would even bother to come looking for him after all this time. He could go back to the way his life always was. Dave had always been good at compartmentalizing and he could do this, too, he thinks. Washington was plenty big for the three of you, what were the odds he’d even run into you?

He didn’t know it at the time, but he was about to find out.

Likes/comments/reblogs mean the world to me and encourage me to keep this wild ride going so thank you in advance for your love 💜 I really appreciate it!

Taglist (if you want to be added - or removed!, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings @axshadows @iamasaddie @vickywallace @lincolndjarin @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @missladym1981 @heareball @staywildflowahchild @guelyury @anotherpedrolover @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @runningmom94 @yorksgirl @harrington-thedad @missyorkswhore @disassociation-daydreams

[suzukiblu]

i am literally for real obsessed with your timberkon pink kryptonite fic so i definitely would love to see another sneak peek, but i'm also loving all the superfam stuff you're putting out!!! something that i wish you would write because i love your works (and have since the darcy lewis stucky days) and i think you would do amazing things with the pairing is jaytim, but i know thats not everyones cup of tea

(i realize now that you were probably aiming for an ask rather than a reply so here it is in your inbox too hskdhsh)

Thank you! ❤️ And oh, asks and replies were both fine for this, no worries. I try to just specify in-post whenever I have a preference but it's not gonna bother me either way.

I DO like JayTim to read, but I've never really felt a particular bug to write it myself? At least not yet, anyway, that may one day change. Though I miiiiight still put Kon in the middle because I am who I am and all, haha.

I'm planning to update the pink K fic on AO3 tomorrow, though I'm pretty sure I've already posted enough of chapter two in excerpts on Tumblr to have posted basically all of it by now and I'm trying to avoid doing that with chapter three, sooooo instead please accept the beginning of this very niche Superfam omegaverse pack dynamics AU instead. I've been looking for an excuse to post this whole big long thing anyway, lol.

Read-more for length, 'cuz there's kind of a lot here, haha.

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The representative from the wet nurse agency shows up fifteen minutes early with an unusual-seeming omega who can't be a day over nineteen, being generous. Bruce makes a note to look into the agency's hiring practices a little more closely. The current situation is something of an emergency, unfortunately, and he's only had time to run the intermediate-level background checks so far.

Maybe this isn't the prospective wet nurse, he halfheartedly hopes, and they're just another representative; one who's in training or just here as backup. The kid smells like milk, though, and also why the hell would the agency send out an omega representative? Omegas are typically secretaries and clerks and almost all do in-office jobs, where they're "protected" from the outside world.

The practice is stupid and demeaning and borderline abhorrent, but it's a step up from the days when an omega couldn't get any job that wasn't as a nanny or a sex worker or some fucked-up combination of the two. Clark being an actual reporter is something that was practically unheard of two lousy generations back, and even now Clark is still an unusual exception in his field. Typically, an omega writing for a newspaper would be doing gossip or advice or something domestic, not investigative journalism.

So no, there's no way that this particular omega is anything but a wet nurse candidate, unusual-seeming and concerningly young or not. And Bruce had insisted on the candidate coming to meet them in person, even when the agency had very unsubtly implied that it would be better to just have the milk delivered.

Bruce is absolutely looking into this agency's hiring practices. An omega this age should barely be presented. One who's already allegedly producing enough milk to be a viable wet nurse for what they're requesting . . .

It's concerning, yes.

"Master Bruce, the representative from the Waterton Agency and her associate," Alfred introduces politely, gesturing between Bruce and their guests. He doesn't look or smell disapproving, even in the mildest notes, but Bruce knows he is.

Of course he is, with an omega who might be being either abused or taken advantage of or outright trafficked in the manor.

Bruce should've run a better background check.

"Hello, Alpha Wayne. My name is Ellen Travers," the agency representative greets tightly as Bruce steps into the parlor. She's a harried-looking blonde beta with graying hair who looks very unhappy to be here and is doing a very bad job of hiding the nervous dissatisfaction in her scent.

She doesn't introduce the omega.

Bruce puts on his stupid "Brucie" grin and strides right up to Travers, sticking a hand out to shake. She puts on a weak attempt at a polite smile in return and takes it.

"Hello there, Beta Travers, thanks so much for coming out here on such short notice!" Bruce greets her with a lie of cheerfulness, but Travers continues to smell nervous and upset and her smile is no less forced. And the omega . . .

The kid smells downright sullen, which is not a typical scent to catch off an unfamiliar presented omega and doesn't do anything to make him seem any older.

And yes, he's definitely unusual. He's much taller than Travers–about Bruce's own height, in fact–and has a very broad build and a surprising amount of muscle on him on top of that. Bruce knows full-grown alphas who'd kill to be built like this kid. He's also much more "handsome" than "beautiful", and frankly couldn't look less like the kind of sweet and pretty little things the agency had advertised on their website if he tried, much less the soft and maternal type Bruce had been expecting to actually have show up, given the specific requests he'd made.

Well, it does make sense. Bruce obviously wasn't going to provide the agency with either a Kryptonian genetic profile or a Kryptonian pup's exact dietary needs in search of a suitable wet nurse, but the nutrient requests that they'd made would likely necessitate an omega of a similar build to Clark's to supply–hell, the kid even resembles him a bit, funnily enough. They've already had four agencies tell them that they simply didn't have an appropriate candidate on staff, and the milk samples they'd been able to provide hadn't proven very helpful.

Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, but Martha had at least had the advantage of having a pack bond with him. A packmate's milk always does miles better by a pup than a stranger's or any kind of formula ever could.

Though she'd had some very odd cravings while nursing him, she'd told them. And Clark had still grown up underfed, even with formula and yellow sunlight to supplement–the Fortress had observed marked evidence of childhood malnutrition in him, he'd said.

Occasionally Bruce wonders what a properly-nursed Kryptonian raised under a yellow sun from infancy would've actually turned out like.

The thought is . . . well. A thought.

A thought that still makes him leery of how Jon Kent might grow up, sometimes.

Those concerns aside, though, the really unusual thing about this omega isn't either his physique or his face. Bruce is perfectly used to omegas with "nontraditional" looks after knowing Clark and Diana this long, to say nothing of various other Justice League members or other superheroes and villains he's known, or of both raising and reuniting with Jason. But this omega isn't as demurely dressed as mild-mannered Clark Kent would be; he's wearing opaque sunglasses and an alpha-cut studded leather jacket and alpha-style jeans and an inconveniently inaccessible plain black T-shirt with no sign of a nursing bra underneath it, nothing soft or appealing in either his clothes or his posture. If anything, he looks aggressive; tense and guarded and ready to start some shit. Even Jason usually puts up a temporary illusion of traditional omega mannerisms when he's meeting strangers as a civilian, if only so he'll be underestimated. This kid isn't even pretending to make the attempt.

And the kid smells completely and undeniably stray, too. Bruce can't catch a single note of packscent coming off him. Not even the scent of whatever pup got him milked up enough to qualify for this job. Unbred omegas sometimes lactate in heat or when under stress or if someone in their pack either has or adopts a pup, but a stray who doesn't smell particularly distressed or anything like he's on his cycle shouldn't be producing any milk at all.

At least not without using the kind of stimulants that Bruce explicitly forbade when filling out the agency application, anyway. Those medications are necessary for some omegas, obviously, but in this situation . . .

Kryptonian pups don't respond well to getting anything like that in their milk, they've already very thoroughly learned.

The omega also has spiked stainless steel piercings in his ears, snake bites under his mouth, and two curved barbells in his left eyebrow. All his other jewelry is heavy alpha-styled rings and bracelets, and his nails are painted a chipped black. And he is, notably, not wearing any kind of collar or necklace, and his neck is completely unmarked.

Bruce is in no way oblivious to the obvious message that an uncollared and unbitten omega's neck presents when left so obviously bared. Especially on a stray one who's dressed like an alpha and standing like he's expecting a fight.

He cannot imagine why this kid is working as a wet nurse.

None of the theories that come to mind bode particularly well, though.

"This omega is our most fitting candidate for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, her smile turning increasingly forced. Bruce thinks he can safely translate that expression as that of a beta who did not in any way agree with that assessment but was stuck following orders. "She fulfills all of your nutritional requests, including the necessary iron content and the prioritized fats and proteins, and, of course, is not taking any manner of lactation-inducing stimulants or supplements."

"He," the omega corrects, sounding dubious. Travers's mouth tightens. Bruce knows a lot of old-school traditionalists who won't call a male omega "he" or a female alpha "she", no matter what said omega or alpha's preferences happen to be, and makes another note about looking into this agency more thoroughly.

Much more thoroughly.

"She isn't available for direct nursing, unfortunately, but her milk is a perfect match to your requests and she produces both excellently and reliably; her supply will be more than enough for your needs," Travers continues as if the omega hadn't spoken, and the omega's lip curls in obvious annoyance as he rolls his eyes with no attempt to hide his exasperation even in the presence of an unfamiliar alpha.

Bruce thinks of Jason with a brief pang, and pushes the thought aside. It's not the time.

Maybe he could've asked Jason for help with this, if he'd been a better father. A better alpha. A better . . .

But he wasn't, so now there's an annoyed stranger standing in his parlor instead of a content packmate curled up in their nest.

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head and blinking down at Travers with a deliberately surprised expression. "The consultant made it sound like you'd need multiple donors, for the amount we're asking."

If one goddamn barely-presented kid is actually producing enough milk to even half-feed a Kryptonian pup . . .

"This omega produces sufficient quantities for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers replies with another forced smile. She must know how ridiculous a statement that is, when she's talking about a stray kid and not a fully mature omega with at least a couple of litters under their belt who's well-established in a stable pack, but she says it with conviction all the same.

"Oh, good!" Bruce says brightly, because he's supposed to be a stupid knotheaded playboy who wouldn't know a damn thing about nursing either way. "That'll be convenient, then."

Frankly, he only wishes one omega could produce what they need right now, but requesting that much milk from one agency for just one pup would be immediately flagged as suspicious, and definitely turned down outright. They're still looking for other candidates under false names, but at the rate they're going, they're going to need to keep supplementing with formula, which already hasn't been going well.

If Clark could get milked up himself, this wouldn't be a problem, of course. A Kryptonian omega could easily produce more than enough for one Kryptonian pup, especially under a yellow sun. Clark nursed Jon without a problem for years and was actually overproducing when he was, Bruce knows very well.

Unfortunately, that's not an option anymore. Not since . . .

Clark would never forgive himself if something like that happened again.

Never.

And Kara and Karen are both alphas, and Jon's a beta and only ten anyway, and the only other living Kryptonians they know of are either remorseless criminals imprisoned in the Phantom Zone or the sickly little pup who's slowly wasting away upstairs.

Formula and concentrated yellow sunlight haven't been enough. Clark can't get milked up anymore. They haven't been able to synthesize any appropriate supplements either in the Fortress or in working with the Justice League or STAR Labs or even in collaborating between them.

And the pup is just getting weaker, and quieter, and sicker.

A human wet nurse probably won't even help that much, at this point, but . . .

Well, it's the best chance they have to keep the pup alive until they can synthesize something. Maybe the only chance, now.

"We strive to provide to our clients' convenience, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, and the omega rolls his eyes again. Bruce is less and less convinced of him being an adult in any way but the presentation of his pheromones.

It's rude to address an unfamiliar unpacked omega directly, especially as an alpha. Technically Travers is chaperoning them in a professional situation, though, and Bruce has increasing suspicions about this omega's personal standards so far as "manners" go anyway.

And everyone knows Brucie Wayne is stupid and shameless, of course.

So he flashes the kid a grin, and he says, "Well, it's great to meet you, we appreciate you making the trip! What's your name, Mr. . . .?"

The kid blinks at him, clearly surprised both to be spoken to and to be called "Mr." instead of "Miss" or "Ms." or even "Omega". Travers looks absolutely scandalized.

Bruce really doesn't approve of the kind of traditionalists who won't introduce an omega or use their stated pronouns, though, so fuck if he cares.

"Her name is Carly, Alpha Wayne!" Travers interjects quickly, her tone a little bit too bright to be genuine. "Short for Caroline."

"Just Carl," the kid corrects, shaking his head. Travers's mouth tightens again. It's not a very typical omega name, so no surprise.

It occurs to Bruce to wonder if Carl might be a trans alpha, which he probably should've thought to wonder as soon as he saw how he was dressed and got an impression of his personality. Obviously the kid's at least not currently on HRT if he's working as a wet nurse, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him being transgender all the same.

Actually, affording gender-affirming care is definitely a reason that a kid like this one would be working this job, especially if said kid's family weren't supporting them. Wet nurses make more money than most other fields that omegas without a diploma can expect to get into, at least short of sex work, and Carl is very obviously too young to have graduated college yet.

Actually, Bruce still isn't even sure if he's old enough to have graduated high school yet.

He's going to burn down this whole damn agency if they're knowingly employing a minor as a wet nurse.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," he says easily. Carl's eyes narrow consideringly, and then he folds his arms and smirks, crooked and casual.

"Sure," he says. "Nice to meet you too, Wayne."

Travers looks agonized. The last non-alpha stranger who called Bruce "Wayne" instead of "Alpha Wayne" was a beta terrorist who was in the middle of kidnapping him, and he's not sure any omega who wasn't an active supervillain ever has, so he's not surprised by her reaction.

Carl is still watching him with the same cocky smirk, though, an obvious challenge in the expression and his posture both. Bruce puts another point towards the possibility of him being a trans alpha, though he's not stupid enough to actually ask if he is, especially not in front of someone the kid works under. Presentation aside, Carl might not be out, and Travers is currently at least professionally following traditional manners, so Bruce doesn't have much hope for this agency being all that progressive and doesn't want to accidentally get the kid fired.

Though if Carl is a minor, Bruce is going to have to see if he can't slip him a business card and find him another job. Especially if he's going to be burning down the agency he's working for.

"Why aren't you available for direct nursing, if you don't mind me asking?" he asks in a curious tone, because he still can't smell a pup on the kid and most wet nurses who aren't nursing their own pups do direct nursing, and he wants intel about the agency's typical practices. Carl shrugs.

"Stubborn tits," he replies, pushing his chest out as he gestures at himself with no apparent sense of shame or self-consciousness, and Travers looks increasingly agonized. Bruce is just increasingly missing Jason, himself. "Milk flows too slow and the pups always get all fussy and stress out about it. Which, whatever, pups are weird anyway, they're not really my thing."

"'Weird'?" Bruce repeats, carefully noting the lack of possessives in reference to any potentially dysphoria-triggering anatomy. Still not a confirmation, but another point. Carl shrugs again.

"I'm afraid Carly doesn't bond appropriately with pups, Alpha Wayne," Travers interjects quickly, and Carl scowls at her. "She has an unfortunate detachment disorder."

"I 'attach' fine," Carl grumbles sourly, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just don't like kids."

Travers grimaces. Bruce keeps pretending to be an oblivious idiot. He has met omegas who don't like children. They exist.

They're just all deeply, deeply traumatized people. Or clinically insane.

Or both, frequently.

So . . . "detachment disorder" seems likely, yes.

Bruce doesn't consider either sex or gender to be the end-all be-all of a person, of course, but there are certain biological imperatives that no one can deny as existing, and a lactating omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–really, just about any omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–is not ever going to say they "just" don't like kids. Usually the problem with omega wet nurses is them liking kids too much, in fact, and getting distressed or depressed when the parents wean the pups and they won't be seeing them again. The decent agencies have psychological support for that in place and typically offer paid leave between long-term clients. The Waterton Agency does up to a month, which is one of the reasons Bruce chose it.

So yes, Carl is almost definitely traumatized.

Though really, a wet nurse who won't be around much isn't the worst thing, considering. Neither Clark nor Jon started developing any especially noticeable powers until they were older, but they can't assume anything based off a sample size of two, especially when said sample size is made up of biological relatives. And even if they didn't have to worry about that, well, the manor is frequently full of vigilantes and the cave is right underneath it. There's a lot that a regular guest could notice, especially over however long they might need to be nursing. Especially because nursing is a quiet, out-of-the-way activity that takes a while, and it would be very easy for someone to forget to keep their voice down or to not do a damn quadruple-backflip off a chandelier at the wrong moment.

And there's a reason Clark and Lois brought this problem to the shadows of Gotham, as opposed to staying in bright and sunny Metropolis with it. They've got something to hide right now, and a lot to figure out.

Plus if even a molecule of kryptonite gets involved in this situation, even secondhand . . .

Power Girl and Supergirl and Steel are the ones taking shifts watching Metropolis right now, and everyone is just going to leave it at that. Superman isn't coming out for anything less than the apocalypse.

"Well, the Lane-Kents will probably want you to meet the kiddo either way, if you don’t mind," Bruce tells Carl, offering an easy shrug. "Peace of mind, you know how it is."

"Not really," Carl says. Bruce debates slipping the kid a psychiatrist's business card, but he'd probably take it as an insult.

"Er, yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says awkwardly. "Actually, we were expecting Alpha Lane to be with you . . . ?"

"Lois is currently stuck in Metropolis traffic thanks to Metallo bashing up half of downtown this afternoon and Clark is upstairs getting the kiddo around. Little guy just woke up from his nap," Bruce replies with a pleasant smile, making another note of how Travers left off the omega member of the couple's last name, and also apparently doesn't expect to be meeting said omega at all. He is increasingly regretting choosing this agency, though he may yet manage to do some good in the world by subtly dismantling it. Or maybe just by buying it outright and doing a little restructuring.

Or a lot of restructuring.

"Wait, it's not your kid?" Carl asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression. Travers looks pained. The Waterton Agency isn't Gotham-based, so Bruce isn't sure why she apparently expects Carl to be up on the Wayne pack's current members, especially considering how she keeps talking over and outright ignoring him. Bruce has a hard time picturing her bothering to provide the information herself, at this point.

"Oh, no, just doing a favor for some visiting friends," he replies smoothly, still wearing the same pleasant smile. Which is a lie, of course, because actually the Lane-Kents are part of his secondary pack and "visiting friends" therefore in no way covers what they are to him. The Wayne pack is both his primary and his family pack, obviously, and the Justice League is a loosely-connected tertiary pack, but his secondary pack lacks both an official name and public recognition, because explaining to the public why Brucie Wayne's secondary pack is two award-winning reporters from Metropolis, a random museum curator in Gateway City, a decorated Navy SEAL, and occasionally a cat burglar with commitment issues is just not going to work out for anyone's secret identities.

And that even without counting how everyone knows about Lois Lane and Steve Trevor's respective very public connections to Superman and Wonder Woman, much less ever explaining anything about Selina. Bruce, meanwhile, still isn't sure how he ended up in a pack with any of these people. Clark and Diana definitely have a lot to answer for either way, though.

Mostly he blames Clark. Diana has more decorum. Clark is just . . . Clark, so now Bruce gets a scarf and cookies from Martha Kent every Christmas, never mind that he's technically Jewish, because God forbid he ever tells her that and she starts sending him Hanukkah presents instead. He cannot handle eight nights' worth of Martha Kent's colorfully-wrapped scarves and lovingly-packaged cookies. That's just not a thing he can do.

He doesn't even celebrate holidays, except when Dick cons him into it. Which admittedly he's been doing more often again the past few years, but–

This is off-topic, Bruce reminds himself, but then gets distracted as Carl cocks his head a little and frowns over something. Bruce instinctively wants to brace himself for trouble at the sight, because that frown actually very strongly reminds him of Clark's "what the hell weird and concerning thing did I just notice with my super-senses" frown, but A) Carl doesn't have super-senses and B) Bruce just heard the stairs creak, which means the actual Clark is finally on his way down to meet them. No one else in the manor would ever make the steps creak any way but deliberately except for Lois or Jon, and Jon is out on a walk with Damian and Titus while Lois is, again, currently stuck in Metropolis traffic. So: Clark, definitely.

Also Clark tends to make the stairs creak a lot louder than either Lois or Jon do, given the very notable size difference there.

"Has Alpha Lane authorized you to make decisions for his pup's care, Alpha Wayne?" Travers asks with another forced smile. Bruce is resolving to check specifically her background too, at this point.

"No, no, that won't be necessary, good ol' Clark's right here," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's his pup too, and he knows much more about ones this age than I do anyway."

"Yes, well, omegas tend to get a little . . . irrational about the idea of sharing their pups with a wet nurse," Travers says "politely", like she thinks she's stating a fact. Bruce would say something cheerful-sounding and subtly insulting back, typically, but Carl's frown is deepening and he looks a little bit . . . odd, maybe, or . . .

There's a strange little pup-call from the stairs, very quiet and echoing in unusual registers but still recognizably one all the same, and just as recognizably resigned-sounding. It's a pup-call that clearly expects to go unanswered, at this point, which is something that Bruce would like to never hear again in his life, given the option.

Though it's better than a pup who's given up on calling at all, he supposes.

He tries not to grimace at that thought, though he's sure Clark's grimacing enough for the both of them right now after hearing a call like that. The pup is starving, and they just can't feed him properly. At this point sending him back where he came from might be kinder.

Honestly, if Bruce didn't know exactly who his parents were, he might've already insisted on that.

It's just–

The pup calls again, even quieter. Travers looks perplexed.

"Er," she says. "I apologize, Alpha Wayne, but is the pup ill? We can't be around them if they are, it's against agency policy."

"Oh, the kiddo just sounds like that," Bruce replies dismissively, and then lies, "Vocal chord deformity, apparently. We're not sure what caused it, pediatrician thinks it's something genetic."

Well, it is genetic. Jon calls in exactly the same registers, and according to Martha and Jonathan so did Clark.

So it's genetic, yes. Just not a deformity.

Carl's expression looks–odd, still. Bruce isn't sure what to think of it, but it makes him a bit wary. A detachment disorder doesn't imply an actual negative reaction to the presence of a pup, obviously, but . . .

Clark steps into the parlor with Lor-Zod sitting on his hip, the pup no older than two or so and looking small and listless in his arms, his dark skin all washed out and his previously bright eyes gone dull and tired. When he first crash-landed in Metropolis in the rocket he'd been wrapped up inside, Clark said he'd popped out of it energetic and excited and clamoring for attention in toddler-level Kryptonian, but he's been slowly fading ever since, wasting away without the nutrients that they just can't provide him. He's probably only made it this long thanks to the sun.

Again, Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, though he was already at least three by the time they got him, which probably helped. A pup Lor's age is capable of eating solid food, obviously, but milk or formula is still a major part of a pup's diet until they're four or five, if not older, and the longer the better. Hell, most kids still at least semi-regularly nurse for as long as their dam can manage to stay milked up, or even until they present themselves. No one can wean a damn toddler and expect them to thrive.

Or even survive, in Lor's case.

Lor opens his mouth in another weak, resigned little pup-call, and Clark's own mouth tightens as he restrains himself from answering it and giving the pup false hope for milk he just doesn't have, and Bruce steels himself to–

Carl croons.

Travers startles. Bruce is . . . surprised, a bit. A detachment disorder doesn't really imply the kind of omega who'd croon at a pup they've never seen before in their life, after all.

It's an unusual and unpracticed croon, as if it's a sound Carl doesn't make very often, which Bruce supposes would make sense. Lor responds to it immediately, though, shifting weakly in Clark's arms and pup-calling again.

Carl, with absolutely no manners or decorum whatsoever, sweeps right past Travers and Bruce and Alfred and just plucks Lor straight out of Clark's arms. Which–forget the kid calling him "Wayne"; that's a damn etiquette breach. Hell, Clark probably only didn't take Carl's head off for snatching up his pup without permission because he's so clearly dumbfounded that he actually did it.

Bruce is slightly less dumbfounded due to having spent five seconds in the kid's presence, but still, what is he–

"Carly!" Travers chokes in horror. Carl very obviously doesn't even hear her and just starts purring at Lor and cuddling him close in a way that really doesn't even slightly imply "detachment disorder".

And then Bruce figures out what was "odd" about Carl's expression, before.

"Huh," he says, a little bemused. "Did he just go into feral drop?"

"Alpha Wayne, I assure you, this is not the Waterton Agency's standard of behavior!" Travers sputters, sounding even more horrified, and Clark just blinks and tilts his head.

"I think he did, yeah," he says, looking perplexed. Carl continues ignoring everyone in the room except for Lor and just purrs louder at him as they both nuzzle into each other. Lor makes more very distinctly Kryptonian pup-calls at him, and Carl croons back with no apparent concern over their strangeness, sounding absolutely goddamn enamored.

That is definitely not a detachment disorder, Bruce thinks. There is no possible way that an omega with a detachment disorder just went into full feral drop over a pup at first sight.

Or possibly first sound, he's realizing.

Bruce is perfectly aware that omegas can feral-bond with distressed pups whether they mean to or not, but he's never seen it happen this fast outside of a warzone or a natural disaster. He's heard hearsay and read studies about particularly compatible sets that have done it under less stressful circumstances, but distressed and starving pup or not, he wouldn't have even expected a human omega to be capable of bonding with a Kryptonian pup like that.

Or at all, frankly. Deliberately created and carefully cultivated pack bonds are one thing, but . . .

Lor chirps, the sound still a little quiet and fragile, a little weak, but also undeniably hopeful, and Carl gives him a low, rumbly purr in reply and yanks up his inconveniently-cut T-shirt to expose his chest with no trace of hesitation or modesty. He's already leaking sweetly-scented milk, already adjusting his grip on Lor to let the pup get at his chest as easily and comfortably as possible, and Lor latches without a moment's hesitation and immediately starts to nurse.

And then Lor purrs. Carl just watches him with undeniable adoration, still paying no attention whatsoever to anyone else in the room.

Alright, then, Bruce thinks carefully.

Well, that just happened.

"Thought you didn't like kids, Carl?" he inquires casually, putting on an easy grin, and Carl finally seems to come up enough to remember that the rest of them exist, though he still doesn't actually take his eyes off Lor.

"I would literally become a supervillain if this kid asked me to," he replies dreamily, keeping Lor cradled in one arm and tracing a finger down the pup's cheek with a soft, besotted expression that's unmistakable for what it is even with the sunglasses on. He looks like he might just burn down the world if someone tried to take Lor away from him right now, and his pheromones are so all-encompassing and so cloyingly sweet that Bruce genuinely might need to see a dentist after this.

"Well usually I'd say we keep Batman in the loop on that kind of thing around here, but if the kiddo asks, it only seems fair," he jokes with a laugh.

"I would drop-kick Batman off a roof for you," Carl informs Lor lovingly as he strokes his cheek again and then skims a fingertip along the little barely-visible scar splitting his eyebrow. Lor keeps purring sweetly and Alfred coughs to conceal a low chuckle. Clark looks a little pained to be watching one of his pups nurse from another omega so easily and eagerly, but his mouth quirks in amusement at the comment anyway. Bruce doesn't dignify any of them with a response, because he is an alpha with dignity and also is in no way threatened by a passing comment from a barely-presented kid who clearly isn't even combat-trained.

. . . although he also isn't going to be stupid enough to try coaxing Lor away from the omega he just feral-bonded with just yet either.

Then Tim walks by the doorway, takes one look at Carl with Lor, and trips over literally nothing and into a full faceplant on the foyer floor. Bruce pauses, then raises an eyebrow.

"Alright down there, Timmy?" he asks. Tim scrambles back to his feet, looking more genuinely mortified than he's ever seen him.

"Fine!" he blurts. "Fine. Everything's fine. All the things are fine. Uh. What? Who?"

"This is Carl," Bruce says, gesturing to the kid. "Wet nurse from the Waterton Agency. And his escort, Beta Travers. Carl, Beta Travers, this is my son, Tim Drake-Wayne. And also Clark Lane-Kent and his pup, Chris Lane-Kent, who I'm assuming you've figured out are your prospective clients."

"Yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says with a grimace. "We gathered."

"Ngh," Tim says, looking at literally everything but Carl and Lor. His face is bright red, which is an unusual amount of embarrassment for him to be showing just over tripping. Typically he masks that kind of thing a lot more effectively. Bruce would almost think he was actually embarrassed by watching Carl feed Lor, but Tim's literally never been affected by anything but passing curiosity when seeing a pup nurse before, so that seems unlikely. And he's a male beta, if still an unpresented one, so it's not like he's got any reason to care all that much about it anyway.

So his reaction does seem a little odd, yes.

Hm.

"Chris," Carl coos adoringly down at Lor. Bruce is in no way stupid enough to think that he absorbed any of the rest of that introduction or has even noticed Tim's presence at all. He wouldn't even put money on him having noticed Clark's presence, in fact, except as a pup-delivery system. The kid is very clearly in love with the pup in his arms and doesn't give a damn about any of the rest of them at all.

Detachment disorder. Sure.

[dreamycloud]

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy for the ask game! <3

Thank you for the fun prompt! I knew exactly where I wanted to set their drunken kiss ;) (This one gets a little bit spicy, mainly because that’s a heck of a lot of whisky for them both to have ingested lol). Also posted on AO3!

Loki had to find Sylvie, stop Dox from destroying the branched timelines, and stabilize the Temporal Loom. A hefty list of missions. Throwing back alcohol was strictly prohibited under these circumstances. For the first time in a long time, Loki faced his problems stone cold sober.

That was, until Mobius pressed an unusually full glass of whisky into his hand.

Loki swirled the glass, causing the amber liquid to spill over the side. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, feigning ignorance, “but whisky isn’t supposed to reach the lip of the glass.”

“What’s a little extra for celebrating? We caught Brad.” Mobius took a smooth sip, throat bobbing, without even a wince from the intense burn. “B-15 gave us permission to stay behind and take five. I’m not about to go against her orders.”

Brad. Not X-5. Loki crinkled his nose in distaste. Why did Mobius have to use the name X-5 stole? It sounded intimate, like he and X-5 were more than just hunter and prey. Loki’s fist clenched at his side.

Mobius narrowed his eyes. “See? You need to cool off. Otherwise you’re going to compromise the rest of the mission. So drink up.”

Loki did not drink. He swirled the glass, lifting it to his lips now and then. But it was just for show.

Mobius progressively sucked down his whisky, melting like a toy solider under a steady blaze. His prickly cheeks flushed a delicious shade of Midgardian candy apple red. His eyes were unfocused and so, so soft as they landed on Loki, time and again.

Loki fell into that soft gravitational pull. He tipped his glass back and allowed a few drops to touch his tongue. The whisky burned like acid.

They were inside the theater lobby under the low, warm golden bulbs and opulence that came with a movie premiere. The whisky made the lights spangle. Loki blinked, dizzy, and looked down at his half-empty glass. When did that happen?

He should abandon his glass and steal Mobius’ TemPad so they could return to the TVA. But instead, he hiccuped a nagging thought: “What’s ‘Brad’ to you, anyway? He had his hands all over you before.”

Mobius shrugged and stared into his glass as if the answer was there. “Dunno. The guy’s a jerk.” His eyes were glassy as they flicked up to Loki. “Did you know… when I was back at the TVA, waiting to see what you and Sylvie were gonna do at the End of Time, Brad took one of my Jet Ski magazines and asked me why I had them?”

An ugly laugh spilled out, paired with a sneer that stretched across the tight bones in Loki’s face. “Did he?”

“Uh huh,” Mobius said, oblivious to Loki’s fuming. “I thought it was an invitation to talk, kinda like what we do. But he cut me off just as I got going. Said he didn’t care at all about jet skis.” Mobius took a sip. “Why did he even ask? It still bothers me, you know?”

X-5 had crossed a line, all right. The magazines were sacred. That was their thing. Jealousy curdled in Loki’s belly and spread to his throat. “He had his hands on you all night,” Loki said after taking an angry swig from his glass.

Mobius’ brow crinkled. “What?”

“His hands. On you,” Loki said, perhaps unhelpfully. “He hugged you. He tapped the back of his hand on your… your chest. As if he has any right to touch you so casually.”

“No right, huh,” Mobius murmured. He drained the rest of his glass and plunked it down on the ticket booth. With unsteady hands, he retraced the path Brad had made, fingers dragging down front of his tux.

Loki watched, seething, while he felt a tightening in his groin. Hating that Mobius was thinking of Brad, wishing his hand was the one feeling up Mobius’ chest. “He hurt you. Brad did,” the god slurred.

Mobius shrugged. “Part of the job. Though my back still smarts. I bet I’ll have bruising for a while.”

Loki remembered the confrontation—the moment Mobius caught up to Brad and grabbed him, trying to pin him down for arrest. But Brad overpowered Mobius and threw him against the brick wall. Loki remembered everything inside him going deadly still, the sound of 1977 London drowned out by his own need for vengeance against the very worst crime Brad committed: hurting Mobius… and frankly, sharing the same damn air as the most precious man in the multiverse.

The golden lights illuminated Mobius’ broken nose and silvery hair. Made the man look buttery. Mobius should always wear tuxes. They made him look like a gift begging to be unwrapped. Loki let out a silent groan as he imagined loosening the bow tie at Mobius’ throat and pressing his lips to the hot pulse beating under his skin.

Mobius, for his part, couldn’t know what was on his mind. He swayed where he stood. He looked like he could use another drink, eyeing the bartender. “Do you want another?”

“No,” Loki said, stepping into Mobius’ space. More like teetering into it, getting a nose full of the spicy hair gel the agent used to keep the silver cowlicks tamed.

Mobius’ blush deepened. He reached out to pet the frills under Loki’s chin with clumsy hands. “Renslayer never let me have more than a splash of whisky. Just enough to take the edge off whatever bad news she had for me. Even our victory toasts were bitter. Can’t remember why, though. My memory has so many holes in it. I hate that.”

If he kissed the agent right now, how sweet would those lips taste? Or would they burn with the whisky they both had unwittingly drained to the last drop?

“Loki,” Mobius said, sliding one hand down to Loki’s elbow. His grip looser than it was when the man was sober.

“Hm?” He leaned down, to better hear Mobius. Their breaths mingled.

“How do you still like me when you remember everything and I don’t?” Mobius asked, his brows slanting with drunken sorrow.

Loki wasn’t sure what Mobius was talking about. The man hadn’t lost any of his memories since they had been together. Renslayer wasn’t around for it, anyway, and she was probably the one calling the shots on memory wiped. Renslayer was next in line for a knife in the gut, after Brad. Yes, that sounded delightful. Loki smiled, imagining their blood leaking over his daggers.

Mobius waited for an answer, eyelashes fluttering. He held tighter to Loki’s elbow.

Loki remembered the question. Lowered his mouth to whisper in Mobius’ ear, but ended up crashing his lips against the soft shell. “You’re exactly who you need to be, Mobius. You’re whole to me.”

Mobius’ breath hitched. He pressed his ear against Loki’s lips, nuzzling in. “Wanna kiss you,” he slurred, almost too soft to hear.

Loki trembled with desire, like his bones threatened to shoot out of his skin. His last sober braincell said it was’t a good idea, that they were both victims of alcohol coursing through their veins. But Loki’s heart knew better. The alcohol was a temporary bubble, giving them a moment they had both silently craved.

“Me too,” Loki murmured, rubbing his nose along Mobius’ cheek. “So bad.”

It was Mobius who grabbed Loki’s face and smashed their lips together. Their mouths were whisky-slick, sliding lewdly together while the theater spun.

Loki felt Mobius’ tongue lick the corner of his mouth, clearing missing, and it made him laugh even when tingles broke out over his skin. He cupped Mobius’ chin and slotted their lips back correctly, only to moan when Mobius poked his tongue between his lips, eager to get into the god’s hot, wet mouth.

The gold lights blurred as they smashed together, hands roaming over backs and snarling in hair. The whisky told him it was a brilliant idea to grab Mobius’ ass. How many times had he watched Mobius bend over to pick up pencils or spilled documents and wanted to know how firm or soft his ass would feel? Now he knew. His hand slid down Mobius’ back and squeezed. A bit of both. It felt like it was his. Mobius was his.

Mobius growled and pressed himself against Loki, shivering with feelings as repressed as Loki’s.

Their kisses got sloppier and desperate. Hands everywhere. Lights burning behind Loki’s eyelids.

It wasn’t until the bartender was yelling at them that Loki broke the kiss, a trail of saliva connecting them as they were pulled apart by the security guards.

Easy problem to fix. Loki’s eyes glowed green. The guards blew backwards, slamming into the guests and sending glass scattering. Loki shoved his hand in Mobius’ pocket and pulled out the TemPad. “Time to go,” he said, panting.

Mobius chuckled and leaned hard against the god’s side.

Loki felt the weight of Mobius’ gaze on his as he clumsily typed in the coordinates. The text on the screen swam but he got it. They ran through the Time Door, fingers entwined, with a quick detour in mind before interrogating Brad.

[musicalmoritz]

A more positive take on fanon Aoinene

I’ve talked extensively about the problems with how Aoi and Nene are characterized by fans of the ship, and I’m not here to take it all back. However, upon reflecting, I realized I may have contributed a bit towards fandoms’ negative perception of femslash. That was never my goal, my point in all my Aoinene-critical posts is that femslash ships deserve to be treated with just as much nuance as slash ships. This includes criticizing them without needlessly bashing them. I’d say I’ve been successful in my journey to make the TBHK fandom take Aoinene more seriously, so today I’d like to celebrate that progress by talking about the things I love about Aoinene shippers!!

First off, Aoinene is among the top 10 most written for ships on TBHK ao3. It’s above multiple canon pairings like Aoi/Akane, Sakura/Natsuhiko, and Sumire/Hakubo. Whether you think it deserves to be above those ships or not, it makes me happy to see a femslash ship be so popular in a fandom. It’s still the only popular femslash ship in this fandom (as much as people talk abt Aoi/Mei, there’s still very little creations for it), but baby steps. Aoinene has so many fan fictions, edits, fan arts, fan accounts, etc. It’s rare for femslash pairings to be so popular in fandoms dominated by male characters. I think it helps that the women in TBHK are generally well-written and important, but I’d say the male characters still outnumber them slightly. So just seeing a fandom so invested in two women getting together is enough to make me smile

I know I’ve critiqued their characterization a lot, but I’ve seen some major progress lately!! Both with how they’re written, and with how the fandom talks about them. It’s not as often nowadays that I see people bashing the canon ships to put them down, and most of their fans seem to be capable of acknowledging their flaws. There are some exceptions ofc but I see Aoinene mischaracterization way less than when I first got into the fandom. I’ve seen an increase in people depicting them as “toxic/doomed yuri,” aka the term that lowkey saved sapphic ships in fandoms lol. Keep in mind that when TBHK first came out, femslash was not nearly as popular as it is now (and we’re only just beginning, there’s still a long way to go). It was common, and still is, for femslash ships in shonen fandoms to be depicted as the fluffy, unproblematic side pairing. Fans saw femslash as a way to take a breather from all the angsty men. Aoinene was turned into another boring ship among dozens, but they haven’t stayed that way. With femslash gaining popularity, I’ve seen improvement in how femslash ships are characterized all across the board

Onto the fics themselves, I have never read an Aoinene fic I disliked!! (Besides the weird ones I skimmed for shock value). The vast majority of them are super cute and written so prettily. When I talk about their mischaracterization, I’m pointing out trends I’ve noticed rather than the fics themselves. The reason you don’t see me talk this way about Teru/Akane and Mitsuba/Kou is because I simply don’t read that much slash fan fiction, even for mlm ships I like (not anymore at least, I used to be way more into slash). I’ve read through the ao3 tags for p much every TBHK femslash ship, but if I’m reading a fic that’s mlm or mlw it has to be suited to my tastes. I could definitely talk abt how Mitsuba and Kou are mischaracterized by the fandom but I don’t really bother with fics that write them that way so it’s not gonna nag me to the extent that Aoinene mischaracterization does.

I'm saying this because I don’t want it to seem like I’m targeting them unfairly compared to other ships, I point out room for improvement because Aoinene is my favorite and I want to see more diversity in the way they’re written. Hear that? Diversity, the problem isn’t the fics themselves, I just want to see more where they’re written in a way that explores their conflict. Fics like this already exist but they’re not as common. My gripe isn’t wanting to see less of a “bad” thing, it’s wanting to see more of a really good thing

And also…not everyone has to agree with me. There are some sapphics that just want to see completely fluffy wlw content, or that want to limit the angst to “it was one-sided :(“. And ykw? I may want to see more than that, but if other fans want to keep writing or reading them a certain way then that’s great. There are also shippers who wish Aoi and Nene had been written differently, and I agree. I wish their friendship was given more depth than the crumbs we get in canon, though I still hold out hope that AidaIro will give them development. Some shippers specifically wish Aoi had been a lesbian, and that Nene had been the one to understand her rather than Akane. I disagree with this take- well okay I would love a canon lesbian character but I’m happy with Aoi and Akane being canon + I like that Aoinene have their own set of struggles. But if other people wish the manga had gone in a different direction then they’re perfectly entitled to that opinion. I don’t have to agree with them, and they don’t have to agree with me

Now I want to talk about some Aoinene fanon tropes I love because I don’t see people do that with them that often:

• When Aoi gets all flustered over how strong Nene is…the reverse is cute too but I have a soft spot for damsel in distress Aoi. Let Nene carry her girlfriend!!

• Fics that have Aoi open up to Nene and let them talk about their problems. THIS is the thing we need more of omg I love it. This is what Aoinene is all about guys

• The flowers!! There are so many flowers in Aoinene fics!! Ahhhhh I love it sm. That one Beecalm fic where Aoi owned a magical flower shop and Nene took one home…it lives rent free in my mind

• Them having constant sleepovers, it feels so biblically accurate

• When they’re always going out and doing things together like going to the beach or shopping; again it feels very true to their dynamic

• Aoi pining is great and all but when people turn Nene into the pining one it’s so galaxy brain. Obviously mutual pining is superior but Nene being down bad for her best friend is so real

• I’m a big fan of fics that acknowledge that Aoi only gaf abt two ppl lmao, when they show her obvious bias towards Nene is makes me giggle

• Any fic that includes Aoi’s mommy issues

• The theme of seasons in their fics!! Omg it’s so creative. “my summer, my winter” by novaselic is a personal fave of mine (in addition to Beecalm, novaselic is also on the Aoinene Mount Rushmore btw)

• I know it’s overused in sapphic fics but I love when they go on picnics

• Nene showing up late to class and Aoi being early

• I love when fics lean into the extroverted side of Nene’s personality or in general have her act like an awkward ball of energy. Yes she’s very insecure and angsty but she’s also so funny and it makes me happy when I see writers capturing both sides of her personality. This girl befriends ppl so easily in canon, we should talk abt it more

• Whenever they simp for Sakura. Idc which one of them it is, it could even be both of them, it feels so canon. Sakura being the Teru to Aoi’s Nene is something that can be so personal

• When their friends know they like each other and tease them/try to wingman. Wingman Akane you will always be famous

Okay I’m gonna end it there because I could yap abt Aoinene fics forever. I might need to reread some, or find some ones I haven’t read yet. Every now and then I go through the tag and find some I’ve missed. Orrrrrr I might write Aoinene fan fiction, I should see if I can finish the Snow White au this weekend. No promises tho

Anyways I wrote this as a love letter to the Aoinene community; I love you guys, keep up the good work. If it weren’t for ya’ll I’d be alone in my hyperfixation so I’m glad others enjoy them as much as I do <3

[thedvilsinthedetails]

Heyyyy…

hey im still figuring out what i wanna be called but for now u can call me Jamie if u want I’m genderfluid as fuck [they/she/he or whatever idegafatp]

some typa aroace spectrum probs grayace & demiromantic also omniromantic - in general I have nothing figured out

so a simp w like a slight preference for men ig but kinda ace most of the time but sometimes very not

neurospicy bitch

writing request status: OPEN FOR MICROFICS RN

I’m a rosekiller loverrr but also a multi shipper so u never know what ur gonna see ig [but probably Rosekiller, Wolfstar, Dorlene, Starchaser maybe some sunkiller if I’m in the mood etc] for the record just bc I don’t ship smth doesn’t mean I support hating it even as a joke [translation: prongsfoot is chill leave them be]

if u don’t like smth, just ignore it, if u send me hate I’ll reply w shitty jokes probs

my dream job is to be an actor [screen actor specifically]

Media I like:

Fav TV stuff: Challengers, Gravity Falls, Cruella, 10 things I hate about you, into the spiderverse

Fav author is @neil-gaiman also that man is my idol so I’ll probs reblog him a shit ton [do u think he’ll like…mind that I tagged him? Sorry if this bothered u Neil!!!] Music [uhhh changes all the time tbh but for rn]: The Neighbourhood, Olivia Rodrigo, Conan Gray [Kid Krow phase rn], Chappell Roan, Renée Rapp, Green day, Ricky Montgomery, NOAHFINNCE, MARINA and Hozier

Spider-Man. Fucking love Spider-Man.

One thing to note about me tho: obvi I love recommendations but I find starting literally any new forms of media really fucking daunting for no reason [this is everything: songs, movies, books etc]

e.g. I fucking love spider verse but I still haven’t watched movie 2, same w latest season of young royals, same with even like ONE song alone I find it rlly hard and really scary

so if u give me recommendations and I don’t get back to u about them for ages it’s not bc I forgot or i was ignoring u but bc I find it scary so pls be patient :)

also same w please don’t like assume I’m knowledgeable about like any of the music artists I named earlier bc tbh I don’t rlly listen to artists I listen to songs [im still a fan of a lot of music artists ofc but the artists I listen to ≠ the artists I’m a fan of]

HI! welcome to my crazy blog, I love making friends im not at all scary I promise :D

Btw my inbox is ALWAYS open for spam, ship ramblings [even if it’s not smth I ship], info dropping about ur hyperfixations, venting, questions etc. [the only thing is no illegal ships bc it will be ignored] also sorry pre warning im shit with the inbox chains [‘send this to ten people who…’] so often I won’t answer those sorry, anything else I will make sure to answer but the chains I sometimes just forget about sorryyy

Barty Crouch Jr & James Potter kinnie

got a FAT crush on Evan Rosier [he’s the loml he just doesn’t know it yet] and also a crush on Dorcas Meadowes

I write sometimes:

I fell for you like glitter on stage - rosekiller band au, this was a microfic series on tumblr that I posted on ao3 for convenience [words: 4548] [this is my fav thing I’ve ever written lol]

we are all just prisoners here of our own device - Jegulus, a oneshot on ao3 based on the song ‘hotel California’ by the eagles. [Words: 6162]

Oh where do we begin? The rubble or our sins? - ON HIATUS. Roman Empire Jegulus au with side Rosekiller, Wolfstar and Pandalily on ao3 [words: 6141] [currently I don’t want to write Jegulus - the hyperfixation hath faded]

also I’m in a marauders RP as Barty and u shld follow it bc we’re all super cool and funny and amazing and awesome and yeah @bartythebabygorljr

tags you’ll see on my page:

me and my old black biro > writing tag

Im in love with that Rosier boy > [this is a new one] me having a massive crush on Evan Rosier

the most boring soap opera > my life tag

I have an online diary called @miseryoforpheus if ur fascinated by my charming and irresistible personality

[The song at the bottom of my intro post changes all the time depending on how I’m feeling]

THIS BLOG SUPPORTS PALESTINE

THIS BLOG STANDS WITH UKRAINE

THIS BLOG THINKS JK ROWLING HAS A NEGATIVE QUANTITY OF BRAINCELLS

[4channerguy]

let loose / kunidazai

hayyyy so im just gonna repost this from my ao3 because ive been lacking in tumblr posts lol!! i hope you enjoy :3 xoxo (。・∀・)ノ i used this prompt when writing this: person B tossing snowballs at person A's window, not knowing the window is open and has no screen. also this is probably ooc but idgaf! and also kind of cringe but i also dgaf!

wc: 1057

warnings ✎ : boyfaliures (´･ω･`)  ➜ ┊ pairings: dazai x kunikida

𓂃 ☆ ⋮ doppo kunikida thinks of himself as a precise and sharp man.

he gets a full seven hours of sleep with no distractions, eating a full breakfast precisely at 6 AM, and then meditating. today was his free day off, and all he could think about was doing work. he’d offered fukuzawa to do more paperwork, to discard the load that was on the old man’s shoulders, but he at first declined saying, “you shouldn’t do too much. this day is possibly your only day off.” kunikida only shook his head, pulling his notebook and pointing at it. “i must follow my ideals, sir,” he said firmly. “i must retain the quota of doing seventy-two pages of work.” fukuzawa stared at him for a moment before sighing slightly. He opened his drawer to obtain a tuna can from his secret-stray-cat-stash (SSCS), because it was his free day too. The man didn’t even bother to protest against the golden-blond, and only wished him luck in his assignments.

now at his apartment, kunikida was prepared. he had a neat stack of paperwork with his laptop and of course, his notebook. he adjusted his glasses while gazing out the window. it had snowed last night, with inches of thick snow covering the pathway. since his desk faced the window, decided to open it to at least have some cool breeze in while he worked. it would give me some form of productivity, he thought while also fully opening the window screen as well. He sighed contently, opening his laptop and started typing.

unbeknownst to him, a troublemaker was walking by.

osamu dazai, who just had a typical failed suicide attempt, was mopeing around like a teenager on a winter break, tossing his empty can of tomato juice around his hands. he was thinking about what he wanted for dinner. canned crab probably. with cheap beer. ten cans of beer, maybe. he whistled to himself and then stopped.

he saw kunikida. But, alas, kunikida did not see him. dazai felt his heart skip slightly, seeing him with a furrowed brow working diligently. His glasses were perched on top of his head, which made dazai slightly swoon-

nah. dazai thought. maybe my body is just wired to tease and bother the shit out of him. typical dazai-centric thoughts. dazai crept up towards kunikida’s apartment and started to slowly form a snowball (with his bare hands of course, because he hoped to also catch hypothermia). “KUNIIIIIKIDAAAAAAA!” dazai yelled, which caused kunikida to snap up his head to see the perpetrator. unfortunately, the snowball hit him.

square in the face.

the snowball slowly dripped from his face and onto his desk. dazai only grinned.

“...”

“...surprise?”

kunikida slowly got out of his chair, grabbed his coat, scarf and gloves, put on his snow boots and walked calmly outside where dazai was waiting with a cheshire-like smirk. he took and breath and screamed, “DAAAAAAZAAAAAAIIIII!” he started forming half-assed snowballs and started pelting dazai with him. dazai, on the other hand, was laughing maniacally like a person high on drugs, with a grin reaching his ears. the snow-covered ground became a battle-ground, the two engaging into a chaotic snowball fight. kunikida’s annoyance gradually turned into amusement as he threw, turning uncharacteristically carefree. the two laughed like children on a playground, the chunks of snow glistening, making it look like a hallmark christmas card. to a passerby’s eye, it looked like two grown assed men who were on drugs.

as the snowball fight continued, it got more competitive. kunikida had the sudden urge to outwit dazai, and started to become strategic, hiding behind various things and even building a snow fort. He began a pattern of throwing each snowball while dazai skillfully dodged his attacks and snapped back with his own. in the midst of the laughter, they found a shared joy of letting go of their burdens (well, mostly on kunikida’s part) and embracing the lightness of the moment. kunkida’s mind shifted away from his ideals, and dazai from his future suicide attempts. they just became two individuals enjoying each other’s company in the purest form of fun. Eventually, fatigue caught up to them, leaving their laughter to only breathless chuckles, with fog coming out of their mouth. they stood facing each other covered in snow with comfortable silence. dazai’s grin turned into a warm smile, brushing snow out of his hair. kunikida did the same with his coat.

“you know, kunikida,” dazai began, still trying to get a chunk of snow on his coat. “it’s good to let loose sometimes.” kunikida nodded, cleaning his glasses. “yes, I suppose you’re right,” he paused and cleared his throat, “for once.” dazai only laughed and went towards him, making kunikida hesitant and step back a little. he brushed more snow out of kunikida’s face which caused him to slightly flush. “you’re always being so uptight,” dazai said softly. “you should loosen up more.”

“...well, um, i-”

“also I have a confession to make,” dazai said seriously, which caused kunikida to twitch, making his ears turn red. “since you were (assuming) doing work, could you do…mine?”

“what.”

“okay here me out, so, um, i was busy having-”

“a one night stand,” kunikida interrupted. “or a suicide attempt. or drinking beer and zoning out.”

“...that’s not true! i was fooling around-, no, wait, um, i mean MENTORING, atsushi for his job with kyoka-”

kunikida turned around and started walking away. “H..Hey! Wait, PLEASE KUNIKIDAAA,” dazai went on his knees. “PLEASEEE, I PROMISE I’LL-”

kunikida sighed and stared back at him, his expression unreadable. “i’ll do it for you. but you have to do something, for once.” dazai beamed and dusted off the snow on his pants. “thanks, kunikida.”

awkward silence.

“...i’ll have to get going.” kunikida said, breaking the silence. “hm? oh, yeah.” dazai replied, sort of red-faced. probably the cold. kunikida guessed. “see you tomorrow! we should do this again,” dazai grinned. kunikida nodded.

they both go to their respective apartments, both smiling (kunikida’s almost barely noticeable). kunikida arrived back, taking off his shoes and closing his window for any further cautions. he was about to start his work, but he decided to take a small break, because after all, maybe the troublemaker, osamu dazai, was right.

⋆｡𖦹 °✩ 06.09.23, do not repost or translate my content :^)

[pengweng-quack]

Being a Witch with Vampires

Carlisle Cullen x Witch!OC

Summary: Stella (A witch) and Carlisle (A vampire), and how they blossomed from roommates to friends(?) to partners

Chapter 3/7

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Notes:

This was inspired by this fanfic on tumblr by lis-likes-fics titled "In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised"

This is also on Ao3 under the same title and same username too if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448940)

Posting is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story

Word Count: 2921 words

TW for this chapter: Hints of substance use (no direct mention)

Timeline: New Moon

Masterlist

“Go enjoy a day out with your friends.” Carlisle urged her

“You’re not gonna stop until you make me agree, aren’t you?” Stella asked, her eyebrows raised at him

“Yes.” Carlisle giggled

“Fine.” Stella agreed, rolling her eyes at her persistent vegetarian vampire

And that might have been Stella’s worst mistake.

Her friends, people she’s met at Carlisle’s work and in her small flower boutique, had invited her out for a night of drinking. Stella wasn’t gonna be joining at first, but Carlisle persisted in convincing her to do so.

When she got home the next morning, she was confused as to why no one greeted her when she entered the house. Or as to why the house was empty in the first place. It was an unusually sunny day in Forks and she doubted that any of the Cullens would willingly step out the house in fear of exposing their secret

There was a growing pit in her stomach that was bothering her as she rushes back to the car and drove to Bella’s house, possibly knowing that Bella has some answers to her question

Parking in front of Bella’s truck, she quickly knocked in the house, and waited for someone to open the door. Chief Swan opened it for her, and she knew she had to explain the situation to him

“Is Bella here?” She asked, controlling every sense of nervousness in her in an attempt to look collected

“Upstairs, but I doubt she wants some—

She didn’t let Charlie finish talking and rushed to Bella’s room. Where she was staring quietly on the window of her room. Waiting for something, or someone perhaps

“Bella.” Stella quietly called, sitting on her bed

“You’re here.” Bella said, having some sense of hope in her eyes

“They’re not with me.” Stella confessed immediately, watching as the small spark of hope in Bella’s eyes disappear

“They—” Bella asked, realizing what the Cullens have done “—They left you too?”

“Left?” Stella asked

“They left.” Bella said, answering the growing suspicion that she had “Edward said that he didn’t want me anymore.”

Stella could only laugh at what was going on. Carlisle had never left her before, and she had never had the thought that it might happen. Maybe this was her long-awaited punishment for abandoning Sam without hesitation and joining Carlisle instead. Perhaps this was fate's twisted way of telling her that Carlisle isn't her mate. Whatever it was, she could only laugh at herself for allowing herself to let down her guard and trust them.

~~

“I heard what you did.” Stella said, sitting down on her couch as she passes Bella a glass of wine

“I don’t want any—

“If you want that sort of adrenaline rush so bad, then I’ll help you!” Stella scolded “At least have someone that you know help you with your decisions.”

“I can’t—

“It’s safer if I accompany you. We’ll do things together, hell, I’ll even get you to cliff jump with me and you’ll be safe.” Stella continued “Ju-just don’t do this to yourself alone Bella. You don’t deserve this.”

“And you don’t deserve this either.” Bella softly argued “They shouldn’t have left you to deal with me. You came with them; you should have left with them too.”

“But they did, didn’t they?” Stella hissed “They left us alone, Bella. And it’s about time that we accept fully that the people we love can and will just do that.”

Stella has never dropped the word ‘love’ when talking about the Cullens in fear that the magic within her would count it as an offering. She needed to be careful, not wanting to hurt any of them. But now that they’ve hurt her, it’s only fair that she could get them back somehow.

“You know what they are? They’re filthy, self-centered liars that never thought of anyone else other than themselves!” She continued, doing her best to conceal her tears. She needed to be strong, for both her and Bella “They’re selfish! And vile! And mean! And everything that a typical vampire would be!”

“Starting tomorrow, we’re gonna do a shit ton of crazy things together.” Stella announced, putting down her wine glass “You want to drink? Then we’ll get bat shit drunk together. Want to carelessly drive? I’ll take you to where I’ve been doing that. Want to kill someone? I’ll do a bit of my magic to allow you to do so. We’re going to do this together. We’re going to deal with this together.”

“Can we visit Jake tomorrow?” Bella shyly asked. Stella didn’t like the wolves’ scent but she agreed, giving Bella her freedom to do whatever she wants

~~

“Bella!” Stella called, rushing in the Cullen’s house the moment her gut feeling told her that she was there after doing something stupid

“You did something!” Stella yelled “Without me! I told you we’d do this together!”

“Do this together?” A familiar sweet voice asked

“Alice?” Stella called, putting Bella behind her in case it was some trick

“She’s here, she’s real.” Bella assured her once Alice stepped out to reveal herself

“Jacob.” Stella said, smelling the wolves’ scent “He’s here.”

“I couldn’t help myself.” Jacob said

“Alice, let’s go have a chat really quick.” Stella invited, sensing that the two needed a chat on their own. They quickly stepped out the house

“Who initiated the leaving?” Stella asked

“Edward.” Alice answered immediately, knowing that angering this certain witch with her won’t do any good at that moment

“Why leave me?” She asked again

“Carlisle wanted you safe and in peace.” Alice answered quicker than how she did the first one “Thought that Forks was the town you needed for it.”

Stella could only feel enraged when she founded out the truth. The very vampire that she fully trusted was the sole reason why she was in pain.

“We really didn’t want to leave you behind. Please know that.” Alice started “Even Edward knew that you were needed there with us. But Carlisle’s decision was set.”

“Send him this particular message when you see him again, will you?” Stella asked. Alice nodded and waited for her message “Fuck you.”

“That’s harsh.” Alice said, before seeing the death glare on Stella’s face “And well deserved, I supposed.”

~~

In the airport, Stella was looking forward to seeing Bella and the Cullens. She was simply doing it to see Rosalie again since she had missed her. Or at least that's what she told herself was the reason she was there as it was unavoidable that she would run into Carlisle after seeing Rosalie.

She missed him.

No, she didn’t.

He’s dead to her.

“Stella.” Bella called out, getting her to see them all again. Stella rushed to her, pulling Bella in for a tight hug

“You’re alive.” She muttered as she pulled away from the hug

“Yeah, I am.” Bella said, rubbing her back

“Rosie.” Stella said, averting her attention from Bella to Rosalie, who was anxious in seeing her again

Stella went and hugged Rosalie, resting her head on his shoulders and feeling the cold touch that all vampires shared. Reminding her that someone spent multiple centuries helping her when she was in need to be cooled down, physically and mentally. And was the exact same person that left her, turning her into the cold, untrusting witch that she is now

Carlisle watched as Stella hugged everyone. Everyone except him and Edward. When they left her, he knew what sort of treatment he would get from Stella. And he was deeply regretting even thinking of leaving her. But what could he do? He was scared. Every time Carlisle would look into the witch’s grey eyes, the same grey eyes that he wanted to get lost in all those decades ago, he would only see how lifeless she looked at that moment. That moment where a vampire’s venom, something that he had in his system, overpowered his confident witch.

He was reminded, that someone like him was the reason why she was in deep pain at that moment.

A vampire like him was the reason why his Stella was in pain.

“Let’s take you home.” Rosalie invited her

“I don’t live there anymore.” Stella quickly declined

“Spend the night?” Rosalie invited her again. Knowing Rosalie was in denial about the possibility of not being able to have Stella around in the same manner she had before saddened Carlisle. And he was the one who was at fault.

“I made plans with Charlie.” Stella said, shaking her head no at her offer.

Carlisle knew that if he had been human at the time, his heart would have missed a beat, and he would have felt his heart drop

He was losing her.

To a human.

“Dad?” Bella asked

“Yeah, asked him out for a friendly dinner. Someone needed to give some information to him. Even if it’s not the truth.” Stella answered “And possibly clean the Cullens name to him as well, who knows.”

Carlisle was at ease, hearing the friendly dinner come out of Stella’s mouth. He wanted, no, needed, a second chance. A second chance to prove that he’ll never leave her. A second chance to show her that he is worthy of her love.

Just a second chance.

Because he was a coward in his first one.

“You don’t have to do that.” Carlisle said quietly, shocking everyone “We’ll explain our sudden disappearance ourselves. You don’t have to do that for us anymore.”

“I’m doing it for Bella.” Stella coldly said, shocking everyone with them. “Not everything is about you anymore.”

Everyone was aware of Carlisle and Stella's quick reconciliation. They were curious as to how upset Stella was at their leaving after seeing how cold she was with Carlisle. Or if it was just with Carlisle.

“Let’s go home.” Edward invited to everyone, knowing that the atmosphere between all of them was getting thicker as they spend more time together

The coven members knew that at that moment, they needed to act for their coven leader and his confident witch

“I told Charlie that you were with me.” Stella told Bella; it didn’t take much to figure out that she wanted to leave already, only doing what she told Charlie

“I-I’ll come home with Edward.” Bella answered to her “You should get some rest yourself. Looks like you haven’t slept properly.”

“Of course, I haven’t slept properly.” Stella hissed at her “Don’t act like you’ve gotten sleep much more than I did.”

~~

Carlisle went to stay near where Stella has decided to reside. It was a small house, just enough for her. Much, much different from the Cullen’s house. He was going mad from his own actions. He needed to do something.

He made the decision to lurk when he smelled her blood when she picked Bella up from the airport. It was different, but still as intoxicating as it was when they first met. It meant that she was doing something, anything, to forget them.

Edward hid what Carlisle was doing to everyone, lying and saying that he was picking up more shift because he couldn’t be in a house without Stella.

He’d leave when he had shifts, only to come back with a stray animal always in the place where he stays. He had a feeling that Stella knew what he was doing, and was just too kind to kick her out.

He’d sit next to her when she was asleep, admiring her calm and resting nature. He’d leave just before she woke up, making sure that he’d leave her room the same way as he got in it.

After almost a week of lurking, Carlisle noticed a change in Stella’s blood. It was slowly starting to smell like before. She had dropped whatever she was doing to herself and it was making an effect.

After a shift, he has made his way back to his usual spot, only to see a deer for him to feast on, but it had a note attached on its antlers.

‘Talk to me in person instead of lurking like some stalker – Your Stella’

Stella knew what Carlisle had been doing, she’d been hyperaware of her surroundings after an attempted attack from Laurent. She decided that she was gonna ask him to leave then and there but his presence calmed her. Even though there was a distance between the two.

She decided that she’ll do it tomorrow. She just really needed this one night of peace.

She didn’t wake up to any nightmares that day.

On the day that she has decided that he’ll ask Carlisle to leave, she felt his thirst. He’s stayed there without leaving like she was some princess and he was a guard protecting her and immediately went to the hospital for his shift. She quickly went to the forest, finding a deer to offer for him to feast on.

‘An offering,’ she convinced herself.

‘It’s not like she cared,’ she added.

Stella knew that Carlisle sneaks in her room when she goes to sleep. She wanted to call him out, yell at him to leave. But his presence calmed her, she didn’t know what he had done to her, but she’s suffered too much already. It wouldn’t hurt if she was to use him for herself.

She stopped meeting with those sketchy guys at alleyways after being in the flower shop, wanting to clean her blood.

‘Maybe if she cleaned her system, Carlisle would leave her alone,’ she convinced herself again, adding that to the list of lies that she’s said this past week alone.

The one night that she noticed that Carlisle wasn’t near her place, the guys from the alleyways came to her place, asking why hasn’t she visited them. She lied, said that she felt sick. They’re suddenly starstruck by something behind her, they quickly bid her thank you’s and goodbyes before running away from her house.

Carlisle scared those men. Stella wished she wasn’t so prideful so she could turn around and face him already, give him some sort of gratitude before asking him to stop lurking and just leave her alone. But she waited until he can make his exit, before turning around to “check” what had caused them to leave.

It was a sick game of catch, the one waiting for the other to slip up so they could call it quits and discuss, like proper grownups. Both Carlisle and Stella were careful and calculating, they were just waiting for the other to slip up.

But Stella wasn’t patient, she wanted to hear what he wanted to say.

She needed to hear it.

Grabbing one of the deer for his meal, she grabbed a note and stuck it on the deer’s antlers and called it a night.

‘Talk to me in person instead of lurking like some stalker – Your Stella’

~~

My Stella, I owe you a lot after our sudden disappearance. Never had I thought that our departure would cause such pain to you. I always saw you as a strong woman, much stronger than me I must say, so I just assumed. I should have given you at least a goodbye instead of cowering behind that night out. Leaving you has been my biggest mistake. I needed you every day. Just as much as you would have needed me. I messed up and I know that it’s beyond repair. I know that there is little to no chance that you would be able to forgive me, I would even say that I deserve to feel the wrath of your pain and anger because you experienced it. But I still want to apologize, for all the pain I’ve caused you. No words are enough to explain how sorry I feel for what I’ve done to you, and no words would be able to change your mind about your perception of us. But I believe that I owe you this apology. Take it as some sort of parting gift, I guess. I would understand if you would want to let go of what we had for the past 300 years, maybe even go back to Italy for Sam. I’m sure he will be delighted to see you again. Just tell him that I’ve taken you against your will, let me be damned among your kind. You deserve a life filled with peace and happiness. You deserve to live. You deserve to love and be loved. I wish that it could be me that gives you what you deserve. Yours truly, Your Carlisle

Carlisle reread the letter one last time, debating whether he’ll send it to her or not. If ever anyone from his family finds out that he’s hiding from talking to her in person with an email, he will be judged, especially with Stella offering that they could talk in person. But he didn’t have the heart to go face her, not when he figured out what Stella has done to herself in hopes of forgetting him.

Carlisle figured a lot of things out when they got home. Despite being a witch and being granted immortality, her body was still very human. Anything wrong that could happen in a human could happen to her, and she knew.

She was hurting herself, all because he was a coward.

He knew that he needed to let her go. He’s caused too much pain to Stella.

He deleted the last line of his message before sending it to her.

[cosmos-dot-semicolon]

(⭐fanfic writers' commentary)

@plutosoda hi

Ooh, time to reread my old writing, huh? Always a fun trip, especially given I'd totally forgotten like half of it including that repetition trick you'd mentioned…

fair warning, i only got like 3 asks for this thing so I'm gonna commentate on pretty much the entire fic here. This post never ends.

Here's an entire director's commentary on All-Nighter! Enjoy!

"The covers were warm… But at least it'd get something done before passing out again."

I'm still fond of this intro. I'm terrible with being succinct, but this is somewhere where my rambling writing style really works; this section is written from experience of many a 'stayed up too anxious now you can't sleep' nights, and someone who has read a lot of the techniques to fix that problem, then didn't (ADHD lol). That is in fact what my internal monologue tends to be like at night - a mix between recalling every single way you've ever learnt to pass out, worrying about what happens tomorrow, 'why is life like that. what did i do,' and just a pinch of 3am self loathing.

I never really thought of it until an AO3 commenter pointed it out, but it was a fairly natural way of worldbuilding/expositing/characterisation all in one go. Establish the premise of the fic, Robot only bothering to process things when it's on the brink of exhaustion, the way it's kinda obsessed with productivity and efficiency and self-improvement.

I'm proud of it!

Also I like to think Lady Luck only does the weird scheduling thing for Robot. She'd be the type of person to try and make the Dungeons a personalised hell for everybody.

“Hey, could I get a coffee, do you think? …I’ve been sleeping so badly down here.”

I'm quite happy with the intro to the next bit too. My goal going into most fanworks (still) is to emulate what drew me to the original story. In this case, that's Dicey's tone and dialogue, with a bit more direct focus on the characterisation of everyone. So this is sort of a meta plot device that signals all that to the reader. I love how efficient that is. also I just like throwbacks and references okay

"The canteen was a dense jumble of kichen counters…"

I could've been a little faster with this scene and Robot subsequently making the coffee. One of my weaknesses as a writer is that I hallucinate some of the scenes in my head, and try to write down everything in that instead of just drawing a comic (cough that one unpublished Ninjago fic). I'm a sucker for describing scenery for days on end.

That said, I'm really glad I got the vibe of 'light-blue-grey' morning over to you in your fanart. It was exactly what I was imagining as I was writing this.

"Pre-ground. …But this was just evil."

I think I'm funny. Anxiety cube can put up with a lot, but terrible coffee isn't it.

"They taste horrible compared to freshly ground beans. It’s not worth the convenience."

haha. because you see. that's its heart's desire *gets turned into a dice*

"Pouring a generous portion for its new friend, Robot masked its complaints with a long sigh." "…But thanks to the innovations of modern day life-” An overhead swig downed half the mug."

A commenter pointed out that some of my lines have really good flow in them between actions and characterisation. I didn't notice that until then, but I'm inclined to agree. Some of these drive in the point really well.

"At least its fellow patron was enjoying themselves – not even flinching at the concoction and savouring the coffee raw. It was tempted to start a commentary on how dark roasts were overrated, but soon became a little more concerned about them drinking through the 100 centigrade burns. This place had quite the collection of creatures, it seemed."

I like to think Robot's a little snobby about the things it enjoys. I like to think Lady Luck tries to throw people off as much as possible.

"So, how’s the self-improvement going?" they started. "I only want top quality minions in my dungeons."

Very fun fact is that I was worried about spoiling the twist in this fic because of this line being so blatant, but I wanted to put it in anyway because it's a good character-establishing moment, and a good… re-interpretation of the line in another context? I love recontextualising canon in a slightly different way that still works for the characters in question. it's so fun

Anyways. Turns out I didn't need to worry about that because at least one reader totally missed this too so got hit with the full twist anyways. Isn't writing great?

"So, what’s keeping you up this late?” they asked. “Nightmares? A looming sense of regret and existential dread? Unfinished essays due tomorrow morning?"

essays due tomorrow morning. haha so true. i'm glad I don't take much coursework nowadays.

"You know, as useless as it looks, sleep’s rather important for you folks. It’s how you deal with all the terrible things that happen during the day, since your brain can just wipe the slate clean and try again. But funnily enough, it’s always the first thing that’s left behind whenever someone wants to better themself." "Life’s painful enough as it is. Why not change things up if your current routines aren’t working?" "Nobody ever plays the cards they’re dealt perfectly, dear… Time always slips you by when you’re not paying attention. And nobody ever knows what’s coming next. You’ve just got to learn when to raise and fold them." "Well, part of being human is never being a hundred-and-one percent efficient. If you folks still count yourself as that. I’d apologise but I remember you were quite nonchalant about your little transformation anyways."

One of the main points of this fic was that while Lady Luck is blatantly on the offensive and absolutely insulting Robot to its core, she's not technically… wrong?

It's not bad advice. Lady Luck, in-game, seems very perceptive of the various insecurities mortals go through. And I like to think she does start this conversation just for genuine fun, to pick someone apart. See if they bounce back against it or just crumble. It's just a bonus that the recipient finds it harder to refute her offers afterwards.

"It might!" it snapped back, getting them to at least try and contain their mockery under a silent, wavering smirk. "You know what? I think it will be, I can feel it!"

Robot sort of does both. It's definitely very very anxious. But it's stubborn. I really like that about its character: how there's a contrast between its organised and disorganised sides? How robots are usually associated with hard numbers and calculations, but Robot's mechanic is blackjack. also it's SO autism/adhd coded. listen. in this

I don't know if there's a trope to call either of these, but they're my favourite things about both characters, and they're surprisingly introspective for a game so short on story. (I will write more about that in another post. lol).

It's a bit indulgent in how long it goes on in some areas, but eh. It works for the fic's pacing.

"The figure leaned forward to highlight its obvious obliviousness…" "I thought you were supposed to be the overly organisational optimist."

I love alliteration. yippee!

"A gentle chuckle filled the air, restrained from its usual projecting echo. "You wound me, Robot. Games are always more fun when your players at least get the chance to try and fight back."

I like to think Lady Luck's main motivation is entertainment. Which mostly involves watching people suffer. But I think it's in the spirit of luck to have it so that someone's downfall was their choice. Determinism versus free will and whatever.

The chance that somebody could escape makes things spicier. And makes it sting all the more for all those that didn't. Hooray!!

Also given Lady Luck's usual loud persona, I planned (plan) on giving her quite a few more subtle but equally threatening moments in this series. It's a thing that wouldn't really work well in the actual game, but it does in a slower medium like writing, and I fucking love that trope.

"Statistically unlikely, but I’ll humour it," she commented to an invisible aside."

You should picture this scene as her directly staring at you through the fourth wall. Like in a sitcom.

"But it’s not so bad, being a minion… I’ve heard that’s about as stable as a job as you can get these days." "…though surprisingly she was not the worst boss it had had to deal with."

I always thought this line, used on Thief in-game, would've been an absolute killer on Robot. The job market is pretty fucking shit these days under capitalism and you would be lying if you said there aren't at least some parts of the Dungeons that seem better work-wise. Inclusivity, stable employment, accommodation.

Yeah, you have no freedom, but that's also the goal of capitalism up here as well. At least in Dicey it's ridculous and ironic. And you'd get to use your degree in maths/statistics/acounting etc to its full extent! Can you fucking imagine the paperwork for a game-show/dungeon hybrid business.

"But then again, I think you’re plenty used to the grind."

I believe this was an unintentional-turned-intentional coffee pun. Boooooo

"Funny how they think that’ll discourage anybody. …Folks hear that the house always wins and immediately think they’ll be the exception."

She would be the one to know that. This was intended as a followup to Robot's entire argument before. I'm very happy that at least one person picked up on that :D

"So whatever you pick, it'll be a decision from Robot alone, no matter what your mind or body drags you into afterward.”

I believe this was also supposed to be a callback, but the wording got changed slightly. I think it was the "It feels like my mind and body won’t stop working against me" bit.

"Normally, Robot would’ve stayed to socialise and make new friends, and in all likelihood, skipping breakfast would leave it starving later on in the day. But right now, it needed some time to itself: to think and recover and remember where it was going with this."

This was another callback (that actually made it into the story). Robot immediately making another bad decision after the first, with the exact same words echoing it coming.

"Just another day in the dungeons. It could handle this."

I wanted the ending to be very short and open-ended, in that it was up to you to interpret whether Robot took the offer or not, and when. But regardless I wanted it to be like a regular intro to an episode, but with the hint something definitely fucking changed that the audience can only speculate on.

…oof. 80 minutes on this essay. My poor neck. I think that's it for now, though.

Overall I'm really happy with this piece - hence why it's one of the few things I actually put online. It's three years old, and I could've fixed the flow in some bits (there's one part where I think Robot answers a different question than was asked).

But I achieved pretty much everything I wanted to say in this piece of fanwork, it pushed me to think about characterisation a lot and my writing and editing techniques. There's a lot of neat little things I put into it, and it really got me to grips with what I liked about my inspiration in the first place.

I think that's an exercise worth trying for every fan-work creator. Stretches you brain. Almost lets you re-experience what you loved about a thing years later. Points you towards your possible future diagnoses. It's a fun time!

[fbpsdumbtklblog]

test tubes next up on lightbulbs hitlist/j

put this one on ao3 too!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Helping Hand

that title will make sense i promise

post s3/2 ii tickle fic

lee: test tube

ler: lightbulb

summary: test tube has a nightmare and can't fall back asleep, so lightbulb helps calm her down

word count: 446

Test Tube woke with a jolt, letting out a startled yelp. She gave an exasperated sigh as she laid back down, rubbing her eyes.

“...’Tube? What’s goin’ on?” She looked to the side to see she’d woken up Lightbulb, who was looking back at her with a tired expression.

Test Tube glanced away, feeling a bit bad for waking up her roommate. “Golly, sorry Lightbulb, I.. guess I just had a nightmare.” She rubbed her arm, trying to soothe the uneasiness she was feeling.

Lightbulb gave a small hum in response. “Everything okay?”

“Mhm. I- I don’t even really remember it, it’s fine.” Test Tube reassured her. “Alrighty” Lightbulb closed her eyes and rolled back over, Test Tube doing the same.

Several minutes went by with Lightbulb being unable to fall back asleep. She knew something was up and it was bothering her. “..You’re still scared.” She stated. Test Tube sighed again. “It was… highly upsetting.”

Lightbulb sat up, resting her cheek against her knee and looking back at her friend. “So you do remember?”

Test Tube rolled onto her back and gazed up at the ceiling. “Well- no, but.. I remember the feeling.” She responded quietly.

Several moments of silence passed, neither of them sure what to say after that. Lightbulb squinted as she thought over an idea. ‘I mean it worked for Fan’ She thought, hopping off her bed. Test Tube sat up and looked up at her as she walked over to her own bed. “Okay, we both can’t sleep.” Lightbulb stated, sitting down and grabbing Test Tube’s hand.

Test Tube smiled, giving her hand a soft squeeze in return. Lightbulb smirked back at her, gently pressing her thumb into Test Tube’s palm. “Aaaand we gotta fix that, obviously.”

Test Tube flinched and let out a small huff of laughter. “Wh- hey !”

Lightbulb carefully traced her thumb around her hand. Test Tube put her other hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet. “Lightbulb !” She whisper-yelled through her light snickering. “You know how thin these walls are- we’re gonna wake someone up !”

“Well don’t be loud then, duh” Lightbulb moved her hand to hold Test Tube’s wrist in place, using the other to lightly scribble over her palm. Test Tube let out a small snort, shaking slightly as she tried to keep her laughter as quiet as possible. ”Lightbulb !!”

Lightbulb chuckled softly at her reaction, continuing the light tickling. “Whaat? I’m just try’na make ya feel better !” She teased, feeling her own mood lifted as well. Test Tube lightly kicked her foot against the bed, a few more snorts slipping out whenever Lightbulb hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Cut it out,,” She mumbled.

Lightbulb stifled a yawn, figuring she’d probably done enough. She slowed to a stop and let go of Test Tube’s wrist. “Feelin’ scared anymore?”

Test Tube quickly exhaled, moving her hand away from her mouth as her laughter died down. “...No, no I’m not.” She said quietly. “Well, then it looks like my job here is done.” Lightbulb responded happily. She gave Test Tube a quick hug, which was immediately returned. After a second she pulled out and hopped off the bed, walking back to her own.

Test Tube laid back down, watching as Lightbulb did the same. “..Thank you. I- I think I really needed that.”

Lightbulb smiled brightly at her. “Yeah yeah of course !” She pulled the blanket back over herself and closed her eyes. “G’night Tube !”

“Goodnight Lightbulb” Test Tube said back, finally able to fall back asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chat i had to make them extra homo for some reason lol

[typicalopposite]

Gonna share a bit from the chapter I just posted on ao3 because all the sentence I’m working on for the ask game will be spoilers if you haven’t read that chapter yet!! Soooo if you’re following the fic ( @somethingaboutfirefly I’m looking at you lol) go there before you read any new sentences posted!

🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

“Are you two expecting?” An associate asks, approaching them with a big smile. 

Tommy and Evan share a look of uncertainty; they have put off telling everyone (other than the people at work— most of whom only found out by word of loose lips) until they know everything is okay. “We— we are,” Tommy ultimately admits, and Evan takes his hand proudly. 

“How sweet,” she continues. “How far along are you?” 

“We’re not sure yet,” Tommy replies. 

The associate gives an understanding ahh. “Well, just to let you know,” she says, laying a hand on Evan’s arm. “Our prenatals are all buy one get one… just so you know you’re getting all the necessary vitamins for you and the little one.” She gestures towards Evan’s stomach and Tommy instantly feels Evan’s hand squeeze his, followed by the familiar heat building in his cheeks. 

“Thank you, but actually they would be for my husband,” Evan says, moving closer to Tommy, an arm wrapping around him protectively. It’s weird, Tommy thinks, that’s typically his move. 

The woman looks— well, she looks shocked… to say the least. She stares at Tommy, then at Evan, almost like she’s waiting for them to take it back. The heat in Tommy’s cheeks intensifies, he can only imagine how red his face is turning. He wishes he could shrink down into Evan’s side; wishes he could just look more the part, since that’s apparently a thing. 

“Oh,” she finally says, adjusting her glasses. “Oh… well, congratulations to you both.” She looks between them, still seemingly confused. Tommy isn’t sure if he’s more offended for Evan or himself. “The vitamins are on the last aisle before the diapers.” 

They watch her disappear into the store, Evan keeping his arm around Tommy even after she’s long gone. “Hey,” he says, moving until he’s in front of Tommy, he tilts his chin up so their eyes meet. 

“I’m fine,” Tommy lies, because it’s easier than admitting how much that just hurt his feelings. Besides… it probably bothered Evan way more to basically be told he naturally looks like the one who would be a carrier between the two of them. 

Part of him wishes it didn’t bother him so much; he had always prided himself on looking big, strong, and overly masculine. He learned at a young age you have to be able to take up for yourself, and so he made sure he appeared intimidating enough no one would step up to him, and if they did he could hold his own so they’d regret it. It didn’t matter that their words hurt so much more than their fists, he could cry about it when he was alone and out of the public eye. Tommy “Tough Guy” Kinard. 

He almost wishes it had been Evan who was the carrier. He feels like such an anomaly with it being him. 

They leave the baby aisle without picking an outfit, or getting the discounted prenatals (although Evan does insist on getting them elsewhere).

🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Leaving the tag wide open this time for any and everyone who wants to join in!! :)

[something-pithy]

Notes and an Update: The Alignment Issue

pictured above: just a regular Tuesday night at Ancunín Palace

“So with Astarion, his evil ending is actually him...much of what he does is out of fear. And as a player, you can say to him, ‘You're right to be afraid.’ And that sends him to a really horrible place, and that I think is really powerful.” -- Adam Smith, Lead Writer of BG3

I’ve been talking about my notes about alignment in D&D and BG3 and my interpretation of them in the context of an echo, a stain since before I even started with these “Notes and an Update” posts. But every week, something else has come up that I wanted to post more than my alignment notes. 

I think this might be a chronology thing. These notes seem old to me because they predate the vast majority of the story. I don’t remember the specific date I decided to write out my thoughts about the nature of “good” and “evil” as DnD 5e describes them / how they manifest in BG3, specifically in Astarion, but I know that I was scribbling notes – or whatever the keyboard version of scribbling notes is – about it since a palmful of stars / an echo a stain was just “the desired constellation.” 

This is because DnD has Things to Say about vampires and their morality, who Astarion is as a character in this series is deeply informed by what he’s willing to do to get what he wants. 

My decision to finally post these notes now is informed by a couple of main things:

The IGN interview posted this past Friday, December 15th titled “Baldur’s Gate 3 Developers Explain Its Controversial Endings, Beloved Characters, and Making the Best RPG of 2023,” wherein Adam Smith makes the statement I quote at the top of this post and

The description AO3 user fanciful included in their bookmark of the story*: 

“There's several things in here I haven't seen in other Astarion/Tav fics, so do read this if you're looking for something unique.” 

*(yeah, I’m not gonna pretend I’m so cool and unaffected that I don’t peek at who’s bookmarked the story to see what they might have said about it lol).  

When I found fanciful’s blurb, I almost immediately went to bother my phenomenal beta, Komo, (whom I’ve mentioned before and will again, and who is probably a better beta than I deserve but very much the beta this story could not exist as it does without). The gist of my question to her was OMG WHAT DOES THIS MEAN, to which her response, in part, was that she was curious as well, but that she had her own thoughts:

“I think your take on a vampire lord/ascendant's "evilness" is unique.  Like, it's not how ascendant fans who explain away his bad behavior, but also not [how] a traditional spawn fan would write him either, recognizing [there’s] nuance to the evilness.”

Which was like, SUCH a great compliment specifically because I’ve thought a lot (I mean a fuckin’ LOT) about how evil works, and how it works in this story. So here are my (abridged and ever-evolving) notes about all this, which are a very important part of the basis of my approach to Astarion’s characterization in aeas.

So first of all, the Adam Smith quote above indicates that Ascendant!Astarion’s alignment is not due to some mystical, transformative, vampire or diabolical force. It’s not the result of Mephistopheles taking his soul as part of the bargain. Any evil behavior / attitudes Ascendant!Astarion demonstrates are purely a result of his own choices, made of sound mind, body, and soul. 

The DnD 5e Monster Manual labels vampire lords specifically as lawful evil. 

Now I’m going to say here that I think the “good” and “evil” alignment binary is flawed. Yeah, there’s neutral, but that still operates as kind of a middle ground for this axis. I think something more accurate would be something referring to the good of the majority vs. self-interest, but I’m not here to get into all that. 

For expediency, I’m going to roll with the definition of evil that seems to fit what DnD 5e is going for. And according to past DnD sourcebooks (this isn’t in 5e, but 5e offers much less detail about alignment than previous editions), evil “implies hurting, oppressing, and killing others.”

So for the purposes of these notes, my interpretation of “evil” in general and specifically in terms of an echo, a stain is that a character with an “evil” alignment is willing to hurt, oppress, or kill others without compunction in order to achieve their goals. 

In my mind this doesn’t mean that they necessarily want to do those things, or enjoy them (though there’s evidence that Astarion does both at different points in-game), just that if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes. And they’ll do what it takes. 

Now, it’s my inclination to view RPG sourcebooks as somewhat flexible depending on what best serves to the story, but also, in-game, there’s plenty of evidence to indicate Astarion was created and written as a character whose baseline can be read, at best, as chaotic neutral, but more likely as neutral evil if we’re going by the above definition. 

So what? 

OK well, in an interview with some folks at Collider, Neil Newbon said that the “Ascendant Ending” was the one he’d kind of pictured for Astarion. 

“Actually I saw Astarion always going that route [Ascension], whereas other characters might want to [...]  help him not only survive, and thrive in a positive way.”*

From a character arc standpoint, I agree with Neil: there’s no doubt in my mind that without a good-aligned Tav, Astarion would be on Ascension like white on rice as a default. I think it’s the baseline trajectory of who he is at the start of the game. 

I also believe that it is *possible*, not a guarantee, but *possible,* that being in an environment where he’s surrounded by people who do genuinely care about him and his well-being, and yeah, with the support of a good-aligned Tav with whom he experiences deep mutual caring and connection (whether platonic or romantic), who treats him with respect, love, compassion, and care, who sees the best in him and encourages it in him / demands it of him until he can see it himself, he would not choose to go Murdertown, aka the Ascension route.

I also don’t think a high-approval, good-aligned Tav in his life, whether as a lover as a friend, precludes the possibility of Astarion choosing the Ascension route (clearly). BUT ALSO. 

I don’t believe in binaries. 

Does Astarion choosing ascension mean that suddenly all the ways in which he may have changed his perspective during the course of his adventures with a good-aligned Tav are nullified? 

I don’t think so. 

I’m willing to entertain DnD’s canonical assertion that a vampire lord’s emotions are altered by their transformation; however, I also think it’s feasible enough that Astarion’s tendencies toward obsession, paranoia, and possessiveness already existed within him prior to ascension, if to much less pronounced degrees. I think it’s entirely plausible that ascension amplified these qualities in him. but also Astarion’s decision to ascend is indicative of him embracing a worldview that is, as Smith says, deeply rooted in fear. 

This fear impacts another important element of Astarion’s character in aeas, which is the way he perceives himself. Astarion as he exists in aeas is an Astarion who as a spawn, believed he was worth nothing. Astarion as he exists in aeas also has put Tav on a very high pedestal. This is not to say he doesn’t know or love Tav for who she is – I think this Astarion knows this Tav very well. But his perceptions about her are also skewed by his perceptions about himself, and a whole bunch of other things -- including fear. 

SO when Tav leaves him, a couple of things happen in terms of his character, two of which are: 

one of his absolute worst fears is realized (that Tav will leave him, specifically because he is innately a piece of shit and she finally figured it out), and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

the realization of this fear prompts the understanding that he is not, in fact, all-powerful, therefore his power and control must be increased at any and all costs. 

the monumental scope of his power and, frankly, terrifying disposition ensure that, without Tav in his life, there is literally no one offering a different perspective as a counterweight to this fear-based thinking. 

Do I think Tav’s reemergence in Baldur’s Gate and Astarion’s life will change things for him? 

Ehhhhh, that’s a complicated question with a variety of complicated answers that all boil down to, “Well, that depends.” loooool

I don’t know if I’ve said everything I could say here, but I’m running out of steam and if I’m getting tired of writing, you must be getting tired of reading, so I’ll leave it here:

tl;dr: aeas has been and will continue to be informed from start to finish by the ideas that

Ascended Astarion is absolutely and 100% Astarion

whether or not alignment is mutable, people/characters can and do still change based on their experiences and environment.

Make of that what you will. LOOOOOL

[oonajaeadira]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag, @insomniamamma. For the record, I think you write beautiful smut. I appreciate it for its realness and connection.

How many works do you have on ao3? Aw man, you made me log into my AO3 account? I haven't been around there recently because I feel bad about leaving some messages unanswered. Tumbletown is my main fic home and I haven't really had the time to post here, much less on AO3. (Answer the question Adira.) It says I have 19. I don't post there until they're here and sometimes don't crosspost. Mainly I've been posting over there only if I have a complete series, although sorry LMR readers both there AND here.

2. What's your total ao3 word count? 260,317. Seeing as how not even half of my fic is up over there, I cringe to think of what my actual wordcount is.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Pedro Pascal. Which is an umbrella for the actual fandoms contained therein.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos According to AO3? Losing My Religion, A Girl Walks Into a Bookshop, A Rare Treat, The Sweets Series, Eyes Closed, Comm Open. According to Tumblr: Good. Things. Take. Time. (this one's a Tumble exclusive, dunno if I'll ever AO3 that one), Losing My Religion, Dulces Suenos, The Sweets Series, A Girl Walks Into a Bookshop.

5. Do you respond to comments? I do. Every one. I know I'm behind on some and I'm sorry about that. I let that bother me enough that it's getting in the way of my writing and I shouldn't do that.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don't like to leave angst hanging and only use it as a trampoline for a happy ending, but I guess the closest thing I have would be A Kiss Before Dying and in Death We Combine. Even if it ends in "death," at least they get to be together.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? All of them? LOL. Of the multi-chapters I've actually finished, probably A Girl Walks Into a Bookshop.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Only in passing. There were the mean girls that were kind of being catty over on a few other blogs about GTTT when it blew up much to my surprise (yes, of course I saw all of that, mean girls gonna mean). I remember some comment about not trivializing massage therapists just because I have a shitty back.... and all I could think was, hey. First of all, I can tell you didn't even read it, you're just mad about it blowing up. Not my fault. Next. Don't talk about my back. You wouldn't like being injured and having people talk smack about a piece of your body that gives you pain beyond comprehension, y'bigot. Also not my fault. Once I realized they were just mean girls meaning, I let it roll off and got my own satisfaction by writing a pretty bomb series based on some of their prompt lists that I never would have seen if I hadn't been clued into the smack. Turn that hate into something great!

9. Do you write smut? I do. Not exclusively and it's never the main dish of the story. If it does show up, it's usually the result of a long period of longing and/or feelings exchange.

10. Craziest crossover? I'm not a crossover gal. Every once in a while I'll write an easter egg into another fic (there are several in GTTT), but nothing heavy duty. There was the time The Mandalorian got something of a cameo in a Sweet's fic tho....

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Oh gods, I hope not. That would suck. I hate blocking people.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? YES! But not in the way you might think! @katareyoudrilling did an amazing job translating the first chapter of Good. Things. Take. Time. into a sexytime roleplay script!!!! I'M STILL SQUEEING ABOUT IT.

13. Have you co-written a fic before? In a way. For a while when RP accounts were in full swing, I was falling very much in love with the adventure I was creating with @morally-gray-prospector. That account was so amazing, run by one of the smartest writers I've ever known here, but they were TOO good and poured themselves generously into their responses, which got them quite a following...and they burned themselves out! While my story with Ezra didn't have an ending, I never expected it to. I meant it when I said it to the writer: I'm just so happy to have an adventure with Ezra and every minute working on it was a joy that I will love forever. I'm glad they had fun too and didn't keep pushing themselves when it was no longer sustainable. <3

All time favorite ship? It's Din and Little Bird. Now that I know how that story is going to soft-end, they're my favorite couple of all time.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will Oh, I'll finish them all. Right now, Branded is in the most danger of lingering, since I have to figure some stuff out with them. But if I could solve the puzzle of Losing My Religion, then I have no doubt that I'm eventually going to get on with that one too.

What are your writing strengths? I don't know what my strengths are, but I like the magic of showing without showing. I like pacing. I enjoy trying to get the characters' voices right and make the dialog real.

What are your writing weaknesses? I am slow. And I make a show of "not following the rules" as if I'm some kind of rebel, but really, I'm just bad at following rules!!!!

Thoughts on dialogue in another language I try to avoid it for the most part because I usually mess it up pretty badly. I generally don't write Din in Mando'a because I haven't really heard him speak it in the series and he seems to always default to Basic even if he understands it spoken to him, so I can't shake the feeling that it's out of character. But Little Bird is a Mandalorophile, so she'd definitely know it and use it. I do sometimes pull in Spanish for Sweets, but it's usually because it's two characters who actually would speak it when Sunday's not around, and even then I try to make sure it's basic enough for folks to follow. The one time I tried to put Italian in I messed it up pretty good, but a beautiful reader helped correct it for me and I'm so so so grateful. <3

First fandom you wrote for I know I have a Doctor Who piece in a notebook somewhere hidden away. And I most likely have a slew of Ranma pieces from my college days. Were there any before that? Possibly.

Favorite fic you've written I have too many. I write really slow, so if it's actually made it to Tumbles, that means I loved it enough to manifest it. Some of them I love because of the fandom, some because of the relationship, some because of the world building, some because of the interaction, and most because of the good time I had writing it. Right now I'm seeing people reading Losing My Religion, and I've had reason to dip into some of those chapters and re-read a little and it's reminded me how much I love writing for the Star Wars universe, how much confidence I have in it. That was the first fic I really wrote, and I put so much of myself into it... so if I choose a favorite, I'll point there first even if it's not really finished yet.

.

tagging: @blueeyesatnight @ezrasbirdie @missredherring @leslie-lyman @prolix-yuy