#now them being evil and twisted together? now that is much more likely

[sansaorgana]

— IN PERPETUITY (I)

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — Two most powerful Lieutenants of Morgoth and twisted lovers in private form a pact through cursed marriage to become their master's equal successors and rule Middle-earth together. He, however, has other plans and does not intend to share. She takes the matters into her own hands.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The idea for this fic showed up in my head while I was working on a different fic with a Maia!Reader, in which she is good and pure and all that. And that other story will be finished and posted, too, but with a delay because I focused on this one first. 🙈 The Reader in this fic is a Maia, so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. This fic will have a second part with Annatar!Sauron but in this part you get only Jack Lowden!Sauron because that ginger loser needs some love and attention as well. 😭🥰 The title of the fanfic and its vibe are inspired by the song Sugarbread by Soap&Skin. Special thanks to @dinsbeskar for giving me the most appreciated feedback before I posted this fic! 💕

WARNINGS — Reader is evil-evil with sadistic undertones, betrayal, murder, manipulation, gaslighting, blood drinking/pact/magic, mentions of Sauron being tortured by Morgoth, SMUT, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 4,650

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

IN PERPETUITY (I)

It was no surprise to any of The Valar that you were one of the first to follow Morgoth. You always found it troublesome to obey the orders, to show respect or loyalty. As if you had been already created flawed, although no one dared to question Eru’s decisions.

The gods were aware, however, that Morgoth wanted you as his servant as well for he was a god like them. Therefore, they expected you to come back with your tail between your legs, begging for their forgiveness since they were much more merciful masters than he ever would be.

Nevertheless, that did not happen and you became one of the most loyal Lieutenants to the Dark Lord. You sometimes amazed your own self with the amount of cruelty you were able to inflict. Perhaps Eru himself had created you this way indeed – perhaps you were evil by his design. Dark creatures like Morgoth or you were needed to emphasise the lightness – cursed outcasts to show an example.

Morgoth did not even need to break you as much as others who had followed him. He did not feel the need to rebuild you or push you as far as most of his followers because it did not take much for you to become the very worst version of yourself.

You were the lucky one.

Mairon was not.

You could hear his whimpers and screams of pain as he was tortured. And you watched and watched in awe at him transforming with Morgoth's help into the man that would from now on be known as Sauron amongst many.

But to you he would remain Mairon. And Mairon watched you in awe, too.

He observed you with admiration and curiosity. He wanted to be more like you – so terrifyingly beautiful in your art of cruelty. And he was learning the craft from you.

Until, eventually, with your master's help and by his twisted design, Mairon became a Lieutenant as loyal and fierce as you.

And each time he failed at a task given to him by Morgoth, he would come to you first, seeking comfort and hoping you would ease your master before their encounter – like a child would come to their mother, fearing their father's anger.

Everyone knew Morgoth was gracing you with a special treatment. And even though it was unlikely he was able to feel any real affection towards you, many knew that you were the only Lieutenant of his that he actually cared about because you were the only one who abandoned The Valar thoroughly and wholly.

You did not care about him, though. The Valar were right – you did not enjoy being under him; under anyone. And you truly hated the destruction that he was causing as you could not understand the desire of becoming the King of ashes.

You wanted to be the Dark Lady yourself and you often fantasised what you would do if you were him. His god-like status did not intimidate you and you could not care less whether it was a blasphemy or not to imagine yourself as a Vala. No god had ever intimated you.

You were your own god and you wanted to rule over the world. To make it perfect and harmonious.

You became closer with Mairon when you sensed his heart was corrupted with the same thoughts and feelings. And while your Maiar bodies remained focused on the battles and schemes – so unfamiliar with the carnal desires of the flesh – as you spent more and more time together and he shared with you his dream of forging the very special and powerful Rings, you could feel the strange and odd desire growing within you.

One day, you gave in to them.

You heard his screams of pain throughout the fortress like the ones back in the day when Morgoth had been shaping him to his whim and design. Now he was punishing him for one of his failures and your master’s wrath was undeniable.

Mairon was one of his best Lieutenants, therefore Morgoth expected from him the most.

And when the punishment ended, Mairon found himself knocking weakly upon the doors of your chambers. You opened them and gasped at the state of his flesh. He was too weak to heal himself fully, allowing the bruises to form and cuts to bleed.

You welcomed him and laid him down in your bed before tangling your limbs with his; his face buried in your chest as your fingers brushed his ginger hair and gently teased his pointy ears.

"My poor Mairon," you whispered and leaned in to place a kiss upon his temple.

He looked up at you with devotion.

Unlike you, he had been once Eru’s perfect creation – Mairon had been pure in his past, worshipping the Valar like he had been designed to. The Valar were no more in his heart but the devotion remained and you were the subject of it.

"Let me ease your pain," you spoke softly and caressed his cheek with your fingers, making the small cuts disappear as bruises began to fade away. He closed his eyes and sighed out of relief. "Where else can I aid you, my Mairon?" You asked as his eyelids fluttered and opened.

"Everywhere," he breathed out. "I need you everywhere, my Lady."

The odd desire you had been fighting within you for a long time now apparently was not one-sided. Perhaps a Maia fallen was a Maia burdened with such humiliating and carnal needs.

You rolled him over onto his back as you sat astride him with a sparkle of excitement in your eyes. Maybe it was not a burden... Maybe it would be a new adventure, a new path to follow.

You got rid of his robes in a haste as his hands weakly caressed your thighs wherever they could reach under your dress. And once he was naked for you – under you – you felt like an animal, driven by the urges you could not stop.

That felt ungodly.

Your fingers curled on his chest, scratching the flesh and you watched your nails leave red trails upon his pale skin. Instead of healing him, you only added more to the pain but the pathetic whimpers leaving his mouth were not of suffering but of pleasure.

"Yours..." was all he gasped as your pupils widened even further. Yours... How good it felt to have him at your mercy.

You were like Morgoth himself now with Mairon laid out for you, eager for you to shape him the way you wished him to be.

And you loved to feel like Morgoth, to share at least a tiny bit of his power. The realisation was enough to make you feel the itch deep inside the heat of your core.

"Mine..." you nodded at Mairon and grasped his length to squeeze it, watching him wince as the flesh hardened under your touch.

You kept pumping him and observing all his sighs, eye rolls and the tremble of his thighs. His eyes filled with tears as he kept bravely staring up at you despite his vision getting blurry and hazy.

Your pace quickened and you used your free hand to caress his thighs gently as if you were trying to soothe them but it only caused them to tremble more while you watched his body giving in to your touch so eagerly and easily.

All of the sudden, just to tease him, you stopped your hand's rapid movements and squeezed the swollen tip. Mairon whined and bucked his hips desperately, the tip of his cock pulsating under your thumb. When you let go of him completely, he spilled himself with a groan and blushing cheeks as his hips kept rutting into nothing.

What a pathetic and yet delicious sight it was. You felt the wetness between your legs leaking down your thighs already.

“You're so fun to play with, my Mairon," you pointed out. "I wish our master allowed me to be the one responsible for your punishments."

"I wish that, too, my Lady," he breathed out, putting his hand on his chest, surprised to feel how fast his heart pounded.

"It is not over yet," you pouted. "You spoiled my fun by giving in to your desires so quickly."

You smirked and with one swift movement you took your dress off to throw it on the floor, revealing your naked form to him. You adjusted yourself and grabbed his cock once more, so swollen and sensitive, which caused Mairon to whimper. You lowered yourself slowly on his length, hissing at the new experience of feeling full.

Your eyes rolled all the way to the back as you threw your head and scratched Mairon's chest when you felt his cock hardening once more inside of you and brushing all the right spots that made you aware of pleasures of the flesh you had never even known of before.

"Divine," he breathed out and you rolled your hips slowly with a whine.

When you adjusted to the slightly burning feeling, your eyes opened with a sparkle of mischief as you began riding him – faster and faster with each given bounce, keeping your eye contact with him although his vision was too hazy to see you clearly.

It was like a trance and you lost track of time. The Maiar needed no rest, therefore it could have been days – maybe even weeks – spent on nothing else but fucking yourself on his cock, using him for your own, newlyfound pleasure; reaching your highs countless of times and beginning all over and over again until the matters much more important than indulging yourselves interrupted your blissful state.

"One day, there will be only the two of us," Mairon whispered into your ear as he watched you getting dressed in front of the mirror. "And we will not leave our chambers for a whole century."

"Would you leave your kingdom unattended for such a long time?" You raised an eyebrow at him. "I certainly would not," you added harshly and fixed your gown's corset one last time before leaving him behind inside your chambers as you walked out with your head held high and back straightened.

With an illusion of dignity that was supposed to hide the fact you had just spent long and endless days on worshipping Mairon’s flesh with nothing but pleasure and devotion as he had been only laying there and receiving and you had been the one to do all the work like he was the master you served.

After Morgoth's defeat, Mairon and you both were the only ones who could possibly become your master's successors for you were his most powerful Lieutenants.

Instead of starting a war between yourselves, you chose to create a pact of taking over Morgoth's legacy together as equals.

The holy bond of marriage was the most suitable way to seal this union for all eternity, especially when it seemed that you two shared the same goal and the same vision of healing Middle-earth and crafting it to fit your peaceful ideal.

The oath had nothing to do with the holy Valinor's customs. You used forbidden dark magic to bind you two together in perpetuity; mixing your black bloods together and drinking the cursed mixture from the cup as you exchanged the rings forged by Mairon himself with your aid; made of dark iron and with powerful spells engraved on them.

Adar was the master of your ceremony. He had stayed by your side after Morgoth's defeat and Mairon had promoted him to the rank of Lieutenant because you two needed smart and loyal people – especially if they had a whole army of the Orcs following their every order.

You could sense your marriage pact with Marion was making Adar a little uncomfortable. He was watching you carefully throughout the ceremony and also during the feast where he was sitting nearby.

Mairon's behaviour was surprising you a little. Never before he had been so open with the amount of his devotion towards you. And now, despite the audience of the Orcs and the fallen Elves, he was all over you, kissing your neck between the sweet nothings whispered into your pointed ear as his fingers intertwined with yours under the table to squeeze your hand.

He was like a dog, you thought, but you could not blame him. He had admired you from the very beginning of his service to Morgoth and now he had you as his spouse. You allowed him to enjoy himself because it was the day of your wedding.

For you, it was more of a transaction. You cared about Mairon to some extent and your flesh enjoyed to fuck his but there was nothing in this world that you would love more than power.

"My Lady, can we talk?" Adar approached you when you were left alone for a moment.

You looked up, surprised, but the seriousness of his expression was making it obvious that the matter was rather important.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" You asked him as you followed him to the dark corner of the room where you could hide in the shadows together.

"I am a bearer of the bad news, I am afraid," Adar started and you furrowed your brows.

"Did Elven armies find our fortress?" You asked.

"No. Not the bad news of this kind," he lowered his voice even more and he glanced at Mairon from the corner of his eye.

You looked at your husband, too. He was talking to some of the fallen Elves and his excitement was revealing that he probably discussed his plans for the future.

"Do continue," you nodded at Adar, looking back at him with curiosity.

"Mairon does not plan to share anything with you," he informed you. "He re-fired Morgoth's crown to fit himself."

Your blood turned cold at the revelation. Morgoth's crown was supposed to be melted and turned into two smaller but equal crowns. That was the deal between you and Mairon – two spouses, two crowns, two Rings, one kingdom.

You glanced once more at your husband. How innocent he seemed at the moment, how devoted to you. And yet…

Your own student outsmarted you in the art of cunning treachery, so it seemed. You gritted your teeth.

"How do you know?" You asked Adar just to make sure.

"I was there," he answered with a hint of smirk, knowing very well that his delay of bringing you the news created a new problem for you.

"And you are telling me this only now? After I am bound to him forever?" Your jaw clenched out of anger as you realised.

"I have been a loyal servant to your husband and it still pains me to betray him by telling you the truth but I must think of my children first and at this very feast I overheard his plans for the Uruk. I cannot let this happen," he revealed and you sighed. You knew what plans he was talking about.

Mairon had never considered the Orcs to be smart creatures, therefore he often was speaking freely and openly about what he planned to do with them or what he was thinking of them because he thought they would not even understand.

Perhaps they would not but their Lord Father would.

"I have never been fond of your children either, Adar," you reminded him.

"Yet you make a better ally than he. I know you can give up on enslaving the Uruk if I helped you to rule over Middle-earth with their army in return. Alone. A Queen with no King," he whispered and his tempting words sent a shiver down your spine.

After a very short moment of hesitation – which surprised you to exist at all – you nodded at Adar.

“Say no more,” you whispered.

And when Mairon informed you a few weeks after your wedding that he wanted to be crowned soon and that he wished for you to be the one to put Morgoth’s crown onto his head, you agreed with a sweet smile that should have made him realise how false it was. But he was too relieved with the fact that you seemed to have no problem at all with giving him the most important title, therefore he did not notice the coldness of your gaze.

"My dear," he kneeled in front of you while you were sitting on the edge of your bed and he held your hands softly in his as he leaned in to kiss them. "It brings me so much joy to know it will be you to lay the crown onto my head. I do not wish for anyone else to bless me for I would not be here if it was not for you."

"Indeed, my sweet Mairon," was all you said with a scolding gaze but, once again, he chose not to see it. “My King,” you added with irony – one more time the tone of your voice remained ignored.

Sometimes, he would use his illusions to fool even himself. And that very thing would turn out to be his demise.

“You will be my right hand, my Queen, my goddess,” he kept assuring you and kissing the palms of your hands as you kept gritting your teeth.

His right hand, he dared to say. You were supposed to be one body, one soul. His Queen and yet she would bear no crown – not the same as his at least. His goddess but his devotion was a lie. He loved power more than he loved you.

But you loved power more than you loved him as well, so it was only fair.

And how else could you repay for his betrayal if not with a betrayal in return?

You already had a whole plan formed with Adar and all you had to do now was to patiently wait for the day of the coronation. You truly hoped that Morgoth's crown was powerful enough to kill your husband, so he could exist no more and so would the bond of blood magic between you be broken forever.

You were wearing beautiful, matching robes with your husband and your only audience were the Orcs and Adar, who was holding Morgoth’s crown as Mairon decided to give a speech to his new army.

You couldn’t help yourself as you kept glancing at the re-fired and re-shaped crown with a bitter and sour expression. 

“Always, after a defeat… the shadow takes another shape and grows again. Morgoth is gone,” your husband announced to the Orcs. “Leaving us alone and disgraced. But today, a new age begins,” he added and you exchanged a meaningful look with Adar at the sight of Mairon’s fingers fidgeting nervously. “Under me. Your new master. Sauron.”

It should have been you. Giving the speech. Being crowned. And you would be. Soon. Very soon.

However, you loved the dramatics as much as your husband. And you would gladly allow him to make a fool out of himself first.

“And with a new age, I bring a new vision. A path to unconditional conquest. For I seek a new kind of power,” Mairon raised his right hand as he spoke, posing to be some sort of a sage sharing his wisdom. “Not of the flesh, but over flesh. A power of the unseen world. One we shall use to enslave the peoples of Middle-earth to our very will.”

The Orcs seemed to be content with his words and for that one thing you admired him, actually – the way he always knew what to say to make people follow him and be enamoured with his visions.

You knew that he did not care about what the Orcs wanted and the words he was using now were nothing but a temptation for them to obey his orders. But it was them he wanted enslaved, not the others. The others were meant to be healed.

“Many Orcs will die,” Mairon added and you felt Adar moving uncomfortably. The Orcs did not seem to be as happy as before and you could not blame them. You glanced at your husband with a raised eyebrow.

Sometimes, even the ones most graced with a gift of the golden speech, would say a sentence too many.

“But out of the chaos, we will forge a new and perfect order. No longer will we be hunted as the demons who broke Middle-earth, but rather worshipped as the saviours who finally healed it,” Mairon smiled, excitedly and you rolled your eyes. “By bringing its peoples together, to rule them all as one!” He raised his hands but he was overdoing himself, it was too much and the Orcs were not as stupid as he believed them to be.

You could sense their nervousness and you could hear their whispers in the Black Speech: “Sauron lies”.

It brought you lots of satisfaction as you smirked to yourself, however you had to hide that smile quickly because your husband’s eyes desperately seeked for yours. He needed your comfort and your encouragement, so pathetically. So desperate to prove his worth as he had always been.

You nodded at him with a sympathetic smile, playing a role of a dutiful and supportive wife.

“Doubt me at your peril,” he began once more but his voice slightly weakened as he did so and then he clasped his hands while his voice suddenly turned darker. He decided to use a different tactic. “You have nowhere else to turn. The Valar will never forgive you. Elves will never accept you,” he pointed out. “Men… Men will never look upon you with anything but horror and disgust,” he added with a hint of satisfaction and contempt.

Perhaps you were not as skilled as he was with your speeches but you knew that this was not the way to lure the Orcs. It was not the way to lure anyone. Mairon was losing control – even the fact his hands were clasped was only trying to hide how shaky they had become.

“A corrupted and ignoble race, worthy only to be haunted and slaughtered,” he continued as the Orcs began to growl. In that moment, you were glad you had your pact with Adar, because otherwise you would not feel safe amongst them.

Suddenly, one of the Orcs standing closest to Mairon attacked him with his blade, making an assassination attempt. Your husband swiftly defended himself and slit his throat, for which you were glad.

You would kill that Orc yourself if he maimed Mairon before you could lay your hands on him. He was yours to slaughter.

As the creature dropped down to his knees and continued choking on his own blood, you watched Mairon pull the Orc even closer and watch his suffering with the same fascinated expression as you had used to watch him when he had been reshaped by Morgoth.

And then, he finished the assassin off with his own blade being put into the Orc’s skull. Over and over again as Adar flinched at the sight of his son being treated this way and the Orcs kept growling in anger.

And you, in that moment – for a short while – actually considered following your husband like you had once followed Morgoth. To forgive him his betrayal and to play along the role of a dutiful wife.

His cruelty spurred you on as you watched and watched, refusing to look away until the Orc’s body hit the floor and Mairon threw away the blade to fix his ginger hair that had gotten messy from the fight.

You could sense his frustration. His blood was now flowing in your veins just like yours was flowing in his.

“I am your only future and my path is your only path!” He yelled at the Orcs, fury and rage filling him whole and causing the veins of his face to fill up and swell with his thick and black blood.

You cleared your throat, awkwardly. The admiration you had felt not even a minute earlier was all gone now and once again you felt ashamed of your husband.

Morgoth had never yelled desperately like that to get respect. He had never threatened – not so openly. His very presence had been enough to follow him out of fear.

“Who among you dare say otherwise?” Mairon asked, more calmly now.

Soon, he would find out who exactly dared.

But so far, he still trusted you. He turned his head around and nodded at you, his eyes filled with faith.

You nodded back and took Morgoth’s crown from Adar’s hands. It was heavy and powerful as its dark magic vibrated from it all throughout your body when you carried it towards the crowd.

The Orcs were snarling at you when you raised your hands with the crown, not pleased at all that you were about to lay it upon your husband’s head.

“All Hail, Lord Sauron!” Adar exclaimed in the Black Speech. “The New Dark Lord.”

The Orcs hesitated but they followed what their Lord Father said.

“All hail!” They chanted and you walked away to your husband, who had just kneeled for you.

Like in the old days, before all the battles Morgoth had been sending him to. Mairon would kneel and you would bless him with your sword.

You raised your hands once more as a thrill of excitement went through your body. Mairon looked up at you through the crown placed above his head and you could spot the hint of doubt. Your bond worked both ways and he could sense something disturbing about you but you soothed him with a soft and fake smile.

Unsurely, he lowered his head once more and looked down, waiting for you to grace his head with the burden of the crown.

And the crown was a burden indeed. So full of dark and powerful magic that you knew already it was most certainly enough to kill a spirit like your husband.

You turned it around in a swift movement and lowered it with all your strength to stab him in the back of his neck as the crown’s poison infected his veins and made him move back out of the sudden pain.

You took the crown away from him and took a few steps back to stand next to Adar as the Orcs began screaming and approaching you all. Mairon’s eyes were full of surprise and disappointment and he kept them only on you as you graced him with the same soft smile you had been giving him for weeks now; for him to finally realise how false it was all this time.

“You could have kept your promise, my pet,” you told him in the Quenya language.

Your words angered him and he tried to stand up with his weakened limbs to fight you but in that very moment a group of Orcs attacked him all at once, stabbing his flesh continuously as you watched. He was making an attempt to fight them back and for the state he was in, he was truly doing well, but they were too many and he was alone.

And even if some part of you would truly mourn for your husband, the dark item in your hand with his blood dripping down on the floor from its iron spikes was enough to bring your mind back on the right path.

And as the Orcs kept stabbing his body, which was laying now in the puddle of dark and sticky blood, you raised the crown once more and put it on your own head, feeling Mairon’s blood dripping from it onto your face.

You licked your lips to get the taste. For the one last time you tasted him as you smirked.

You turned your head around to nod at Adar and he nodded back at you.

All hail the New Dark Lady.

MASTERLIST

[gentil-minou]

At what point will I be stopped

[brittle-doughie]

This can be a situation of 'what if' since the five beast were the first ones then what if they would be the first who began with this whole yandere chaos like- they are the ultimates obsessive over y/n cookie the fallen heroes have the first and high level O_O

-�� anon

What If: The First.

Something has to start somewhere. Y/N Cookie is a figure beloved by all, sometimes even a little too much from certain, no wait, a large majority of the cookie population on Earthbread.

They’ve seen a lot from what levels of obsession could offer from simple clinginess to the alters and shrines many create amidst their sickly love.

Y/N Cookie was surprisingly no stranger to these gestures. After all, they’ve seen these similar types of obsessive love elsewhere.

Long ago, many years back….you were a Primordial Cookie alongside your long lasting companions, the Five Beast Cookies.

You remembered all the times you’ve had with them.

The times you laughed. Shadow Milk Cookie would tell you many things about this world, but he also liked to sprinkle in some humor too. He’d even do a sort of jester act by using a puppet show, it never failed to make you chuckle at least once…

The times you chose to help others that made Mystic Flour Cookie warm with you. Your choices to make decisions that befitted your Virtue of Compassion was something of a spectacle for her. She adored that you did not question anything about showing compassion for others, some things don’t always have to come down to choice.

The times you felt safe. Red Spice and Silent Salt Cookie were your protectors. You were a cookie of compassion, but that shouldn’t mean that cookies should push you around. It made the two cookies unhappy and advise the perpetrator to back off. Red Spice was all show while Silent Salt was all quiet, but both make sure that you wouldn’t get harmed under their watch.

The times you loved. Eternal Sugar Cookie was always happy to see you. Compassion and Happiness always worked well together, so it only made sense that you were the closest to her. She’d let you join her on her cloud as you two talked the day away, Eternal Sugar being happy that she got to spend time with you in any form.

Oh, how things went south when power corrupts.

One by one, their will crumbled under the weight of their own strength. The Five became twisted apostles of evil and brought forth darkness and devastation.

This corruption had also brought upon unfortunate side effects to their love for you, twisting and change until it’s nothing but sickly and dark.

Shadow Milk Cookie embraced deceit into his heart, controlling and manipulating the cookies around you. His plan to make you belong to him would be to drive everyone you knew away from you whether it be by his twisted mind tricks or more lethal methods. You’d have no one left but him…

Red Spice Cookie only brought nothing but destruction to whoever dared to challenge his sick obsession with you. No cookie could ever survive an encounter with him, only reduced to smoldering crumbs on the ground. No cookie has ever loved you like he has, because there’d be no one left that could…

Silent Salt Cookie’s protectiveness reached insane levels you’d never expect from them. Cookies that so much as raise a hand in your presence are swiftly cut down by Silent Salt. Cookies can’t even look at you without Silent Salt putting an end to their existence. Their worry for you, and you overall, was worth the lives they stomped on.

No other cookie mattered to Mystic Flour Cookie anymore that wasn’t you. She just didn’t see why you should care for any of these insignificant specks of grain as she casually waves her arm, reducing the whole landscape around her into nothing. No longer did choice matter to her, the decisions she once valued mean little to her if it didn’t help you or her out.

What was once happiness has now turned into a deadly and sickly obsession with you. Eternal Sugar Cookie’s mind hazed with nothing but thoughts of you, unable to get you out of her mind. NEVER wanting to get you out of her mind. Only you could get her off her cloud, she’ll simply yawn and turn away anyone else. She believes her love for you triumphs above anyone else, gleefully obliterating anyone who thinks could challenge her…

You can still hear their screams and shocked gasps when the Creators locked them away, their pained cries and shouts all becoming static in your head.

The Ancient Heroes…

They’ve done well in resisting the temptation of power unlike your former comrades, their affection remaining moderate as a result.

Though, one of them have your doubts..

[reaper2187]

Kathryn hahn x female reader

The "Hot Ones" set was bustling with quiet excitement, a controlled chaos typical of pre-show preparation. Camera crew checked equipment, producers murmured among themselves, and a makeup artist made last-minute adjustments on Kathryn Hahn. Y/N sat across from her, observing the scene with a familiar calm. They had just finished working on a movie together, and now here they were, about to test their spice tolerance while answering questions that would dig deep into their lives and careers.

“Ready for this?” Kathryn asked, her wide grin flashing toward Y/N as she adjusted the lapel of her shirt.

Y/N smirked. “Born ready.” At 23, Y/N had already made a name for herself in horror, playing twisted killers that haunted the nightmares of many, but her recent turn as Knightmare in the Marvel universe was opening new doors. Her character, the daughter of the Seven Deadly Sins, was dark, complex, and thrilling to portray—just the kind of role Y/N loved.

Kathryn, on the other hand, was an actress with a range as wide as her laugh. The two had worked together on a thriller, a gritty, emotionally charged film, and the chemistry between them on screen had been palpable. Off-screen, that chemistry had turned into a solid friendship. And now, under the glow of studio lights, about to dive into an increasingly spicy array of wings, that camaraderie was about to be tested.

The host, Sean Evans, strolled in with his signature warm smile, taking a seat across from the two actresses. “You ready for this?” he asked, echoing Kathryn’s earlier question.

Kathryn gave a mock-terrified look, glancing at Y/N. “I thought I was until I remembered how much Y/N enjoys hot sauce.”

Y/N chuckled, her deep voice soft but edged with amusement. “I have a pretty high spice tolerance, so you’re in trouble, Hahn.”

Sean laughed. “We’ll see about that. Kathryn, Y/N, welcome to Hot Ones—the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. Let’s get started.”

The first wing was harmless, a simple kick of flavor without too much heat. They both handled it with ease, bantering back and forth about their experiences filming the movie. Sean jumped in with his first question for Y/N.

“Y/N, you’ve been known to dominate in the horror genre, playing some truly terrifying killers. What’s it like to play someone so evil, especially being so young?”

Y/N wiped her fingers with a napkin, thinking about her answer. “You know, it’s funny because I don’t think of them as evil when I’m playing them. I try to understand what makes them tick, why they do what they do. It’s more about understanding the character’s pain or trauma that leads them to those dark places. I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of horror.” She glanced at Kathryn, who nodded in agreement. “And honestly, it’s pretty fun to play the bad guy. You get to let out all that chaos you’d never allow in real life.”

Sean nodded, intrigued. “And how does that translate into playing Knightmare in Marvel? She’s still dark, but she’s got that anti-hero edge.”

“Oh, definitely,” Y/N replied, leaning back in her chair. “Knightmare is all about redemption, but she’s also struggling with her nature. She’s the daughter of the Seven Deadly Sins, so she’s constantly fighting against her darker impulses. There’s something relatable about that—fighting your inner demons, you know?”

Kathryn cut in, laughing. “It’s wild because Y/N, in real life, is the least threatening person ever. You wouldn’t guess she plays these intense, terrifying characters by the way she’s so laid-back.”

Y/N gave her a playful nudge. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

They moved on to the next wing, which had a noticeable increase in heat. Kathryn started to feel the burn, her eyes widening slightly, while Y/N stayed cool, eating the wing like it was nothing.

“Okay, Kathryn, this one’s for you,” Sean said, holding back a laugh at her reaction to the spice. “You’ve had such a versatile career, from comedy to drama, and now this thriller with Y/N. What’s it been like switching between genres?”

Kathryn blew out a breath, fanning her face. “Whew, that’s hot. Uh, yeah, it’s been a wild ride. I love that I get to explore so many different kinds of roles. Comedy will always be my first love, but I also love getting into the grittier stuff, like our movie. There’s something so cathartic about diving into those deeper emotions.”

She turned to Y/N, her eyes bright. “Working with Y/N was a dream. She’s got this quiet intensity on set, and it just pulls you in. You can’t help but feed off of it.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “You make me sound like some brooding method actor.”

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

Y/N grinned. “Maybe a little.”

The third wing brought the heat up a notch, and while Kathryn squirmed in her seat, Y/N remained as calm as ever. The difference between their reactions was obvious, and it made the dynamic all the more entertaining for Sean and the audience.

“You’re not even breaking a sweat, Y/N,” Sean said, half amazed. “What’s your secret?”

Y/N shrugged casually. “I just like spicy food. Grew up eating it. Plus, after playing a serial killer in all these horror movies, I guess my pain threshold’s pretty high.”

Kathryn laughed through the heat building in her mouth. “You say that so casually, like, ‘Oh, just another day at the office, murdering people and eating fire.’”

Y/N gave her a sly smile. “Pretty much.”

The fourth wing hit hard, a noticeable jump in spice, and Kathryn visibly winced, reaching for her water. Y/N, however, still appeared unfazed, though she did take a sip of her water just to stay hydrated.

“You’ve worked on some pretty intense scenes together in your latest movie,” Sean said, wiping his own brow. “Was there a moment during filming where the tension on set was almost too real?”

Kathryn let out a deep breath, eyes still wide from the spice. “Oh, man, there was this one scene where Y/N’s character is supposed to be chasing mine down this dark alley. It was late at night, cold, and Y/N is just in full killer mode. She’s got this look in her eyes, and even though I know it’s all acting, for a split second, I thought, ‘Oh my God, I’m going to die.’”

Y/N laughed softly. “I do remember that. You gave me this look after we cut, like, ‘Please don’t ever look at me like that again.’”

Kathryn nodded emphatically. “Exactly! You scared the hell out of me, but it made the scene so much better. That’s what I love about working with you. You’re so committed, and you push everyone around you to be better.”

Y/N glanced down, almost shy for a moment, her masculine energy softening under Kathryn’s praise. “I just want to make sure we all bring our best, you know?”

They reached the fifth wing, and by now, Kathryn was struggling. Her face was flushed, and she took frequent sips of milk between bites, while Y/N continued to soldier on, a subtle sheen of sweat on her brow the only sign that the heat was affecting her at all.

Sean jumped in with another question, this time focusing on their personal dynamics. “You two clearly have great chemistry, both on screen and off. Was there a moment when you realized you clicked as friends?”

Kathryn looked at Y/N, a smile curving her lips despite the heat. “I think it was during one of our rehearsal breaks. We were both exhausted, and Y/N just pulls out this deck of cards and starts doing magic tricks. I lost it. I didn’t expect that from her at all.”

Y/N chuckled. “Yeah, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Rehearsals can get intense, and I figured a little distraction wouldn’t hurt.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “Magic tricks? Really?”

Y/N nodded. “It’s just a hobby, something I picked up when I was younger. Helps with the hand-eye coordination too, which is useful when you’re playing someone who’s good with knives.”

Kathryn shook her head, laughing. “See what I mean? Full of surprises.”

The sixth wing, known as "Da Bomb," was infamous for its brutal heat. Kathryn braced herself, biting into it hesitantly, and immediately regretted it. Her face contorted in agony as she reached for her milk, gasping slightly.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is insane.”

Y/N took a bite, her expression neutral for a moment before she nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, this one’s got some kick.”

Sean, looking slightly devilish, leaned in. “Y/N, you’ve got a high spice tolerance, but even you seem to be feeling this one. Has anything ever rattled you on set the way this wing is?”

Y/N considered the question, her voice steady despite the heat. “Honestly, the only time I get rattled is when the stakes are high for the scene, like an emotional climax. I can handle gore and action all day, but the scenes where you have to really tap into something vulnerable—that’s the

stuff that gets me.”

Kathryn, tears in her eyes from the heat, managed to nod. “Yeah, those are the hardest. You get so wrapped up in it, it’s like you’re baring a part of yourself.”

Y/N reached over, patting Kathryn on the shoulder. “You’re doing great, Hahn. Almost there.”

They finally reached the last wing, the infamous "Last Dab." Kathryn looked at it with dread, while Y/N calmly added an extra dab of sauce to hers, a cocky smile playing on her lips.

“You’re insane,” Kathryn muttered, though her voice held admiration.

Y/N winked. “Gotta go out with a bang, right?”

They both took their bites, and Kathryn immediately regretted it, her face turning red as she reached for more water and milk, anything to dull the fire. Y/N winced slightly, but powered through, still in control.

Sean laughed, amazed. “Y/N, you’ve officially survived the hot seat! Kathryn, you too—barely.”

Kathryn, still recovering, gave a shaky thumbs-up. “I don’t know how I’m still alive, but I made it!”

As the interview wrapped, Y/N leaned back in her chair, her calm demeanor intact, while Kathryn fanned herself, still feeling the burn. Despite the spice, the bond between them was undeniable, strengthened by their shared experience on set and in life. And as they exited the stage, laughing and teasing each other, it was clear that their friendship—like their careers—was built to last.

This is the second one as a little sorry for not posting

[creaman]

—BECAUSE KUNG FU PANDA 4 KILLED MY GRANDMA, OKAY?

To preface, I watched this movie and I'm genuinely tweaking right now so I had to write down a very brief (lie) criticism on this film — which you should boycott, by the way.

Starting with the things I liked, before briefing my primary points of criticism:

Po's Character Regression

Po and Zhen's Dynamic

The Chameleon

I'd also yap about Lord Shen and the death of the art style and the entire narrative and pacing and use of the staff of wisdom but my therapist says being such a hater is 'unhealthy' or something. My heart is full of hatred.

SPOILERS for the entirety KFP4 for the 2 people who care.

KFP4 undermines and ignores the previous three movies — Unwriting character developments, outright removing the Furious Five, straying from the character design philosophies and is completely inconsistent with the established lore.

Things I Liked About Kung Fu Panda 4

The Chameleon's character design

Visual gag in the Tavern where Po uses a recently thrown axe as a hat rack (made me laugh)

When Mr. Ping did this:

so cute! the little heart!

Po — Character Writing

Po, as established in the previous movies, is confident in his abilities and identity — he’s learnt inner peace, he’s matured as a character. However, in KFP4, his character has completely regressed. He’s immature again (such as KFP1, possibly worse) and says verbatim, “only knows kicking butt and taking names” — UNLEARNING inner peace and insisting that “…being the Dragon Warrior is all I know.”

It’s childish, and sort of Hotel Transylvania-esque.

Which isn’t helped by the comedy, the dialogue — a large chunk of which are jokes in the style of:

Master Shifu says something philosophical

Po quips off of it / doesn’t get it (i.e. Whoa!! beat I don’t know what that means.)

Oh, it’s great, yeah, very tolerable. Po’s shenanigans are normally reeled in by the presence of the Furious Five who are generally more serious in nature, creating a much needed balance in the dynamic — So without them, it’s just Po becoming increasingly obnoxious and insufferable with every consecutive quip throughout the screenplay.

Po and Zhen — Character Dynamics

[No more graphics sorry I'm too angry]

As if it wasn’t obvious that Zhen was going to be the next Dragon Warrior the second she was introduced.

Zhen, as a character, has no depth besides being a quippy thief. She quips, she steals. This character has no motives — it can be assumed that the writers intended on a ‘change of heart’ thing, but she isn’t established as evil, her working for the Chameleon is written as a (albeit poor) twist reveal.

By which point, her taking either side wouldn’t make sense, given that she has shown no loyalty or attachment to either Po nor the Chameleon.

The movie artificially strengthens their bond by having Zhen start opening up about her backstory out of nowhere for no reason but they have done nothing to grow closer to each other.

Small tangent, her backstory is exactly what you’d expect it to be with no subversions or even emotional weight. Woe is me I was so small and hungry I had to steal to survive. Glossed over in about a minute.

The majority of the dialogue between Zhen and Po is spoken exposition — explaining how powerful and badass the Chameleon is, explaining how ‘we have to go here to do that’ and ‘this place was cool until the Chameleon did such and such’, and the rest of their time together is spent engaging in filler chase sequences and fight scenes.

The Chameleon

Where do I even start…

This is where it becomes apparent that the movie relies heavily on telling rather than showing —

She is the weakest villain by far, not only in universe but as a written character; which is particularly disheartening because I genuinely adore her character design and feel as though a shapeshifting character has great potential.

The movie artificially inflates her power by insisting through exposition that this is the most capable antagonist thus far (lie).

The audience is TOLD by Zhen and various restaurant patrons that the Chameleon is a powerful shapeshifting sorceress and that she 'dominates the city' whilst the film does nothing to showcase this.

'Dominating the city' meaning letting her henchpeople run amock and bully the civilians just like Lord Shen's wolves in KFP2... uninspired.

I just realised they didn't even give her a NAME what the FUCK is going on

She describes HERSELF as ruthless, clever and unsentimental when comparing Zhen to herself.

She says HERSELF that she’s “Stronger than every opponent you’ve ever faced.”

Let’s see what vile reprehensible things she’s done, shall we?

Gently push someone down some stairs

Her first appearance is through Zhen’s exposition, as opposed to the dramatic and memorable entrances of the previous villains. Her motives or character aren’t established until the final third of the film. She doesn’t even FIGHT anybody until the final third of the film; and even then, her fight sequences are uninspired and she never really poses a real threat. (She goes down in two hits.)

That being said, WE CAN STILL SAVE HER GUYS WE CAN STILL GET HER OUTTA THERE I'M COMING FOR YOU CHAMELEON I'M GONNA DRAFT YOU A PROPER BACKSTORY AND MOTIVE AND YOU'RE GONNA BE THE MOST THREATENING VILLAIN THUS FAR

There's a scene after the climax of the film where all the kung fu masters and previous villains from the spirit realm bow to Po. I'm not going to provide my thoughts on this because I fear I may burst a blood vessel. Good day!

Closing Statements

To put it simply, Kung Fu Panda 4 was my Megamind 2.

The film rejects its predecessors in every way. It really feels as though they brought in somebody with no prior knowledge of the franchise to direct the movie.

It's a film that relies heavily on telling rather than showing — banking on the previous three movies to carry it through the box office.

It's just really disheartening to see studio execs turn one of the best franchises into a safe sequel cash grab and regress every character's development.

Nevertheless. I do adore the chameleon's character design so I might do my own take on her character.

As far as I'm concerned, there is no fairy godmother, there is no tooth fairy, and there is no kung fu panda 4.

[rynwritesreid]

Twisted affections| Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Both Hotch and Spencer realise they both have feelings for you. They decided to approach reader about the possibility of sharing a relationship with both of them. Hotch, acting as a protective father figure, and Spencer, more discreet but equally protective. They approach reader together to talk about the possibility of a unique relationship.

Content: Smut. 18+. Fem!Reader. Mean Dom Hotch, Soft Dom Reid, Sub reader. Threesomes Oral sex (M! receiving). Fingering. Degrading. Praise. Overstimulation. Anal. Double penetration. Candaulism. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. Breeding kink. Marking. Pet names.

A/N: This is my first time writing about a threesome. I hope you enjoy it :)

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

4.0k words

When you first joined the BAU, fresh faced and doe eyes, Hotch and Spencer immediately noticed you. Of course, Hotch had interviewed you, but he just now realised how beautiful you really were. See, you have this radiant smile, one that everyone on the team looked forward to seeing. You were a generous, empathic, and all-around good person. Everyone on the team loved you, especially Hotch and Spencer.

 

Hotch cared for you like a very protective father, he would glare at anyone who so much as looked at you in the wrong way. Spencer, however, was more discreet. He wouldn’t shoot evil glares at the men who did flirt with you or look at you as if you were on display. He was still protective over you, he would always go in-front of you when you were in the field, he made sure the people we were trying to catch didn’t come close to you. When everyone else was sleeping on the jet, he would come put a blanket over you.

Though at some point, Hotch and Spencer must have realised there was no point fighting over you. They both wanted you and neither of them wanted to be the one without you. They could tell how you felt about them, they saw how you looked at them, how you acted around them. Because of this, they knew they needed to come up with a plan together, one where they would both win, and where you would be able to have both of them.

 

They decided to talk to you about it, to see if you were open to the idea of sharing a relationship with both of them. It was an unconventional arrangement, but they couldn't deny how strongly they both felt for you. They decided to wait for the perfect moment. One where it would just be you three alone, they didn’t want anyone else on the team to know what was happening or that you three could possibly be in a relationship together.

 

This came quicker than expected, it was after a case, it wasn’t particularly gruelling, but it wasn’t an easy case. You didn’t want to go home straight away, you lived alone and sometimes you would just stick around the headquarters to do some paperwork or relax for a little bit. Hotch and Spencer were also there, you knew why Hotch was there, but you weren’t really sure as to why Spencer was still at work.

 

As you sat at your desk, Hotch and Spencer approached you. They were both standing on either side of you, and their presence made your heart race.

 

“Hey,” Hotch said softly, “we wanted to talk to you about something.”

 

You looked up at him, and then at Spencer. Both of them were looking at you intently, their expressions a mixture of nervousness and hope.

 

“Sure, what is it?” you asked, unsure of what to expect.

 

Spencer cleared his throat, and then spoke up. “We’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and we wanted to ask if you’d be willing to try something with us.”

 

Your confusion must’ve shown on your face because Hotch stepped in to explain.

 

“We both care for you deeply, and we don’t want to lose you. It’s an unconventional arrangement, but we were wondering if you’d be open to the idea of being in a relationship with both of us.”

 

At first you were apprehensive of the agreement, unsure if this something you truly wanted. They were both attractive to you, and you have developed a crush on the both of them. You sat there in silence, looking at neither of them.

 

You needed time to process this unusual proposition, but you also didn't want to dismiss it right away. You thought about how much you care for them, how they both make you feel, and what it would be like to be with both of them at the same time. It was a lot to take in, and you didn't want to hurt either of them by jumping to a decision too quickly.

 

After a few moments of silence, you looked up at them and spoke softly, "I need some time to think about it. It's not something I've ever considered before, but I appreciate you both being honest with me."

 

Hotch and Spencer nodded understandingly, giving you the space, you needed to process. They didn't want to pressure you into anything, but they also didn't want to lose you. They cared for you deeply and were willing to try something new if it meant keeping you in their lives.

 

Over the next few days, you thought about the proposition more and more, and you couldn't deny the attraction you felt for both Hotch and Spencer. You found yourself fantasizing about them, imagining what it would be like to be with both of them at the same time.

 

Finally, you decided, and you called both Hotch and Spencer to your apartment. You took a deep breath and looked at each of them in turn, taking in their handsome faces and the heat that rose in your body at the thought of being with them.

 

"Okay," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm willing to try it."

 

Hotch and Spencer exchanged a look of relief and excitement, and they both leaned in to kiss you on either cheek. You couldn't believe what was happening, but you were also excited to see where this would lead.

 

You had never been in a relationship with two people before, and you weren't sure how it would work. But as their lips pressed softly against your skin, you felt a sense of comfort and safety wash over you.

 

"We just want you to know that we care for you deeply," Hotch said, his voice low and soothing.

 

"We don't want this to be just some fling, we want to build something meaningful with you."

 

Spencer nodded in agreement, his hand squeezing yours gently. "We know this isn't the traditional way of doing things, but we believe that the three of us can make this work."

 

They didn’t spend too much time at your apartment, they didn’t want to rush you or put pressure on you to do stuff with them. They wanted you to be relaxed, calm and happy about this. They were just as nervous as you, this was completely new for them too.

 

The first time you did anything with them, it was just you and Spencer. He was caring, gentle and passionate. He made you cum three times before he even allowed you to give him head or before he would fuck you.

 

Hotch on the other hand, was rough. He fucked you until you were begging for mercy, and then he would flip you over and fuck you again. He loved to slap your ass as he slammed into you, he loved to hear you scream, and you loved it too. He liked marking you, he wanted other men to know they didn’t stand a chance with you.

 

They both had different pet names for you, Spencer liked to call you his princess or good girl. Hotch wasn’t as nice. He would call you a slut, sometimes a whore. Hotch loved to degrade you, he loved letting you know that he was in control of you at work and at home.

 

He loved making you wear slutty clothes when he was with you, or when you were going out. Hotch liked to watch how Spencer would react, or how other men would stare at you. You liked the attention too, but also liked knowing that you would be going home with either Spencer or Hotch. They were both protective of you, and they made sure that they were the only ones allowed to fuck you. They didn’t want another man to have you because you were theirs and theirs alone.

 

Hotch had invited you to go drinking with him. He made you wear this insanely short skirt, and a top that had no back to it. You were showing off your tattoo to some guy, you were a little drunk, and you couldn’t believe how confident you were. You could feel his eyes on your ass, and you were aware of every move you made.

 

Hotch marched over to you, sat on stool besides you, and pulled you onto his lap. It was a big move, the move that drove it home for you that you belonged to him (and Spencer). He cupped your face in his hands and stared into your eyes. "You’re mine tonight, remember that.”

 

"Yes, Sir" you said, and he smiled. 

 

You smiled back at him, and then you kissed him, letting him know that you were on board. He kissed you back, and then you felt his hand creep up your thigh, under your skirt. He let out a groan as he felt how wet you were.

 

"You like showing off your goods to other guys, don’t you?"

 

You nodded at him, knowing that you were in trouble. "Yes, Sir..." you began.

 

"When you wear this outfit, you’re pretty much advertising yourself aren’t you?"

 

Though Hotch had asked you to wear it, you had worn it before. You loved the attention it had gotten you, much like you did now.

 

"Yes, Sir" you said, afraid you were going to regret agreeing. 

 

"In that case, I’m going to have to punish you till you learn your lesson,” he said.

 

You whimpered, but you nodded in agreement. You knew you’d been a bad girl; you didn’t know what type of punishment you were in for. Hotch went to the bathroom quickly, just after he had told you to wait for him. What you didn’t know was that he was not only calling for a taxi but also calling Spencer to let him know what had happened at the bar.

 

You waited for a few minutes, feeling a little stupid as you were dressed like a slut, just sitting in the bar. You felt eyes on you, and you knew you were being watched. You were slightly aroused by the attention, and you knew it was what both Hotch and Spencer wanted.

 

Hotch came back from the bathroom and told you he ordered a taxi. He took your hand and led you outside. You didn’t dare say a word to him, you didn’t want to make the punishment any worse than it already was going to be. Once you were in the taxi, you could feel Hotchs hand climb up your thigh, he was running his fingers over your panties to feel how wet you had become.

 

Once you had arrived at his house, you could see a light was inside. You thought maybe Jack was there, but you knew he wouldn’t have brought you back to his place if his child was going to be there. You wanted to ask, but you knew Hotch had a plan for you. When you stepped inside you saw Spencer sitting there with a disappointed look on his face.

 

"You both are disappointed in me" you said, looking down at the floor. You knew you had been a bad girl, and now you were going to pay for it. 

 

"Yes" they both said in unison.  

 

Hotch turned to Spencer and raised an eyebrow. "What should we do about her?"

 

Spencer sighed and told you to "go get undressed, we're going to get you out of this,” he said it in a tone you had never heard from him before.

 

You did as you were told and stripped your clothes off.

 

“Good girl” Spencer said, still with disappointment in his voice.

 

You looked at him and saw him smiling at you, then you looked at Hotch who gave you a look that said, "I'm not done with you yet, but we will get to that."

 

"Now, get to the bedroom and get on your knees" Spencer ordered.

 

You did as you were told, you knew it was easier to just do what they ordered. You got on your knees close to the bed, you knew what was coming but you were still nervous.

 

You heard footsteps coming up the stairs, you couldn’t tell they were Spencer’s or hotch’s. You saw the door slowly open, and watched Spencer walk in. He walked over to you; he still didn’t look happy. He put his hand under your chin and forced you to look up at him.

 

“We’re so disappointed in you. You’ve never acted like this before. Are we not giving you enough attention?” Spencer asked. He was smirking at you, but you knew there was some part of him that was wondering if they weren’t give you enough attention.

 

You shook your head, and whispered a no.

 

“That’s what I thought. Hotch is going to come up in a second, okay. He’s going to deal with you first.” He didn’t seem disappointed that he wasn’t going to be the first one to use you tonight, so you wondered what else they had planned.

 

It wasn’t long till Hotch was then in the room. He didn’t walk over to you straightaway, instead he started to undress himself. You saw Spencer walk over to him and ask him something, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying, but you saw he walked out of the room.

 

Hotch looked towards you, "you know, Spencer has been talking about getting you some nice toys, I think today is the day he lets you have them" he said.

 

Spencer hadn’t mentioned anything like this to you. But now you knew they discussed you when you weren’t with them.

 

He made his way over to you. He leaned down close to your ear and whispered, "I’m going to let you suck my cock, and I’m going to let Spencer go get the toys he wants to try out on you.” He bit down gently on your ear, and you moaned in response. 

 

You wanted to try everything with them, you wanted to feel every action that they could bestow on you.

 

“Now be a good girl and open your mouth.”

 

You did as you were told, and you opened your mouth. He slipped his cock inside. He grabbed the back of your head; you knew he was going to be extra rough with you tonight. He pushed his cock all the way to the back of your throat, you gagged a little, you weren’t expecting this to happen straightaway.

 

"Good girl,” he said, “I think you’re a fan of me using you like this.”

 

You felt your eyes staring to water, wondering where Spencer had gone, but you were too focused on Hotch to really care. He started to thrust, he wasn’t gentle, it rough and the way his hand was grabbing your hair was kind of painful. But you loved every second of it.

 

He let out a moan, and you knew he was going to cum. He pulled his cock out of your mouth, and you looked up at him, he stroked his cock for a few seconds, and then you saw him shoot his load all over your tits and your chest. 

 

After he had caught his breath, he told you to lay on the bed. Again, you did as you were told, it was easier this way. Once you were fairly comfortable, you saw Hotch had some rope in his hands. You started to feel one of his hands tie the rope around your ankles, tying them to the bedposts.

 

Hotch's hand ran over your pussy, he was playing with you. He was making you want him. You needed him to touch you. You weren’t sure when, but you noticed Spencer had come back in the room. You didn’t see him holding anything, but you knew he had gone to get something.

 

Once Spencer was stood next to you, his hands were roaming your body. He started to pinch your nipples, he also wanted to tease you. You felt Spencer move his hands off you. Suddenly you felt his hand on your face, and you heard him say, "Smile."

 

You smiled at Spencer, and you heard the sound of a camera. Unsure is he had just taken a picture of you. Spencer than walked over to where Hotch was. They took turns in fingering you, the other one taking pictures and videos. You couldn’t believe how turned on this was making you. You wanted to cum so badly, but you knew they weren’t going to let that happen yet.

 

You suddenly heard Hotch speak, “Maybe we should show everyone on the team these. Show them how much of a slut you are for us. How much we make you moan. Maybe we should even go back to bar and find that man you were flirting with, I’m sure he would love these photos.”

 

You whimpered as you heard him say that. It was true, you didn’t want any of your co-workers or your friends to see these, and you knew they would never talk to you again. You wondered if he was really going to do that, and if he did you would have to quit your job. Spencer leaned in closer and said, "Don’t worry, we'd never let that happen, but we want you to have something to remember this by."

 

They continued this for a while, and every time you came close to cumming, they would stop. They wanted to edge you, they wanted to see how long you could take this. You though were just a moaning mess, covered in Hotch’s cum with your mascara running down your face.

 

After what seemed like forever, you heard Hotch talk. “This is unfair on Spencer, don’t you think.”

 

You nodded in agreement. And felt them both stop what they were doing. You saw Spencer step back. He started to undress himself. Once Spencer was completely naked, you felt him climb on top of you. He slipped his cock into you, and you moaned out in pleasure. You were so close to cumming. Spencer started to thrust faster, slamming his cock into you.

 

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Asked Hotch in an almost menacing tone.

 

You nodded, unable to find any words.

 

“Well, only good girls get to cum. And you haven’t been a good girl, have you? So, you’re going to have to hold it.”

 

You didn’t know if you could, but you did know you were going to have to try. It wasn’t long till you felt Spencer steady his speed, you knew he was close. You wanted to beg for him to cum inside you, but you were unable to speak. But Spencer didn’t plan on pulling out, if he was being honest, he wanted to get you pregnant.

 

Spencer slammed into you one last time, and you heard him grunt a second later, and you felt his warm cum inside of you. You felt full, but you hadn’t been able to cum all night.

 

“Did you like this baby?" Hotch asked you.

 

You nodded. "I want to cum, please." you pleaded.

 

"You won't cum without my say so, and since you decided you wanted to flirt with other men, I don’t think we should.”

 

You wanted to cry, you wanted to beg. But you heard Spencer say something.

 

“I think she’s learnt her lesson Hotch, plus I really want to try something new.”

 

"I don't think she deserves to cum, she needs to learn her lesson." you heard Hotch say in return.

 

You were about to say something, but Spencer cut you off. "I know, but I think we should let her cum, how about we try something new out? Something she’s never done."

 

“What have you got in mind?” 

 

“Well, I haven’t fucked her ass before, and I think she would like that.”

 

You whimpered, that sounded painful, but at that point you would do anything to cum. You felt them both untie your legs, so Spencer would have easier access.

 

You felt Spencer move off you, and you heard him open a new bottle of lube, you were a little confused, you didn’t think they had brought any in. Hotch told you to get on all fours. Again, you did as you were told.

 

You felt a finger at your entrance, he was getting you ready. You were scared, and nervous, but you were more than ready for this. 

 

You felt him push his finger inside you, he wasn’t gentle, this felt like his cock, and it hurt. But you loved every second you felt him slide his finger in and out of you. He pushed a second finger in, and you moaned out, you couldn’t help it, you loved the way he was fingering your ass.

 

After a while, you felt him slide another finger into you.

 

“Do you think she’s ready Hotch?”

 

“I think she can take it,” Hotch replied.

 

You gripped the sheets as you felt him slide more and more inside you. He didn’t take it slow, but he did take his time, he didn’t want to hurt you anymore. 

 

It felt like your ass was on fire. It hurt so much, your hole burned, and you felt like you couldn’t take anymore. But you knew you had to. Spencer pushed all the way inside you and stopped. He waited for you to get used to it. 

 

He waited for you to relax, and you did. It still felt weird, and you felt full. But you managed to relax, and you enjoyed the feeling of being full. 

 

You then felt something against your clit, it wasn’t Spencer’s or Hotch’s hand. You then felt it start to vibrate, so you instantly knew what it was. You couldn’t help but start to moan. It truly felt like heaven, but then Spencer pulled out. You were confused, wondering what was about to happen.

 

Hotch asked you to step of the bed for a moment, to which you did. He got on the bed, close to the edge so his legs were hanging of the end. He told you to get on top of him.

You were so confused, but you did as you were told. You felt his cock start to enter you, and Spencer returned to his previous spot. You realised what was about to happen. Once they both in you, you felt the vibrator return.

 

It hurt a little to feel both of them enter you, but after a while, it felt amazing. Spencer thrust into you from behind, holding your hips. Hotch was underneath you, his cock deep inside you. He watched his younger agent fuck you from behind. He had a look of pure lust on his face. 

 

Hotch watched you bounce on his cock, he could see the pain on your face, and the pleasure. Spencer grabbed your hair and pulled you back. He kissed your neck.

 

You were moaning in pleasure, you had never felt like this before. 

 

You started to lose yourself. The feeling was amazing, they were filling you up at the same time. You wondered if you could cum like this. 

 

Then Spencer said, "God she’s so tight”

 

Both Spencer and Hotch started to thrust faster and faster, you knew you couldn’t hold on any longer. 

 

Pleasure took over, and you couldn’t control yourself. You were moaning out, and you couldn’t stop. You felt an overwhelming sensation throughout your body, you started to tense up.

 

The vibrator was still attached to your clit, so you came hard. You were unable to moan out, it hurt too much, but you knew they would know. 

 

Spencer and Hotch continued to thrust into you, but they couldn’t hold on much longer. You could feel that they were close as well.

 

You felt Spencer slam into you one last time. He grunted and pulled out; you were left with his cum inside of you. It felt like it was everywhere, you felt so full. 

 

Hotch grabbed hold of you, he grabbed your ass and threw you down on him. He rammed into you hard, and he came as well. He came inside you, and it felt amazing. 

 

You fell to the side of the bed. You were exhausted, and you felt like you had been through so much. But you had enjoyed every minute of it. 

 

Spencer went to get towels and Hotch went downstairs to get you some food and water. You felt complete, and you can’t believe for one second you ever doubted this relationship.

Join my taglist

~taglist~

@nomajdetective @katieeeee314 @drspencieee

@evvy96 @oliviah-25

All reblogs/likes/comments are greatly appreciated(I really want to know if you want more writing like this, or my angst/fluff) much love :)💕

[kaermorhenatnight]

Why I believe Zevlor should become a companion in act 2 instead of Halsin:

1. Halsin is a druid and in act 3 we get Jaheira - that way in a good playthrough we get two druids which is kinda pointless in my opinion from the mechanical standpoint

2. Minthara is supposed to be an evil-playthrough companion and Halsin a good-playthrough one (I know that now you can have them both, but that was the original idea) - it would make sense to have a good version paladin and a bad version paladin

3. It would be especially interesting considering Zevlor is an oathbreaker and Minthara is not - I like the twist of the "good" option being the oathbreaker

4. Halsin's story ends in act 2. When you defeat the shadow-curse his arch is over, there isn't much more to him (he just has some thoughts about how the city is not balanced). There isn't much there to explore after he fixed his "mistakes from the past". He's just there and after some time of not much conversation he's just "yeah, you wanna smash?"

5. Zevlor still has a lot to work through after his people got captured and killed and he didn't do anything - there's A LOT of material for development

6. (very subjective) Zevlor's story is much more interesting. Halsin is exactly who he seems to be. Obsessed with nature and balance, the most stereotypical druid you could imagine. You know, the whole "just as nature intended" thing. Zevlor is an idealist who fought for people of Elturel only to be betrayed by them when they won - casting him and other tieflings out. THAT was when he broke his oath, when they were cast out. How exactly? We don't know. It is said that it wasn't even the oath that was broken but his faith itself - there is so much to explore there! But all we get is a short conversation telling him he cannot give up and he's like oh shit, you're right and then he appears for the final battle

7. I think him and Jaheira would really vibe together. The mom and dad of the group - the cynical Harper who has a complicated relationship with that institution and an idealistic oathbreaker paladin who just wanted to protect his people but failed

8. LARIAN PLEASE LET ME FUCK THAT SWEET OLD MAN

[write-and-wander]

That Night

Astarion x Female Tav/Reader Description: A slowed-down, in-depth retelling of the aftermath of the Cazador fight; looking deeper into the thoughts and feelings of Astarion and his lover. Warnings: Violence and trauma mentions

She loved him.

That was all she knew. That was all she could think of, in this moment.

He had finally conquered his demons- no, his own hell. It was over, now, and the story could continue however he wanted it to. And instead of jumping head-first into any direction, he looked to her for guidance. Because despite the past that drove him to this point, the only future he cared about was one she would be a part of.

So he looks to her, bloodied Cazador at his feet, fate-sealing dagger in hand, heart laid out in a state of vulnerability completely unknown, and asks her what to do.

She looks back at him, her own hands bloodied from the exhausting battle they had just endured, and knows that she loves him. She loves him. Just as he is. She wouldn’t wish him any other way.

She can see the fear, yes. The drive for power, and revenge, but even more than that; the ecstasy of being able to take the one thing Cazador wants after he had taken so, so much from Astarion- the perfect act of justice.

And she asks him only to take it from Cazador- she asks him not to take it for himself. She asks him to keep his freedom, rather than submit himself to the shackles of madness that unprecedented power would demand.

And his open, bleeding heart is suddenly soft.

Though he may not get to take and keep, he is more than happy to take and watch evil lose.

So he does.

With shaking body and ragged breath, he drives the dagger into Cazador’s chest as a mortician’s hammer drives nails into a coffin; sealing death. The death of Cazador, the purest form of evil he has ever known. The death of who he could have been, in all the corrupt power he could have basked in. The death of life as he once knew it, defined only by the black and white chess game between power and powerless. He stabs straight through Cazador’s heart, and again, and again, and again; a desperate frenzy that will never quite feel like enough, until he is forced to stop.

His body fails him in its divine relief. Decades of pain, fear, and torture are at last released with his final act. He will never know Cazador’s pain again. His will never have to run from the monster that chases him again. He will never be a toy or a lure again. He is free, and he won, and he is still, somehow, despite everything, in tact. Inexplicable tension is finally let go completely. He collapses to his knees, wails ripping through his chest and echoing against the stone cold walls that surround him.

She watches as her very heart weeps in a grief she could never even begin to comprehend. The heart that beats in her chest seems to twist in its own turmoil, and a sympathetic hand- or perhaps the hand of a friend desperate to grip something else in an attempt to maintain their own balance- finds her shoulder. Her own tears stream down her face, as do the tears of the friends who helped them make it here.

Astarion’s “siblings-” not by blood, but certainly by bond- rush over to him, their faces contorted in concern combined with utter disbelief.

Her mouth opens for a moment; she wants to ask them to stop, to give her heart space to breathe, to please, gods, don’t touch him, but the words stick in her throat. She’s too choked up to speak, but gratitude sinks in as she realizes that this is their moment of blessed freedom, too. They shared in their pain together- they deserve to share in their relief together, too.

He steels himself as they approach, and she sees Astarion the Upper City Magistrate show himself as the suddenly gentler elf seamlessly steps into a place of leadership. The others look to him in a sudden cry for a compass- they are free, but they are left without direction; and he so easily gifts it to them. He gives them direction, and offers what little encouragement he can to the now-freed slaves. Thousands of spawn are suddenly given a second chance, now that the pale elf had changed their fates- a thankless act that outweighs his sins tenfold.

It isn’t until they leave to fulfill their last charge that he returns to his lover. He hesitantly takes her hands in his, and she grasps them with the same gentleness in confidence. He had done it. It was over.

There’s an instinct in her to hug him; to enfold herself around him in an act of love, and yet, she knows her beloved vampire better than that. He will come and effortlessly wrap himself in all that she is when he is ready. Instead, she gently presses kisses onto his bloodied hands.

He looks to the companions that now stand beside her- his friends, who have so selflessly fought for this moment despite his outward reluctance to fight for them.

Though he wouldn’t be able to say it out loud until years later, he loves them. That is what he feels in this moment, in its purest form. Though it is seamlessly woven into waves of gratitude and grief, he feels love. For all of them. For her.

Later that night, after the sun goes down and most of the others had retired to their tents, Astarion does, indeed, find himself in his lover’s tent. Later still, after a long and tear-filled conversation periodically interrupted with near-silent fits of weeping, Astarion buries himself into his lover’s arms. He cries until trance overtakes him.

And all through that night, she holds him.

And the sun rises. And a new day comes. And they will find out all it holds, together.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Cw: oviposition, tentacles, breeding, med kink

Something something Mountains heats being so intense that the only thing that helps him is being tied to a breeding bench and letting the other ghouls in the ministry run him through. They make a line, they have to to stop them from fighting over him, from smallest to biggest.

Dew goes first. They all watch as Dew struggles to Mount him, growling impatiently. Thankfully Dew never lasts long and his knot never does either, too small to stay locked inside Mountain especially with how wet he is.

Auroras next, eating out Dews load out of him and making him cum with her very skilled tongue. Cumulus goes next, using her equally as skilled fingers to pull another orgasm out of him. Phantom follows, he has the eagerness and grace of a newborn giraffe and, like Dew, struggles to mount him. But that doesn’t stop him. He fucks him twice, growling at Mist when she tries to pull him off but he’s so desperate to get his knot into him. And just like Dew, he can’t get it to stay locked for more than a few minutes.

Mist follows, fucking him with her tentacle for a bit before she can’t take it anymore and pushes four of her eggs into him. That satisfies Mountain for a bit but it doesn’t matter because Rains next and he gets three more eggs pushed into him, along with a load of thick black slimy ink to go with it. He can feel it all dripping out of him and running down his thighs.

Cowbell helps him push them out. Squeezing his tummy from behind and watching as each egg stretches his cunt out before popping out. He pushes a few back in, fucks him with them a little before he’s getting shoved out of the way by Swiss. Swiss fucks him hard and fast, two fingers in his ass because he knows Mountain goes crazy for it. Swiss doesn’t last long, not when Mountain is so wet and sloppy. The barbs on his dick dig into the soft walls of Mountains cunt and lock them together in way that’s so painful it has Mountain cumming over and over.

Zephyr follows Swiss. He’s evil and fucks Mountains ass that Swiss had so nicely prepped for him. He’s uses the this spade of his tail to flick at Mountains clit, making him clench tightly around him. He fucks him slowly, his stamina impeccable. He doesn’t knot him, not with two impatient quintessence ghouls growling behind him. Instead he pulls out and cums across Mountains back, watching as his back muscles move and twitch as his load lands on him.

Second to last is Aether. He kneels down and with one gloved hand probes around his hole. He scoops up some of the mess that had spilled out of him and pushes it back into him. He uses a speculum to stretch him out, watching in awe as as all the cum pours out of him and into the floor below. He takes two of his fingers, pushing them in with the speculum and pokes around at Mountains cervix, telling him how well he’ll breed and ripe and ready he is and that he’s literally perfect to be bred and that his womb is begging to be filled with kits. He watches as Mountains cunt twitches around the speculum and he can feel as his cervix pulses as he cums.

Once Aether is done it’s Omega. The one Mountain had been dreading and hoping for at the same time. He’d once jokingly compared Omega to bull but now that he was pushing into him and stretching him out he doesn’t think it was much of a joke. He folds himself over Mountains back, biting as his neck. He reaches under him so he can grope at Mountains tits, pulling and twisting his nipple while he whispers how good they’ll feel all full and leaking with milk. He tells him how he’s going to breed him, how he’s not letting him go until he can smell his littler in his belly and see him bulging all fat and round with the evidence. He knots him three times, making Mountain beg for it each time, before he’s finally satisfied. And so it Mountain.

Sometime later, Copia wanders into the ghouls den, oblivious to what they’ve been up to and just curious as to where all the ghouls have disappeared to. He walks into the site of a very satisfied and blissed out Mountain, still tied to the breeding bench and several glowing eyes of the ghouls looking at, telling him it’s his turn.

[theyanderespecialist]

(Remake) Base Yandere Alastor Headcanons (Part1) Hazbin Hotel

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! Now That the show is out (The first four episodes) this is the remade Headcanons for Alastor, The Radio Demon! As we know more about his character. Though I feel we will learn more about him, so this is just part 1. I hope that you all enjoy this chapter here!] 

(DISCLAIMER: Alastor is AroAce but in this headcanons and possible scenario and video (on YouTube) he is yandere which means love sick. So the love he has for the reader or listener is not romantic and is more obsession and possession than anything. Asexuals and Aromantic or anyone on those spectrums are NOT like this in reality! Thank you! 

DISCLAIMER 2: Alastor is not yandere in canon. This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine, just do not be illegal or gross about it! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life, and neither are demons! Please remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

-Remade Base Yandere Headcanons With Alastor, The Radio Demon Part 1- 

.Alastor he is not interested in sex or romance. 

.He is a bit of a chaotic evil or neutral (It is up for debate) 

.Though when he did see you, he got this strange feeling in his chest, a feeling he had NEVER felt before. 

.It made him feel unnerve like you had done something to him. 

.So he would start to watch you, like a hawk, having his shadow watch you at all times. 

.Sooner or later he realizes that he wants you, not sexually or romantic. No. 

.But he does want you to be HIS to own you and to have companionship with you 

.To spend the rest of eternity together. 

.It is very less romantic and more controlling and possessive. 

.Where he very much sees you as a prize and as HIS And HIS ALONE! 

.He would want to keep you though, and he would learn that sex and romantic acts help his cause of courting you to be his. 

.He also does like that when he does these things for you it makes you happy. 

.So even though sex and romance are not his thing, he does them for you! cause they make you happy. 

(Mid-headcanon disclaimer: Asexuals can choose to have sex and physically enjoy it (Sex is a physical act and anyone can do it regardless of attraction) Asexuality is a lack of sexual attraction. Choosing to have sex while on the ace spectrum is being sex favorable. And you can still choose to do romantic acts as an aromantic. Asexuality is a spectrum. Aromantic I am not 100 percent sure how that works but I know that Aromantic can still want to have a life partner and or closeness to other people just without the romantic parts, now! Back to headcanons!) 

.He does want you to be happy and content with him and he is willing to do those things cause of his twisted version of what is, for him. That is the closest he will ever feel to romance. 

.Of course, he is a yandere so there are some toxic traits as well. 

.Such as he is a tad bit controlling and very manipulative. 

.Using his charm and affection to manipulate you to want only him. 

.And also manipulate you from being near anyone who could try and trick you into being with them. 

.Cause let's be for real, Alastor has a bit of an ego and he for sure is confident that he is the best option for you. 

.That he is the only one that is good enough for you. 

.So there is no chance that lesser demons will be able to woo you. 

.But he knows that you, his sweet darling, could be manipulated and tricked into being with another demon or WORSE giving your soul to another demon. 

.Speaking of which, he will very much make a contract with you for your soul there is no way he is going to let that chance to have you bound to him and where he Will QUITE LITERALLY OWNS YOU! 

.So yeah, be ready for that. 

.He will of course not have it be a normal contract, but instead a marriage contract where you will be made his spouse. 

.That way you belong to him. And also, will be his life partner. 

.Still, he would have your soul, so it would not matter what you do, you will be his spouse FOREVER! 

.Now back to how else he would be as a yandere! He is beyond PETTY. 

.If he had rivals (Which he does not consider to be rivals) he would be SO Petty with them. 

.Always showing them and you, how much better of a partner he could be and how pathetic they are! 

.He is willing to humiliate them. 

.Though he does have a bit of a possessive jealous side of him. 

.If someone was to try and kiss you or touch you? Well, he is going to rip them from limb to limb. 

.He would take sick pleasure in destroying anyone who would DARE To defile you with even something as small as kissing your cheek or holding your hand! 

.It is unforgivable. 

.Though he fully outright denies being the jealous type. (He may even gaslight you into believing he is not the jealous type) 

.He loves to cook for you, and will slowly condition you to eating deer meat. 

.Do not worry he is not going to give you a bloody dead deer right away. He will cook it for you. 

.It makes him feel connected to you and feels a stronger bond and closeness to you when he cooks you a meal. 

.He may even teach you to cook, another bonding experience. 

.Though I am sorry vegans and vegetarians he is going to make meat for you and most likely trick you into liking it. He just would he is a cannibal he is for sure not going to let you eat like that! 

.Side note he may even take bites of you, maybe even during sex. 

.And lastly, for part one, I will go deeper into other things and dynamics he would be a bit more okay with you touching him. 

.THOUGH He prefers to initiate physical touch with you, as he would still tense up if you caught him off guard, but he would not fling you away. More just accepts it as he is a little uncomfortable. (I am pretty sure he is a touch-adverse AroAce and is only fine if HE is the one touching!) 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS Part one is done, I hope that you all enjoyed this and, stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!] 

[the-one-who-lambs]

uhh hello!! sorry if this is a tall order LOL but I wanna ask, do you have any narilamb fanfic recs? :D I already read yours and I really like bamsara’s and I’m waiting for epicaandk’s to update (that one is my fav ever <3) but idk what to read now lol

Tall order?? Naaaaah, I'm always happy to give recs. Oh boy, I'm gonna go in reverse chronological order.

If you've read all of my narilamb fics (have you seriously? I'm impressed, that's probably well over half the 150k+ I've written for this damn fandom. Also, to anyone seeing this from a reblog, my stuff is over at onethirdofimpossible!) then here we go!

You already mentioned it, but The Rehabilitation of Death is excellent so far! This one is by @bamsara who is new to the CotL fandom but apparently not new to fanfic writing; they have a really popular FNAF fic and I assume the well-deserved attention this fic's been getting is a byproduct of the popularity they've already gotten in other fandoms. :D Welcome, bamsara! Many of the fic writers in this fandom are friends with each other already, but we don't bite if you wanna say hi.

Feel No Evil and Language Barrier, both by @payasita. I always love how payasita portrays this duo (in both digital art and writing), with so much sass and repressed loneliness, knowing they're stuck together for eternity and making the best of it. (And maybe falling in love, depending on how dense Narinder keeps being.) What makes these come alive for me is how well thought out the setting is outside the Lamb and Narinder. The descriptions and weight of emotions really pop here.

LITERALLY ANYTHING written by pavi / @i-eat-deodorant. Depending on how spicy you want your fics to be he has even more here. Character analysis, diction, pacing, etc. are consistently 10/10. Top-quality banter between a sassy Lamb and tired old man Narinder. We constantly bounce ideas off each other and inspire each other a lot but I promise I'm not hyping him up just because he's my friend oh my god please just go bless your eyes.

It Was For You, O Death by blueberry-muffin-massacre (if they have a tumblr, let me know so I can tag!). An intriguing alternative ending to the final battle wherein the Lamb chooses a secret third option by refusing to give up the Red Crown and still observing Narinder as the God of Death. So many details are so well thought out and duality their relationship is nicely characterized-- both genuine care for each other and also quite unhealthy. A fine line treaded well!

Confessional by jusmove (again, lmk if they have a tumblr). Been a while since I've read it, but I love how the Lamb chips at Narinder's very carefully built emotional walls. Their personalities are very well fleshed out here, especially Narinder's cognitive dissonance at being able to process love.

Confession by @thewitchoftheweed. I didn't expect a part two to this one, but my god I was so thrilled when it did update. Narinder and Lamb with their unique and parallel loneliness and their fucked-up sense of everything. Their relationship is very rocky here, and I love how they navigate it: with tension and eventual, pained acceptance. Mind the rating.

Of Character Development and Being Dense by @calliecature. A short and sweet narilamb classic. They're both mutually pining and one of them is too emotionally repressed to realize it. Guess who.

Not An Offering, But a Gift by @checkplzjuliet. Small confession fic. I especially love how Narinder's descriptions twist the knife of his situation here, and how Lambert is a total foil for him! There are a lot of good things happening in such a short span, which is impressive.

Also, if you think you've read all my narilamb fics... I do have a secret one out there too. Just so you know.

Happy reading!

I'm already friends with many of the people here, but if any of the writers I've tagged have been kinda wanting to reach out for a while but feel a little anxious... Don't be. I've made my best friends in this fandom by literally just waiting for some of my readers to get over whatever assumption they have that I'm cool and say hi. Or being the more confident one first.

[luveline]

Maybe a Eddie and Roan where Roan gets into an argument with one of her friend/classmate and she’s like really grumpy and reader and Eddie try and cheer her up or even defuse the situation??

tysm ♡ eddie and roan

Roan toddles out of her classroom with her eyes on the floor until she reaches Eddie's legs. He frowns at her in surprise, smoothing the frizz of her curls away from her forehead. "Hello," he says. 

"Everything okay?" you ask. 

That morning at the kitchen table, when you told Roan you'd be there at pick up with her dad (the two of you taking a much needed day off to waste together in bed doing alternate loads of laundry), she smiled and climbed into your lap. "Good," she said, her lips shiny with waffle syrup, "I'll make you a present in arts and crafts."

"You will? Thanks, baby," you'd said. 

The present isn't anywhere to be seen now, nor is your sparkling girl. Roan rubs her cheek against Eddie's legs without greeting you. Eddie takes the hint and leans down to take her into his arms. He sighs as he stands, ducking his head to hers. 

"Hello," he says again, gentler now. "Bad day?" 

She sniffles and puts her face in his shirt collar. Eddie covers the back of her head, his eyes wide. What the fuck, he mouths, surprise melding into something worse. He hates when Roan's upset like this. Her tantrums are loud but her real tears are always quiet, and you can see the moment Eddie's heart breaks, her hands gripping his hair urgently. 

"Hey, okay, don't worry, bubby…" He nods his head back the way you came, and you follow at his elbow, crestfallen. 

He prods at it as you walk to the car. What happened? and Talk to me, babe. Roan stops crying and turns silent, until the concern gets too much. 

"I'm sure whatever it is, we can make it better. You just have to tell me what happened, roly-poly."

"Nothing! Nothing happened, dad, stop." 

Eddie rubs her shoulders. "Alright. If you say so." 

You open the car door for them and Eddie covers the top of Roan's head as he tucks her in. She's definitely reaching an age where all this carrying is unnecessary, but Eddie always says he has muscles for a reason. You like to roll your eyes, and, secretly, think it's amazingly sweet. He's like that. 

"Want me to come and sit in the back?" you ask. 

"No." 

"Are you sure? We can play pat-a-cake, or thumb wrestle?" 

"I don't want to." 

More of the same on the drive home. Eddie suggests ice cream, movies, McDonald's. Roan stares out the window and refuses to answer. Safe to say, you both hate it. It's your worst nightmare to know that somethings wrong but not know what that something is. 

"Let's go to Leaven," you whisper. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, though he takes the turn, whispering back, "Why Leaven?" 

"We can buy her some fancy cupcakes and new pyjamas and stuff. And a tape, whatever she wants."

"We can't just buy her happiness," Eddie says. 

"Really?" 

"...Maybe." 

You park up in the family spaces near the front of Leaven and Eddie insists upon himself from car to store. "Please hold my hand, babe, I'll get lost in Leaven by myself," he whines, waving his hand at her. "I won't know where to go if you don't steer me." 

"Fine!" she says, taking his hand furiously. 

"Do you want to know why we're here, lovely girl?" you ask. 

"No." 

"Roan, don't be mean," Eddie says reproachfully. 

"I'm not mean, dad." 

"You're being a little tiny bit mean. We should try to be nice to the people we love even when we have bad days. Work is very very hard, but I try to pick you up from school and be happy because you haven't done anything wrong." 

"I don't want to be happy," she pouts, twisting her head away from you both. 

Eddie huffs playfully and grabs her from behind. Arms under her armpits, he swings her around and chuckles maliciously in her ear. "Silly girl left herself open for my evil plan," he croons, the voice of a character from one of his campaigns that gives you and Roan the shivers. 

You grab a kart and push the children's seat out for Eddie to slide her in. "Trapped!" he declares, squeezes the arms of her vinyl coat. "And there's nothing you can do to stop us!" 

Roan struggles to pretend she doesn't find it funny. "Stop what?" she asks, exaggeratedly unhappy to maintain her grumpy facade. 

"We're going to spoil you, duh," he says, voice back to normal. "What should we get first, my love?" he asks you. "Cupcakes?" 

"Best get cupcakes before they run out of the pink bunnies." 

Roan's lips quirk at the name of her favourite ones. "Are we really having pink bunnies?" she asks. 

"We're having anything that will make you smile," Eddie says. 

You link your arm through his for most of the journey, the smell of his cologne rich and smokey. He doesn't smell like diesel, a rare occasion, nor are his clothes mottled by oil. You look like a family meant to shop at Leaven (sort of, you aren't so decked in designer as the wealthy Hawkinites). Roan perks a little as you pick cupcakes from the bakery counter, their gold foil wrappers reflected in the brown wells of her eyes. Eddie lets her eat one as you walk around so long as she puts the wrapper in the bag when she's done. 

From there, you choose pyjamas, a stuffie shaped like a frog, and a breadcrumb covered tray of mac and cheese. You pick up things you don't need as you go, fancy brownies in a tub and clothes softener. The best part is the deliberating, you and Eddie and Roan taking turns sniffing the caps and debating which one smells best. You settle on deep sea minerals, probably because Roan likes the seahorse on the front. 

"You're a traitor," you say, putting back the scent you'd preferred with put upon disappointment.

Roan giggles sweetly. Like a plug pulled, a levy unburdened, she laughs from the checkout to the car, all the way home. You barely notice how dark it's become, focused on the loving heat of Eddie's hand on your knee and Roan's renewed smile. 

Later, once she's had a bath and you're all in your pyjamas, Eddie asks her again what upset her, and she gives a teary answer. One of the Stacey's said her hair looked ugly, and Roan agreed with her. 

"Bubby, your hair's not ugly," you say, chucking her under the chin. Eddie, her chair, leans his chin over her shoulder to agree. 

"It's beautiful." 

She sniffles. "I said it was ugly, and it's not nice because daddy has the same hair." She sputters wetly, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. "I'm really sorry." 

"Aw, Ro." Eddie hugs her with both arms tight to his stomach. "Don't be sorry, you don't have anything to be sorry for. Stacy shouldn't say you have ugly hair– you have beautiful hair. So shiny and bouncy. I promise you it's perfect." 

You smile at Roan encouragingly. "Your hair is soooo super pretty. Just like your dad's." 

"You think so?" 

"I know so." You coil a curl around your finger. When you let it go, it springs away and falls against her face. 

Roan relaxes into Eddie's chest. He rubs her upper arm, a similar relief on his pert features. 

"Is there anything else wrong?" Eddie asks. 

Roan closes her eyes, dark lashes kissing her cheek. "I think I have a tummy ache." 

"I bet you do, babe. Why don't we lie down for a bit?" 

Roan agrees wholeheartedly. It's a tight squeeze, but the three of you manage to lay on your couch, the smell of sugary pink icing stuck to your fingers and the warm scent of mac and cheese floating in from the kitchen. 

[beenbaanbuun]

stars w/ song mingi

i’m bringing back country boy mingi bc he’s evil and twisted and gave us THIS!!!!! photo…

this is kind of all over the place and not at all what i wanted it to be but it’s cute so… here!!

the other part is here

it’s dark out, the only light coming from the moon and the stars that twinkle high above your heads like a canopy. you’ve never seen them so clear before, the lights from the nearby town always seeming to get in the way of your attempts to stargaze on top of the barn roof. if it weren’t for the peace and quiet up there, you’d hardly deem it worth it; sneaking out of your room is easy enough but finding your way up to the top of the barn? that’s a different issue all together. there’s a ladder in the barn you usually use, but going in so late often startles the hens. they cluck and flutter, making a ruckus that you’re sure is bound to wake your daddy one of these days. you can only imagine the look on his face if he were to see you up there, tucked into the side of the stable boy he’d warned you to stay far away from.

but mingi is a difficult man to escape. once you’re in his web, any attempt at escape is futile. there’s something about his wonky grin and smooth way of speaking that draws you to him like a moth to a flame. it’s enchanting, and, well, you’re more than willing to let yourself be put under that spell. after all, why would you ever wish to escape the affections of the one and only song mingi.

it was him that suggested bringing you to this place, mentioning it passing a couple of nights ago when the stars were once again refusing to show themselves to you. “i know a spot not too far from here,” he hummed tiredly into the top of your skull. you don’t even have to spare him a glance to know that his eyes are scrunched shut as though already in the sandman’s grasp, sleep being something the man truly adores, second only to you. “it’s about a half-hour out, doll; sky’s so clear you can just about see the whole universe.”

you giggle at the hyperbole and the rumble of mingi’s chest let’s you know that that’s exactly what he wanted; to make you smile. he’s sweet like that, putting your joy at the forefront of anything he does. a smile from you is worth a thousand sunrises—his words, not yours—and he’s determined to see those sunrises at every single opportunity he gets.

“can you take me?” you whisper, not wanting your voice to interrupt the chorus of crickets that sing into the night, “i’d love to see the sky properly. it must look just like diamonds, twinkling all the way up there.”

“just like your mommy’s diamond necklace, hm?” his lips pucker until they press a wet kiss to your crown. it’s full of so much love that you think it would sustain you until the end of time—until the sun explodes and takes the earth with it. if it happened right now, you think you’d die with a smile, tucked in your true love’s embrace with your heart engorged from everything you feel for him. you tilt your head back, just enough for you to be able to see his almost-sleeping face. “it’d be my pleasure to take you, doll,” he murmurs, “name a day, and we’ll go there.”

tuesday.

that was the day you named. not for any particular reason other than you know that that’s the day mingi works his hardest and you thought stargazing might be a nice way to relax after a long day of manual labour. it’s also your favourite day to watch him from your window. the fitted black tank top he always wears hugs his muscles in a way that has you drooling, and you can’t help but fixate on the bulge of his biceps as he shovels manure into an oversized wheelbarrow. you can’t see the sweat that rolls over his honey skin from the comfort of your bedroom, but you’re more than happy to imagine it; the way it slicks up his skin, making it glimmer in the sun like waves atop a lake, the way it rolls down his face, catching on his knife of a jawline before dripping to floor and soaking into the dry earth. it’s enough to have you craving a glass of ice cold water, and yet you daren’t leave your front row seat for even a second to go and collect one. it’s almost painful to have to sit and watch him from so far away, and yet you always know that the moment the day is over—and mingi is showered clean—you’ll be in his arms, able to appreciate his body like he deserves.

and holy hell, are you appreciating it.

the squishy muscle of his bicep acts as a perfect pillow as you lay your skull against it. he showered after his long shift, yet beneath the mind scented body wash, you can still smell his natural musk poking through. it’s warm and earthy, filling your senses as you push your nose into the soft denim of his jacket to get more. he fills your head, making it spin, and in your dizzy state, you can’t help but wrap your fingers around the jersey of the wife-beater he wears. it’s a mystery whether you’re trying to tug him closer or merely trying to stop any—unlikely as it may be—attempts he makes to slip away. as he rests his hand reassuringly atop your own, it twigs that it’s more than likely the former; you need him close. impossibly so.

“i thought you wanted to stargaze, doll,” mingi purrs into your ear, the low cadence of his voice thrumming with amusement as you shimmy yourself towards him. you don’t stop until you have a leg slung over his hip, your chest pressed so hard against his side that he can’t help but wonder if you’re trying to merge yourself with him.

“i want to be close to you,” is what you say in response, even if it is an understatement. close will never be enough for you; you need to coincide with him like two meteors hurtling together. you need your spirit to intertwine with him so tightly that the knot formed will never slip free. you need to crawl inside his rib cage and carve a home out of his flesh and bone. perhaps in that moment it gets a little easier to understand mingi’s incessant need to be inside of you. his wandering hands and lingering kisses make so much more sense when right now, all you want is him.

all of him, all the time, everywhere…

“kiss me?” you whisper into the still air of the evening, the music of the cicadas doing nothing to mask the neediness in your voice. it’s as clear as the stars that hang above your head and mingi would be cruel if he were to ignore that. with a hand on your chin, he tilts your face just enough for him to press his chapped lips to yours. they’re sharp against your own, flakes of dry skin digging into your own, far softer petals. you don’t mind; it just serves as a reminder that it’s him, his chapped lips just as mingi as his fingerprints.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey have you seen the latest Mufasa trailer? It shows us Scar or Taka as he is called in the film in a positive light. He saves Mufasa, who is an orphan, and accepts him as his true brother even though the other lions in the pride reject Mufasa. I wonder if this is the history that is taught in Twisted Wonderland because the King of Beasts is also seen as a noble figure.

[Referencing this trailer!]

Yes, I took a look at it! I believe D23 happened like… yesterday? That’s the annual convention where Disney drops a ton of news about upcoming projects, and the new Mufasa trailer was one of the announcements made.

I was really skeptical about Mufasa when I first heard about it, and that snowballed into dread when I saw the previous trailer. The wording of that one basically yells us that Mufasa is an orphan with no real claim to the throne, which only serves to justify Scar’s outrage when he was overlooked for the position of king. Not only that, but it nullifies Simba’s claim to the throne since the implication is that blood apparently doesn’t guarantee that you’re next in line. The new trailer makes this issue all the more apparent, because now it seems to be completely redeeming Scar…? I think they’re trying to explain his downfall and his turn to “evil”, but from the looks of it, it instead feels like unintentionally give grounds for Scar’s hurt and rage in The Lion King. It’s definitely… a choice… and I’m not sure how much I like them adding that to the animated TLK lore.

Thar being said, I do think this poses considerations for Twisted Wonderland. I had very similar thoughts as you did, Anon! It has already been suggested that the version of history being told in their universe is “twisted” or altered from the versions Yuu/we, the audience, are familiar with. So… what we see in the new Mufasa trailer (up to a certain point) could very well be the “real” version of what is taught in Trein’s Magic History class. It fits SO well with the canon narrative we already have on hand. The King of Beasts is described as a hard worker and someone who accepted animals of all kinds, including hyenas that had once been excluded from the Pridelands. What better way to exemplify that virtue than a story of the King of Beasts himself accepting a no-name orphan cub as his own brother when all the other lions claimed the cub would never be accepted as part of the royal family???

I wonder how the story of Mufasa (if incorporated into TWST in the future) is interpreted by the characters too?? For example, Leona doesn’t think too highly about the concept of the great kings of the past in the sky, nor does he like “Hakuna Matata” (deeming it self-serving rather than as something positive). These are both things introduced in the original TLK. However, I’d imagine that Leona would actually admire the King of Beasts for his act of selflessness. (“He didn’t just talk the talk, he walked the talk too. They weren’t just pretty words, the King of Beasts lived by his ideals. The world he envisioned is one where beasts of all kinds could come together in harmony. Heh, what a guy.”) BUT AT THE SAME TIME Leona might be cynical about himself living to the legacy of the King of Beasts. He still bears resentment toward Falena and he refuses to cooperate with his older brother (despite Falena, their dad, and Kifaji all asking him) to govern Sunset Savanna. The King of Beasts wasn’t nearly so narrow-minded—he accepted a peasant and orphan as his equal. Leona in this hypothetical is, of course, tunnel visioning on his shortcomings and not paying attention to what he has accomplished: many younger students who look up to him, a dorm of students (many of which are beastmen of different varieties) that unite under his rule, and his own acceptance of “lowly” beastmen like Ruggie. I would love to see how he grapples and deals with these kinds of stories and how he reflects on his own life through them.

Anyway, the new Mufasa trailer sure sucks for Scar’s character but this has so much interesting potential for TWST 😭

[deus-sema]

The discourse surrounding Sauron and Galadriel about love and obsession has been rather interesting to catch up with so far. After going through the perspectives of both those who like this pairing and those who don’t, I think both sides can unite in agreement over this one fact, if nothing else: obsession, without any shred of doubt, exists between them. It exists on both sides for she has been obsessed with him long before he was with her. Yes, it was motivated by unadulterated hatred and a desire for vengeance, but he occupied her thoughts for the better or worse. Now, she has planted herself in his mind too.

Then comes the question of whether whatever there is between them can be considered romantic or not. Is it appropriate to label it as love or not? Here it is a matter of preference which differs from person to person. What will be interpreted as romantic by one may not be so by another and vice versa. It is completely understandable why many will be uncomfortable with the notion of obsession being associated with love. Obsession – over anything and anyone – is usually an unhealthy emotion. Unwanted and unpredictable, it can prove detrimental to both the individual experiencing it as well as the people around them. In the real world, it needs to be recognized for what it is and addressed for the betterment of everyone.

But, herein lies the difference between the world we exist in and fictional worlds. Every work of fiction, regardless of genre, exists on a different plane whose happenings have no bearing on our reality. Fiction is a realm of infinite possibilities which is the reason why people use it for wish fulfillment. People can’t fly or use magic for real but they can do so in a make-believe world. People can cheat death and turn over a new leaf. Foes can become friends and overcome their grievances. They can live happily ever after without any worries about betrayal or loss. It is a place where ideal and unconditional love is allowed to thrive. Simultaneously, it is also where love can exist in flawed, twisted and, even, perverse forms. It can be greedy, possessive, selfish, and warped while still retaining its essence. That is probably the reason why many, myself included, are fascinated with the idea of stories with obsessive love. With the idea of an all-consuming desire and yearning on one character’s part for another that can go on to be destructive. With the concept of evil beings experiencing love. It is why obsession fueled by love, whether executed properly or not, is an integral component of many dark romances. Within stories, it is permitted to be what it is most certainly not in reality. In real life, no emotion – not even what we believe to be love – should override our individual well being or anyone else’s. This is why fiction is a safe space to explore fantasies. Even the most incredulous ones of all.

Now, about how I interpret Sauron and Galadriel, specifically, within the context of this show: It is love. They developed feelings for each other when their paths crossed unexpectedly and they forged an unlikely bond because of the circumstances they faced together. Simple. Unintentionally, Galadriel began to care for her greatest enemy and believed him to be her friend. She is still obsessed with defeating him but whatever she felt for Halbrand now exists alongside her hatred for Sauron. Meanwhile, Sauron is still pretty much evil. He is working to further his own interests or,rather,what he thinks to best for Middle Earth. But, at the same time, he desires Galadriel. Both were visibly attracted to one another in the first season. Even though no words were said, Charlie and Morfydd, being the phenomenally talented and intelligent actors that they are, conveyed it beautifully through their expressions and body language. I don’t think it is a betrayal to the characters either for the show, more or less, took Sauron’s canonical obsession with Galadriel and her persistent defiance against him and added to it a layer of romance which is doomed because of who they are. I don’t claim to know what the show plans on doing with them in future and it is not in my hands. We can only speculate, engage in wishful thinking and write fanfics and AUs if things don’t go the way we want them to.

RoP is a show I’m enjoying so far in all its aspects and I’m not exaggerating when I say that its fandom is one of the most chilled-out and relaxing ones I’ve engaged with in recent times. I’ve gotten to interact with many amazing posts. However I’m well aware that where there is more than one person, there are differences in opinions. Where there are differences, there will be disagreements. Where there are disagreements, there will be clashes. Clashes will lead to fanwars. Fanwars have high chances of turning toxic. I know the drill for I have undergone it in many fandoms. I’ve been carried away by the toxicity and have made my fair share of mistakes too. Those experiences have taught me some important lessons. One mistake I made, rather repeatedly, during my…..enthusiastic….stanning phase was to engage in fights with people whose opinions on a certain topic or fictional character differed from mine. All factions believe their interpretation of whichever nonexistent character they like in whatever made-up story they are into, is the correct one and many a times they can substantiate their claims with reasons. Sometimes, these contrasting opinions lead to some riveting and respectful discussions between people which, to be honest, is the entire point behind a public platform. Sometimes, they result in nasty fights.

Ideally, the feelings of real people should be prioritized over seemingly trivial issues like different preferences in fiction. But if we were capable of that we would all be perfect but, as we all know, perfection exists only in Valinor. Fictional works are dearer to us than some random stranger on the internet. So, when we encounter a radically different opinion about something we are passionate about, the first reaction is usually one of annoyance. Depending on whether it is mild or severe, this annoyance can make us petty. We crave the satisfaction of one-upping those who disagree with us, of validating our perspective over their’s and, as a result, we don’t realize if someone’s feelings get hurt in the process. Or even if we do, the euphoria of ‘winning’ in the discourse makes it easier to sweep the adverse effects under the rug. I don’t believe we need to withhold our opinions to make others happy. We are not bound to understand each other's opinions, much less agree every time. But we do owe it to each other to be civil if not anything else. As for me, what I’m going to try and do is to ignore the takes I disagree with and mind my own business. If it gets too much then I am going to press the block button. I advise those who dislike my opinions and takes to do the same. It’s nothing personal and we all deserve to enjoy in our own spaces while choosing what content we wish to see and engage with without suppressing our thoughts. We deserve to vent as well for it is healthy. I cannot guarantee that I’ll be successful right away for there are still instances when I end up behaving in a manner that is plain immature. But, to paraphrase the late Diarmid who once tried to counsel Sauron (Eru bless his soul), I simply have to keep trying until it becomes a habit.

So, take care everyone, and I hope you all are doing well wherever you are.

[hpdabbles]

The Empty Bottle

Harry Potter can say with certainty that he has seen a lot in his life, but he knows that he has not seen everything. In fact, he wonders how much he missed in the war he ended and how many lives he dismissed and failed to witness. There were times when the echoes of the war would play in his mind, catching him off guard, not only by the bad but by the good that slipped through his fingers while he struggled.

It would take him a minute to remember that it was all over. He had left the cupboard behind in the nightmares of his childhood; Tom Riddle lay dead, nothing more than ash in the wind, and he mourned those he lost but lived for those he kept safe.

He did everything he could to uphold the morals and expectations of a true Gryffindor. Not in some misguided ideal of house rivalry- he had outground such foolishness- but to honor the memory of those who adore the house.

He did it for his parents, godfather, werewolf uncle, grandfatherly headmaster, and mischievous brother-in-law. They were the ones who made him proud to wear his red tie and cheer for lions.

But he also met people who made him proud of the other three colors. He thought about the clever potion master whose bravery made him reconsider the evil of Slytherin. He thought about the woman who ran away from her family to be with the man she loved and now raised her godson due to losing both her husband and daughter. He thought of the mother who lied to protect him and her son.

He thought of the whimsical, loving girl who smiled even when harassed by bullies who did not bother to get to know her before passing judgment. He thought of a cheerful and kind boy who merely wanted to represent his school and life cut for being in the wrong place and time.

He thought of the different colored ties that decorated the floor after the fallen fifty bodies were gathered in the grand hall.

Sometimes, while taking breaks from Auror training, he would ponder what life would have been like to not be a Gryffindor. Would that have changed anything? Or would it all have been the same since he was Harry Potter and a prophecy had hung over his head long before his birth would decide that for him?

It was useless to focus on the What-ifs. He knew this. He spent his whole life wondering- what if my parents were alive?- and that was long before he knew of magic. There was nothing to gain from pondering them for too long.

Nothing at all.

He had a life to live—one that so many died to ensure he would experience. He would not let their sacrifice be in vain. Harry spent years trying to find peace with himself, to smile at family gatherings, to stop and watch the leaves fall off the trees, to feel the sun rest on his skin, and to simply breathe.

He learned to compliment his reflections and started to believe them for the first time in his life. He learned to stop and listen—truly listen—when asking someone about their day. He learned to lower his walls, to speak about his hardships so that the youth who gawked at him in the streets learned it was okay to ask for help.

Even heroes needed moments of weakness.

He married the woman who knew when his eyes turned dark with unknown horrors but still held his face in her warm palms to ground him. They built a home together where they used to hide from killers, twisting the rooms until only warmth reminded them.

She brought three wonderful buddles of joy for him, and sometimes, when he would sit outside, listening to the rain mixed with his children's laughter, Harry knew that if his story ended now, it would be a happy one.

The hero had done his duty, and now he rested. He had a really long life, but he was young in age, and sometimes Harry swore it was unfair. Yet other times, he felt content with the simple, quiet life. He was alive, but he would welcome death, as he did the day he marched into the forest toward Riddle with no regrets.

This is why, the day he woke to find a floating black dog made of smoke above his head, he only had a moment to reach out and gently kiss Ginny's face one last time before the Grim took its claim.

It was gentle and peaceful in the end, even as the dog gently bit down on his neck and carried his soul. He felt no pain, just relief—like gentle rain on his skin on a spring morning and the sense of complete and utter freedom. The Grim pulled his bodiless soul until they were back at the King Cross, where Harry reformed. This time, there was no crying baby, twinkling eyes, fear, or confusion.

Just a man walking alongside a dog, hand resting on the canine head as it leads him to a train. He knows he is to board, and with one finally pat on the Grim's head, he does so.

Harry finds a comfortable sit in first cart, sliding into the plush cushions with a sign. He stares out the window, watching the mist roll by as the train departs. The Grim is happily watching him go, black tail wagging, and Harry can't help but wave at it as the rattling of the tracks gains volume the faster the speed picks up.

For a moment, there is nothing to view. A part of Harry always assumed that the mist would clear once he left King Cross', breaking way into a beautiful foreign landscape like the once fantasies of a boy stuck in a cupboard used to dream about.

He chuckles at his assumptions, for what man can claim to understand death? He leans back into his seat, closing his eyes. There is a moment when he wonders how Ginny and his children will handle his death. It saddens him to know that they will suffer for his loss, but it was Harry's time.

James would start Hogwarts in only three months. He prays his eldest enjoys his time there, even with his father's death so fresh. Harry knows Hermione and Ron will ensure that Ginny gets help to take their son to the train and will be there for his tears just as they had been when Harry was James' age

His death was natural, he went in his sleep, and he was content with it. He hopes they will live on just as he had when he lost those he loved.

Harry's eyes snap open at the sound of a knock on the door of his compartment. Through the small window, he can barely make out the head of a small boy, nervously peaking up at him as though he was standing on his tiptoes to see. It reminds him of Albus whenever his son wanted Harry to read him a bedtime story but was too shy to ask, and it causes a smile to twitch onto his face.

"Come in," He calls, watching the child scramble to open the door. He nearly reels back at the sight of someone so young on this death train before he remembers that death knows no age limit.

The boy could be no older than nine- just like his Albus- and is dressed in a muggle hospital gown. His cheeks are hollow, his skin is unhealthy and pale, and the specific way he carries himself indicates weakness. Seeing as Harry is still wearing his pajamas, he can guess the boy passed in the hospital, likely due to illness.

"Hi, mister. Do you know where we are?" the child asks, his voice rising in an American accent. Harry isn't sure about the region, but he suspects it is somewhere south.

Harry smiles, patting the seat next to him. Without hesitation, the boy climbs up and sits down with a burst of energy that surprises him. "Yes. We're on a train heading to the Beyond."

"We aren't in a train." The boy giggles, putting the window that Harry is leaning on. "We're on a boat! What's the Beyond?"

Briefly, Harry wonders if everyone sees something different when coming to their deaths, but he doesn't correct the young boy. "You're right. Sorry, I was being silly. The Beyond is a surprise for everyone. We know when we get there."

"Is my momma there?" the boy asks with wide, sparkling eyes. I want to tell her I don't feel sick anymore!"

Harry's smile falters for a second. He is unsure if he should explain that they had died to someone so young, but something on his face must have given him away. The boy's dim, and he looks back to the window, watching the mist that Harry sees before he seems to shrink in on himself.

"Oh, I passed away. Momma is going to cry." He hunches his shoulders, and Harry suddenly wants to comfort him. Without much thought, he places a arm around the child's shoulders, bringing him into a hug that has the young child melting into him.

They stay like that for a moment; the only sound is the soft sniffs of the child who mourns his short life and the man who feels he lived long enough. Eventually, the child falls asleep, using Harry's lap as a pillow, small tears covering his face.

He wonders for the child's name as they travel, and a voice whispers into his head.

Hadrian Evans.

Strangely, he felt like he had known that his entire life.

Time moves on, and Harry loses count of it, watching hills of endless mist roll by. Hadrian stays by his side the entire time, sleeping peacefully and clutching his sleeve.

A second knock is made at his door a while later, which could have been minutes or hours. Harry turns to find a man wearing a train uniform waving at him. He's pushing the snack trolly, but rather than sweets and treats, there are various bottles.

"Good day," the man says, in Hadrian's accent. "It's time to choose. Can you wake up the kiddo?"

Harry wants to tell him no since Hadrian seems content with slumber, but something tells him not to question the stranger. He gently shakes Hadrian's shoulder, whispering, "Hadrian, love, time to get up."

The boy's face scrunches up before tiny blue eyes blink open. He makes a confused face at Harry, rubbing at his face, and the wizard's heart melts. He feels oddly parental towards the boy, in the same sense of love he would for his own children.

Harry thinks he would adopt him without a second thought if they had been alive.

The trolly man smiles wider, gesturing to his bottles as the boy finally notices him. Hadrian instantly clings to Harry's arm, seeking comfort from the wizard. "No need for that kiddo. Nothing to be afraid of. I'm just here to help you lads choose."

"Choose what?" Harry asks watching the man push in the trolly, the bottles clinking against each other. He notices that they resemble potions with various shapes and colors, but there are no labels. He isn't what any of them do.

"That's the fun part. You will know once you pick. You can just grab the three ones that seem best to you. Don't think too much-trust your gut." Trolly man chirps and something about his hand motions seems familiar in a way that scratches Harry's brain. Has he met him before?

Harry hesitates, but Hadrian reaches out for the long plum bottle that shimmers when he pulls it towards him. The bottle is almost as big as the boy's torso.

Hadrian giggles as it continues to shimmer and glow, likely never seen magic before. For some reason, Harry knows in his bones that Hadrian was born a muggle.

Then, the boy grabs a small blue bottle that is see-through enough to see the gold liquid inside. Finally, he picks up an empty bottle with a giggle.

The trolly man nods. "Good health. Good Wealth and Second Chance. Wonderful choices, Mr. Evans. Mr. Potter, if you please?"

Harry looks at all the bottles, ranking his eyes over the tall ones, the small ones, the shining ones, the glowing ones, and the ugly ones. Nothing really calls out to him because he hears his wife's lectures about not touching potions, and he does not know the effect of echoing in his mind.

Not only that, but none of them speak to him. None of them makes him want to reach out and grasp. That's not right. Deep in his soul, he knows he should want to grab three of the bottles, but he can't find out why.

He stares at the bottles, repeatedly focusing his eyes on them, trying to decide. The compartment falls silent as he tries to choose before Trolly Man sighs, pushing the cart away. "Again, you make my job so hard, Potter."

"Do I know you?" Harry asks, confused, as the trolly rolls out into the hall, vanishing into ash, all its bottles gone.

"Yes." The man rubs his hand down his face as if greatly inconvenienced. Harry waits for an explanation, but no one comes, and Hadrian plays with his bottles.

"From where?" He asks at last, unable to help himself.

One dark eye- utterly devoid of any features, just darkness. Harry reels back at the inhuman-looking gaze, clutching to Hadrian protectively- peaks at him through fingers. "You escaped me before, and my dog led you here."

Oh.

"Death." He breathes.

"Yes. It seems you escaped me again." Death sighs. "And to think you made it all the reincarnation bottles."

"The what?"

"Reincarnation Bottles. The ones you pick before Life crafts you a new body, and Fate uses the potions in them to create your luck of the draw. You, however, are not going to reincarnate. You would have been going back, but your body has expired, and unlike the killing curse, there was too much damage to fix for Life to put you back in. Guess you will spend all eternity here."

Death glances down at Hadrian with a gentle smile. "Kiddo here is going to stop at the next port."

"Why can't he come with me?" Hadrian pouts "Why does he have to stay?"

"He didn't get a bottle, kiddo."

"He can have one of mine!" Hadrian hands Harry the empty bottle. It's the size of his thumb and has a round golden bottle top. A rush of warmth runs through his body the moment he touches it. Death tilts his head considering before he snaps his figures.

At once, Harry watches as Hadrian goes from a small, sickly child to a healthy, angelic one with sunny curls that fall over his ears and wide blue eyes that gleam. There is a moment where Hadrian stares in wonder at himself before Harry starts to shrink and ends up at eye level with the surprised child.

Death grins. "If it's freely given, then the Second Chance can be transferred. Harry Potter, you will go back, but not as the Boy Who Lived. You will return as Hadrian Evans, an identity and a healthy body bestowed by a kind soul. Don't waste it."

Harry opens his mouth to demand a better explanation, but between one blink and the next, he vanishes into a bright light. He clutches his eyes closed, feeling his body, his soul, and his memories shift in a whirlpool of emotions.

He is Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Slayer of Voldemort, Father of Three, Husband of a Professional Quidditch Player, born and raised in England.

He is Hadrian Evans, a wizard of two Squibs. He was born and raised in America due to his American mother. He was sick all his life up until he was ten years old, when surgery saved his life. He moved to England after his father realized his son had developed magic.

Per tradition, despite not being allowed to carry his magical family name due to his Father's disownment for his lack of magic, Hadrian was to be sent to Hogwarts and permitted access to the family vaults. He was the last heir to the family bloodline, and his father's scorn family portraits would rather a Squib-mutt keep their line of work alive than let the family magic die out.

He is eleven years old and stands before the open door of a compartment Hogwarts Express in 1991, nervous and unsure of his place.

Both memories, personalities, and souls mix until Harry Potter takes over and realizes Death has allowed him to take over a version of Hadrian Evans's life in a similar timeline.

How does he know?

"Are you just going to stand there, or will you come in?" A young boy with red hair demands. Across from a boy with baggy clothes, untidy hair, and deep, deep green eyes staring back at him.

It's himself or a version of himself.

Harry gulps, licking his lips and gathering his thoughts. He smiles hesitantly. "Are you sure it's okay for me to sit here?"

"Of course. There's space enough," Other Harry Potter tells him with a shy smile, and he is suddenly hit with the reminder that he was once reserved and cripplingly socially awkward due to his treatment by the Dursleys. It's one thing to live through it, but to see the effects of abuse on a child is another thing.

"Thank you." He says, pushing in his trunk, memories of his parents helping him pack with childlike excitement flashing behind his eyes. Strange to think of the Evans as strangers and loving parents of eleven years all at once.

Despite the contradiction, he knows that should he ask if they will open their home to Harry due to suspected abuse, the Evans would have Harry's room painted and decorated long before he arrived at their house.

Both adults know what living with a family that hates you is like.

"My name's Hadrian Evans," He tells the boys, accepting the name in a second. He had lived as Harry Potter and had been comfortable with its end. But now he had a new beginning, and that was rather exciting.

"Ron Weasley. Cool accent. You from the States?"

Hadrian grins with a sudden rush for life that he has not felt in a long time. "Yeah, I am."

Ron's eyes widen as a soft blush develops over the top of his cheekbones, and Harry coughs into his fist, looking flustered. Confused, Hadrian tilts his head as Ron stutters about which Hogwarts House they like to get into, attempting to change the topic.

Harry admits to not knowing what that is, and thus, the redhead launches into a fast-paced explanation, grateful for the olive branch. Hadrian settles in his seat, smiling softly, watching the two children speak.