#putting this here for the two other people that still think about them
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<<I would also not accept Crowley hate. I just never see it.>>
Same. Yeah, it doesn't exist. A lot of people's internalized issues at work, if you ask me, as to why there's only hate for Aziraphale when there shouldn't be hate for either of them.
<<I think for that to work, you have to take Crowley as the protagonist of the story and Aziraphale as an -- um, adjunct? romantic interest? Rather than seeing them as 2 equal players in the story.>>
If you want to get really technical about it? From a writing standpoint, Aziraphale is the main character because it's his story arc we're following the most throughout the story. He is the character who will under go the most change from chronological start-to-finish in the story. He and Crowley are two halves of a whole, though, so it's a little tricky and they're closer to being co-main-characters than you might get in other stories. Inside the story, though, the characters are definitely equal partners, and I agree that it's irritating to not always see that reflected in attitudes towards the characters.
The funny thing is, though, that people who think Crowley is the sole main character are showing that they don't really know what one is and are just focused on Crowley. For reasons. I wouldn't presume to know why, exactly, but I suspect that they are likely of 'want to fuck him even though he's fictional and subconsciously hate the main character who gets to' variety. Also shows how little they know the character as Crowley would not. care. for it. if he were to learn that they were disparaging his angel.
<<the Edinburgh minisode, that make it look like Aziraphale is still toeing the Heaven line and he is the only one who still (in 1827!) has learned nothing>>
Yeah, that attitude in people is showing that they're not really putting together the minisode, imho. Aziraphale struggling with conflicts of what he's supposed to be according to Heaven versus who he really is are not the same thing as Aziraphale being on the side of Heaven. He's never been on the side of Heaven. He gave away his sword in Eden. He lied and miracled to save Job's kids. He's been badass since the start.
I think it's also a feature of some people not seeing that Aziraphale is kind of dryly bitching about his job to Crowley in 1827 more than he is actually disagreeing with Crowley and Elspeth. He lives on Earth. He knows how lunacy Heaven's ideas about things are. He's complaining to Crowley about what he's up against and getting some reassurance in Crowley's wtf that's crazy! response that he's not alone in thinking so. The moment that he learns that Dalrymple isn't just a ghoul but someone who wants the bodies for greater good reasons, Aziraphale is happy to throw over whatever Heaven nonsense he's supposed to at least pretend to believe to help. He'll always do what he can to help. It's just all very tiresome that people think Crowley is perfect. He's not always right. There also isn't always a "right" at all.
<<such as the way the f15 was shown (many people do not sense any real threat from the Metatron, don't get the "able to see/hear what's happening in the shop", don't see anything weird about Crowley letting Aziraphale go off with the Metatron, etc.>>
Yeah, this... đ My favorite wtf interaction that I've had here on the Tumblr Dot Com is the person who told me that Aziraphale and Crowley weren't worried about being spied on in The Final 15 and when I pointed out things like... Aziraphale, looking out the window at Our Villain, doing the downward hands of "not right now" at Crowley, and trying to get him to stop talking? I was told-- kid you not-- that he just turned his head.
The closet is a theme of the season and there's an entire foreshadowing plot with the Nazi Zombie Flesheaters about Crowley and Aziraphale being spied on through the window and people who cannot make simple connections enough to understand what's happening, so... how's that for irony? There's a whole plot about people being unable to make connections... about which this person couldn't make a connection.
I agree to some extent that it's designed to appear a certain way, with particular emphasis on Crowley acting out of character, but it's not so cloak-and-dagger that we can't see that something is amiss. The number of people who don't seem to see Crowley as acting out of character by letting Aziraphale go alone with The Being Claiming To Be The Metatron amazes me. It should be the primary question to come out of that scene. This is what we were saying above, though-- they are too focused on precious demon got his feelings hurt to notice that there is something really, really wrong with precious demon. He just sat there and let Aziraphale go alone with someone who had tried to kill him and he'd never do that of his own free will and that's somehow not the biggest point of discussion?
But this is also the same problem as most people just believing without question that it's The Metatron at the door. Sure, it might be, but they definitely gave us a laundry list of clues that suggest we should at least be questioning it. Five angels cannot recognize him and he has to get a demon to identify him but that's not Satan? Really? After a whole season of "who are you" in every other scene? And all the minisodes being about Hell? Even if it's not, the point is that it's all very weird and many people are just taking what's happening as if nothing is weird, which I find to be... well, weird.
So many people think that The Metatron was legitimately offering Aziraphale a job and everything was on the up-and-up and... why would he ever do that? He'd never offer Crowley to be restored as an angel, either. That'd collapse Heaven and Hell in a day as every demon then would demand their own status as demons reviewed. They think this is The Metatron and they still believe him, even though he just tried to murder Gabriel? I was so surprised to see the number of people who don't think Aziraphale is in any danger here and think he just got promoted when the whole season seems like it's building towards something quite different but we'll see what happens in The Finale.
The gods of the Disc have never bothered much about judging the souls of the dead, and so people only go to hell if that's where they believe, in their deepest heart, that they deserve to go. Which they won't do if they don't know about it. This explains why it is so important to shoot missionaries on sight.
Eric, Terry Prachett
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the act of unravelling (part two)
pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader
rating mature 18+
summary you never expected youâd get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.
tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.
< prev
Rafe stands and looks down at the body, his fists clenched tightly. Reality is setting in now. He could go to prison. His future could be ruined.
Heâs perpetually at the mercy of his impulsivity, thinking only of the minute heâs living in, burdened with the consequences later. But still, even with his head a little clearer, he doesnât regret this.
Ripping away the life of a man who wronged him was a thrill. He spends every day feeling like heâs losing and the power he had in his hands tonight felt so fucking good. He won for once.
You feel heavy as you push yourself up off the floor. You wish you could curl up in your bathtub under hot, gushing water, washing away everything that happened tonight.
The corpse is harder to look at with every second that passes. You glance up at Rafe, blood splattered on his face as he stares down at what heâd done, at what youâd done, chillingly unfazed.
âWe canât leave anything thatâll point back to me,â he mumbles, his voice low over the fireworks still crackling outside.
âOr me,â you have to remind him tensely.
His eyes land on yours. Heâs always only looking out for himself. He doesnât know what itâs like to have to worry about someone else.
âIâm serious,â you urge. Your survival instinct rushes through you for the second time tonight. You refuse to let Rafe throw you to the wolves. âI saved your life. You owe me. I wonât take the fall for this.â
âWell, neither will I,â he snaps.
âYou shot him.â
âI could say you did,â Rafe replies. âAnd itâd be your word against mine. What then?â
You scoff, in disbelief of his selfishness.
âI saved your life,â you repeat. âDoes that mean nothing to you?â
Rafe swallows hard. Heâs not sure many people would do what you did for him tonight. Theyâd watch. Theyâd let him die. The possibility that you might feel something for him makes his chest twist with an unfamiliar warmth.
âWeâll look out for each other, alright?â he relents, letting his guard down for a moment. âLetâs just clean this up.â
Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. You pull it out, seeing Popeâs name. Twelve missed calls.
You hope your friends donât get so worried that they come up here, ignoring the Off Limits sign Porter had put up across the stairs. But they donât know where you went. Youâre almost certain.
âMy friends keep calling me,â you whisper.
Rafeâs jaw tightens. His friends arenât worrying about him.
âYou canât answer them,â he snaps.
âI know.â You let out a shaky sigh, tucking your phone back into your pocket. âWe have to be fast. What do we do? Do we bury him?â
Rafe takes a beat to think.
âWe dump him in the ocean,â he finally says. âWe go to the marina and drive my boat out far enough where nobody will find him.â
âHow do we move him so nobody sees? We canât go through the house. We might run into someone.â
Rafe looks to the glass door on the other end of the room, the balcony offering a view of the inky night sky.
âThere,â he says. âWeâll push him off and put him in the back of my truck.â
You consider it. Of the limited options you have, it seems like the only one worth trying.
âOkay. We have to clean the blood off the floor,â you say. âAnd everything we touch needs to be wiped. Maybe thereâs something with bleach in it around here?â
For the first time since you entered this room, you feel hope. Thereâs a chance, a real chance, you could get away with this. You look back at the desk Rafe ransacked.
âPick that stuff up,â you say. Frustration rolls through him. He never liked being bossed around. âIâll try to find something to clean with.â
âDonât let anyone see you,â Rafe mutters.
âHow stupid do you think I am?â you huff before you turn towards the door.
You tiptoe through the second story, peeking into a bathroom cupboard. When you find a spray bottle that reads Cleaner and Bleach on the packaging, you grab it and head back to the room.
You and Rafe move quickly and quietly, using clothes you found in the closet to wipe everything with bleach. After a loud, consonant cracking of fireworks that you assume is the grand finale, the show ends. And you know people are on their way back to the house.
The neighborâs private beach canât be that far away. You have a minute. Maybe two.
Youâre glad Rafe thinks to find the shell of the bullet. He puts it in his pocket. You spray the bleach over the floor again, cleaning every drop of blood you can see.
âTuck this stuff under his shirt,â you say breathlessly, handing Rafe the bottle and the blood-soaked clothes.
You canât do it. You know youâll need to touch him when you move him, but youâd rather limit the contact you have with his body. Even dead, when he canât hurt you, touching him is terrifying.
You pick the gun up off the floor, then open the balcony, relieved you canât hear any voices yet. You peer over the edge to see the sandy ground. The balcony overlooks the side of the house, dark and secluded.
Rafe grunts as he drags the corpse out onto the balcony. You have to muster up every bit of strength you have as you help heave Porterâs body over the railing. He falls with a hard thud, facedown in the sand.
You have to jump the balcony. You canât risk going downstairs. Rafe is wide-eyed as you hitch your leg over the railing, looking down with shaky breaths.
âWait,â he whispers. âLet me go first. If you break something, weâre fucked.â
He shifts down as low as he can before letting his feet hang over the edge. He lets go, dropping hard, his ankles pinching with pain from the impact.
âOkay,â he says. âGo.â
You feel a splinter dig into your palm as you clutch onto the wooden railing with one hand while the other holds the gun. You make the split-second decision to keep the balcony door open to air out the smell of bleach.
You hope you cleaned away every drop of blood in the room. Thereâs no going back to it now.
You sink, hanging as low as you can, looking over your shoulder before you drop. Rafeâs arms wrap around you as your feet hit the ground, his chest hard against your back, breaking your fall.
âIf someone comes,â he whispers in your ear, ârun.â
Waiting for him to get his truck is torture. The humid night air presses against your face and you canât bear to look down at the body on the ground.
Rafe returns and you move quickly, straining as you carry the body over the uneven terrain, the soles of your shoes slipping on the sand.
Once the body is in the trunk and Rafe unfolds the cover, blanketing the cab and concealing the evidence, you feel a shred less frightened.
You glance back into the darkness just in case. A glow of a phone screen is in the sand. Rafe is already behind the wheel, demanding that you get in, his voice carrying through the open rear window.
You feel for your phone. Itâs still in your pocket.
âDo you have your phone?â you whisper.
He responds after a moment, âYes. Get in.â
âI think his phone fell on the ground when we were carrying him,â you say. âWe shouldââ
Faint laughs in the distance interrupt you. Thereâs no time to run back and get the phone without being seen.
âGet the hell in,â Rafe mutters angrily.
You obey, swinging open the door, barely closing it in time as Rafe peels away. Your muscles prick from the weight youâd just carried as you drive past the partygoers coming back from watching fireworks.
âHoly shit,â Rafe chuckles, near elated. âWe did it.â
You stare ahead, your head foggy.
This will haunt you for the rest of your life. The thought forces a torrent of dread through you worse than youâve ever felt before.
What if youâd run out of the room when Rafe and Porter came in? What if youâd left Rafe to deal with the body on his own?
What if youâd never gone upstairs?
Youâre destined to agonize over the what ifâs of tonight forever.
You gaze down at the gun in your lap and hold your hands out in front of you, skin stinging from the bleach. Youâd wiped away the blood, but you think youâll always see it on your hands.
You figure out that itâs a good thing you left Porterâs phone. If he was sharing his location, youâre sure the police could track where it was last before you threw it into the sea with him. Theyâd know exactly where to look for his body.
âWe should shut off our phones,â you realize. âI think they can track GPS history from cell towers.â
Rafe digs into his pocket, glancing down to watch the screen go black.
âHowâd you think of that?â he mumbles with a laugh. âIs this not your first time doing this, Pogue?â
âNothing about this is funny,â you reply.
âRelax,â he says. âWe got away with it.â
âYou canât be so sure,â you say. âOne fingerprint in that room andâŚâ
You canât think about it.
In the paroxysm of emotions youâre already feeling, guilt digs a hole into your stomach when you see Popeâs most recent text before you power off your phone.
Answer the phone. Weâre worried.
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡
The clock on Rafeâs dashboard reads 10:44 when you reach the marina. He parks right by the main dock. The place seems quiet, the water crowded with seemingly unoccupied boats.
âIâll take a walk around to make sure weâre alone,â he says, pulling his key out of the ignition.
The car door slams shut and youâre left with a gun in your lap, a body in the trunk, and your tormenting thoughts.
Maybe you missed something back in that room.
You picture Porterâs phone lighting up in the sand. His last text to you said to come upstairs. When the cops inevitably start searching for answers, youâll be questioned.
A minute later, Rafe swings open your door, pulling you out of your daze. You meet his glare, his hair tousled and sweaty.
âWeâre good,â he says. âMove.â
Having to haul the body over the dock past darkened, quiet boats is unnerving. Ater you leave it at the back of Rafeâs boat, you stand behind him at the helm.
Your arms are crossed and the gun is tucked by your elbow, because if you learned anything tonight, itâs that you canât trust anyone.
Rafeâs still a man. A man who takes what he wants when he wants it. A man who killed someone because he didnât obey him. He could hurt you if he wanted to. Itâs best not to be alone with him.
âI should wait in the car,â you mumble. Rafe shakes his head in frustration, driving the boat forward. The boatâs motor hums as you rock with its movements.
âNo,â he mutters condescendingly. It reminds you of why underneath the stubborn pull youâve always felt towards him, youâve also harbored a quiet fear. Rafe is violent. Possibly enough to hurt you the same way Porter did.
You feel for the gun again. If two men have to die tonight, so be it. The fact that your mind went there chills you.
Rafe looks over at you, lips twisting in annoyance.
âDonât feel bad for that asshole,â he mutters. âHe asked for it.â
Itâs the worst possible thing he couldâve said. Your throat is raw with the threat of tears. Asked for it. Would he say the same about what happened to you?
âI donât regret it,â you tell him, sure that heâs assuming that thatâs why youâre so tense. âIâm just worried we missed something.â
âIf we did, nothinâ we can do about it now,â he says. You look ahead at the dark sea, moonlight shining over the waterâs ripples.
âWe need to figure our story out,â you say. âHowâd you end up upstairs? Did anyone see you?â
âI stopped him while everyone was going outside to watch the show,â he recalls. âTold him to show me where he was keeping his coke because I heard he was selling again. It was loud. I donât think anyone heard, but maybe someone saw. I donât know.â
âWhy do you sell?â you ask, face pinched in confusion. âWhy did you even care that he was selling, too? You don't have enough money already?â
âI gotta keep your tips coming, donât I?â he says smugly. You scoff, jarred by his blasĂŠ attitude, despising his cold arrogance.
He notices the angry scowl on your face. Heâs convinced heâll never break through the hatred you have for him.
âI want to make my own money. Thatâs why,â he admits. Itâs half the truth, but itâs good enough.
Itâs surprising to hear that Rafe, a man you thought coasted on the wealth he was born into, possesses a work ethic. Even though he uses it to deal drugs.
âDid anyone see you go upstairs?â he asks.
âI donât think so,â you say.
âWhy were you there?â
You chew on your lip, the truth sitting on your chest like a ton of bricks. Thereâs no point in telling him. He thinks your motive was the same as his. Money. And youâll let him believe it.
Besides, talking about it now, merely an hour afterwards, will only make you cry again and your head is pounding from how much youâve already wept tonight. How could you possibly say it out loud?
âTo buy pot. Then I smoked too much and passed out.â You keep talking before he can ask anything else. âAre we far out enough?â
Rafe looks back to make sure the marina is out of sight before he kills the engine.
Pushing Porterâs body over the guardrail is harder than the other times youâd carried him tonight. The water is rocking the boat so much now that youâre far into the ocean. Your breath is strained as you heave him over the metal, his body hitting the water with a loud splash under the bright moon.
Rafe pulls out the bullet shell in his pocket and tosses it in the water. You know you have to throw the gun in, too. Itâs hard to. But you do it.
Rafe looks over the edge now that everything is sinking to the bottom, his forearm brushing against yours. He notices how quickly you jerk away, refusing to let him touch you. The pull he feels towards you is obviously one-sided. Your eyes flit away when you look at him.
âYou have blood on your face,â you tell him soberly. His temper flares, feeling stupid for thinking a girl could feel anything but afraid of him after he shot someone right in front of her. Even though she was the one who told him to do it.
You might have a deadly thirst for revenge in common, but thatâs where the similarities end. He stalks past you to wash himself off in the bathroom below the deck.
You let out a shaky breath. The unexpected contact with Rafe startled you. After tonight, youâre sure youâll always be scared to be around men you donât know all that well. Even the ones that seem decent are just lions in sheepâs clothing. The monster that proved that to you is below the oceanâs surface now.
You look into the murky water, and despite the fear and the anxiety and dread weighing on your heart, youâre glad that this is how it ended. Porter paid the ultimate price for what he did to you. He doesnât deserve to live, to smile, to feel anything ever again.
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡
You and Rafe sit behind the hull, the boat swaying with the tide. You start to piece together an alibi and decide to admit you were upstairs together. If even one person says they saw either one of you go up there, you wonât be caught in a lie.
As you talk, Rafe canât take his eyes off of you. Youâre clearly scared, but trying to stay level-headed. He doesnât get how you do it. Heâs always been bad at keeping his mind steady. He never had a reason to even try.
âSo, I went up first after he texted me to come buy from him,â you say, hoping your voice doesnât shake. âI got high and passed out. Then you came up with him to find his stash. Weâre obviously going to have to come clean about the drugs.â
âWhat do you mean obviously?â
âYouâre going to be a suspect the second the police start talking to people,â you tell him. âEveryone knows you had an issue with him. And why. You canât lie about the coke. And theyâll have evidence that I was buying weed from him. We have to be honest about it. Theyâll find out anyway.â
Rafe sighs, knowing youâre right.
You hug yourself as a cool breeze carries over the water. The weakness in your gaze reminds Rafe of the way youâd cried on the floor earlier tonight. Before all this, he only ever saw you as strong-willed and sharp-tongued.
Even though calming a man like Rafe down when heâs angry sounds like itâd be impossible, you figure itâs the only direction your alibi can go.
âWeâll say I talked you down andâŚâ You shake your head. âIt doesnât make sense that weâd stay up there. I think we say we left him in his room and sat on the beach alone in front of the house to watch the fireworks from there.â
You worry itâs not enough. Youâre certain that no one who knows either one of you would buy that you voluntarily spent time together.
âMaybe the cops would believe we hung out,â you mumble, âbut nobody else would.â
Rafe stills. His friends like to give him crap about how much time he spends talking to you when he supposedly hates Pogues. If he told them he was with you all night, theyâd say they saw it coming.
âThey could,â he says after a few seconds of silence.
âMy friends would never believe it,â you scoff. He purses his lips, pissed off at your tone, at the clear implication that you talk shit about him with your friends.
âItâs our only option,â he mutters sharply.
âYouâre right,â you give in. âThen what? We went home before people got back? I guess that way if anyone saw us leave together, we have it covered.â
âYeah.â He clears his throat. âThatâs the story.â
âOkay. Itâs not great, but itâs the best we can do.â You check your phone for the time, only to remember itâs turned off. âCan you drive me home now? Iâll say my phone died. You should do the same when people ask where youâve been.â
Rafe doesnât admit to you that nobody was checking up on him, that nobody ever does. He only stands up to drive back to the dock.
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡
Your first priority when you get home is to text your friends, guilt consuming you now that itâs been over two hours since you last saw them and they have no idea what happened to you.
You turn on your phone to see a string of missed calls and texts from the guys. You open the group-chat and type: Iâm so sorry. Iâm okay. Got too high and lost track of time. Home now.
They video call you to be sure that you really made it home safe, drunkenly rambling on about how they assumed you went to see the fireworks early, leaving them to search the neighborâs beach for you.
As you listen to them talk over each other on the phone, itâs the first time you see your reflection since you left the house, when you were oblivious to the fact that the impending hours would change you forever.
You can see it in your eyes that youâre not the same. You can only hope that they donât catch on.
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡
Itâs been three days. You havenât been sleeping. Youâve hardly been eating. And no matter how many times you tell yourself thereâs no use in thinking about how different the night could have turned out, it doesnât stop your head from spinning into hypotheticals.
All you told your friends was that you were with a boy and that they didnât need to know any more. Because they all see you as a sister, they were happy to be spared the details.
If only they knew. A few nights ago, you promised them you wouldnât talk about Rafe ever again. You never wouldâve thought the reason would be because youâd committed a crime together.
Youâre back at work. Smiling and chatting and serving drinks and acting like everything is fine is harder than you expected.
The thought of seeing Rafe again is oddly comforting. No matter how twisted it is, you have a bond now, held together by secrecy and shared trauma. Heâs the closest to knowing what youâre going through.
Even though you were afraid of him on the boat, when he dropped you off, he waited until you got into the house before he drove off. Maybe he sees you as someone he needs to protect, even if it is for his own selfish reasons.
No matter how unhinged he is, having someone like him in your corner is comforting after what youâd suffered through.
You spot Rafe sitting alone at the near empty club bar on your way out and your heart settles, but when you catch a glimpse of the flatscreen mounted on the wall a moment later, it drops. You knew it was inevitable, but it doesnât make it any better.
Rafe swallows bitter whiskey, gazing up at the tv. Under a photo of Porter reads MISSING as his parents speak to the press. What if he went missing? Whoâd care? What would his dad say â at least it wasnât Sarah?
He looks down at the bartop. The thrill of what he did has faded. Itâs not a surprise. His life is nothing but a cycle of short-lived highs.
When he sees the look on Porterâs parentsâ faces on the tv, jealousy and loneliness screw a hole into his heart. He knows itâs fucked up to envy the man he killed. He doesnât care.
His eyes drift over the bar to see you standing on the other end. Youâre in shock as you stare up at the broadcast, looking guilty as hell. He glares at you until you finally meet his eyes.
Rafe curtly gestures to you to sit next to him. Even though he looks mad, youâre relieved to close the distance between you.
âYouâre being obvious,â he says quietly once you sit next to him, an edge to his tone.
You look back to see only a few other people sitting in the restaurant area behind you, far from earshot. You wonât be heard, but you both know you have to speak vaguely just in case.
âSomeone I know is missing,â you reply. âItâs normal to be worried about that.â
âWhat do you know about normal?â he scoffs.
You lock eyes, sure that youâre both replaying the night in your minds, sure that youâre both far from sane after what you did. His gaze is cold, a reflection of how angry he is that youâre not handling what happened as well as he is.
âGreat talking to you,â you snip sarcastically, shifting to stand up.
âWait,â he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks at you again, this time with a bit of the hardness in his eyes gone. âWe need to talk.â
(to be continued)
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Astarion and Vampire Supremacy. In general and in romance.
In DnD, vampires are huge supremacists. They consider themselves superior to any undead and certainly superior to mortals. All mortals are cattle to vampires.
In Baldur's Gate 3, this trait is also present in vampire culture.
In Astarion there seems to be almost no such things⌠Or they are not emphasised - as I think they are. In my opinion we should have explored his different traits.
Vampire Supremacy is one of them.
Astarion was an Upper City noble and the chances that he wasn't arrogant towards the "lower classes" are very low. Zero for me. So he was already familiar with supremacism very well. Add to that the loss of his status and the hierarchy of the coven in which he became a slave. That's something.
We barely have conversations with Astarion about vampire culture: what does it mean to be in "vampire coven"? How vampires relate to the mortal world? And what does he like about the vampire world? It's more shadowy moments.
Here I found a few.
Part 1. Details in the story.
EA 9 patch, Act 1 - the grove, after killing Nettie. It's one of those cut out scenes with little companion comments and reduced to a one line or remade. Shadowheart had it too :< Now:
Act 2 - after killing the strange ox. Act 3 - Astarion as Lord says his stuff :D
This word: "spook" cattle/sheep... It's same edge of his character.
In Act 1, you'd think he thinks all "weak" people are sheep. That's true, too. Nettie has lost, she's dead and she's a sheep, but somewhere around here in the grove there will be a hunter for him and Tav - they have to go.
In Act 3, the path of evil, Astarion demonstrates this line deeper and more vividly. In Act 2, it still sounds like something funny, comical. Yes, yes chickens, oxen and people. But these are food animals - and that's not such a joke to Astarion.
To put it in perspective in Act 1 all his companions is a snack. He discusses with Tav what they would taste like. Here's the synopsis for that scene:
Synopsis: Astarion is staring at the other companions around the campfire. He's friendly and affable, but his mind is on his hunger. He starts to wonder what the others taste like, although he's MOSTLY joking. In the end he decides to remove himself, before the conversation gets too real. Mostly a joke that could become something serious.
Vampiric arrogance, predatory nature.
Vampires are clever hunters - their arrogance towards mortals comes in many forms, from food to merry carnage to lust. Basically, they use whatever gives them profit and pleasure.
He might not eat Laezel, but watching Lae and Shadowheart fight is entertainment for him.
Looks fun, but the nature of it is dark. It can be taken ironically, but he really enjoys watching brutal fighting and generally killing. It's a trait. Deserves its own post.
WYR_SmugglersCave_PAD_Suggestions He do hope. It's also relevant to mortals. Corrupt people with power are as parasitic creatures as vampires. Instead of blood, it's gold, work, and entertainment in an wicked way that damages people.
In this I notice the metaphorical nature of vampirism in Astarion's character. As an example of corruption I recall Astarion's little remark when we kill the two ogre-lovers of the barn.
The insignificance (who cares about two ogres) and again the comicality of the situation, the way Astarion smiles as he opens the barn is legendary. Kind of hides it a little bit and takes it away from the thoughtâŚ
Somewhere in Baldur's Gate someone is paying gold to watch fights, and it's unlikely these fights have civilized rules. And it's doubtful that such a entertainment would only apply to ogres. The fighting pits at Baldur's Gate. Who knows if Astarion was interested in that when he was mortal. I headcanon that he was. He was extremely corrupted and it's deep in his personality.
Here is this telling facet, Astarion's interest in such burtal things, which are as much in the shadows as gremlin remarks, yet there is exactly "evil" in this one. This part of that aspect: The arrogance of the Noble and the Vampire. More points about treating people like cattle. There is a moment in Act 2 - and I have absolutely no idea where it is. SHA_Mausoleum_PAD_MakeshiftVessel Players find a vessel with a half-formed humanoid shape gestating inside and reacts accordingly. The being is just inert flesh and cannot speak. How to trigger: Interact with S_SHA_Mausoleum_MakeshiftVessel.
Where is that thing? I can't find.
In good companions, this is a cause for concern. In general the place where they found it contributes to very unpleasant thoughts. A mausoleum in the shadow lands of Sharr, where a necromancer and the chosen of Myrkul struts around. Well, Astarion too, as you can see... finds a downside. Hunting people is fun and keeps you in the spirit.
It's a good idea to check all the phrases in Astarion's Original throughout the acts. Maybe there's more.
I watched the epilogue of Lord Astarion Original and in a conversation with Minthara (hah, who else?)
And it's wild. It's literally all about the people. :D
We have a few to choose from for rpg's. And given the line about sports⌠I really don't think Astarion will be buying "food" very often. Or that pale arse is lazy after all and his hunt is a park in the city. And when he should be setting up his power web in the city, he's too busy for hunting.
Can you imagine him wanting to hunt and get some air, but he's got some lordish business in the halls until late in the evening.
Part 2. In Romamce.
This part departs from such direct things as blood and the predator's attitude towards people. It becomes more sensual.
I would say this trait of supremacism is slightly visible, but not over people, over mortality in a greater sense, when Astarion turns Tav: he emphasises the strength, sharpness. Better.
The morning after the turn.
He has a point. The last time he was mortal, he was killed.
Astarion as Lord does the same with God Gale Original mentioning immortality as - strength, lack of illness and youthfulness. love this one
His vampiric arrogance over Tav perhaps visible only in the first act. He didn't really care. Tav became his fun, his lust, and his way to survive. Then Tav is the first person to care about him in dozens and dozens of years of slavery. "Blood bags" and such are a bit of dark humour, so it might have been true in another life, but he and Tav are far from it, they're the first person he's cared for in decades of loneliness. His perception of mortality as something that makes a person more vulnerable is his trigger (among others) for turning Tav into a his kind. But since he's not in such a hurry in the end of mortal Tav, I'm guessing: it's his euphoric state after the ritual, where his spire for the castle of vampire happiness is to be with Tav forever. He chillin' about it, afterward. Tav's immortality is a nice thing he'd like, but okay it can wait. So. Tav... they're special. The two of them are special. Astarion elevates Tav and himself above the others. We are Better.
Camp. Vampire ambush.
When the camp is ambushed by spawns. If Tav proposes the idea that the world is actually a wonderful place that can accept him - he argues with them. But approves of all three different reactions. Also then Astarion says the word "forever" in regards to their relationship, to Tav.
This "forever" part is deep in Astarion. According to the artbook (The artbook is EA era, which is still sold with the game though, and the story doesn't contradict anything) So according to the artbook Astarion was obsessed with eternal life, forever youth, forever being. It extends to his feelings - it's needed forever. It's very sensual, but also very greedy and⌠painfully understandable - it's such a simple feeling to make something nice continue for as long as possible.
If Tav is on the same page as Astarion and tends towards the "only loved ones matter, we're special" mindset. You'd think it was his trick-manipulation to perform a ritual, praise Tav for supporting his idea of supremacism and get what he so reasonably needs. He's certainly glad that Tav has similar ideas to him, and he'll definitely support that. It doesn't depend on his goals still - his "we are better" is very direct and deep in his personality.
Italicized. Here we are. That's one of the key thoughts in his character. That's the focus. This trait is further seen in Astarion as Lord - he says "We", "Ours". The man even says it in Latin. Aeterna amantes.
New in patch 7, takeover of the Absolute:
This part is already moving away from vampirism. This one is very layered. We are because he finally found someone he can trust. We are because we are parts fated to complete each other. We are because he's not alone in the world anymore.
Along with vampirism, his Noble Lord status plays a role here again. We are the mighty, above and we rule.
It's an easy and very simple fit to vampirism - we are better and we are forever.
He's also incredibly proud of himself, that he can give something to Tav, can protect them. He's been under Tav's protection the whole journey. Undead outcaster in Faerun, they regard mortals as cattle, and mortals regard them as monsters. That's why there are monster hunters. Vampire spawn he was allowed to stay in the group and he was dependent, he couldn't be a leader. In the romance he felt he had nothing to give, he was getting Tav into trouble with a powerful true vampire. He was counting the seconds until they finally decided to leave himâŚ
In the romance, vampirism plays into the fact that Astarion is very much immersed in thoughts of eternity together. This emotionally intense and fragile moment: "I don't want to lose anything", comes from the very moment he lost: his status, the sun, his life. Not gonna happen again. Vampirism in the romance have fun one too: -- wealth - these two literally wear the most expensive clothes on the Sword Coast. -- shared powers - he is going to be in charge -- fights and challenge is for Tav- warrior, Astarion likes to spill some blood -- pleasure - of various kinds, from bed to blood.
The end result is an amalgamation of his: -- his personality with, well, a pretty intense dark triad. I would say character image instead of personality. Because the personality is itself. But the character will always submit to the idea - recall that his core is a balance of evil and fun. And evil in DnD is eogism, immorality, narcissism, harming others for fun and personal goals and all that. These dark parts in irl personality can spoil the balance. That's why psychology is for people. Not for characters who will eventually never go against their core. (even if all psychology reference books say otherwise). -- vampirism - the desire for blood and a predatory attitude -- desire for status and power as noble -- force as magic -- forever -- and share it all with love A little bonus at the end. Animation 3 patch. Subtle process.
This scene is much improved in colours in patch 7. But I still like the original faces. He looks so much like a fox >:3
#astarion#astarion analysis#astarion meta#lord astarion#ascended astarion#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#astarion bg3#astarion baldurs gate#astarion romance#astarion x tav#astarion x durge#bg3#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate 3 patch 7#bg3 patch 7#my analysis
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Bliss ; Oz Cobb x Reader
summary: After trying a new drug at a nightclub, you lose your friend and run into someone else.
word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.5K | female reader, canon divergence (this kind of warps the events of episode 3 a teensy bit and uhhhh sorry about that, it's all in the name of spice), drug mention (fictional Bliss), technically mild dub con cos reader is hiiiiiiigh as shit but she's very into Oz, grinding, hook-ups, mentions of arousal (both parties), semi-public oral sex, blowjobs.
a/n: thank you for all the love on my last oz fic!! wahooo!!!! here's another, because i'm still obsessed with him! not beta-read or anything... just had to get this out. banner by @/strangergraphics!
â full fic under cut! â / ao3 link here! / I donât have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if youâd like to be notified of future fics!
âOpen your mouth, honeyâŚâÂ
You extend your tongue, obediently. The nameless (but very pretty) woman puts a triangle of translucent red candy on the meat of your tongue, and you draw it back in, sucking on it. Itâs slightly sweet and melts straight away, leaving a slimy, almost syrupy finish on your tongue. You swallow it down, and look over at your friend, who had taken the Bliss before you had.Â
It only takes a few minutes for it to hit and when it does, your entire body feels like itâs floating, your nervous system is buzzing happily while your friendâs eyes are glazed over, a delighted smile on her face. Everything seems to sparkle like the glitter that youâd dusted your eyelids in. âHoly shitâŚâÂ
âYeah,â you echo, equally as shocked as she is. The feeling is indescribable, and you immediately understand why itâs called Bliss. You canât recall the last time youâd felt this⌠elated. Youâd smoked, youâd done ecstasy, but this⌠this was something else entirely.Â
The two of you collide, crushing your bodies against each other as the music throbs in your ears, thumping in your bones. Your hands explore each otherâs exposed skin, tasting it with your fingertips. Youâre dancing with her, your ass in the crook of her hips⌠and then you arenât. The presence is suddenly gone from behind you. You spin around, searching for her face in the crowd. You spot it as she turns to wave at you.
âIâll be back!â She shouts, nodding excitedly as she disappears into the sea of people. âIâm going upstairs!âÂ
Even though youâre still riding the high, you donât particularly like the concept of being alone. You try to chase after her, turning left and right to avoid the shoulders of other patrons. As you pass them, you see other people indulging in the same drug that is coursing through your system. Itâs a collective high, you think to yourself, smiling. How cute.Â
Finally, after meandering through the crowds for a few minutes, you spot a small staircase and make a beeline towards it. Your limbs feel jello-y, and you nearly stumble as you take the stairs one at a time. Just as your foot hits the last step, you hear a stern voice calling out to you.Â
âHey-hey, sweetheart.â A man gets to his feet, limping slightly as he takes a step towards you. His voice was heavy, commanding. Even in your intoxicated state, you could tell you were interrupting something. Fuck. Your head sweeps from side to side as you search for your friend.Â
Oz takes another step towards you, watching you closely. You were a cute little thing, all dolled up and pretty, just how he liked âem⌠but you didnât belong here.Â
âThis ain't an open invitation. You lost?â He nods his head, his scarred lips turning into a frown.Â
âIâŚâ You slurred, blinking slowly, a dreamy smile on your face. âI lost my friend⌠she said she was going upstairs⌠is this not⌠is this not upstairs?âÂ
He heaves a sigh, and seems to mutter an expletive under his breath. âNah, doll, this ainât upstairs.âÂ
You blinked again, pressing the back of your palm against your lips. You pause to shift your small purse back up onto your shoulder. âShitâŚâÂ
Your eyes unfocus and focus again. The man in front of you is big in every way describable. Broad, tall, and his aura⌠it swallows you whole. He looks rich, dressed well. Dark hair peeks out from over his slightly unbuttoned shirt. You hum. Youâd like to blame it on the drugs but youâve always had a penchant for older men. Especially ones that looked dangerous⌠and he looked dangerous.Â
âIâm⌠Iâm so sorryâŚâ A girlish giggle tumbled out of your throat. âIâm⌠oh god, I feel so good, Iâm sssso sorry to interrupt yourâŚâÂ
âYou take somethinâ?â He narrowed his eyes and nodded once.Â
âYeah,â you breathe, looking into his dark eyes. âThat red candy⌠you got any more of that?â You perk up at the idea of prolonging this feeling. Oz smiled at that, his gold teeth glinting in the light. An example had fallen right into their fuckinâ laps, and Zhao could see it firsthand. Your tongue jutted out at the corner of your mouth, and swept along your top lip, euphorically. He couldnât help but stare, feeling the heat of arousal grip his loins.
âGentlemen,â he said, diverting his attention before he stared too fuckinâ hard at you, his accent heavy. âAs I was sayinâ, Bliss is the new craze. The second it hits the streets, theyâll be bustinâ down the doors for it.âÂ
He steps out from behind the table and ambles his way over to you. Standing next to you, heâs even taller. You tilt your head back slightly to look â no, to gaze up at him. His face is aged, and deeply scarred â the biggest one disfiguring his top lip â but itâs hot. This guyâs been in a few, and youâre sure heâs got some stories.Â
You giggle again, an absolutely delirious sound, and press your hand on the breast of his suit jacket, tracing tiny little circles on the fabric. âHiâŚâÂ
He smirks, feelinâ like that cat that got the canary. A pretty little thing, whacked out on Bliss, fawning over him in front of Zhao and his gang? Priceless. Oz turns his head, nodding to one of the guys sitting at the table.Â
âYou think on our deal, and Iâm gonnaâ take care uhâ this one, huh?âÂ
You visibly preen at the fact that heâs leaving his meeting to âtake careâ of you⌠whatever that entails. He couldâve just told you to fuck off, but instead he takes you by the shoulders, steering you back towards the stairs from whence you came in true gentlemanly fashion. As he guides you down the steps carefully, you look behind you at the booth to see the men, all solemn, watching you as you go. Just as they disappear over the wall, you see one of them lean over to discuss something with the others.Â
God, his hands are fucking big on your shoulders.  Â
âSweetheart â whereâs your friend at? You canât be wanderinâ âround this club like this. It ainâtââÂ
âIâm safe nowâŚâ You lazily murmur, pressing your body against him. Heâs wide and warm and you want to press yourself into him until you disappear. âWhatâs your name, big guy?âÂ
He swallows a lump in his throat. Your tinier body pressed against his has him feelinâ things he shouldnât be feelinâ, especially seeinâ as heâs in the middle of one of the most important deals of his career. The crowd is undulating around the two of you, dozens of hands outstretched towards the ceiling as though it were heaven, sweaty bodies smearing against other bodies, washed in a bright red light. The song swells in your ears, its heavy beat forcing your hips to grind against the man in front of you.Â
âWe should dance. Câmoooon. Whatâs your name?â
âOz,â he says plainly, steering you around a corner, through the throngs of people. Heâs in the middle of a deal, he has to keep reminding himself of that. This ainât the time to pick up a new dame.
You repeat his name, drawing it out like a moan, hoping it sounds as good as it feels on your tongue. Another giggle, and you reach up to stroke the side of his face. âCâmonâŚ. DanceâŚ.. With me.â
He doesnât say anything, but you feel him pitch back slightly, stiffening against you. You reach up and wrap your arms around his broad neck, pressing your breasts flush against him. The warmth of his body immediately penetrates the thin fabric of your satin dress, seeping into your clammy, sweat-streaked body. It doesnât occur to you that heâs not much of a dancer.Â
âSweetheart, câmon.â He looks over your shoulder, prayinâ that your friend will show up. Youâre making it harder and harder to focus. âWhereâs your friend at? Huh? â Heâs persistent. You try to frown, but your smile is too strong.Â
âI donât know, silly⌠I said I lost her. Thatâs how I found youâŚâ Your hands are still wrapped around his neck, tugging as you let some of your body weight fall, sliding against the front of him. He has no choice but to put his hands on your hips, to hold you up slightly. The touch has you reeling. âWhatâs she look like?âÂ
You ignore his question. Besides itâs not like describing her in a sea of people who match the description will help him locate her.Â
âDonât you wannaâ touch me, OzâŚ?âÂ
That hits him and he looks down at you with a glimmer in his eye that wasnât there before. Fuck. Guy like him? Doesnât get this kind of attention all too often. So yeah, of course he fuckinâ does. And he is touchinâ you, with his large hands still planted on your soft, satin-clad hips, but thatâs not in the way he wants. He licks his lips. It probably ainât you talkinâ, itâs the Bliss.
The music swells again, and you spin around in his grasp, pressing your back against the curve of his stomach. He makes a fist in front of your dress, gathering up the fabric just enough so that his fingers can graze the smooth skin of your thigh. Itâs so soft⌠feels so fuckinâ good underneath his hand. Immediately, like a child that was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he lets go, and shifts himself against your body again. God damn.Â
You whine at the sensation, open-mouthed and dizzy. Every ounce of Bliss that was coursing through your system had you feeling better than youâve ever remembered⌠and you were grinding on some hot older guy? Win-win.Â
Your hips continue to sweep back and forth across his body, dipping your hips back to grind against his groin. You feel movement against your ass, and he eases himself into your soft, plush cheeks, forcing more friction.Â
âYou ainât thinkinâ straight, doll.â He says into your ear and his hand moves back to your hips, adjusting you. He thinks about movinâ his hand between your legs, fingers teasing at the mound of flesh there. Your soft panties are hardly there to begin with, so the contact would have you both reeling. He knows could feel the outline of her, and you could feel the warmth of his fingers.Â
But he doesnât, it ainât right and for all he knows, you could sober up and be horrified by your choice. It wouldnât surprise him any.Â
The warmth of his body is enough to arouse you, and you draw the side of your lip into your mouth and bite down, feeling a blush start down your neck. People are grinding on each other all around you, measly amounts of fabric impeding any actual fucking â whatâs another pair?
âWhat? About you?â you say, looking out into the crowd, watching as others are doing the same. You lean back, pressing the side of your head against his chest, and close your eyes, letting the music take you wherever it needed to.
He mutters a yeah; you feel it vibrate in his throat.Â
You spin back around and the action puts Ozâs hands on the meat of your ass cheeks. He doesnât move them, despite his previous thoughts. You snort, dismissing his insecurity. He says nothing, only looks at you, studying the features of your face.Â
âOhhh, I get it.â You nod slowly, closing your eyes slightly. Your finger taps his chest a few times, punctuating your disapproving revelation. âI get it, you think Iâm too fucked up to know what Iâm doing, is that it?âÂ
One of Ozâs hands leaves your body to come up and grip your chin, his thumb pressing into your bottom lip just enough to expose your teeth. You lean into his grasp, reveling in the feeling of his hand on your face. He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. Itâs plush and waxy underneath the pad of his thumb, which leaves a glittering streak of lip gloss on your cheek.
âNnoooâŚ. Itâs cute that you care⌠but no, the red candy ââ
âBliss,â he interjects, making sure you remember it. The more people that know it by name, the better.Â
â â Bliss, okay, yeah. Iâd hit on you without it.â
Oz considers that, his tongue darting out to lick his lips again. He squints at you, assessing your sincerity with a hint of intrigue.Â
That second of consideration is all you need apparently. Youâre craning your neck towards him, your heavy-lidded gaze dropping to his scarred lips. You bite your own, and inch closer â close enough that you can smell the scotch on his breath. You tilt your head to wordlessly indicate to him where youâre headed, and he looks at your ever-approaching mouth with a restrained sort of longing. His hands are still on your waist, which you take note of.Â
âHey! There you are!â
Hearing your friendâs voice, you immediately pull away from him, though heâs a little slower to let go of you. He seems less concerned with being caught; probably a by-product of his lifestyle. You turn to your friend, smiling sheepishly. She eyes the man behind you, quirking a single, defined brow. The apprehension is visible on her face.Â
âHeeey. One sec,â you say, before spinning back to Oz. âGive me your phone.âÂ
You expectantly hold your hand out in front of him, opening and closing your palm a few times.Â
âOh, câmon, I know youâve got a phone. Youâre not that old.âÂ
With a slightly perturbed sigh, he leans to the side, his hand slipping into his pocket. He retrieves the phone and holds it out to you, almost guiltily.Â
Hastily, you create a new contact before returning the phone to him.Â
âText me if you donât believe me. Or text me if you do believe me and are curious.â You lean up onto the toes of your heels, and whisper in his ear. âJust text me.âÂ
With that, you reach behind you, grabbing at the air until your friendâs fingers intertwine with yours. She grips your hand tight and yanks you away from Oz, pulling you into the undulating crowd until you canât see him anymore. She wastes no time, and immediately drags you back to the dance floor, finding the same woman who gave you Bliss the last time. You both dish out more cash and suck down the crimson shard before both of you are consumed by the drug and the need to dance.Â
You run your fingers through your hair, lifting it off your shoulders. âFuck, I feel amazingâŚ.âÂ
Only an hour passes before your phone vibrates in your bag. Licking your lips, you pull it out. Itâs from an unknown number⌠Gotham City area code⌠but you know exactly who it is. A pleased smirk curves its way around your glossy lips.Â
It reads: You still here?
Yea lol. Are you? Your hips continue swaying back and forth to the beat.Â
Yes
You suck on your bottom lip for a moment, mulling over what you want to do. Youâre apparently taking too long, because the typing bubble pops up again. You smirk to yourself and run your free hand through your hair, touseling it. You quickly thumb out a string of messages; youâre much faster than him.
Meet me at the bathrooms in 10Â
Mens
There always too many girls in oursÂ
Oz doesnât reply.Â
âGirl, Iâll be back!â You shout over the music. Your friendâs attention snaps to you, looking perplexed.
âWhere are you going!?âÂ
âI just gottaâ meet up with someone!âÂ
The realization dawns on her and her eyes widen. âShut upâŚ! Is it that guy from earlier?!âÂ
You nod.Â
âAre you serious?!â
You nod, looking proud. Your friend screws up her face, not withholding how she felt about him.Â
Sandwiching her face between your hands, you pull her head down for a loving forehead kiss. âYou need to broaden your horizons, baby doll!â Â
And with that, you plunge yourself into the crowd, gripping your phone in your hand. A neon sign in an archway guides you to your destination. By the time you get to a vantage point where you can see the bathrooms, you spot Oz; already there, his scarred face illuminated by the glow of his phone. He looks worried, like you arenât going to show up. After slipping your phone into your purse, you close in the distance. With a smirk, you move your hand towards him, reaching out to touch his forearm.Â
âYou missed me, huh? Tell me you missed meâŚâÂ
âWhat is this, a fuckinâ â âÂ
âIt took you a fucking hour to text me, baby. You were thinkinâ about me, werenât you?âÂ
âMaybe I was.âÂ
Oz flattens his palm against the door, giving it a hard push until it opens. You duck underneath his arm and after casually checking your makeup in the line of mirrors to your left, fling yourself into the first open stall. Oz follows, lumbering in after you. Itâs a tight fit, but youâre about to give him some breathing room.Â
You drop your purse to the ground, and promptly get to your knees, the cold tile floor chilling them as you do. Oz stands tall in front of you, his chest heaving with each breath. His head drops to his chest, leaning forward slightly to look at you over his stomach and he chuckles breathily, looking almost embarrassed.
âHoh shit⌠you ainât fuckinâ around, are ya?âÂ
You shake your head as your fingers crawl up his thighs, step by step, until you get to his waist band. You unlatch the closure and reach inside the folds of fabric, finding the small zipper with your fingers. A slow, teasing tug pulls it down and you look up at him, a wanton grin on your lips. Thereâs a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his bottom jaw hangs slack, his brown eyes watching you with an intensity that reveals something deeper.Â
âYou donât do this very often, huh?âÂ
He doesnât answer, but his tongue darts out to wet his lips. âShit, sweetheart⌠you do though, dontchaâ?â âEnough to know what Iâm doing.â Your reply is sharp, and you punctuate it with a curt nod, swiping the pads of your fingers across his underwear to tease his quickly hardening dick. You palm the outline, rubbing it softly. Your thumb finds the tip, teasing it through the layer of fabric. Above you, Oz is still watching you intently, committing all of this to memory. You chuckle through your nose, and lean forward, nuzzling your nose against the hardness.Â
âLemmeâ see what Iâm working withâŚâ you murmur, before reaching up to the elastic of his underwear, pulling it down harshly underneath his balls and freeing his cock. Framed by a thatch of black hair, it bobs heavily in front of your face, clear beads of pre-cum already leaking from the slit. You breathe hotly, causing it to twitch slightly. He pitches forward, bumping the tip into your lips and leaving a string of pre-cum stretching from your bottom lip to his dick. You lean back, just out of reach and laugh, watching as his expression contorts. You beam, pleased. The smile is mischievous; you love giving head because of the power it gives you, quite literally holding it in your hand.Â
You bring your hand up to his dick, wrapping your fingers just underneath the tip. The girth is impressive, even here. With a smirk, you tighten your grip and drag your thumb over the head, bringing some of that luscious pre-cum down onto his shaft. You drag your fist away from your face, watching as the skin slickens underneath your fingers. With a clang of metal against metal, Oz grips the side of the stall tight to steady himself. You havenât even put your mouth on his dick yet, and heâs already acting like heâs going to topple over.Â
âEasy, OzâŚâÂ
Your tongue stretches out past your teeth, flattening over your bottom lip. Taking hold of his cock hastily like a toy, you slap it wetly against your tongue a few times to rile him up. It works; his breath hitches in his throat and he drops his head back against his broad shoulders. His body temperature is rising, even you can feel it rolling off of him. Itâs a nice contrast to the chill of the bathroom.Â
You swallow once, relaxing your throat before leaning forward to wrap your lips around the cockhead. Your tongue, still flat, massages the underside of his cock as you push your head down onto him, not stopping until your nose reaches his pubic hair. Oz canât help the sounds that tumble from his mouth; low, tight groans and a string of expletives as you deep throat his cock. His free hand comes down to the back of your head, caressing your tresses and he lets out a deep sigh, adjusting to the warmth of your mouth. You feel the tension in his grip and know that heâs fighting the urge to grip your hair, controlling the speed at which your mouth pleasures him. Your blood is buzzing in your ears, hazy with arousal.Â
You pull back and he inhales sharply as you open your mouth wider before diving back down, letting the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag and your eyes snap shut, tears welling at the corners.Â
âThat feels so fuckinâ good. Shit, sweetheart.âÂ
Your cheeks cave as you suck him off, bobbing your head back and forth.Â
âGod damn, that mouth uhâ yoursâŚâ
You pull off his cock with a wet slurp and look up at him, dizzy with lust, before reaching up behind your head. Your smaller hand closes around his large hand, forcing him to make a fist in the soft strands before trailing over his wrist, fingers catching on the metal of his gold bracelet. âItâs okay, Oz. You can pull my hair.â Your tongue darts over your swollen bottom lip, lapping up the taste of him. âPull it, baby. Youâre doing so goodâŚâÂ
The comment is both a reprieve from his fat cock bullying your throat and a genuine statement. You see those dark brown eyes of his disappear under his lids as they roll back in his head, incapacitated by lust. He growls deep in his throat. Having been given direction and permission, he meticulously begins gathering it up into a ponytail, scooping all the tresses into the curve of his palm. While he does, you lazily lick at the sensitive, reddened head, teasing him further. The action practically makes his hands shake, but Oz manages to grip your hair tight and takes it upon himself to jerk his hips back against your face, sliding himself back into the warm, suctioned confines of your mouth. You nod against his cock, your nose brushing against the hair that greets you.Â
You want to tell him that he can fuck your face, but heâs already found a rhythm of bucking his hips into your mouth, so instead of words, the bathroom is filled with the muffled music from outside and the sloppy, wet sounds currently coming from your throat. You walk your knees out a little farther, giving yourself room to slip your hand between your thighs, and into the thin, stretchy fabric of your panties.Â
You feel every part of his body tense. Heâs close. You know it, he knows it. You push yourself further onto his cock, until your gag reflex activates again, and Oz immediately pulls you off, backing his hips away from your mouth. Your eyes fall to his cock; the tip is glossy and reddened, almost purple, and is leaking profusely. It twitches once and you reach forward to stroke the length of it with your middle finger.Â
âYou gonnaâ swallow that load, sweetheart?âÂ
With your throat sticky with his arousal, you swallow before speaking. âYou wouldnât ruin my makeup, would you?âÂ
He grins and chuckles, shaking his head softly. âNah, doll. I wouldnât fuckinâ dream of it. Open up.âÂ
You do. You open your mouth wide, and let him ease his cock back inside until it hits the back of your throat again, relaxing the muscles as best you can. Your finger moves from circling your own sensitive, swollen clit to delve into your wet cunt. You let out a little moan around his cock. Closing your lips around the shaft, you begin bobbing your head again, waiting for him to take control.Â
To your surprise, he doesnât. He doesnât, and the hand thatâs tangled in your hair goes slack, letting the strands fall back against your neck. This close to an orgasm and he doesnât absolutely wreck your mouth? Heâs got a whole suitcase full of kinks youâd like to unpack, but nowâs not the time. With a crooked smile, you bring your free hand up to the base of his dick, stroking into your mouth while your tongue lets the tip grind against it. As he groans and grunts above you, you continue fucking yourself on your own fingers, pumping them in and out of your slick, dripping cunt. It doesnât take you long to feel that first warning clench.
âThatâs it, donât fuckinâ stop, donât fuckinâ stopââ
One of his hands comes to rest on your shoulder, gripping it tight. His thick cock twitches in your hands and you brace for the oncoming orgasm. A few more languid pumps, and he groans loud enough for it to echo against the tile walls. His grip tightens on your shoulder as spurts of hot, white cum decorate your tongue and the back of your throat. As promised, you swallow. And swallow again, and again. The heady taste of his cum brings you to the edge, and the heat reaches its peak between your legs, which snap shut at the sensation. Your cunt flutters around your fingers, arousal leaking out onto them.Â
You pull off his cock, swallow again and collapse slightly against his groin. His hand finds your head again, petting your hair tenderly. As you both come down off the high, thereâs nothing but the distant sound of music and your ragged breaths.
Finally, you slip your arm into the handle of your purse, and albeit somewhat awkwardly, you pull one foot underneath you and push up, getting to your feet. Once Oz sees this, he helps you, lifting you carefully. Once youâre standing in front of him, you reach between your legs again, and gather your finishing with two fingers. Â
âOpen up.â You repeat, in an almost mocking tone. Though his expression paints a story of confusion, he parts his lips slightly, just enough for you to slide two of your fingers inside. You swipe the slickened fingers over his tongue, back and forth until the slick has coated the muscle. Finally, you withdraw your fingers, watching wordlessly as Oz sucks the intoxicating taste of your orgasm down his throat.
âThanks for that, Oz.â
âFeelinâs mutual, doll. Feelinâ is fuckinâ mutual.âÂ
#i'm still on this bullshit... still riding this man's dick like it's a full time job#again... nobody fucking look at me#Oz Cobb x reader#Oswald Cobb x reader#The Penguin x reader#Oz Cobb#oswald cobblepot x reader#Oswald Cobb#Farrell Penguin#myfics#x reader#reader insert#female reader#fem reader#The Penguin HBO#The Penguin
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okay here is the original ramble under the cut here! mainly doing these to the ones with associated textposts for different tagging systems tbh LOL
vvv
TLDR - The Universe keeps fucking with Loop and they are not really happy about it, regardless of timing.
While I haven't decided anything 100% concrete for Loop, the idea of a reverse isekaied Loop in general is interesting to me, so I'll be exploring that a bit here. Especially in terms of timing on when Loop gets taken out of their timeline. At least in terms of immediate outlook within this AU. So, for now, have a couple of those thoughts!Â
---
The two main points in time I am currently considering are the following:
1. From when they gave up their original wish and made a new one.
In this instance, I feel like their arc would play a bit similar to in game
Seeing this new world as different & peaceful
Since they donât have to deal with the loops anymore, just watch whatever happens.
Be a lil silly for funsies! The chaos that can ensue with a star being existing within a modern world!Â
Even though it hurts to see Siffrinâs team hanging around, they really donât have anywhere to go at the moment (hard to hide a star being in this type of world)
To a slow realization of how unfair this whole situation is. In comparison to all of the horrors they went through, this Siffrin has it so easy.
This Siffrin gets to live an idyllic life, free from the world calamity of being frozen & the literal time loop.
This Siffrin gets to freely hang around their family team, with no foreseeable "end" to being with them in sight.
This Siffrin had their original wish, the wish Loop wanted granted, handed to them on a silver platter.Â
This Siffrin, nor anyone in this world, would ever be able to come close to understanding what Loop went through; Loop would never truly be seen in this world, not fully anyway.
What does The Universe have against them, to put them into this world and make them witness all of this?
It should have been them, with this carefree type of life, given all they went through.
2. AFTER the fight with Siffrin.
This leans a bit more lighthearted than the last, since Loop would have gone through all the development from the game via convos + the talk at the very end with Siffrin, and has a bit more peace about their whole deal.
Perhaps they would still see the same conclusions as above, since healing from the horrors would not happen all at once, if ever, with additional flavor
Underlying bitterness in why the script is still going.Â
Why is The Universe asking for them to continue into a new world and role?
Havenât they had enough, once making them witness another Siffrinâs loops and perfect ending, and now a completely idyllic Siffrinâs life from the get go?
However, there is also a bit of hope in the entire situation. Since if The Universe keeps deciding to fuck with them (as in, sending them to different world lines) there is still, technically, the chance of going backward as well.
To their original timeline and to their family.
Once could have been a one-off, but twice?
Perhaps three world jumps might be the minimum to go back, following standard wishing rituals?
More hope in this one from the get-go, with that thought in mind.
---
Though there are probably other points in time that would be interesting too!Â
Another one I was considering was RIGHT BEFORE the fight with Siffrin, perhaps even mid-fight. However, I don't think that makes much sense for this particular AU ASAFASFASDAS. Can you imagine if Loop just spawned into this world, doesn't realize this is a completely different Siffrin, and attacks on sight?????
Honestly the idea of a reverse-isekaied Loop into different AU's in general is neat, would love to see other people's takes on it!! Especially cuz of the various reactions/conclusions Loop could have/make based on the scenario/circumstances would be interesting, if that makes sense. At least I think there is something in that thought? I dunno!
I feel like I am missing some characterization bits in here, but that was the main gist of it for now since I cannot remember LMAO.
Mumblings over, thanks for reading my silly thoughts if you got this far!!!
a star being appeared in your apartment, wdyd?
(aka loop getting reverse isekaied into the modern office au)
also there are some scattered mumblings on loop in this AU under the cut actually in an rb now link right here if anyone's interested (spoilers for all of ISAT, including 2hats!)
#srb#isat spoilers#<- benefit of doing it like this is when the rambles technically have 2 diff sets of spoilers since this is 2hats but original isnt#reverse entry au#reverse isekai loop au#miki muses#text
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D.W || MYSTERY SPOT
Content Warning takes place a few weeks after 'Mystery Spot' 3.11, swearing, dean being dean, knives, and mentions of dean's death from 3.11.
Summary Angst, slow burn i think - Days have gone by and everyone in your town seem's to be on loop and you're the only one aware. Just as you're about to break down, two men in an Impala show up to lend a hand.
Ask @almostegg / @almosteggs : The brothers visit a new town that's stuck in a time loop. No one there is responsive and simply do their daily routine over and over again. Reader is the only one aware of what's happening and she is trapped within the town.
W.C. 2,200 words
A.N. first ficcc so excited to finally get this up. enjoy <3 - claire
Gunnison, Colorado. It was meant to be a shortstop for the Winchester boys, mainly for gas and food. They were on the way to a hunt in Utah with what they figured was a Banshee, based on the news theyâd heard at least. It was early November, and the temperature was declining everyday. People strolled through the small town in coats and scarves, cheeks pink from the cold. Dean could even see heat steaming off of Baby as he parked her at a random gas station.
âOh, shit,â Sam muttered, his eyes leering over his book to see the bright orange symbol on Babyâs dash. Dean had just finished filling up his car and was inside the gas station purchasing a few bars and snacks from the teenager at the front. Sam came up behind his brother, his jaw clenched.
âDonât tell me,â Dean muttered, tossing a random credit card to the cashier.Â
âCar needs an oil change.âÂ
âOh thatâs just freaking great,â Dean turned to the cashier, a frown on his face. âWhereâs the nearest car shop, kid?â
âItâs Steveâs Auto Parts, just down Terrace street on the left, but itâs closed right now.â
âOf course it is,â Dean signed. He looked at Sam through his brows before looking back at the kid. âNearest motel?âÂ
âNow what, we just sit around all night until that damn shop opens in the morning?â Dean said through his teeth, tossing his back on the left bed.Â
âWell, maybe we can actually get some sleep tonight. Relax, Dean, weâll be on the road tomorrow before seven.â Sam searched through the restroom for supplies. Motel stops were the time to take things like towels, soap, and other stuff they could throw in Babyâs trunk in case they needed it. Sam sighed, finding nothing in the room except cracked walls and a small slab of used soap. âMâ gonna ask the front desk for some stuff, be right back.â Sam passed flickering hall lights, hearing conversations of guests through the thin walls.
âGood evening, sir, how may I help you?âÂ
âHi, I just need some stuff for our room, thanks.â The woman at the front desk handed Sam two toothbrushes, some toothpaste, and a couple towels. Â
âHave a goodnight. Oh, I completely forgot when you checked in.â She reached below the desk, opening a few drawers before handing him a pamphlet. âIf youâre looking for some places in town to visit, here's a guide.â The town didnât often house anyone but locals, not having a large population or many visitors at that. It seemed like everyone knew each other.Â
Sam nodded, âThanks, goodnight.â
âHave a great night, sir.â
The next morning the two woke up at six, the motel alarm blaring an ugly, distasteful BEEP-ing sound. They both packed the little they had swiftly, heading out though the creaking door. At the front desk, the same woman from last night stood stock-still; that same fake-looking smile on her face.Â
âGoodmorning, folks, how may I help you?âÂ
âJust checking out,â Sam put the keys on the desk. She nodded, grabbing the keys, and packing them behind the desk. Suddenly, her face lit up as if she had just remembered a forgotten thought.
âOh, I completely forgot when you checked in.â She reached below the desk, opening a few drawers before handing him a pamphlet. âIf youâre looking for some places in town to visit here's a guide.âÂ
âOh, thank you, but I already got one last night,â Sam smiled. She stared at Sam blanky.
âHave a great day, sir.â He nodded with tight lips, grabbing Deanâs arm and leading them outside.
âDude, she said the exact same thing to me last night when I came down for stuff.â Dean shrugged.
âProbably just her regular spiel, you know how those jobs are.â Sam lowered his brows, his gaze on nothing in particular.Â
âI donât know, it was just weirdâŚâ Dean shrugged, âWho cares as long as we're out of here within an hour.â He focused on the road, more preoccupied with fixing Baby and getting on with the case they were supposed to be working on. A few minutes later, a large, rusted sign reading âSteveâs Auto Shop,â came into view, the blue and red paint chipped away from weather and old age. Dean parked his car and walked hastily inside, Sam on his tail.Â
âHey!â They heard someone yelling. Inside, a woman stood at the front of the store, waving her hands frantically in the manâs face. She couldnât have been much older than Sam. âDad, this isnât fucking funny, seriously.â The man stared at her blanky, before looking up at her, as if just registering her face.
âHey, Honey, how can I help ya? Shouldnât you be at school, itâs Monday.â
The woman groaned, her hands flying to cover her face in frustration, âDad, itâs Thursday. Please, Iâm begging you, stop this, whatever is going on, pleaseâŚâ Dean got closer and saw tears in her eyes. He approached her tentatively, making his voice known first.
âHey,â the woman jumped at Deanâs voice, but she quickly looked relieved to see him, though Dean was sure theyâd never met. She walked up to them impatiently, looking both of them up and down skeptically. âAre you real? Youâre notâŚfrom here. You can see me right, hear me?âÂ
âHey, itâs okay, weâre uh, real. Whatâs the matter?â Sam said gently, coming closer to her and Dean tentatively. She stared at Sam, then Dean, and sighed a heavy exhale. Dean knew that exhaustion she was feeling, heâd felt the same way before.
âAre you guys visiting?â They both nodded. âHow long?â Dean explained how they had come last night and only meant to stop briefly, but was having car troubles. Usually he wouldn't give strangers his life story, especially in his line of work, but this woman was obviously in distress. An odd sort of distress. A, âsupernatural problemâ, sort of distress. She nodded, like she was trying to calm herself down enough to explain what was happening.
âIâŚIâm going to sound insane.â Sam and Dean gave each other a knowing look. Definitely their type of problem.Â
âTrust me.â Sam interrupted. âWeâve probably heard weirder.â
âI donât knowâŚI woke up Monday and everything was normal. Tuesday, I woke up the same alarm, everyone was acting weird, like, repeating the same few things. And Wednesday it was the same, and I thought it would change today, but I feel like Iâm going insane. I mean, my own father doesnât recognize me, no one does. It's like they're all stuck. But Iâm not. Heard that kind of crazy?â
Dean laughed, âActually, yes. Uh, we might be able to help.â
âYouâre serious?â She looked up at Dean, like she was finally seeing him, her eyes leering over his intensely green eyes and old brown jacket
Sam nodded, âThis might sound even crazier, but we guess this is our buddy. Sounds like weâre dealing with a trickster.âÂ
âSoâŚwho are you guys?âÂ
âIâm Dean, this is Sam. We kinda deal with this type of stuff.âÂ
âWhat? The same day over and over? That kind of thing?â
âNot exactly, but I think we can help. I had to deal with this same thing a couple weeks ago.â She surveyed them once more, finally extending her hand, first to Sam.
She told them her name, and they replied this theirs. âNice to meet you. Really nice, if youâre who you say you are.â She brushed her hair out of her face, walking outside, the boys following behind her. âThat your car?â She asked.Â
Dean nodded proudly. âYeah.âÂ
âNice.â Dean smirked, giving Sam a wink. Sam rolled his eyes, sighing loudly.Â
âSo,â Sam walked closer to you, saying your name, âHas anything crazy, other than this loop, happened yet? LikeâŚsomeone getting hurt orâŚdying?â
âWhat the hell? No,â she stared at Sam with wide eyes.Â
âJust asking,â Sam said, glad that at least she didnât have to go through what he went through in his time loop. Dean sighed, not sure how he could get out of this. Last time Sam was stuck in one of these, he wasnât aware of what was happening. Now the three of them were fully conscious and he still didnât know what to do.
âWe think youâre in a time loop,â Dean finally said behind her shoulder, making her turn her head slightly. Damn, they were tall. And this one was really cuteâŚJesus, she was stuck in a time loop, or something, and she was undressing this guy with her eyes. Not that he seemed to mind.Â
Sam cleared his throat loudly and Dean and Y/N looked forward to Sam. âSo, are there any odd sort of tourist attractions around here?âÂ
She shook her head, âNo.âÂ
The brother looked into space, deep in thought before she decided to show them around, maybe give them ideas of what they could do.
âCâmon, let me show you what I mean.â She walked them through town, the same peoplee from yesterday strolling around town with scarves and coats alike. Suddenly, a hand sprung on Deanâs chest, shoving him to the side, a flower pot breaking where he stood. He looked to the side and saw her. âSorry!â A woman from the apartment building yelled. Y/N mimicked her, a âsorry!â slipping from her mouth. They kept walking, and she prevented them from walking on the road, despite the crosswalk sign clearly flashing white. A car sped past, a police car following close behind. The boys kept walking, following her into a coffee shop.
âIâm gonna order a matcha, the woman behind me is gonna get a black coffee, and the man after her is gonna get a latte.â She ordered, waiting for her drink next to the boys, the woman behind her ordering a coffee, black, and the man following her ordering a⌠âGreen tea, please.â
âWait, heâŚâ he winked at her, before looking at Sam and Dean with amusement on his face. Sam was on him in an instant, pulling him around the corner of the shop. âWhat, doing this to random innocent people, now, huh?â His face turned into a twisted smile that made Y/Nâs stomach turn. The manâs face began to shift into a completely different one. He was still a person, but a nonidentical one.
âWhat the hellâŚâ she backed up near Dean, and he put an arm in front of her space, the other arm reaching slowly for his knife.
The man smiled, âguess again, sweetheart.â
Dean lunged this time, his knife pressed even closer than Samâs.
âYou get her out of this before I end you here, and now.â Sam was next to her now, letting Dean take out his own anger on the trickster. Sam was almost still. The being under deanâs knife had left Sam alone and broken after dean âdied.â It was the worst time of his life. Losing Dean had turned him into a monster, and he hadnât even told Dean everything.
âWhat did she do to deserve this mess, huh? Fuck with us all you want but sheâs not a part of this.â
The man slimed in Deanâs grip. âYouâre right. Sheâs not. I justâŚwell, I got bored! Spun a wheel, of sorts, and landed in this town. Fate may have it that she won my good graces.â
âGet her out of here before I carve that stupid smile right out of your face.âÂ
âNo can do, son. Iâm having too much fââ Deanâs knife was in the manâs chest instantaneously, twisting like a dreidel before Dean forced it out of him.
A car passed, their brights flashing on the three, and next thing she knew, Y/N woke up in her bed, just as she had the last few days, her clock reading; âTuesday, November 3rd, 2008.âÂ
âHoly shit.â Something stirred on her floor, and before she could properly think, her knife under her pillow was on the figure in an instant.Â
âDean?â she had lunged at him, her blade nearly pressing into his throat. âWhat happened?â Dean looked at her with wide eyes. âThis is how you repay me for saving your life?â
Sam, from the other side of her bed, laughed as he stood up. His face was beaming, smiling happily at the clock,âYou broke it, Dean. Sheâs out of it.â
âOh my god.â She released the knife from her hands, tossing it god knows where in her room before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.Â
âThank you,â she breathed, her breath tickling Deanâs neck, making him feel things heâd rather not admit. Dean smiled, helping her stand.
âAnytime, Y/N.â They stared at each other for too long once again, her eyes less shameless than before, causing Sam to speak up.Â
âWe should goâŚsoon. Iâll go get the car. Be back in 30.â She smiled wondrously at Sam, but missed his wink to Dean as he left her room. It wasnât common that Dean got with girls Sam was a fan of, but he did like Y/N. Heâd give them a small slice of time together.
âSo. 30 minutes?â Dean said too close to her ear for it to be friendly, smirking and showing his pretty teeth. She nodded, her face heating up.
âThe clockâs ticking, Dean. We should get this started.â She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, the other curling in his hair as they fell back on the bed. Maybe Dean wasnât in such a rush to get to Utah.
#supernatural#supernatural masterlist#dean winchester#sam winchester#castiel#charlie bradbury#dean winchester x reader#sam winchester x reader#supernatural fanfiction#fanfiction#supernatural fluff#supernatural angst#supernatural smut#dean winchester x reader smut#sam winchester x reader smut#dean winchester angst#dean winchester x reader angst#dean winchester x you
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NNN - chris sturniolo - long distances
You and Chris had been together for a little over a year, content with one another and the company each of you had to bring.
Before hand â you were good friends, best friends to be exact. Not with just him, but with his brothers too, and it was nice to know nothing really changed after putting a label on the two of you.
Chris and his brothers were already in their filming career when you had gotten together â making videos and posting them twice a week for their fan base that was already growing so large within a short amount of time.
Though, one day, while cuddled up with chris on your couch at your home â he broke the news to you.
He was moving to LA with Matt and Nick. Having already made enough money to afford a nice little place there. It was shocking to hear, and at first you were upset â upset with the fact you couldnât see him everyday and you wouldnât be around him when you needed him or wanted him.
But, the upset had been replaced with excitement over time. Thinking of all the possibilities for Chris and how amazing it was that he was able to do this with his brothers. And of all the stories you would be able to hear about his new life in a busy and bustling city.
When the day had finally come for him to move â it was spent with tears and hugs and promises to one another that everything would be okay.
And for the most part it was, you called every night â texted each other too many times through out the day and stayed connected. But, at some point things started to change. Chris grew more busy with work and with his clothing line he was starting, and the absence made you feel empty. Like he wasnât even really there.
There were less calls, more messages being left on read or delivered â but Chris at least would tell you when he was busy and couldnât talk, which you appreciated.
Eventually, everything began to weigh down on you. And you needed to tell him â needed to let him know how you were feeling. That you were having doubts.
-
Your room was quiet except for the faint hum of your laptop. Chrisâ face filled the screen, his familiar features bathed in the soft light of his LA room. He looked tired, his curls messier than usual and his celtics hoodie hanging loosely on his frame. You tried to ignore the hollow ache in your chest as you smiled at him.
âHow was your day?â you asked, forcing a casual tone as your eyes looked around your screen, taking in the view youâve seen hundreds of times already.
Chris shrugged, leaning back against his chair. âSame as usual. Filmed with Nick and Matt, ran some errands. We tried this new sushi place for dinner. It was good, but, uh⌠not as good as Boston sushi.â
You let out a soft laugh, even though it stung a little. âBoston sushi is definitely better. Howâs the apartment coming along?â you asked â a question that would slip here and there.
Chris shrugged slightly. âFine, I guess. Still trying to figure out where to put everything. Matt thinks we need more stuff on the walls, but Nick keeps saying we donât. Itâs a whole thing.â He gave a faint smile, his voice lacking its usual warmth. âWhat about you? How was work?â
âBusy,â you said simply, picking at the edge of your blanket. âCame home, made dinner⌠I made too much again. I keep forgetting Iâm just cooking for one now.â you admitted. Being so used to his presence all the time, you often made dinner for two people â it was still a hard adjustment.
Chrisâ smile faltered, guilt flashing in his eyes. âIâm sorry,â he said softly.
You shook your head quickly, brushing it off. âItâs not your fault. I just need to get used to it still â even if itâs been a little.â
The conversation then faded into silence, and for a moment, all you could hear was the faint rustle of Chris adjusting his laptop. He looked away, his jaw tense, and you felt the words building in your chest â words youâd been too scared to say for weeks right on the tip of your tongue.
It was now or never.
âChris,â you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. âCan we⌠uhm - can we talk about us?â the words slipping past your lips felt like a burn on your own tongue.
His gaze snapped back to you, his expression guarded. âWhat about us?â
You hesitated, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. âI just⌠I feel like things have been different lately. At first, we were doing so well â texting all the time, FaceTiming every night. But now⌠I donât know. It feels like weâre drifting apart.â
Chrisâs brows furrowed at your words, his shoulders visibly tensing. âIâve noticed it too,â he admitted after a pause. âI just didnât know how to bring it up. I didnât want to make things worse.â
You blinked, surprised by his honesty. âYou didnât think Iâd feel the same?â
âI donât know,â he said, running a hand through his curls. âI didnât want to say anything and make you think I was doubting us or something. And Iâm not. I love you. But thisâŚâ He gestured vaguely, his hand moving between him and the screen. âThis is hard. Harder than I thought itâd be.â
The crack in his voice made your heart ache, but you nodded, tears stinging the corner of your eyes. âIt is hard. I miss you so much, Chris. Some nights, itâs all I can think about â how empty this place feels without you here. And then I start wondering⌠what if we canât do this? What if itâs too much?â
Chrisâs eyes widened slightly, his panic evident. âWait, are you saying you want toââ
âNo!â you interrupted quickly, shaking your head. âNo â Chris, thatâs not what I mean. I just⌠I donât know how to fix this. And I hate feeling like weâre not as close as we used to be.â
Chris let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping. âI feel the same way,â he said quietly. âI hate that I canât just drive over and see you when youâve had a bad day. I hate that I canât be there to hold you. And honestly⌠sometimes, I feel like Iâm letting you down.â
âYouâre not,â you said firmly, leaning closer to the screen. âChris, youâre doing the best you can. We both are. But we need to be honest with each other if weâre going to make this work.â
He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. âYouâre right. Iâve been holding back because I didnât want to make things worse, but⌠I guess thatâs only made things harder. Iâve missed you so much, and itâs been killing me not to tell you how much Iâve been struggling with this.â
Tears now spilled down your cheeks, and you wiped them away quickly with your sleeve. âIâve been struggling too. And I was scared to tell you because⌠what if it made you think I didnât believe in us anymore? I do, Chris. I love you so much. I just⌠I didnât know how to deal with all of this on my own.â
His expression softened, and he leaned closer to the camera, his voice gentle. âYou donât have to deal with it alone, okay? Weâre in this together. And if that means being brutally honest about how much this sucks sometimes, then thatâs what weâll do.â
You laughed softly through your tears, nodding. âDeal. And⌠maybe we can try to plan our visits better. I need to see you, Chris. I think thatâll help a lot.â you whispered, feeling yourself ease up a little at the thought of him here â with you.
His lips quirked into a small smile. âFunny you should say that⌠Iâve been looking at flights to Boston. I was going to surprise you, but⌠maybe we need this sooner rather than later. Iâll come next month. No excuses.â
âReally?â you asked, your heart swelling with hope.
âReally,â he said, his smile growing. âI need to hold you again. And Iâll do whatever it takes to make this work.â
A weight lifted from your chest, and you smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. âIâll hold you to that,â you teased, your voice lighter.
Chris chuckled, the sound warming your heart. âI love you. And no matter how hard this gets, Iâm not giving up on us. Ever.â
âI love you too,â you said softly. âAnd I promise⌠Iâll do everything I can to make this work too.â
It wasnât a perfect solution, but it was a start. The rest of the night felt lighter â the ache in your chest still present but less. You both were more cheerful â joking around about random things and teasing him about how his hair was too messy â along with his room.
You smiled at your screen, watching as Chris did the same. His hand coming up to his lips and blowing you a kiss through the screen â and you blushed.
Youâre just hoping that whatever was said tonightâŚwas going to stick.
Š strnilolover
#áŻâ
strnilolover#nnn#no nut november#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo x you#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo imagine#chris x reader#chris sturniolo angst#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo blurb#christopher sturniolo angst#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo triplets x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo angst#sturniolo triplets angst#angst#hurt/comfort#happy ending#long distance relationship#relationship issues
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Backstage Romance (I Want It Bad)
written for @steddiesongfics
song: Backstage Romance (Moulin Rouge! The Musical) | rated: E | wc: 7.018 | tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson, Manager Steve Harrington, Famous Corroded Coffin, secret hookups, dom/sub undertones, angst, smut, ambiguous/open ending | complete fic on ao3
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Eddie is buzzing, high on adrenaline like always when theyâre playing a show. Heâs still not used to this, itâs still something he canât quite wrap his head around â to watch people dance and sing along to their songs, to hear their roaring applause and deafening whistles, to know theyâre here for them.
Itâs electrifying.
A fucking dream.
Theyâre still considered newcomers but Corroded Coffin are finally climbing their way out of the gutter; theyâre making it, step by step, and one day not too far in the future, theyâll be on top.
Itâs all Eddie ever wanted, all he and his best friends have always fantasized about back when they were still a bunch of loser kids dreaming of becoming rockstars while terrorising Garethâs poor parents (and the whole neighbourhood, really) with the horrible noise coming from their garage.
The dream is reality now, success not only a possibility but a fact. It would be poison for Eddie's already too big ego but thankfully, there's always someone bringing him back down to earth when he gets carried away.
Theyâve got a label now, signed record deal and all and-
  âGreat show, guys! The people seemed to really love the new song.â
Yeah, and that. Theyâve got a manager now, too.
Steve Harrington.
The guy whose appearance makes him stick out like a sore thumb from the sea of blacks and greys and dark reds around him. The guy who doesnât look the part but actually likes what they do. The guy who doesnât give two fucks about what others think of him because heâs not here to make friends, heâs here to do his job. And heâs pretty good at that.
Good at a lot of things.
At first, Eddie hated the idea of having a fucking babysitter on tour with them. Someone to watch their every move, someone to keep them out of trouble (whereâs the fun in that?), to make sure they donât fuck up their reputation. Someone to handle all their business affairs for them, as if they couldnât take care of it themselves.
Now, Eddieâs actually glad they have someone to deal with everything â from interview requests and setting up their tour schedule to negotiating their contracts and booking their gigs. Steve handles it all, allowing the band to enjoy the fruits of their labour without having to deal with the annoying parts of being in the music business.
And that should be all there is to it. Just a business relation based on whatâs in the bandâs best interest.
But itâs not.
Not behind the curtains, backstage, when no one is looking. Where, hidden in dark corners, Steve and Eddie share a secret.
A secret that could ruin it all.
Because itâs unprofessional, could get them both in trouble. Could get Steve fired, possibly. Maybe even put Eddieâs â if not the whole bandâs â career on the line if the public ever found out about it.
But that just makes it even more thrilling.
Eddie has always been drawn to that, the forbidden, things that could cause irreparable damage. And throughout his life, heâs come to ask himself more than once if this is really worth it. If itâs worth risking it all just for giving in to his reckless impulses.
But the answer has always been the same. Now even more so than ever.
He knows itâs wrong, dangerous, a game he shouldnât be playing because playing with fire will get him burned.
The problem is that heâs a sucker for the pain.
And being ruined by Steve Harrington is worth everything.
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continue reading here
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I hate Act III, sorry. All the second season was too rushed and some characters that didn't deserve a happy ending got it, and those who have been suffering got the worst ending.
Acts I and II were good, but III is the worst.
In case someone hasn't seen Act III yet, ARCANE ACT III SPOILERS
No one cares but here's a list of the things I hated:
Too rushed, I think we needed another season BEFORE this one
WTF Caitvi sex scene IN JINX'S CELL, RIGHT AFTER SHE LEFT. That's so disrespectful and stupid, Vi wasn't in the right state of mind, as much as I love Caitvi, putting that scene there was a mistake
I'm sorry but I also hate Timebomb (I'm a Lightcannon shipper, which is funny because Lux doesn't even show up in Arcane, but one can dream though fanarts)
Jinx surrendering (why we didn't even get a flashback scene?) and being imprisoned like a dog. Yet the enforcers were never punished
Vi not listening to Jinx telling her MULTIPLE TIMES to get out of there, and because of her, Jinx sacrifices herself (yes, I know she's most likely alive. But that brings my next point:)
Jinx not getting a happy ending at all. She lost everyone, right when she was about to get rehabilitated, Isha dies right in front of her. And we didn't get any Sevika dialogue with her, not even trying to save Jinx (Sevika surely didn't know, but at least a scene where she looks for Isha and Jinx???)
The final scene where Vi is only seen with Caitlyn. Yes, I knew they'd end up together and they deserve it, but what about everything that happened? Losing all her family? Learning to fight just to lose everything and everyone? Ekko not talking to Vi at all after the war? Vi not mourning Jinx?
Why make Jayce and Mel be together if they were going to forget about it and act like it didn't happen? (I prefer Jayvik, but that's another story)
Jinx saving Caitlyn, but apparently that didn't matter at all. Jinx killed her mother, yes. But enforcers killed countless of people, including Jinx and Vi's parents. Even if Jinx surrendered, why put her in that isolated jail? That was Caitlyn's grief acting
Honestly I don't know why Isha had to sacrifice herself, I feel it was too unnecessary, just to traumatize Jinx even more and kill Warwick again.
I wanted to see more of Vi, of her life in prison and before their parents died (besides Vander's memories). But they put too much focus on Caitlyn and the Caitvi. As if Vi's entire character is being Cait's girlfriend
Caitlyn (and every enforcer) didn't get punish at all for their crimes. Caitlyn became a dictator because Jinx killed her mother, but countless of children saw their own parents be murdered in front of them, and now they're the bad guys for attacking back? Mind you, at least Jinx aimed her weapon to the Council, the people who oppressed them. But Piltover kills civilians like nothing, putting CHILDREN in jail. At the end, they end up like the good guys, giving Zaun a seat in the Council. When they should have fought for it, making Piltover pay for everything they've done. Which brings my next two points:
Zaun is never set free, it's still part of Piltover
Following the previous point: Caitlyn becomes a dictator, Viktor a cult god who almost destroys the world. But Jinx is so unredeemable???
Vi accepting Cait immediately, as if act I didn't happen. I understand they wanted to make Caitvi canon, but it was too rushed.
The 'good timeline' being like that because Vi died???? WTF the enforcers wanted a name, ANYONE to put the blame on, so the Council could 'make an example'. And now suddenly everything is okay? The abuse from Piltover is gone? But even if that were true, it's sad it would take Vi's death so peace could exist
Cait put Jinx, a traumatized, suicidal and schizophrenic girl in an ISOLATED CELL.
In a more relaxed note, I hate the design of Powder in the other timeline. I have to admit I absolutely love Jinx's design, with her bang and long braids but damn I expected a Powder with a single braid and a better sense of fashion xd
I understand Ambessa was behind everything, she was using Caitlyn recent grief to manipulate her. But she never apologized, her actions can't be erased, she said it herself.
Jinx giving 'her blessing' to Vi to be with Cait. Jinx has been feeling replaced by Cait since season 1 and right when we thought they could resolve this (before Act III), they do this. If anything, they confirm Cait replaced Jinx and that Jinx had every reason to feel like that
Jinx sacrificing herself (yeah, we know she isn't truly dead, but I'm talking about the symbolism) WASN'T REDEMPTION. IT WAS SUICIDE, A TRAGEDY. Just a few hours ago Jinx tried to kill herself five times, she just saw an opportunity to do it again and not making Vi fight for her, because Jinx feels she doesn't deserve Vi. It wasn't heroic, it was a suicide
Singed getting his happy ending. HIM, OF ALL PEOPLE. He created the Shimmer, made it a drug and created addicts in Zaun just so he could keep experimenting. Dude, I get it, you want your daughter back, but at that point you should've just accepted she's gone. Vander is gone, Vi and Ekko are left alone (which brings my next point), Jinx killed herself, Jayce spent days, weeks or months alone in an apocalyptic world, Zaun is still under Piltover's power...And HE gets his happy ending? No consequences? No punishment for experimenting on dead bodies/potentially having killed them, for being in Ambessa's side????
Following point 7, why Vi is only seen with Cait at the end? Ekko is truly alone now, and Vi only has the enforcer who betrayed her and never apologized for her actions with her and Zaun. I get it, they wanted to please Caitvi's shippers, but shipping is not the only thing here (which why I hated Timebomb in the alternate timeline)
I'll probably keep updating the list for a few days.
#arcane#arcane spoilers#arcane act III#arcane s2#arcane act 3#arcane season 2#arcane analysis#jinx#vi#caitvi#caitlyn kiramman#arcane jinx#arcane vi#arcane caitlyn#pinned post
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Oh my God, you mentioned wanting to write a thing about when Starrk finally let's his reiatsu out, and honestly, I've been thinking about that so much!!! Like here is Starrk, who has been keeping his reiatsu down to around average, who sleeps all the time, so doesn't stand out, who stands beside Ichigo, Ichigo who crazy stands out, also Starrk who joins the 4th, the 4th who everyone else considers to be weaklings!! You imagine the look on everyone's face the first time he let's lose!?! Maybe some bullying goes too far, and Starrk, who nobody thinks much of, just smacks them down hard!!! And everyone is like WTF lol đ
sorry, I just love the idea of when people realize that Starrk is actually strong like Ichigo!! So đ funny!! Anyway, thanks for sharing your thoughts about this. I love reading them.
Lol yes it's one of those scenes that you see happen in so many different ways and all of them would be fun. I'm undecided on how I want to do it Officially so I'm putting it off (or maybe I'll just write several of them lmao).
I imagine it would have to be very serious bullying for Starrk to take that much action, cuz like he really isn't the sort to step in for every little thing. If it happens to someone he considers one of his, he might note it down and then quietly go and prevent it from happening again from behind the scenes, but in real time, he'd rather diffuse the situation or leave it to the "victim" to handle it and only step in if it looks like they really can't, and even stepping in would just be a sharp word or two to run the bully off. He's not a straightforward bleeding heart the way Ichigo is, cuz the hit-the-problem-so-it's-no-longer-a-problem method is def Ichigo's go-to strategy, he would absolutely smack the shit out of someone bullying Asuka or Rangiku in front of him and be done with it right then and there, prob flaring his reiatsu without even meaning to cuz his control's a lot better these days but it's also kind of 0 to 50, well-hidden or flashing neon sign, no in-between unless he really concentrates đ It's another reason Starrk would have little reason of his own to act, cuz like Ichigo would absolutely beat him to it.
For me, I could prob imagine him unleashing his reiatsu/revealing his strength if someone's about to die and the threat is big enough that he actually has to flex. He's just not someone who'd easily show what he can do, and hiding it from the likes of Aizen and the Quincy wouldn't even be his top reason. It's more like lingering PTSD--his strength doesn't bother him anymore now that he's had years of proven control under his belt, and he's even needed every last bit of his power over the past decade of war, but subconsciously, he's still not 100% comfortable with just letting anyone feel it, even tho he has enough control now that it wouldn't hurt them unless he wants it to because what if? So like, his first instinct will always be to keep it locked down, and for minor stuff (altho minor is relative for him I guess lolol), pulling out that much power is def a last resort.
Again, it contrasts what Ichigo would do. Ichigo's just used to overkill. Like even before he got his powers, he learned that an overwhelming show of strength would solve most of his gangster-related problems very easily, plus he lived in a household where Isshin only backed off from kicking him into a wall or something by kicking first or kicking back. And then after he got his powers, it's not even really his fault that he internalized a "might is right" kind of mindset /points at the entire fucking SS invasion arc and honestly every arc after that/. And also he spent his first years of Shinigami-ing running around with an unsealed Zanpakutou and zero reiatsu control, being in a constant state of Shikai is natural for him, and (moving into this AU's headcanon territory) it took him several months into the Quincy War before he finally learned to seal it away and actually have other ways of fighting that isn't just flinging Getsuga Tenshous around. He uses Bankai the way other people use hand-to-hand combat or Kidou spells, so even now, his first instinct is to just hit the problem hard enough so that it won't get back up to do more harm, and for him, that applies to everything from schoolyard bullying to fighting monster-gods. And on top of all that, his actions are largely driven by emotion. More than anything else, his first reflex is to protect, and that often leads to him throwing way more power at a threat than he actually needs to. He knows how to be more subtle these days, but it's not his preferred method and def not a reflex either the way it is with Starrk.
Of course, Starrk also understands "might is right" just by dint of being a Hollow, but he's basically spent a thousand years as someone too strong for anyone to fuck with just by existing, so he doesn't have the same kind of exposure to physical conflict that Ichigo grew up with that would make violence his first instinct.
Aanndd omg this ran away from me lmao sorry, you get a speedrun analysis on Starrk and Ichigo instead đ
TLDR I'm still not sure of any exact scenarios that would force Starrk to show his hand, I don't want to wait until a Sternritter shows up or a final showdown vs. Aizen happens because that would take forever before we get there (I mean I could just jump right in there since this isn't a whole fic, but in-universe-timeline-wise, I'd prefer it happening earlier), but it's difficult for me to imagine that something in everyday life or even just a Hollow extermination mission would be enough to make him reveal even a bit of what he can really do.
Case in point, if you remember that mission in SP canon where Shunsui brings Ichigo and Rangiku along on a mission into the Rukongai to gain experience, and Ichigo sees a Hollow about to attack Shinji who hadn't spotted it yet, but he also didn't want to leave Rangiku unprotected, he went straight for unsealing his Zanpakutou and basically hand-delivering a shopping list of unusual or downright unique abilities to Aizen via Gin. In this AU, if Starrk goes along, he would never do such a thing, and in fact, he'd stop Ichigo and just fire a damn Byakurai or something across the clearing and kill it that way. Even if Ichigo doesn't have the finesse to pull off a low-numbered Kidou spell on the fly, he could've chosen a higher-numbered one and that would've still revealed far less to Aizen than unsealing his Zanpakutou would. But again, subtlety isn't his strong suit. He now at least has the presence of mind to think about the consequence of leaping into the fray without thought, it would leave Rangiku wide open, but his first instinct is still to use overwhelming strength to protect the people he cares about.
In contrast, Starrk may be a soft touch compared to basically every other Hollow and quite a few Shinigami, but he has the maturity and just the general personality to go for the strategic option. He has a far more tactical mind, implied even in canon to rival Shunsui in that department, so rushing in just isn't in his nature.
The only other way imo is if someone just... asks. Reikaku (reiatsu-sensing) is a thing Shinigami learn. In canon people can sense exactly who's coming just by their reiatsu (if they know them), not just if they're a Shinigami or a Hollow or even a Human, but it doesn't really expand on how. So I imagine you have to have a good feel for the person's reiatsu, it's the same as my age headcanon for reiatsu, not only can someone halfway decent at sensing reiatsu be able to get an idea of the other person's age, they would also be able to recognize and associate that reiatsu signature with that person since everybody's is different, but obviously they would have to be exposed to it a few times to learn it. Starrk's reiatsu is very unique so once or twice would be enough, and I can see a situation where the kids might ask to feel it for that reason, or a mission might require the team leader to ask, etc. etc. So yeah, that's all I got.
#man this got long i'm sorry#and vaguely off-topic???#bleach#coyote starrk#kurosaki ichigo#ichigo & starrk time travel verse
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go spin the wheel, see where it landsâ
Here's the thing about time: it's always running out. He felt it even as a kid, this urgency moving through him, around him. Always just ahead. He'd catch up, if everything else would just slow the hell down. But there are rules, and rule number one is that time tends to be, well, linear. Directional. Things get a bit messy when it's not.
Four seconds. That was rule number two, and the consequences for breaking it areâ bad. To put it lightly.
He doesn't exactly have a choice. Or, he does, but if it's between breaking the rules or not, watching everything he loves get ripped away or digging in, claws firstâ well. He knows a thing or two about fighting dirty.
So, no, it's not a choice. It's immutable, like gravity. Time. A strict progression from cause to effect.
Ekko breaks rule number two.
And the line becomes a circle.
.
He thinks it's a dream, the first time. What else would it be? She fell. She's gone.
She's here now, though. Whole and happy and here, running a hand through her chopped-short hair. That single streak of magenta hits him where it hurts, square in his chest. You can't feel pain in a dream, can you?
"You're back," she says, without looking up. She's lying on her stomach, sketchbook open, a whirling kaleidoscope of color on the page in front of her. "Took you long enough."
"Was I gone?" Ekko says.
She actually laughs at that, the sound filling up his ears, warm and bright. "Benzo was starting to worry, not that he'd ever admit it. Big ol' softie." Her hand flashes, chalk sticks arcing across the page. "You seem to have that effect on people."
He shakes his head. "I don't. I'm notâ"
She scribbles faster, fingers stained pink and blue and every shade in between. "You know, for a smart guy, you're kinda dumb."
"Ouch."
"I still like you, though."
This is a nice dream. Maybe the only nice dream he'll have again.
"I miss you," he says, dredging the words up from some sunless space inside him. "I didn't tell you before."
Her hand slows to a stop. From where he's standing, Ekko can only see a few snatches of detail on the page; a fuchsia smile, twin blue braids.
"I'm right here, buster," she says, not looking up. Grinning softly at her hands. "Never left, actually."
The circle wobbles, shifts out of focus. Time and space folding in on each other like paper cranes.
When he blinks, Powder is gone.
.
Too late. It's always, always too late.
.
"It's you," she says, the next time.
They're somewhere green, somewhere he's never been. A part of the Undercity that doesn't exist where he's from, that never existed.
"Uh." He blinks against the sun. "It's me, yeah."
"Seriously?" Beside him on the lawn, she pops up on an elbow, scrutinizing him. "You still don't get what's happening? Sheesh, hopping dimensions really does do a number on the noggin."
Okay, this is a weird dream. Still, as long as he keeps her talking, as long as he has sun on his skin and grass beneath him, he doesn't really care. He'll take weird. He'll take whatever he can get.
"Noggin, right," he laughs. "Synapses. Drunk slugs."
Powder scrunches up her nose like she's trying not to laugh. "Alright, I give. If you wanna dance around the giant elephant in the room, be my guest." She turns her head into her arm, a shield from the sun. Between them, their hands brush in the grass, pinky fingers tangling together. "Next time, though."
Ekko hums, content. More than thatâ happy. Overflowing with it. Then he frowns. "Wait. Next time?"
Paper cranes, folding in and in and in.
"Dummy," he thinks he hears her say before she disappears.
.
"So when you said 'hopping dimensions', you meantâ"
"Yeah."
"And that meansâ"
"Yeah."
Ekko spins in a circle, arms thrown out wide. "Butâ how? All of this, the lab, the techâ it shouldn't exist here. Heimerdinger made sureâ"
"Hey, you're the genius," Powder says. "I just live here."
Four seconds. He lets it sink in for four secondsâshe's whole, she's happy, she's here, at least in this tiny pocket of space and timeâbefore he's crossing the space between them and pulling her into a bruising hug. Her breath puffs out in mild surprise, and then she's hugging him back, arms cinching tight around him. I won't forget this. But he's already started to. He drops his head to her shoulder, breathing her in, every tiny detail. He won't make the same mistake twice.
Her eyes are wet when they untangle. Ekko swipes at his cheek to find that his are, too.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry. I thought I saved you, but it wasn'tâ I wasn'tâ"
"Don't," she says fiercely. "Don't do that. Not with me, not here. I meant what I said, okay? You're a good one, Ekko. You don't give up on people. If I'mâ if the other me isâ then there was nothing you could've done to change it. That was always gonna be how the story ended."
The tears are a river, streaming salt down the slope of his nose and into his mouth. "I was too slow. I'm always too damn slow."
Powder's hands are on his face, her lips kissing the salt from his cheeks, his eyelids. "The boy savior," she murmurs. "It's not your job to save everyone, you know. But I love you for trying."
She's fading, or maybe he is. Time and space, a never-ending anomaly. But there are constants, too, things that keep the universe spinning. Rules worth breaking.
He feels it, this time. It's like someone's scooping out his insides, rearranging his atoms. Like he's being wiped clean, unmade. Hollowed out so that some other him can be stuffed into his skin. Four seconds is all it takes, or maybe four million.
I love you. I love you, too.
.
He tells her for real, when he sees her again.
"I know," she says, elbowing him in the ribs. Her cheeks are dusky-pink. "Following my lead, huh?"
He looks at her, really looks. Every detail; the dainty point of her chin and the dusting of freckles across her nose and her eyes, big and bright and blue.
"Always," he says.
.
Time and space. Paper cranes, folding and unfolding, creasing the lines of reality. Some rules can't be broken, but they can bend a little.
Here's one: when you die, you stay dead.
.
He must be dreaming. She's standing right in front of him, in this dimension, on this plane of existence, real and whole and here. Her hair is still short, all of it blue.
Four seconds. He holds his breath for four seconds, and then: "Jinx."
"Hey, buster," she says.
#timebomb#timebomb fic#ekkojinx#arcane#arcane spoilers#does the arcane work this way? who knows! certainly not me!!#i'm surviving on vibes and delusion and nothing else
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Ok,Since the Good Omens Finale is only going to be 90 minutes,I have a feeling we might not get a flashback sequence.
Hi there, @rougeside4 đ I made an apple pie, if you want some. đAllow me to offer a different take? I wouldn't worry about this. There will be flashbacks. It's not the show without them.
Short thing on why we're definitely getting flashbacks and on which ones we can maybe see as being very likely still in The Finale.
The secret sauce of Good Omens, imho, is that the real juice of the story is actually always in the flashbacks. The flashbacks that we see are not random; they're always written to support the story in the present. There's a point to why it is these flashbacks we are seeing-- and when and in what order we are seeing them--when Crowley and Aziraphale have been on Earth for over 6,000 years and we could see any of their adventures. They're designed to inform our understanding of the story in the present. The real beating heart of the story is in the scenes set in the past and the story in the present would lack... *searches for words* emotional resonance? thematic weight? general, dramatic oomph? all of these?... if they were to cut the past. Put more plainly: it would suck đ, and they're smart enough not to do that.
I think some of the most exciting parts of The Finale are actually going to be the flashbacks, just like how they were always the biggest treats in S1 and S2. In the way that they roll those out to us, piece by piece, they're changing our understanding of what we're watching in the present. The meaning of the story in the present is driven by the flashbacks in the past to a point that you cannot have one without the other.
Good Omens is actually driving all of its suspense and anticipation through the story in the past and that's what makes its non-linear storytelling clever. After all, right now, most people know this thing has a happy ending and aren't worried about that, right? We know Crowley and Aziraphale will get back together and be fine and no one is stressing over that. (And if you are... really? Guys. Honestly?! It's called Good Omens. It's a romance. It's a sweet, cuddly show. It's going to be fine. đ)
So, what are we curious about, if not where it's going in the present?
1941, Part 3, right? Whether or not there's an ancient times vavoom coming our way? What the deal is with Jane Austen and/or 1650? Whether or not we might be surprised with a flashback that hasn't already been set up earlier in the story and what that might be?
Our biggest questions in the story aren't about what will happen in the future but about what we might get to see that has already happened in the past.
There is actually no conceivable way to do The Finale without flashbacks because the entire story is built towards having at least a couple of essential ones happen in its end game. I would not be surprised if at least somewhere around a third of The Finale is set in the past. Are there ones that we would have had with a full season that will be cut? Yes, but, are there also ones, though, that are too essential to cut because the entire story for two seasons has been building towards eventually revealing them to the audience in the final part of the story? Oh, yeah. đ
Guaranteed: 1941, Part 3. There is no chance that they cut this-- none. They have built the ending of this trilogy of flashbacks to support the ending of the story in the present so it has to happen. It doesn't need to be an entire minisode in length. Part 2 really did all the heavy-lifting with plot and themes here, and Part 1 was a single, brilliant, not terribly long scene. If Amazon reduced The Finale to 15 minutes long, I think the show would still find a way to put 1941, Part 3 in there. The first two parts were so pivotal to the themes and parallels of the story in the present and it's the only flashback that we keep getting installments of throughout the story so its Part 3 is going somewhere massive. If there's one flashback that's in The Finale, it's this one.
Extremely, extremely likely: the ancient times vavoom to which they have been building in clues and hints for two seasons that is going to flip the entire show on its head by going back to The Flood. It would parallel and add extra weight to all the conflicts we have in the story in The Finale that were set into motion by the end of S2-- the kiss, one of them leaving/them being separated, the threat of an apocalyptic-like event, etc.. It would, in almost no time at all, complete the narrative magic trick of the show by turning it inside out for the audience.
The show that shows everything backwards has been sitting on the real first kiss the entire time and saving it until the end game of the story and that end game is The Finale so expect that angel and that demon to be sheltering under a canopy from a rainstorm in the very long ago days and break the internet in the process.
If I were them, I'd even open The Finale with this flashback, just because of how much it's going to pull the rug out from under The Final 15. After all, the first two seasons opened with a canopy-and-rain-themed scene, did they not? Just one wing at a time, though... no under a canopy together yet. No gazing into each other's eyes and vavooming. That bit of the beginning of their story has always been going to be shown to us in the end of the story. It could well be the, well, beginning of the end of that story by opening The Finale. We'll have to see. Either way, it's in there.
It's also worth mentioning that both of these above flashbacks would be going back to eras we've already visited in the story so no time would need to be devoted to setting up the scenes. That would seem to make them easier to not cut, in addition to how narratively important they are.
Going To Be In There In Someway, Somehow: A flashback that sets up the South Downs Cottage ending, which is suspected to be the Jane Austen flashback because of her living in real life in the South Downs around the years that it was mentioned in S2 that Crowley and Aziraphale knew her.
When this was set up for S3 back in S2, the Jane Austen story felt juicy enough to potentially be a whole minisode in length. Maybe especially since it's probably how they are going to be build a history of the cottage between Crowley and Aziraphale to help give emotional weight to them going to live there in the present at the end of the story. I've no idea what this looks like with a shortened run time. They might abbreviate or maybe it was never even that long in the first place? They might do something different in its place? It's hard to say, since we don't know, but they've got to do something to set up the cottage, so...
Whatever this winds up being, though, we're now up to three flashbacks that have to happen because of how they connect to the story in the present in The Finale. These are three, non-negotiable ones, basically-- and we are obviously only looking at ones that we can see having been set up already.
There is also the fact that there's usually a surprise flashback that wasn't set up but which is crucial to the story, like the Job minisode was in S2. It fits in perfectly, retrospectively, but we were intentionally not really given enough in S1 to see it coming in S2 so that there was something unpredictable for us to enjoy. I'm not expecting anything as long as Job again but there could still be a scene more 1.03 Cold Open in length that we don't even know is essential at this point because we aren't meant to know at this point but, much like we did with Bildad đ, we will see as vital to everything once we see it.
Including that as a possibility, we're now up to four flashback scenes that seem unlikely to be chopped from The Finale. What I just described, give or take and depending on the length of 1941, Part 3, is probably collectively getting within shouting distance of the run time of the 1.03 Cold Open-- and that's going really bare bones and only talking about the scenes that seem too story-essential to consider cutting. There's also one more that might meet that criteria...
Could Go Either Way: 1650. If this has nothing to do with Agnes Nutter, it's probably gone. If it's how Agnes has an appearance in the end of the story to pull stuff together, they'll probably find a way to put it in there because... Agnes. đ
No one knows what this thing is supposed to be about but we do know that it was set up in S2 for S3 and, between Aziraphale mentioning it, the historical ties to eccles cakes to this era, the fact that it could potentially show a Whickber Street in early development and, most importantly, that it's set five years before Agnes Nutter died, whatever this thing is? It's intriguing. We don't know how long it was meant to be but if it's something that was minisode-length but could be reworked to be shorter-- or if just was always short in length-- it's probably still in there.
It's very possible to have many, quality scenes that hop throughout time in a very short period of time. The 1.03 Cold Open is about 23 minutes long and jam-packed with goodness. I have no idea if they're going to sprinkle flashbacks in throughout The Finale or if they're going to do a flashback sequence like 1.03/Ineffable Bureaucracy again but I do think that at least a third of The Finale-- so, roughly 30 minutes of it, give or take-- are likely flashbacks.
We are going into this movie a lot closer to the end of the story in the present than I think it may appear to some at this point. All the set up work to get the characters into place to overthrow The Metatron in The Finale was already done in S2. It's not going to take 90 minutes for Aziraphale to be in trouble, Crowley and Ineffable Bureaucracy to find out and rally the troops, everyone to challenge The Metatron, expose him as a fraud, and kill the threat of Armageddon by overthrowing Heaven and setting it up to be democratized. That's pretty much what everyone knows needs to happen in The Finale and what is likely going to be the main story in the present in S3.
We know what is going to happen because we know it has a happy ending and we know that we need the Armageddon threat gone for the South Downs Cottage happy ending to occur. We know the only answer is that they've got to overthrow The Metatron. Whether you think the plot is Supreme Archangel Aziraphale or whether you're like me and think the plot is that Aziraphale is in mid-fall as of the end of S2 and that's the thing that triggers the other characters to come together against Heaven, the end result is still going to be the same: The Metatron's gotta go and everyone's got to come together to make that happen if we're getting the happy ending we already know we're getting.
We are all sitting here knowing pretty much exactly what the story in the present is going to be in The Finale and that's because the story has set it up so that we do. Yes, there's going to be joy in watching that unfold but a story designed like a magic trick has to have suspense and give the audience a sense of anticipation. We feel that from this story and from where are we getting that?
The past. The flashbacks.
Everyone knows what the end of this story in the present is but no one knows for sure where, say, 1941 is going, or what new things about Crowley and Aziraphale the past will show us in The Finale. Every new thing we see in the past? Changes our view of the present. That's what makes the story clever. It's also what makes it enjoyable. They cannot cut flashbacks because they'd be cutting the most interesting parts of the story and what makes Good Omens the quirky, unique bird it is.
The present and the past are so interwoven in the story that I'm pretty sure that it is impossible to do Good Omens without flashbacks. The only question going into The Finale is which ones they're going to surprise and delight us with. Don't lose faith or sleep over it-- at minimum, we'll see Crowley's 1941 hat again and that, truly, is all any of us really need to survive.
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Hii btw I just wanna say I love ur posts they're amazing. But I just have a request, I have been recently traumatized cause I watched the ep in which Emma dies. And seeing draken losing it was really sad. Do you have any hc's for them as a couple? Tysm
Thanks! Ah that is a really hard scene to get through so here are some hc's with the two of them together!
Draken was happy the rest of the week after giving Emma that bear for her birthday, he was so glad it was a success.
They can go from being very open with each other to being shy very quickly (normally it's when someone assumes the two of them are dating)
They're both very caring towards each other, always checking up on each otherÂ
Everyone thinks they're dating before they actually are, so when they do become a couple most people are just confused "i thought you two were already together?"
Draken happily beats up anyone who dares to be rude about "Mikey's sister"
Both of them are always asking Mikey "How's Draken doing?" "How's Emma doing?"Â
They go on very simple dates, normally just to the park or something. Being with each other is more important then anything else to them.
Emma still considers Draken's bike to be her biggest rival, even after dating.
They have each other as their phone backgroundsÂ
Emma absolutely wears Draken's jackets even though they're way too big for her
These two have to put up with so much teasing from Mikey (the rest of toman frequently join in too)
Despite Draken trying to hype himself up for his first kiss with Emma, it's Emma who impulsely kisses him first.
Emma loves cute pet names but it takes Draken awhile to get comfortable with using them
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Hi! I love your work - it's been really helpful to me, especially your lessons on horror and depictions of violence.
You mentioned that there were some forms of violence that you'd feel uncomfortable seeing used against Black characters because of their historical context. I was wondering - were there any kinds of violence that you'd be uncomfortable seeing Black characters use against others? The reason I am asking is that the main characters of a project I am working on - two of whom are Black - are morally grey in a "cartoon villain" kind of way. They use a lot of exaggerated violence, but it's usually directed against even worse villains, and it's meant to be played for laughs. (If you know the band The Mechanisms, it's pretty similar in tone to their stuff.) One of the Black characters, E., is a high-profile art thief and assassin, while the other, B., is what would be called an "eco-terrorist" (I have problems with that term but that's beside the point) who's done stuff like blowing up oil pipelines and dams. Do you know of any similarities to real-life issues that I should be careful about when writing these characters?
Thank you so much!
Your premise sounds fine.
Personally, what's old to me is the Black Girl Bully, and that form of "social" violence, I guess. It feels like the reverse never really gets addressed; particularly the social violence of White Womanhoodâ˘. But anyway, we get it, you think the angry Black girls and women are so mean to the innocent, "just want what's better for everyone" white main character who plays as the savior. đ I'm so sick of that. The writing is almost never done well enough, and even when it is, by then I still hate that they have to "soften up" from "being a threat" to work with the white character. It feels like a roundabout way of saying "be more palatable or you're a problem".
Though, tbh, if there was gonna be a Black villain, I personally would like to see it go whole hog. Like if you're gonna force me to uphold whiteness as the standard, I wanna see that villain be a VILLAIN, put them THREW IT. So I can't say that there's a level of violence I won't accept, so much as how are the characters being treated in that moment. Am I here to watch the poor nonblack characters that we coddle bc they're perfect fight against the evil, wicked dark-skinned Black lady, or am I watching the protagonists fight a good villain?
But that's fighting people's beliefs, too. Writing Superman with a Black Lex Luthor is going to generate different responses, despite the story being of the same quality with the same script.
Also, just regular stereotypes in general are to be avoided. As per usual, it's all about how you write your characters.
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kisscam
(buddie) (post 8x06) 960 words ao3 here fully inspired by this post by @clytemnestraaa!
Buck is just sitting back down with two fresh beers in his hands when the jumbotron changes from an ad for the newest Hildy home security to a set of cartoony pursed lips.Â
"Pucker up!" blares an old-timey voice from the speakers as the cameras start to pan around the arena.Â
Buck passes Eddie one of the beers (a truly gross Double IPA) and grins up at the screen, which is currently displaying an elderly couple hamming up a peck and beaming at each other as the crowd awwwws. He's glad to get to put the tickets to use, and he feels absolutely no way at all about the fact that he ended up bringing Eddie, just like Tommy said he would. Realistically, who else would it have been? At least Eddie likes basketballâ he's been on the edge of his seat the whole game, whooping loudly and jeering at the refs along with everyone else. Buck could honestly take it or leave it, but Eddie's having fun, flushed and happy in a way that makes Buck's stomach hurt.Â
The crowd around them starts to buzz, and Buck realizes that the kisscam has made it to their section. The people sitting two rows below them are shaking their heads animatedly on camera, and he's close enough to hear the dismayed "That's my brother" from one of them.
The cameraman pans up to the next row and catches a man and woman on the end. The crowd cheers louder after the first miss, but this pair are waving it off too, the woman covering her face with her hands as she cries,
"No! He's my dad!" as he ruffles her hair good-naturedly. Buck snortsâ the man is visibly 30 years older than her. The camera is still trained on them as the crowd gets even louder, everyone tuned into the Jumbotron and pointing when they find the row in the stands. Buck can see the cameraman now, his head sticking up to scan the crowd properly to try and get at least one kiss in before the next quarter starts. The screen changes as the camera pans up again, and this time it's in their rowâ they're not centered in it, but they're visible on the left side. Buck laughs as everyone in the row does a double take, looking at the person next to them as the chants to
"Kiss! Kiss!" get louder and louder, thrumming through the floor and Buck's chest as people cheer and stomp their feet.Â
The woman on his left makes eye contact with him and grins sheepishly, color already high in her cheeks as he shrugs and laughs. There's a brief pang, but hey, to get over you gotta get under, right, and she's cute enough. It doesn't quite convince him. He turns to Eddie, ready to make some joke about giving the people what they want, to find him already looking at him, grinning widely, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling. His stomach bottoms out even before Eddie throws his hands out wide and smacks them onto Buck's face seconds before his lips follow.
Buck's breath stutters. Distantly, the crowd roars. Distantly, the people around them are clapping, laughing, jeering good-naturedly. Distantly, Eddie's lips are pressed to his for a momentâ soft, a little chapped. He tastes like the beer Buck just handed him. Buck's entire face is on fire. His hands are slack in his lap, and he doesn't think he moves at all.Â
With a disorienting brightness time speeds back up and Eddie is back in his seat again, jostling his shoulder as he pulls him into a one-sided hug. Buck registers the blank look on his face on the Jumbotron and tries to plaster a sunny grin to match Eddie's before the camera cuts out and the Lakers logo comes back on screen. He gets a well-meaning pat on the shoulder from the people around him, the woman smiling widely at him with some relief, tapping her beer to his, and Eddie's arm is still slung around his neck as he takes a long sip from his own, attention already back on the game.Â
Buck's beer sits untouched through this quarter and the next. He thinks the Lakers win. Eddie lets go of him at some point, jumping to his feet to yell at the ref. His ears ring as his heart thumps a low steady beat, and he feels something tilt and shift. He doesn't move again until Eddie touches his shoulder, and he realizes he's standing over him, along with everyone else in their section, picking up jackets and getting ready to file out up the stairs. He smiles blithely and grabs the beer so he can dump it down a sink. He thinks Eddie's expression sticks for a second, something in his eyes not quite matching his easy grin, but he looks away before he can be sure. He's not sure what's on his own face, and he's not as good at hiding it. He nods along to Eddie's chatter about the game, adding in a throwaway comment here and there so he's not too obviously silent.Â
They're halfway home, at least one of them sitting contentedly, when Buck glances over his shoulder to merge and sees Eddie's face illuminated by the yellow slant of a streetlight. In a moment he's categorized itâ hair eyes lipsâ chappedâ softâ and then he's in the right lane and staring holes through the exit sign to Eddie's house. Eddie leaves the door open behind him, and Buck is still sitting in the car. His lips are still tingling. He has time to register a distant fuck bouncing around in his mind before Eddie's head pokes out around the frame and he follows him inside, helplessly. Fuck.
#911#buddie#i started this last week but i had to finish it because now they're both in super hell#twin homes.com triggered breakdowns#and this feels too upbeat for the occasion#fic
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When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 8/?
A little shorter one, but it felt right. Next one is definitely going to be longer. Still on vacation, so I got no idea when the next chapter will be, but it will be longer. Hope y'all are having a good time! (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)
Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn
Wordcount: 797
Summary: Youâve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly donât expect to have another.
This time you get two weeks of what is blessed silence to your mind, but torture on your body before you see either of them again.
Yet again it's an unexpected location, though a slightly less strange one. You are finally back in the gym, after Evelyn giving you the go ahead. Dave had agreed to spar with you after calling her, just being a good friend, but you are working out frustration of not being able to do much training for weeks.Â
Your body hurts and aches, but you hope getting to move and use it will soften it up somehow.Â
It canât hurt too much to at least try.
You need to keep yourself strong and able. You steadfastly ignore the hurt in your shoulders and upper back, the pain so constant now that you have gotten used to it.
You are just done with warming up, slowly and carefully, and manage to get your boxing gloves on and hit Daveâs sparring gloves all of three times before you are interrupted.
âYou put on a show like this for anyone pookie?â You freeze mid-punch as you hear a familiar voice. Turning around, just outside the mats you are currently standing on, is Wade. Heâs dressed in his full Deadpool suit, weapons and all.
âDave, let's take a break, give me like ten minutes.â You address your sparring partner as you glare at Wade.
âUh sure. You going to be okay?â You look over your shoulder, and see him eyeing Wadeâs guns.Â
âYeah, nothing I havenât dealt with before.â He nods, taking off his sparring pads before walking away and leaving the two of you alone.
âWhat are you doing here?â You take one glove off, dropping it on the floor in favor of grabbing your water bottle and taking a swig. Wade watches you, tilting his head as he speaks, and you swear you can hear the grin on his face.
âI was just in the neighborhood, and happened to see you through the windows, putting on the most titillating show.â You eye the windows, which are pushed high up in the ceiling of the gym. You take off your other glove and put your water down, hands on your hip as you glare at him.
âSure, right..... Now, since you were just in the neighborhood, you have no reason to stay.â
âSeeing you, sweaty and panting, canceling your inner âReal Steelâ? I think thatâs a good enough reason.â He steps onto the mats, raising his hands. âIâm no Atom, but I can shadow box well enough.â He raises his fists up in a loose guard, making a come hither motion with one fist. You sweep your leg out, catching one of his, making him fall on his back with a yelp and smack of the mats. A second later one of his guns is no longer in its holster, instead it's pointing at his chest, while your knee on his stomach and your hand around his throat keeps pins him down.
âIf there werenât people around, I would shoot you right now.â You know people keep to themselves here, but you think if you actually shot Wade they would pay attention. His voice is breathier than normal as you press down on his throat as he answers.
âDonât threaten me with a good time. Besides, there are much more fun things you can do with me if we were alone.â You roll your eyes, ignoring how youâre actually feeling better by the second. For a fleeting moment the thought of getting your hands on skin instead of his suit goes through your head, but you shake it away.
âThere isnât.â You let go of his throat to take the magazine out of his gun, dropping it and the gun on his chest as you get up, standing next to his hip. He tilts his head, staying quiet long enough that you are able to talk again.
âIâm going to go take a piss, I expect you to be gone when I get back. If youâre not, Iâm going to use your own damn blades to start cutting limbs off, audience be damned.â
âI think the audience would like that, the freaks (affectionate).â He winks somewhere off to his left, towards a weight rack.
âWade.â You are sure the irritation rolls of you in waves, even without the bond between you both.
âYeah, yeah, donât get your panties in a twist, Iâll get out of your lovely hair.â You roll your eyes again, but turn your back on him and walk away.
â--
When you get back from the bathroom, Wade is gone. But, he has carved a heart with âpookieâ inside into one of the mats, making you curse his goddamn name under your breath.
#wolverine x reader x deadpool#logan howlett x male reader#wolverine x male reader#logan howlett x reader#wade wilson x male reader#deadpool x reader x wolverine#wade wilson x reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine x deadpool x reader#deadpool x reader#deadpool x male reader#poolverine x reader#logan howlett#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#wolverine fic#deadpool fic#marvel fic#deadpool and wolverine fic#wade wilson#wolverine#male!reader#male reader#written#when you touch me#wytm
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