#that's so so important. i know it was for me growing up

[royalarchivist]

Bad: I don’t think people understand the effect QSMP had on some of the streamers in terms of like… The real raw mental impact, so I’m gonna set the stage for you. [...] Imagine that you were given a friend to play Minecraft with — like your best friend — BUT if this person dies, if they die in the game, you never get to talk to them again. Can you imagine what that’s like?

Bad: If you did not live through the QSMP, if you did not live through that, it almost sounds like, crazy. But I don’t think people realize how much of a joyous experience the Eggs were. They were SO awesome! They were literally so awesome to just hang out with and spend time with.

Bad: I’m not saying I regret it. To this day, I loved the experience. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even knowing how everything went, I would still do it all over again. [...] I would still do it all over again, because — even knowing like, all the trauma and suffering and stuff like that — because it was just… It was just that fun, it was just that fun.

Earlier today during his stream, Bad shared his experience and thoughts about the Eggs and the significant emotional (and traumatic) impact they had on him and his fellow QSMP members.

This clip a very edited-down version since his commentary was ~13 minutes long, so I highly recommend checking out Bad's VOD if you have the time. (Timestamp: 47:36 - 1:00:14)

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

———

Bad: To be fair Chat, I really think the QSMP... I don't think anyone really can relate to it, Chat. It's something that's so... I've told people this before, like– but it's hard to understand. Right? Like...

Where was I? Sorry Chat, I'm losing my train of thought. Look, let me explain Chat– here's the dealio, ok? Here's the dealio, and this is what I mean when I say like, it's important to keep this in mind, Chat. Ok? It's important to keep this in mind:

I don’t think people understand the effect that the QSMP had on like, some of the streamers, in terms of like… The real raw mental impact, so I’m gonna set the stage for you. This is the analogy I’ve given to every person who I’ve like, shared this with. Imagine you meet somebody– [He hears a strange noise] What the fudge was that? Did you hear that?

Anyway– Chip! The story I was just relaying to Chat, Chip, was this: I was sharing this story with them, I said–  I was giving them an analogy. 

Imagine Chat, for example, imagine that you were… playing Minecraft, with like– you were given a friend to play Minecraft with, Chat, like your best friend, and [unintelligible] were like, “Hey, you get to play Minecraft with this person, right? BUT if this person dies – they’re currently your best friend, Chip – but if they die in the game, you never get to talk to them again. Ever again.” Can you imagine what that’s like, Chip?

I don’t think a lot of people understand like, what that does, right? I’m not gonna say that like, it creates this situation, Chip, that like, messes with your head, but it– Chip – but it totally, totally does, Chip. It messes with your head! It literally puts you in a position where you’re second-guessing and thinking about everything, Chip! You’re thinking about EVERYTHING Chip! Ok? And that’s the problem, Chip– is you turn into a paranoid monster because of it, Chip! Like, you don’t understand Chip– I was- I was so afraid of every dirt block, I used to carry a shovel with me Chip, and I would specifically right-click dirt blocks that looked suspicious because mines, Chip– mines could not be shoveled! Like, I was crazy, Chip! But here’s the problem, Chip: that craziness is still there. I’m genuinely like–

I remember thinking Chip, that I would one day– I was like, “I’m going to move past–” here, let’s go up here, Chip. I remember thinking one day Chip, I was like, “I’m gonna move past the underground base, one of these days. You know, one of these days, I feel like I’ll be able to grow and achieve the desire to build a base that doesn’t have to be underground.” But I don’t think it’s possible now Chip, because I think… I just don’t know. I feel like the paranoia– there’s still like, residual leftover trauma from that situation, Chip.

But here’s the problem Chip: I don’t think I don’t think– I don’t think people understand it. Like, I just really don’t. But I also don’t blame them Chip, ‘cuz I don’t think it’s possible to fully understand it if you haven’t lived through it. Like, if you did not live through the QSMP… I’m talking about the QSMP, I don’t- I don’t know if that was obvious– if you did not live through that, it almost sounds like, crazy. But I don’t think people realize how much of a joyous experience like, the Eggs were. Right? I don’t think people realize it. Like, they were SO awesome! They were literally so awesome to just hang out with and spend time with, Chip. So, it’s just one of those things that–

[He’s interrupted by a loud rumble of thunder above them]

Did lightning just strike here? Is it thunderstorming out…? But anyway, Chip. That’s the food for thought.

But that’s the problem– Like, every time it rains in Minecraft, I have to like, look at the sky, and I get this weird, like, second--hand vibe because of the trauma. The trauma, Chip! The trauma is real! But that’s the point– I’m not saying I regret it. I, to this day Chip, I loved the experience. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even knowing how everything went, I would still do it all over again. 

[He falls down] Dangit, don’t come over here Chip, ‘cuz I’m coming back up! Ok.

I would still do it all over again, because — even knowing like, all the trauma and suffering  and stuff like that — because it was just… It was just that fun, Chip, it was just that fun. I really wi– I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible, Chip, to give people that same energy, like that same experience. You know what I mean, Chip? I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible again. Like, EVER.

Because… because like, one: I will say on one level Chip, I will say on one level, like– it’s sort of emotionally like… It’s emotionally devastating, and I think to actually go through that– and this is where like, if I ever do end up going to a– see a therapist, if I ever do end up going to see a therapist at any point, I’ll talk it over with them and be like, “Hey, what do you think about this?” Because I genuinely think on one level, like– it’s created this fear of forming attachments because of like, how things can go. You know what I mean? Like, the fear of getting attached to something and then potentially losing it. Like, it’s- it’s a genuine thing. I think people forget about that.

Like, at the end of the day, everything was RP, right? On the server. You know what I mean? Like, everything was RP, Chip. BUT at the same point, even though it was RP Chip, it was still like– there the reality of you were still playing like, with another person, and you were still getting that experience, and it felt like you were genuinely attached to someone and you didn’t want anything bad to happen to them. It was GENUINELY stressful, Chip.

But at the same point, I don’t regret it, and I don’t think it was a bad experience. I’m– 

Sometimes in life Chip, you go through stuff, and maybe you have a certain amount of like, things that like, can happen, that you’re like, “You know what, maybe this wasn’t a good thing that this happened,” but at the same point, you still aren’t necessarily upset about it, because… it’s like growing as a person, right? Here’s the thing Chip; even bad situations, Chip, can lead to an overall good outcome. Like–

Even if you’re going through something bad Chip, just because a bad thing happens doesn’t mean that only bad things have to come from that. That’s one of the things I tell people all the time, Chip, is that if you go through a bad situation, you can learn from it, and you can use your experience to help others. And you can be that– you can be, at the worst-case scenario, you can be someone for other people who are going through that same experience to lean on when they go through that.I think there’s a certain amount of comfort that comes from that; from knowing no matter how bad your situation is, you’re not the only person who’s experienced it. You know what I mean?

[seat-safety-switch]

The news gets all upset about "leftism." All the editorialists are mad about it, because the people who buy them gifts and make them feel important told them to be mad about it. I'm not much of a politics guy, but I do know that I'm right-handed. Even though I benefit from this privilege, I think it's terrible that we discriminate against the sinister-handed folks in this way.

To understand the leftist movement in my country, I joined a commune. These folks have been so oppressed by right-makes-right civilization that they've fled to the desert, where they set up an equitable, people-powered organization dedicated to meeting one anothers' needs. Pretty cool thing, honestly. I wish there was a name for it. Anyway, I asked them how being left-handed was an obstacle in our society, and a bunch of them looked at me with confusion. One guy, though, one guy got me the line I needed for my big piece.

His name was Roderick (not his real name,) and he was a left-handed elevator repairman. This skill is not in great demand at the leftist commune, where there are no elevators and even the hierarchy is flat. Even though he could not ply his trade, he said, life was better here. In the outside world, he was discriminated against, refused work because of his way of life. And it didn't stop there. All of his wrenches had to be bent into funny shapes so he could use them. Tightened nuts backward, I think. I didn't really pay too much attention to that part when he was showing me: his story was amazing, and also his husband brought over some delicious madeleines, the recipe of which I stole and then submitted to the newspaper as my article.

The world will continue to stand in the way of leftist progress, but they must never give up. I myself am travelling to a large city outside my hometown, because I've heard there are centrists there. It must be very hard for them to live with an arm growing right out of the middle of their chests, and my editor really wants a picture of the freakshow.

[yolothh]

Viktor really meant the "in all timelines, in all possibilities" line BECAUSE IT'S OUR TIMELINE TOO! THEY EXISTED!

Please take a moment and let me introduce you to: Giacomo Leopardi and Antonio Ranieri's partnership.

Leopardi was an italian poet, author, philosopher and philologist. He is an important figure in Romantic literature (albeit, he did criticize the Romantic worldviews).

All throughout his life he suffered from a debilitating chronic illness (juvanile ankylosing spondylitis) that had him suffer horrendously from a young age, until it eventually took his life in 1837, when he was 39 years old.

He dedicated most of his life to studies, translating old tomes, writing poems and treaties diverting on humanity's degeneration from our glorious past to our suffering present. He exhorted modern folks to take action against the unjust present, aiming to a revolution of our pitiful condition.

In 1827 Leopardi meets Antonio Ranieri a young man that is described (verbatim) as a "very young and handsome in person and spirit".

Ranieri had been exiled from his city during his youth, because of his excessively liberal views in regards to politics.

The two become very close friends, but it's in 1830 that their "partnership" (literally, not making this up, Ranieri himself wrote a book about it if you care to check it out "Seven years of partnership with Giacomo Leopardi") starts. They move together from Firenze to Naples and Ranieri attends to Leopardi's every wish (noted that this man was a fanatic for sweets) paying with money from his own pocket.

Now, friendship at the time was different than what it is now, and they might’ve been very close friends, yes. But I'll give you some words from their letters and what Ranieri wrote down in his book and leave it to your judgment.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ranieri, Naples, 1833:

"I- left my own bed- used to sleep in a room that was not mine (scandalous at the time) to sleep by his side"

Leopardi, Florence, 1832-33, from when they got separated because Ranieri needed to tend to some family issues:

"My Ranieri, you will never abandon my side, nor will your love for me grow colder. I don't wish for you to sacrifice yourself for me. In fact, before anything else, I strongly wish for you to take care of yourself first: whatever you choose to do, you will do it so because we live for one another, or I know that I do for you; my last and only hope. Farewell, my soul. I keep you close to my heart, which in both possible and impossible occurrences, will forever be yours"

Leopardi, Florence, 1832-33, on someone making a joke out of Ranieri for staying by Leopardi's side:

" [...] Oh, my Ranieri! When will I get you back? I won't stop trambling until I'll recover this immeasurable love, until I know it's true. Farewell, my soul, with all my spirit's strength. Don't get bored of loving me"

And more:

"Ranieri of mine, I need not say that in every way you wish, I will be there with you (...). My resolution has been so for a great time now: that I will never be parted from you. Farewell"

In 1833, Ranieri sends a letter where he says he intends to set off to get Leopardi and go live together in Naples, to which Leopardi answers:

"My Ranieri, will this [letter] reach you in Naples still? I must warn you, I cannot live without you no longer, I'm overtaken by a morbid impatience to see you again, and that I am sure that if you will be late, I will die from the malencholy of not having you still. Farewell, Farewell"

Ranieri, on the landlady that took them in in Naples:

"She revealed this: that I had introduced a consumptive in the house: that, loving him so much as to stay up at night by his side, there could be no reason I could not do that as well in mine own house"

--

So now, take it as you will- because maybe I am way too much of a nerd about this stuff- but I can't read ANYTHING Leopardi and Ranieri related without seeing Viktor and Jayce. I will gladely add more in the future.

--

Addition! If you want to watch/read on them (but mostly Leopardi, which is a catch) I STRONGLY advice you:

Leopardi. Il poeta dell'infinito - I don't personally love it but if you want more on them, thats the place

Il giovane favoloso - AMAZING movie

Canti - by Leopardi, it is a collection of poems he wrote and I think it is absolutely useful to understand his marvelous mind and character

Sette anni di Sodalizio con Giacomo Leopardi - the one I mentioned before, written by Ranieri on his time with Leopardi

[misctf]

For the Team: A Real Man

“I’m not going to stand here and let you belittle the team.” Brett slammed his locker shut and turned to face his coach, “We’re trying out best.” The locker room fell silent. No one talked back to coach.

Coach Andrews glared at Brett, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in anger. “You think you know better than me, boy?” he growled, his deep voice echoing off the locker room walls. “I've been coaching football for decades, and you're just some punk kid who thinks he knows it all.”

“With all due respect, Coach, your behavior towards us is unacceptable.” he replies firmly, trying to keep his voice steady. “We're here to improve our skills, not be belittled and humiliated.”

The other players watched in silence, unsure how their coach would react to their star quarterback’s bold challenge. Coach Andrews' face turned an alarming shade of red, and he took a menacing step closer to Brett.

“You think you're so special, huh?” Coach Andrews sneered, his hot breath washing over Brett's face. “Brett, you don't understand a damn thing.” He chuckled, “Throwing a ball well doesn’t make you a leader.”

“I'm just telling it like it is.” Brett snapped back, “Why would we want to dedicate ourselves to this team if you’re treating us like shit during a regular practice?”

The other men remained quiet. No one knew what to say, but they watched closely. Brett was always their leader. Sticking up for them. And while they mostly agreed with him, they weren't about to face coach's wrath.

“You wouldn't know true leadership, dedication, or what it means to be a man if it bit you in the ass.” Coach Andrews replied, crossing his large, hairy arms, “Let me show you, boy. Let me show everyone here.” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. With a swift motion, he reached out and grasped Brett's chin, forcing the younger man to meet his gaze.

Brett tried to pull away, but the coach's grip was unyielding. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt the coarse hairs on Coach Andrews' palm brush against his smooth skin, “First and foremost, these arms. You think these toned, well-groomed arms make you a man?”

As he spoke, Coach Andrews' hands began to glow with an eerie light. And he dug his hands into Brett's impressive arms. Brett gasped as he felt the coach's fingers making contact with his skin. Brett's eyes widened in shock as he felt the coach's glowing fingers sink into his muscles. A tingling sensation spread through his arms as they began to shift and contort. The definition in his biceps softened, the veins disappearing beneath a layer of new flesh. His forearms thickened, growing hairier as dark brown locks sprouted from his skin.

“Wha...what's happening?” Brett managed to choke out, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief. He tried to move his transforming arms, but they felt heavy, cumbersome. Bulking with both muscle and fat. The skin becoming tanned and weathered with age, “Coach, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Real men have substance, not just flash.” Brett gasped as coarse, dark hairs sprouted from his shoulders and traveled down his back.

As the coach's hands moved over Brett's chest, the young athlete felt his pecs begin to expand and contort. The lean, defined muscle mass that had once been there gave way to a softer, more rounded contour, reminiscent of Coach Andrews' own mature physique. Darker, coarser hair erupted across the changing skin, until Brett's chest was covered in a thick mat of brown fuzz, mirroring the coach's own hirsute appearance.

“What...” Brett whimpered, horror dawning in his eyes as his previously firm pecs sagged, “I...” He looked at his teammates- his friends. All just stared wide eyed, unsure what to do, “Please! Stop...”

“Keep quiet and take it like a man.” Coach Andrews commanded gruffly, squeezing Brett's newly enlarged, hairy pecs, “Maybe then you'll understand the importance of discipline and hard work, right boy?”

“I’m no boy! I’m a fuckin’ man!” Brett's eyes widened at his sudden outburst, while Coach Andrews just grinned, “No, why did I...?” Brett tried to understand where that outburst came from.

Coach Andrews leaned in close, his breath hot against Brett's ear as he whispered, “Because deep down, you crave the power and control that comes with being an alpha male. Your body is responding to its primal urges, even if your mind resists.”

As he spoke, Coach Andrews' hands continued their work, sliding down Brett's torso to grasp his hips. Brett felt a strange heat emanating from the coach's palms, seeping into his skin. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his abs started to shift.

Coach Andrews grinned, seeming to relish Brett's distress. “That's it, boy. Let it happen.” he purred, his hands sliding across Brett’s firm torso, “Feel the power surging through you. It's what separates the men from the boys.” Wiry hairs sprouted from Brett’s abdomen as coach’s hands made their way down. Each strand growing thicker and curlier.

“No...no, please!”

The young athlete tensed, expecting another painful alteration, but instead felt his stomach muscles relax and soften. The six-pack that had once been so prominent began to fade, replaced by a rounder, flabbier midsection. Still, Brett could appreciate the muscle behind the soft, hairy flesh. Brett's face contorted in anguish as he watched his own body take on a different form. 

“Don’t you want to be a real man?” Coach Andrews goaded, “Like me?” He emphasized.

Brett's gaze dropped to his reflection, his heart pounding in his ears as he took in the sight of himself. Gone were the chiseled features and athletic build he'd once possessed. In their place was a heavier, more imposing figure, with a rounded belly and broad, muscular shoulders. Thick, dark hair now covered every inch of exposed skin, from his chest to his arms to his back.

“I...I look like you.” Brett whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and awe. He couldn't deny the raw power radiating from his new form, the sense of strength and dominance that seemed to pulse through his very being.

Coach Andrews nodded approvingly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “See? This is what it means to be a real man. Not some hairless pretty boy. You’re learning what it means to be a real man. To be me.” Coach Andrews replied, admiring his work so far.

With a firm squeeze, Coach's fingers made contact with Brett's pert ass. The skin rippled and shifted, the muscle mass shifting as it grew and filled with fat. The lean, chiseled curves of his rear gave way to a broader, heavier set of cheeks, now covered in a thick, wiry mat of dark hair. The muscles softened, turning to pliant flesh that jiggled slightly with each movement. Brett winced as the process extended to his thighs, the lean, toned flesh giving way to a heavier, more bulked-out build, marred by jiggly fat.

“But I don’t want to be like you!” The transforming quarterback insisted, shifting uncomfortably as a forest of dense hairs sprouted from his new legs, “It's too much...I can't...” 

Yet, even as he spoke, he found himself admiring the new contours of his body in the mirror. The heavy, hair-covered muscles seemed to throb with power, drawing his gaze like a magnet. Coach Andrews noticed the change in Brett's demeanor and smirked knowingly. 

“You're starting to come around, aren't you boy? Admitting that maybe I know what I'm talking about after all?”

Brett swallowed hard, his mind reeling as he struggled to reconcile his conflicting desires. Part of him still longed for his old, lean physique, but another part - a darker, more primal part - reveled in the sheer masculinity of his new form. 

“N-no, I don't...I mean, yes, I guess.”

Coach Andrews simply smirked as he ran his hands through Brett’s hair, “That's it, boy. Embrace your new reality. You're no longer just a pretty face and a strong arm. You're a force to be reckoned with.”  

As the coach's glowing fingers massaged the quarterback’s scalp, his proud locks began to fall away. Brett could only watch as his styled hair fell in front of his face. Each lock making their way to the locker room floor. Finally, coach let go and Brett shivered at the cool sensation of the air on his bald head.

“N-no, I won't...” Brett protested weakly, but his voice lacked conviction, “This isn't me. I'm not...I can't be...”

But Coach Andrews shook his head and brushed his glowing hand against Brett's cheeks. Immediately, the youthful contours began to blur and shift. His angular jawline softened, rounding into a squarer, more weathered shape. All of which was quickly covered in a beautifully thick, manly beard. His high cheekbones receded slightly, and his nose lost its sharpness, taking on a more bulbous, fleshy appearance. Even his eyes seemed to alter, losing their bright, eager sparkle in favor of a duller, more world-weary gaze.

“All done.” Coach Andrews grinned, “You’re perfect. A true man.”

Brett stared at his reflection, his eyes turning to Coach Andrews. And in that moment, he realized- they were the same, down to the last strand of hair on their chest. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. His own resistance was crumbling, swept away by an unfamiliar surge of masculine pride and dominance.

"Brett!" One of his teammates called out, "Don't...!"

"Shut it, Johnson!" Brett growled, his voice low and gravelly- the same as Coach Andrews'. His former friend took a step back, clearly intimidated by the transformation in their usually affable leader.

Inside, however, Brett was reeling. How could he have spoken to his friend like that? He'd always prided himself on his kind heart and good judgment. Now, well now...

Coach Andrews placed a meaty hand on Brett's shoulder, “Now you're learning, son. Don't let weakness cloud your judgement. A real man stands tall and asserts his authority without apology.”

Brett nodded slowly, his expression hardening into a mask of stoic determination. He could feel the change coursing through him, reshaping his very essence.  

“I needed a little help coaching you pathetic excuses.” Coach Andrews says turning to his team, “And who better to assist me than me? Right, Coach Andrews?” He says, looking over at Brett.

Brett stared blankly at his reflection, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of the transformation. The man staring back at him was no longer the person he once was - not even remotely. Every fiber of his being had been rewoven into the image of Coach Andrews, right down to his thoughts and desires.

“I am Coach Andrews.” he muttered, the words feeling foreign yet comforting, “My team needs discipline. I'll whip them into shape, no matter the cost.” He turned to face his stunned teammates, his eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a chill down their spines, “Listen up, boys. From now on, I expect nothing less than perfection on the field. Any slacking off will be met with severe consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

Brett's teammates cowered under his intense glare, nodding quickly in fearful agreement, “Yes, Bre... er, Coach Andrews” one of them stuttered.

Brett/Coach Andrews sneered at their subservience, his chest puffing out with pride, “Good. Now get out of my sight and report to the practice field immediately. We have a lot of work to do to turn you into the champions I know you can be.”

Both coaches watched as their team scrambled to obey the orders, a twisted sense of satisfaction filling them. Coach Andrews could only grin at the sight of the new coach- his twin- a specimen of true masculinity. And without another word, together, the two Coach Andrews stepped out onto the practice field, ready to unleash their unique brand of discipline upon their team.

[puckinghischier]

i’m having soft quinn thoughts today and i have to shout them from the rooftops so everyone else can suffer with me.

but i absolutely cannot stop thinking about how quinn would always want to spend time with you, but feel guilty for how occupied he is during the season. every second of downtime he has is spent watching game film in your living room, studying tactics and plays. not that you ever complain. you’re content simply being in the same room as him, not taking for granted any amount of time you can be in his presence.

quinn’s attention is always half on you, no matter how hard he tries to focus. he steals more glances at you than he cares to admit, worried that one day you’ll get sick of sitting in silence while hockey occupies the space between you. but you never do. you keep yourself busy scrolling through your phone or reading the most recent book he bought you, never uttering a complaint. he’s tuned in to every fidget or movement you make, not wanting you to remove your always cold feet from under his warm legs to occupy yourself with something—or rather someone—better.

it surprises him that you never do. you never utter a word, not wanting to disrupt his work. every so often he’ll catch you looking back at him during one of his ‘quick’ glances, absorbing the warm smile you give him. sometimes you’ll quietly ask him if he wants anything from the kitchen when you stand to go fill up your water cup, but seem content to simply sit there with him as he mumbles to himself, jotting down notes as he watches.

tonight, he can’t help but notice—during his million and one glances at you—that your eyes are glued to the tv. your phone is laying, locked, in your lap, eyes following the puck as it’s shuffled across both screens from player to player. your body’s subtle reactions to the game aren’t lost on him either. the twitch of your foot anytime someone shoots the puck, the raise of your brow when a player on either team scores, the hitch in your breath anytime the two teams start to fight.

you can feel his eyes on you more than usual tonight, his (not so) subtle glances lingering longer than normal. you turn your head to meet his gaze, brows furrowed and a puzzled look on his face.

“what?” you whisper, flitting your eyes between his own and the tv, not wanting to miss any important moments.

“are you watching the game?” he looks at you like you have three heads.

you giggle in response, amused at his expression and surprised tone of his voice. “yeah, kinda. don’t really know what’s happening, though, if i’m honest.”

there was never a home game of quinn’s you missed. you went to support him every time you could, and loved seeing him in his element. but you can’t even pretend to understand the sport past each player wanting to get the puck into the opposing net. you didn’t understand the positions, the penalties, or anything surrounding the ins and outs of professional hockey. you never watched it growing up, and probably still wouldn’t watch it if you weren’t dating the captain of your new city’s team.

you had moved to vancouver for work, and knew nothing of the prominent hockey culture before you arrived. the sports presence buzzed all around you as you figured out the ins and outs of your new home, but it had no place in your daily routine. that is, until you hit it off with this insanely attractive stranger that seemed to frequent the same coffee shop as you. you accidentally cut him in line one day, offering to pay for his coffee to make up for it, but he paid for yours instead. a ‘pay it forward’ war was started between the two of you until he was stood waiting at the door with your usual order one morning, requesting more than just a name and the fact you drank a large, vanilla iced coffee with chocolate syrup lining the cup every morning.

when he realized you were likely the only person in the city he now calls home that doesn’t know who he is, it only piqued his interest in the pretty coffee shop stranger further. the morning meetings at the shop turned into an exchange of numbers, which developed into him meeting you for lunch on your break when he was in town, that then escalated into dinner dates and spontaneous outings, and now it’s found its permanence in you moving in with him a few months ago.

you were…indifferent, when he revealed to you who he was and what all his career entailed, uttering out a simple “oh! that’s cool! makes sense why you’re always at the gym, now” later explaining that you thought he was just really into fitness and maybe worked as a personal trainer or some equivalent. when he first invited you to games he tried to tell you a little bit about the rules, but assumed you’d catch on as you watched (hopefully) more and more of his sport. you always told him how much you enjoyed watching him in his element, but never asked many questions past if the other team was supposed to be good or not. he assumed you understood enough to keep up, knowing how intelligent and observant you are, but he tried to refrain from talking about work too much with you. when he’s with you, he wants to be present with you, not hockey.

which is why he feels so guilty at times like this, watching film while you’re sitting next to him. it feels like you’re two people who happen to be in the same room, completely in your own worlds. until tonight.

“you…never watch the games with me. you always have a book or something,” he reaches over to pause the game, still a little shocked.

you shrug at him. “didn’t feel like reading tonight. not really anything new on my socials, either. so i figured i’d just watch with you for once.”

“and you weren’t gonna say anything?”

this earns a real laugh out of you, not understanding why this is such a big shock for him. it’s not like you’ve ever told him you don’t like hockey. you just have never really cared to watch it if isn’t the one playing. but you’ve been wanting to learn more about it recently, tired of not being able to participate in the games like the other women do when they’re watching their husband or boyfriend play.

“why would i? you’re trying to work, i’m just trying to learn a little bit,” you reply, the hint of a laugh on each word as you say it.

quinn just blinks at you, trying not to get his hopes up at your expression, not knowing just how far you want to go with your quest for knowledge.

“since when do you want to learn about hockey? why now?” he questions, trying not to sound accusatory or snarky, but genuinely curious as to what you’ll answer.

“i’ve always wanted to learn, ever since that first game i went to, but you don’t seem to like to talk about it outside of the rink, so i don’t really ask much. me and google have become very good friends as of late,” you shrug out another answer for him. “plus, when you’re watching games at night like this, i don’t want to keep talking and asking a million questions while you’re trying to work, so i force myself not to watch to keep from distracting you.”

quinn sits a little straighter, now worried he’s made it seem like hockey is this forbidden subject between the two of you.

“sweetheart, i don’t like talking about hockey outside of the rink because i don’t ever want you to think that’s all we ever talk about, not because we can’t talk about it,” he tries to defend himself, even though there’s no accusation. “if you want to learn about the game, please, ask me questions. i- god, i’d love nothing more than to teach you about it. i hate sitting here in silence every night i’m home, worried you’re going to eventually get pissed at me because all i do during the season is watch old games.”

you grin at his slight panic, endeared by how worried he was about your feelings this whole time, appreciating his intention with the unspoken rule.

“q, i never asked about it because i didn’t want you to be upset because i kept bringing up work when you’re away from it all,” your smile only grows at the fact you were both worried about upsetting the other for no reason at all.

the slight tension in his shoulders fades at your words, relieved that you’re not upset or feel like he made it seem like you had no place in that part of his life.

“alright, well, fire away, then,” he gives you the floor, pressing play so the players on the tv screens move once again, now glancing at you every few seconds to catch any looks of confusion or interest in any particular play or action.

the rest of the night is spent playing and pausing the game over and over again, question after question flying out of your mouth. anything from why the faceoff is from a certain spot on the ice to what a particular penalty looks like is spoken the second the thought enters your brain. quinn takes his time explaining every answer to you, even rewinding and pulling up other examples to make sure you understand what he’s telling you.

at the end of the night he realizes just how much more he caught of the game while answering your questions. there’s several times you picked up on things he never has before. like why one player seems to always place his stick so close to another player’s skates while he’s chasing him. or why a certain goalie seems to lean left everytime instead of right, no matter where the puck is coming from.

he’s been able to add several tells about players in his notes, ready to take them to practice the next morning and change his game to accommodate his opponents habits. and when they win their game a few days later, thanks to your observations during the impromptu hockey 101 class in your living room, he revels in the fact that even though you know so little about his sport and his job, you ended up being one of the biggest parts of their success.

from then on, the nights of sitting in silence while he studies film are nonexistent. every time he brings work home with him, you’re right there next to him, enthralled in whatever opponent’s game they’re facing that week. he loves that you’re so observant, paying attention to the smallest of details someone who’s been playing for years becomes blind to. and he really loves turning you into a bottomless pit of hockey information, seeing how you absorb each ‘lesson’ from day to day.

when they break through their slump, a big part of that accredited to your nights spent questioning quinn, and he sees you start really participating in his games, he can’t help but fall that much deeper in love with you. watching you scream and complain about bad calls with the rest of the fans in rogers arena, and reading your texts to him about your thoughts on his away games you watch on tv, swells his heart in a way he never thought to be possible.

plus, he always knew it was only a matter of time before you fell victim to the hockey atmosphere of the city. no one can really resist the pull of vancouver hockey, especially not when it’s captain has anything to do with it.

[agiiiiiiiiiiiii]

Soon.

Hi again. This one is so dreamy!

nico hischier x reader

Theme: fluff, talking of engagement/marriage

Words: 2513

—————————————————————————

Nico paced nervously outside the jewelry store, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. He glanced at his phone to check the time. Your best friend, Emma, who had been sworn to secrecy, was running a few minutes late. When she finally appeared, she greeted him with a wide grin.

"Ready to pick the most important piece of jewelry in your life?" she teased, nudging his shoulder.

Nico chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess. It has to be perfect, yeah? She deserves the best."

"Good thing you called me then," Emma said with a wink. "I know her taste better than anyone."

As they walked into the store, Nico's eyes darted around at the dazzling display cases. The sales associate approached, asking what they were looking for, and your best friend took the lead. "Engagement rings please. Something elegant but timeless," she said confidently.

Nico stood with his arms crossed as he stared at the endless rows of sparkling rings. Your best friend stood beside him, examining the rings just as closely, but with more confidence.

"Okay," she said, pointing to a tray of options. "These are nice, but not her nice. What do you think?"

Nico frowned, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know... None of them feel right yet.”

The sales associate brought out another selection of rings, and Nico leaned in, scrutinizing each one. He tried to picture them on your finger but kept shaking his head. “I don’t think these are it either.”

Your best friend sighed, but not out of frustration. She knew how much this mattered to him. “Alright, let’s keep looking. We’ll know when we see the one.”

After about ten minutes of searching, the associate brought out a new tray. Nico’s eyes immediately landed on a ring in the center—a delicate band with a dazzling oval diamond surrounded by smaller stones. It was exactly what he had been searching for. “What about this one?” he asked, pointing to a simple yet stunning ring.

Your best friend examined it, tilting her head. “It’s gorgeous. Definitely her style.” She looked up at Nico, who was staring at the ring with a soft smile. “I think we have a winner.”

Nico nodded, his nerves easing as excitement began to take over. “I hope she loves it,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“She will,” your best friend reassured him with a warm smile. “And Nico, you already know this—getting married has been her dream since we were kids, but I bet she’d marry you even without a ring. She’s always said it’s not about the diamond or the ceremony—it’s about you. You’re her dream, Nico.”

Nico’s lips curved into a genuine smile, his fingers brushing over the ring. He looked up at your best friend, a mixture of disbelief and affection in his expression. “She said that?” Emma nodded.

His chest swelled with emotion as he held the ring tighter. “That just makes me want to give her everything even more.”

Emma nodded, a teasing smile on her lips. “Of course. Don’t let that stop you. She deserves the world, and if this ring is part of that, then it’s perfect.”

Nico chuckled, his confidence growing. “Yeah, she deserves this. And I want it to be everything she’s ever dreamed of.”

Emma patted his shoulder. “It already is. She has you.”

Nico smiled, his decision made. “This is the ring” he said and in his head this was the start of forever for you two.

The sales associate offered a polite smile as she carefully handled the ring. “You have exceptional taste,” she remarked. “This is one of our finest pieces... and also one of the priciest.”

Nico didn’t falter for a moment, his expression calm and focused. “That’s fine,” he replied smoothly, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s perfect for her, and that’s all that matters.”

The saleswoman’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she quickly composed herself and processed the payment.

Your best friend grinned at her response. The she looked at Nico again. “She’s going to be over the moon, you know that, right?”

“Good,” Nico said with a chuckle. “That’s the plan.”

After making the purchase, Nico carefully tucked the ring box into his coat pocket. “Thanks for coming and helping me,” he said sincerely.

“Of course,” your best friend replied. “But now the hard part starts—keeping it a secret. She’s going to figure it out if you’re not careful.”

“I know,” Nico groaned. “I’m so bad at hiding things from her.”

“Well,” she said with a mischievous grin, “just act normal. And remember, when you need help planning the proposal, I’m only a call away.”

As Nico walked out of the store, he felt a mix of relief and anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see your reaction, and he knew he had made the right choice—not just in the ring, but in planning a future with you. ———————————— You were out with Nico and a group of friends, both yours and his, enjoying a relaxed evening at a rooftop bar. The weather was perfect, and everyone was laughing, exchanging stories, and sipping on their drinks. You leaned back in your chair, your hand casually resting on the table as you joined in the conversation.

Jack Hughes, always quick to notice things, suddenly tilted his head and squinted at your hand. “Wait a second,” he said, pointing. “Is that… a ring on THAT finger?”

You blinked, confused, before glancing down at your left hand. “Oh, this?” You lifted your hand slightly, showing off the small silver ring. “It’s just an old ring I’ve had forever. I wasn’t even thinking about it when I put it on.”

Jack smirked and leaned back in his chair, looking between you and Nico. “Sure, sure, just an old ring,” he teased, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re not trying to tell us something, are you?”

The table erupted into laughter, and Nico, sitting next to you, chuckled nervously as he rested his arm on the back of your chair. “It’s not what you think,” he said, shaking his head with an amused grin. “Believe me, I’d know.”

“Would you?” Jack shot back, clearly enjoying himself. “Maybe she’s trying to send you a message, Hischier.”

You rolled your eyes, your cheeks heating up. “It’s seriously nothing. I wear it all the time! I didn’t even think about it.”

Emma, your best friend, leaned in with a mischievous smile. “You know maybe it does look like the kind of ring someone would wear to drop hints.”

“Oh my god, stop!” you said, laughing as you tried to hide your hand under the table. “You’re all ridiculous.”

Nico shook his head looking at Emma, his smile widening. “You guys are really reaching here,” he said, though there was a playful glint in his eye. “If it were that kind of ring, you’d know because she’d be telling everyone about it non-stop.”

The group laughed, and you playfully swatted his arm. “Excuse me! I’m not that bad.”

“Yes, you are,” Nico teased, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to your temple. “But I love that about you.”

As the teasing continued, Jack leaned forward, smirking at Nico. "So, captain, when are you putting a proper ring on her finger then? We're all waiting over here, right y/n?"

The group burst into laughter again, and you hid your face in your hands, already blushing furiously. "Oh my god, stop!" you groaned. "You’re going to scare him off!"

Nico, however, seemed entirely unfazed. He leaned back in his chair, his arm still resting around your shoulders, and smirked. “Soon, don’t worry, guys.” His tone was casual but confident, and the group fell silent for a beat before erupting into cheers and whistles.

You turned to him, your mouth slightly open in surprise. “Nico!” you exclaimed, half laughing, half mortified. “You can’t just say stuff like that!”

He grinned at you, clearly enjoying the reaction. “What? I’m just being honest.” he teased, squeezing your shoulder.

The table laughed even harder, and you tried to glare at him, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. "You're impossible," you muttered, your cheeks still burning.

“And you love it,” Nico shot back, leaning in to kiss you.

As the laughter and teasing died down, Nico gave you a quick wink. “Relax, schatz. When it happens, it’ll be perfect—and you’ll be the first to know. Well, maybe second after me…or third,” he added with a playful smirk.

You shook your head, smiling softly as you leaned into him, his confidence and calmness making your romantic heart flutter. ————————————— After dinner, Nico and Jack had slipped away to a quieter corner of the bar, leaving the rest of the group caught up in their own conversations. Nico was nursing a beer, while Jack leaned casually on the bar, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“So…” Jack started, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “When you said soon earlier about proposing—did you actually mean it? Or were you just messing with her?”

Nico smirked, lowering his glass. “What do you think?” he replied, his tone intentionally vague.

Jack tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at Nico. “Come on, man. You can’t leave me hanging. Is it really happening soon, or what?”

Nico glanced around to ensure no one else was paying attention before leaning forward slightly. “I already bought the ring,” he admitted in a low voice.

Jack’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “No way! Are you serious?” he whispered, his excitement barely contained.

Nico chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. I found the perfect one. Emma helped me pick it out.”

Jack sat back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear. “Dude, this is huge. She’s gonna lose her mind. You know that, right?”

“I hope so,” Nico said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m nervous, though. I want it to be perfect.”

“Man, it doesn’t matter how you do it. She’s gonna say yes. She’s obsessed with you,” Jack teased, giving Nico a playful shove across the table. “But seriously, when’s it happening?”

“I’m still figuring that out,” Nico admitted. “It has to feel right.”

Jack nodded, still grinning. “Well, let me know when it’s happening. I’m gonna need tissues for this.”

Nico rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t spoil the surprise.”

“Me? Never,” Jack said, feigning innocence before winking. "But I can’t wait for the bachelor party. That’s going to be legendary,” Jack said with a mischievous grin.

Nico chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. Already planning the party, and I haven’t even proposed yet.”

Jack leaned in one last time, his voice earnest. “Seriously, though, Nico. She’s gonna be so happy. You’re doing the right thing.”

That softened Nico’s smile even more. “Thanks, mate. That means a lot.”

The two shared a quiet moment before the rest of the group rejoined the conversation, none the wiser about the monumental plans brewing between them.

—————————————

Later that evening, as you curled up on the couch together, the laughter from earlier still fresh in your mind, Nico turned to you with a soft smile. “So… you really are excited to get married, huh?” he asked, his voice gentle but teasing.

You felt your cheeks heat up again, but there was no hiding it now. “Of course I am,” you admitted, resting your head on his shoulder. “I mean, not just for the wedding, but to spend the rest of my life with you. It feels… right, you know? Getting married has always been my dream, ever since I was a kid.”

Nico smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I already heard that.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

His expression shifted to one of mock innocence, and he quickly shook his head. “Nothing, nothing. Carry on,” he said, his voice light but clearly hiding something.

You turned to Nico with a smile. "Doesn’t matter, I was just saying... I’ve always wanted to get married.”

His hand moved to gently hold yours, his thumb tracing small circles over your knuckles. “Yeah, I know,” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly as if he was letting the weight of your words sink in. “And I’ve always known you’d be the one”, Nico said, his voice warm and full of certainty. "Hearing you talk about it like this gets me excited too—because it’s not just a dream anymore and I can’t wait to make it happen with you."

You looked up at him, surprised by the way his eyes were sparkling, as if the idea of marrying you was suddenly becoming more real for him too. “Really?”

He nodded, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Really. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I guess tonight just reminded me how much I want it too. And it has to be perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What has to be ‘perfect’? The wedding?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and excitement.

“Well yeah, but I meant the proposal now,” he said, his grin widening. “It has to be —something that makes you smile so much your cheeks hurt. But I don’t want you to guess it’s coming either. It needs to be a surprise.”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “That’s going to be hard for you. You’re the worst at keeping secrets.”

Nico groaned dramatically, leaning his head back against the couch. “I know. That’s the problem. You’re going to figure it out, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” you teased with a smile. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t be special”.

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and grinning to himself.

You smiled up at him, feeling a warm glow in your chest. “Take your time,” you whispered. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

Nico’s eyes lingered on yours, and without another word, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss so full of intensity it stole your breath. It wasn’t rushed or fleeting—it was deep, purposeful, and left you melting against him.

There was something in the way he kissed you, an unspoken thought lingering behind his affection, but the way his lips moved against yours made it impossible to think about anything else. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a promise.

What you didn’t know was that Nico’s mind was racing. He was already picturing the perfect moment, knowing he had almost everything planned out. For someone who wasn’t great at keeping secrets, he felt proud of how far he’d come without you suspecting a thing.

After the kiss, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. His hands slid up your back as he buried his face in your hair, taking a deep breath. "You have no idea," he murmured to himself with a sly smile, pulling you closer.

And in that moment, as you snuggled closer to him, you couldn’t help but feel that “soon” might come sooner than you thought.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XLIII)

Chapter 43: ‘The whole world depends on your pure eyes and all my blood flows into their gaze’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some cuteness, some cuteness!!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4472

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The curve of your eyes winds around my heart, A round of gentleness and dance, Halo of time, night cradle and safe, And if I no longer know all that I’ve lived It’s that your eyes haven’t always seen me.

Leaves of day and foam of dew, Reeds of the wind, scented smiles, Wings shading the world of light, Boats brimming with sky and sea, Hunters of noise and sources of colour,

Scents bloomed from a brood of dawns That still rests on a bed of stars, As the day depends on innocence The whole world depends on your pure eyes And all my blood flows into their gaze.

Paul Eluard, Capitale de la douleur, 1929

Summer. Emerald waves tainted the sea with white foam. Warmth. Rest. Vacations. Rain…

… it was Galway, after all, rain was never far away.

Andrew was getting frustrated. He was so excited to go on this vacation with you, you had spent so much time planning, and talking about it, and awaiting this trip…

… and now it was raining. It was cold. You were lost. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Stuck behind some bloody sheep…

Only in Ireland, really… It was fucking August, for God’s sake…

He heard you letting out a long exhale, feeling your frustration creeping through every corner of the car, your negative energy matching his.

He knew you would end up fighting. It didn’t happen often, but every couple fought from time to time. It had never been important, never been anything you couldn’t get passed in a matter of minutes. Your fights had always grown out of frustration over situations, like this one iteration of everything going wrong…

On the back seat, Elwood was growing restless. Andrew could hear its heavy breaths, the noise of his fur moving against the fabric of the seats. Even him was getting annoyed now.

“You should have turned left.”

There it was. Andrew knew you had longed to voice that sharp remark. To be fair, you were right, he was the one who had insisted to turn right at a previous intersection, hence getting the three of you lost.

He was not in the mood to be a reasonable adult and recognising his wrongs though.

“Next time, you’ll drive, so you can take all the bad decisions, and I can do the blaming. You had the map…”

“We have a fucking GPS…”

“Which is not currently working in this godforsaken land…”

“And I told you to turn left, and you didn’t listen!”

“Again, just take the fucking wheel then!”

You exchanged a glare, your eyes sparkling with thunder, before you huffed and looked at the time on your phone.

“We won’t catch the ferry. We should turn back.”

“We can still catch it.”

“It’s leaving in less than half an hour…”

“We can still catch it.”

“Andrew! We have no fucking clue where we are! We’re stuck behind those bloody sheep! We will not make it to the ferry, so let’s just… go back to the house.”

“You’re getting defeated…”

“No, I’m realistic. We’ll never get there on time, and especially not with these bloody sheep!”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?!”

You stared at each other for a moment. And then you did something Andrew had not predicted.

You unfastened your seat belt, opened the car door, and left.

You climbed out of the car, forcefully slammed the door shut. And you started walking across the road, walking ahead without so much as a glance in his direction. You had barely managed a few steps that you were already soaked.

As he stared at you walking under the rain, walking away from the car, walking away from him, all traces of anger left Andrew’s body. Instead, an old fear came back, raging, blurring his world for a second.

You were leaving…

In the span of a handful of seconds, mere seconds, his brain raced to the worst scenario possible. His thoughts stopped being logical and were filled with his worst fear instead.

You were sick of him. You regretted moving in with him. You wanted your ex back all over again. You would have been happier with Frank than with him. You were leaving, dumping his arse, it was over…

God… how could he survive that? You were… you were… he couldn’t…

But then you did turn around.

“ANDREW! HELP ME OUT FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

He frowned, unable to move.

“ANDY! COME HELP ME OUT!”

That was when he finally realised what you were doing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t walking out of his life. You weren’t breaking up with him, you were…

He saw you moving your arms in the air, calling through the heavy rain towards the scattered sheep, and he finally understood that you were trying to gather them all on the side of the road, towards an open field.

He tried to regulate both his breathing and his heartbeat while he climbed out of the car, securing his coat around his frame to protect himself from the cold rain.

He was panicking over nothing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t leaving. It was fine… he was fine… all fine…

He longed to hurry to you, but his body couldn’t. It was a strange mixture of tiredness, frustration, remnants of anger, and fear. Mostly fear.

He had to stop overthinking everything. You weren’t like that. You loved him, and he knew that, deep down… it was just difficult for him to believe he was that lucky sometimes. He couldn’t help it…

You turned to him as he approached.

“We need to get them out of the way,” you said, your voice still shaking with anger.

You were visibly surprised when he wrapped his arms around you, held you in a fragile embrace. He felt you instantly relaxing, your body growing numb into his arms as you reached up to hold him as well.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” you mumbled under your breath, although you were still frustrated.

“I’m sorry too.”

“We should go back.”

“I’m sorry. You were excited about this trip.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is though.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.”

You didn’t hesitate a second to say it back, to pick up on one of his pet names again. And he ought to stop overthinking everything, but he couldn’t…

“Let’s go back to the car. You’re soaked, love. You’ll catch your death. Come on,” he prompted you towards the car, and you followed him.

Andrew made a U-turn, drove back to the small cottage-like house you were renting during your two weeks in Galway. The drive back was quiet, but the silence was comfortable and warm again. All traces of frustration seemed to have disappeared from your features by the time you reached the cottage. It had stopped raining too, so you didn’t get even more drenched as you walked from the car to the front door.

You heaved a relieved sigh as you stepped inside the warm house, you wiggled happily as you took off your coat.

“We can try to get to the ferry again tomorrow,” Andrew started, his tone cautious.

You surprised him with a shrug.

“We could. We’ll see.”

“I thought you wanted to…”

“Andy… it’s alright. I don’t care. Don’t overthink this. It’s just an afternoon, it was just an activity. We can stay here today, relax, enjoy each other’s company. I don’t mind if we don’t go see the Arans. I don’t mind at all. I promise.”

Andrew forced his shoulders to relax.

“We can still go later this week.”

You nodded, a playful glimmer shining in your eyes.

“Although, next time, we’ll turn left,” you quipped, teasing him while gently pinching his side.

He rolled his eyes, but a smile was back on his lips. If you were joking around, it meant that you weren’t mad. Good… that was good…

“You should take a shower, love. You’re freezing,” Andrew spoke in a quiet, warm voice, the one he knew always soothed you. He let his knuckles brush the sharper edge of your cheekbone, hated the coldness of your skin, longed for you to be warm and content again.

You nodded, taking off your jumper and wet jeans as you made your way to the bathroom.

“Actually, I think I’ll take a bath. We can take our time today, relax.”

You turned around, tilted your head a little in a tempting way as you spoke again. Andrew was having a hard time looking at your eyes instead of the length of your naked legs…

“Want to join me?” you smiled.

He gave you a suggestive look.

“In the bath? Or in bed?”

You bit down on your lower lip, and Andrew was gone for good. God, you had him wrapped around your finger… were you aware of the extent of his need for you?

“Hmm… bed first, then a bath? After all, we did fight… Some make-up sex is in order, no?”

He hummed, nodding his head as he walked closer to you. This time he didn’t refrain his urge to let his gaze travel down your legs, marvelling at their perfect curves, his fingers tingling already at the thought of touching them, feeling the softness of your skin, your warmth spread through his palms…

When he stopped, right before you, and looked up at your eyes again, there was something inviting in your gaze. He knew this look very well by now. It was the one that granted silent permission, the one that said I want you too, you can touch me…

His heart swelled at the thought that you were granting him the right to be this close to you now. That you were allowing him, even inviting him, to touch you. To kiss you. To worship your body… and he would. For the coming hour, he planned to do nothing but worship you, in the hopes that you would read in his adoration how much he loved you. How much he cared. How much he needed you.

You were staring right into his eyes as your hands slowly rose to his chest, as you peeled his cardigan off his body. There was so much tension in the air then, electric, as heavy as your stammering breaths, while you slowly unfastened the buttons of his white shirt. One button at a time. At an excruciatingly slow pace…

He let you do it though, do as you pleased with him. He loved it, the way you were setting a pace now. The way you were taking control. There was a quiet tenderness in each of your touches that told him he was safe with you, that you would never do him harm, that he could lay his heart, his body, his life into your hands, and despite that power over him, you wouldn’t destroy him.

He needed to stop overthinking everything…

He helped you slide his shirt off his shoulders, let you rest your palms on his undershirt, one hand on of each of his breasts.

“I love you.”

He grinned at the tender confession.

“I love you too.”

When you reached up to kiss him, it felt like breathing after a lifetime without air, like relief, like being alive…

At last… at fucking last…

This ought to be heaven.

After your pleasurable reconciliation, you opted to take a bath together. An hour spent in pleasure was incredible, but also exhausting, and both of you longed for rest now. Sharing a bath offered the warmth and quiet perfect for your tired bodies, and the intimacy you both craved after sex.

Andrew smiled at the memory.

Incredible sex, actually…

You heaved a content sigh as you readjusted your head against his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His brain was fuzzy with a happy static, the kind he had never experienced before. A strange sense of peace, contentment, happiness… but that felt better than all of that combined. He couldn’t explain it. He felt it only with you, that was for sure…

“Your skin is so soft,” he mused, trailing his fingers across your waist and hip, speaking without thinking.

It felt so soothing to have you in his arms like this. There was something grounding, reassuring, and delightfully vulnerable in lying here with you, naked, sharing a bath and cuddling. You seemed to have a special power, one that made his busy brain grow quiet.

You chuckled at his words, kissed his chest as a reward.

“Yours is soft too,” you nodded, caressing his chest as if to stress your words.

Andrew shifted his legs, unfolding them to prop his feet on the edge of the bathtub, making the water and its bubbles shift with his movements. You had added some scented salts, and he liked it. It was soothing. It felt so nice.

Loving you was so good…

You giggled, making him look at you again.

“God… even this gigantic bathtub is too small for you…”

He laughed then, bright and happy with your teasing. He wiggled his toes for good measure, making you break into laughter once more.

“Can’t help it,” he shrugged.

“I love that about you. That you’re really tall.”

“Do you, now?”

You hummed in response.

“It’s sexy.”

He chuckled, his cheeks turning a brighter shade of pink.

“Oh… so I’m sexy?”

He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh.

“Of course you are,” was your only answer, offered as if it was obvious.

Sometimes he forgot that you loved him this way. Like it was easy. Like there was nothing more natural in the world. That was how he felt for you; loving you felt as natural as filling his lungs with air, blinking at the bright sun, moving his leg over yours in bed. It was easy. Obvious. Ineffable.

You said that you felt like that, too. If it were a truth, it was a hard one to believe in. He wanted to though, longed for the safety of certainty.

He looked up at the ceiling, let out a long exhale as you nuzzled into his neck again, ran your fingers across his chest in such a soothing way, he almost closed his eyes.

He needed to stop overthinking this. You were here, in his arms, naked, loving him… it ought to be proof enough that you truly wanted him.

This fear he had felt in the car, seeing you walk away, this… uncontrollable dread that you could leave… He had to stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t.

What if you left?

He tried to picture his life without you in it. There would still be Elwood, his parents, his brother, Alex, his friends, his classes, his writing, music, poetry. He could find someone else, eventually. He hated every part of it…

When he pictured you in the same scenarios, everything seemed brighter. His life was better simply because you were in it. He tried to think of his life in a year, in five years, in ten years, in sixty years… Every time the life he wanted had you in it. He couldn’t picture a future that was happy without you being a part of it.

He had never felt like that before. Even with Sam. He had thought he would always love her, and yet, there were bits of his life that he didn’t picture her into. He could imagine living on his own, he could imagine his career, his friends, his family… without Sam in it, and still be content.

Not with you. All these lonesome pictures felt wrong. You were missing…

He thought of his life, the one that awaited him, that laid at his feet, and he didn’t want to live it without you.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice was quiet, warm. When he looked down at you again, if there was puzzlement in your gaze, there was infinite tenderness too.

He wanted this to last forever. You. Him. Forever…

He never wanted this to end. And somehow, he just knew then. That the reason why he couldn’t picture a happy life without you, was simply because you were the one for him. You were the love of his life. And his heart would always be yours.

He thought he would be scared by such a realisation, but he wasn’t. He reckoned the feelings had been in his heart for too long, had become a part of him. He was simply putting words on what he felt. You were the love of his life. He was so happy it was you…

He wanted to believe that you felt the same, but he wasn’t sure. It was okay. One day, perhaps, he would be. If he loved you for long enough, if he let you love him fully, perhaps, one day, he would stop being afraid of losing you.

Instead of answering by any of these thoughts, he cupped your cheek, gave you a tender smile.

“Nothing important. I love you, that’s all.”

Andrew was on the porch, you could hear him play the guitar. A soft melody you didn’t know, perhaps it was his own. You encouraged him to write full songs, but he kept on claiming he didn’t really want to. Poetry was enough. Music was enough. The two entities didn’t need to mingle. Sometimes he did play some guitar, hummed a melody to match one of his poems. Which you called ‘writing a song’, but he called it ‘exploring a theme through different media’. You rolled your eyes at him every time.

After the heavy rains of the afternoon, the evening was sunny and surprisingly warm. Outside, the sun was setting, kissing the hills goodbye as it lingered on their tops, flashing its golden hues into the sky before it would grow dark. You walked out with a cup of warm tea in each of your hands, took a moment to watch the beautiful colours in the sky, all golden and orange fading into red. It was quiet, you had rented a small house as an AirBnB in the country side, and there was no one around. Your closest neighbours owned a farm about a kilometre away, the road leading to the cottage was rarely used. You let your eyes travel across the fields, the green of grass, the deeper shades of bushes, the winding lines of stone walls. It was magical, in a way. There was something anchoring to this land, that made you feel like you belonged there.

The soft melody resumed on Andrew’s guitar, you turned to him. Elwood was lying at his feet with his eyes closed, but the movement of his tail told you he wasn’t asleep. Andrew was sitting on a wooden bench, right under the window of the kitchen, his legs stretched before him and taking up the whole width of the porch. His fingers danced on strings, he was humming every now and then. His notebook was by his side, open on a page stained with black ink. It was the notebook you had offered him the previous year, for his birthday. He never went anywhere without it. He seemed so peaceful, a content smile tugging at his lips. His long hair was tight in a messy bun, and he was gorgeous in an old pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt, his skin and hair bathed in the golden light of the sinking sun. Beyond him, hills rolled, green and gorgeous. Andrew was all you could see.

You remained standing there, motionless, like a fool, staring at your partner with awe written all over your features. It was such a mundane, simple sight. And yet, it struck you then. The depth of your feelings for him, your longing for this never to end, for him never to leave.

It was silly… so silly… to realise that truth just by watching him, in casual clothes, playing mindless melodies on his guitar. And yet, that was the moment when you admitted to yourself that this was the life you wanted. You. Him. Forever. You never wanted this to end.

And God, he told you he loved you daily, showed it even more in a thousand actions and attentions he had for you each day. And yet, a part of you was still afraid he would leave, that you could lose him. What would you do without him?

You hadn’t noticed the music fading, too busy getting lost in the green of his eyes as he turned to you.

“You’re alright, love?” he asked, accent thick on his tongue with the fondness of his words, while he tilted his head.

You shook yourself, walked over to him.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay,” you smiled. “Made you some tea.”

“Oh, thanks!”

He accepted the cup you offered, moved his notebook so you could sit by his side. You didn’t mean to pry, you knew Andrew would not want you to read his writing unless he offered to tell you about it, so you looked away from the notebook as soon as you caught the title of his new poem.

That You Are.

“It’s about you,” he explained, noticing your glimpse at the notebook.

“I didn’t read…”

“I know. I trust you.”

You exchanged a smile.

“Are you really writing about me?” you asked, feeling shier now.

He chuckled, kissed your cheek.

“Who else could I write about? You’re my partner…” he answered, bending slightly in search of your gaze.

“I don’t know… your mistress…”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re right, she’s hiding in the trunk of our car.”

“Can she breathe in there?”

“Bottle of oxygen.”

“Clever.”

He shook his head at you while laughing, but when he spoke again he was serious once more.

“It’s not quite finished, you can’t read it for now.”

“That’s okay. Do you want to tell me more about what it’s about?”

He shrugged, blushing.

“It’s about… being in love with you. And… wanting to be where you are all the time.”

He stared at you, and you couldn’t help yourself when you reached up to cup his jaw and kiss his lips.

“What about the music?”

“Just…something I’ve been thinking about. To go with the poem.”

“So… you’re writing me a song now? Am I about to be serenaded?”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re insufferable,” he mumbled, before shushing your unspoken teasing with a quick kiss.

“I like it when you sing.”

“I know.”

There was something emotional shining in his eyes, but he didn’t speak more about it, and you let him draw the conversation away.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, taking a sip of his warm beverage while he put his guitar away.

He always asked these kinds of questions. At the end of every day he asked about how your classes had been, how was your research, how you were feeling. What had you been doing during the hours you had spent apart? It wasn’t prying, if you didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t insist. He just… genuinely wanted to know how your day had been. And you did the same for him. You remembered a time when you had settled for less than that simple, daily gesture. What an idiot you had been…

“I was just checking the weather for the coming days. It should be sunny on the Arans in a couple of days, so perhaps we could stay on the main land tomorrow. Perhaps a nice trek? It should rain early in the morning, but it’ll clear before noon.”

Andrew nodded, sipping on his tea, readjusting his glasses. At his feet, Elwood was now napping for good.

“We can drive to the national park, it isn’t far from here” he offered, looking at your phone as you showed him a page that referenced some paths across the wilderness of Connemara.

“Yeah, I thought we could walk around a lough.”

You studied the maps for a while, decided which path you would take the next day. Once the plans for your little adventure were sorted, Andrew gave you a mischievous smile, turning around and swinging his long legs over the edge of the bench. You fondly smiled as he moved to rest his head on your laps. His knees were bent over the edge of the bench, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I?” you asked in a quiet, tender voice as you lightly tugged on his hairband. He merely lifted his head a little as a response, so you could free his long curls, letting the chestnut strands cover your laps.

You took off his glasses too, secured them by your side. He let his eyes close with a relieved sigh as you ran your hands through his hair. You felt his body relax, the tension in his muscles disappear under your soft touch.

“This is so nice,” he hummed.

“It is,” you nodded, softly scratching his scalp, and he let out a long breath in response.

“I know that we had to wait until August to leave for our anniversary, instead of celebrating properly at the right date… but it was worth the wait!”

“We did celebrate on the date, though.”

“Yeah… but this is the actual celebration. Like… the real gift.”

“Hmm… yeah, you’re right. And I agree, it was worth the wait.”

“We outdid ourselves with this trip.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“It feels so nice to be just the two of us. To not have to worry about the usual, daily problems for a while.”

“Yeah… I reckon we both needed this.”

He took one of your hands in his. While you kept on running your fingers through his hair, he brought your other hand to his mouth, pressed it to his lips for a long kiss, intertwining your fingers together. He brought it to rest on his sternum next, stroking your knuckles.

You wanted to tell him, then. That he was the one. That he was the love of your life. That you never wanted him to leave…

But you couldn’t. You didn’t have neither the courage nor the strength. It had been a year, it was too soon. You knew, but he probably didn’t. Why scare him off when you could stay quiet and stare at his handsome features while the day ended and a new night was born out of the sun’s absence? It was safer this way…

“I love you so much, Y/N. You know that, right?” he asked in a whisper, and you noticed by how his voice had quietened that he was beginning to drift off to sleep.

You offered a tender smile he couldn’t see.

“I love you too, Andy. More than anything.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, and a moment later, his lips were parting, and he was asleep, your hand still in his, resting on his chest, and his head on your lap. You kept on looking at him, admired his peaceful expression as he slept, every detail of his face, making sure to commit each of them to memory. You didn’t pay much attention to the dying sunset, despite the colours it shone onto the world. Only when it was getting too dark for you to see Andrew’s features did you notice the passage of time. But then again, he was beautiful like this, and his hair was so soft, and the weight of his head on your lap was reassuring, grounding…

Five more minutes…

[signanothername]

I do agree with it being a genuine issue that people can't fathom relationships that aren't romantic or sexual but as equally devoted to each as those ones.

It's an issue in fandom and also in real life.

I'm very very close with my best friend and I have the same level of devotion towards them as one would a romantic partner. I'd buy a house with them or raise a kid, stuff like that. But we aren't romantically/sexually involved with each other and don't ever want to be.

Also because we are physically affectionate with each other people are always asking if we are having sex or if we are dating or when are we going to date.

It's aggravating because somehow our commitment for each other is viewed as lesser because we aren't doing all that.

I do think it's how we are socialized as we are growing up that makes this an issue.

(Excuse me while I stand on my soap box about platonic physical affection) People like to forget that we are a species that not only craves physical affection but we also Need it to some degree to be healthy, like human babies will straight up perish if they aren't held enough. We don't exactly grow out of that.

(This is, of course, excluding people who don't want to be touched and such. Works the same way as a healthy food, tho it's good for you not everyone is gonna like that food or eat it.)

OH ABSOLUTELY

Unfortunately, the social norm is that romance/sex is superior by default (which is absolute bullshit), all sorts of love are of the same importance, whether romantic or platonic

I think it also comes with the lack of understanding that we have different social needs, for example, I personally can’t even understand the concept of crushes at all, (like wait, people getting romantic feelings for someone they don’t know is real?????? Love at first sight isn’t a bullshit movie thing and people actually fall in love at first sight?????)

My understanding doesn’t matter as much as my behavior does, just because I don’t understand how someone can fall in love with another person who they don’t know doesn’t mean I’ll go and tell someone with a crush that their love is invalid just because I don’t understand it personally

People on the other hand, are very comfortable telling people who aren’t romantically involved to “get on with it” or to ask invasive questions such as “when are you going to date” cause they lack the understanding that people can be just as devoted platonically as people who are devoted romantically

The difference was never the devotion, it’s just the type of love you share, and how you share it

As for physical affection, you’re absolutely right, we are social species by default but with different social needs, some people need physical affection to function, others don’t, some only need it at certain times in certain circumstances and so on

These differences between us is what makes us human, but alas, the majority think that their norm must be the norm for everyone else

Anyway, it’s so sweet to know you have your best friend, hope you guys live long happy lives, take care of yourselves, your love is just as valid and true <333333

[michanvalentine]

I was asked if I had any thoughts on Astarion's character development in terms of taking responsibility and making choices. And him coming to terms with that part of his past he's ashamed of. In the past I didn't dwell on it in detail, normally I write down on the keyboard what spontaneously passes through my brain. But I think they are excellent food for thought, so I will try to express what I think about it.

Here’s a little ramble, just because I love psychology and think it’s something to always keep in mind when discussing Astarion. If you’re not interested, feel free to skip ahead!

(Let’s talk a bit about the self.

The self is quite a complex concept with many facets. Briefly put, it’s shaped by various internal and external factors and reflects a conscious image of "me." In psychology, it’s key to building the Ego of an individual—the capacity to act, understand, organize, and interpret experiences. The Ego provides a sense of uniqueness, coherence, and personal continuity since the self encompasses many "faces." All this forms the personality of an individual, which naturally develops (and changes) throughout life.

Particular attention in the formation of the self is given to sensitive periods, such as early childhood. The self determines the level of self-esteem based on an individual’s assessment of their worth and competence in the characteristics they attribute to themselves (Real Self), their future aspirations (Ideal Self), and what they want to avoid (Feared Selves). The greater the discrepancy between these aspects, the lower the level of self-esteem. Social support and approval, as well as competence in domains deemed important to the self, obviously contribute to perceiving oneself as a person of value.

I’ll stop here, or this will turn into a full-blown psychology lecture, diving into every possible personality disorder! xD)

Astarion, as we know, has had his sense of self fundamentally undermined. For him, the world is divided between those who have power and those who don’t, with the former always being the "winners" in his eyes. The magistrate he once was is long dead, along with his moral compass and the life he used to live—especially after 200 years of servitude to Cazador.

As vampire spawn, akin to a newborn in some respects, Astarion learned to exist solely within Cazador’s world, revolving around Cazador, for Cazador. He was the domineering father figure, and vampire society functions under strict rules handed down by vampire lords. In this hostile context, without any room for self-expression or choice, Astarion developed a fragmented and damaged self-image. Constantly belittled by Cazador as an individual (small, weak, useless, incapable, all words he uses in the game), always pitted against his brothers and sisters, and degraded from a magistrate to a prostitute (this is important because it’s the only skill—or "talent," as he calls it himself—that Astarion believes gives him any value or power, forming the basis for his self-image). It’s easy to imagine just how high his self-esteem must be, right? Most importantly, he never developed the skills to navigate life as a free individual—at least not in a healthy way.

This is why, even if reluctantly (and despite his fear), he ends up leaning on Tav/Durge. Astarion is a follower, not a leader—not yet, at least. He needs a guiding figure to help him figure out what to do because making decisions and acting independently don’t come naturally to him; they terrify him. Especially outside of his talents, sex and survival. He needs to be rehabilitated, re-educated, and to achieve this, he requires a safe and healthy environment where he can experiment and grow, perhaps developing other faces of the self on which to base a new evaluation. Like, I'm not just a slave or a whore: but I'm also a companion, a friend, a lover, a hero and I'm able to listen, to help, to learn, to collaborate, etc. For instance, I think his lack of attention to detail reflects this to some extent—not just his tendency to be dismissive or distracted. In fact, Astarion isn’t stupid at all; his intelligence and wisdom stats in D&D terms are above average. He knows how to move in the shadows, remain unnoticed, and is highly skilled with his hands. Additionally, we shouldn’t forget that Astarion is an excellent observer of bodies, particularly body language. This is especially common when someone has lived in a stressful environment with abusive parents or partners. Recognizing the early signs of what they fear most—abuse—is crucial for trying to avoid getting hurt. The inflection of a tone, the light in someone’s eyes, the posture of their shoulders, arms, torso, etc. Body language is the most direct and primal form of communication and reveals intentions.

This is a skill Astarion has naturally refined, not only through survival but also by interacting with countless partners. It inevitably helps him sense certain things before others do, often saving him from trouble. So, he’s far from just some clueless fool, no matter how frivolous he might seem at times.

Sure, stress kills neurons, but the issue is deeper than intellect. To execute a plan, one needs to make decisions and lead a group—something he simply isn’t equipped to do yet. This also ties to accountability, an inherent part of decision-making—especially when others are involved.

Throughout the game, Astarion grows and begins to reclaim his rights as an individual. He realizes he’s more than an object to be used (he is no longer small, weak, useless, incapable), and he starts to establish boundaries and discover what he truly wants or doesn’t want to do, always alongside Tav/Durge. By the good ending, he even states that with Cazador gone, he can finally find out who he really is and what he wants from the life he’s regained. He’s still afraid—the road to healing is long, and the trauma is deep—but he’s willing to work on himself, which he couldn’t or wouldn’t do before.

A significant part of Astarion’s defense mechanism is dissociation, the ability to separate himself from the terrible things that have happened to him—or that he has done.

This, in my opinion, is how he managed to survive without completely losing his mind. In the game, there’s even a dialogue choice that highlights how Astarion simply repressed everything inside and kept going—a deeply unhealthy way of coping. And rightly so, the vampiric spawn retorts that it’s easy to judge when you haven’t lived through such a situation.

However, when Astarion comes face to face with his victims, that mechanism begins to falter. This time, he’s forced to confront what he has done directly, with all the consequences it entails. He has to look them in the eye, listen to their harsh words, and endure both their pain and his own—without filters, without excuses. The sequence is heart-wrenching, as we all know, but what I particularly love is Astarion’s comment about the Gur children and how, when he delivered them to Cazador, he felt nothing. I love it because it’s followed by an “oh” that speaks volumes more than all the discussions about ascension up until that moment. That “oh” seems to say, “How the hell is that even possible?!”

Astarion is surprised, first and foremost, because what he felt then isn’t what he’s feeling now. Before, he was numb, alienated—a ghost wandering the streets. But now, he’s not. He’s more awake and lucid than he’s been in the last 200 years. This concept is crystal clear when, upon setting foot inside Cazador’s palace, the vampiric spawn states that everything feels different, even though the place hasn’t changed. It’s not the palace that’s different; it’s Astarion!

And at this point, after speaking with Sebastian and Chessa, Astarion is torn.

On one side, there’s ascension, with all the rational explanations—or justifications for Tav/Durge and himself—about why it must be done. The vampire spawn are too many and too hungry; they’ll cause a massacre, etc., etc. On another side, there’s the need to erase the evidence of what he was, of what Astarion endured, and what he inflicted upon others—what these wretches represent as a mirror reflecting his own helplessness and pathetic state. A victim, essentially. And that, for him, is humiliating because he was, in fact, humiliated for 200 years. He’s deeply ashamed of it.

But yet another part of him holds the desire to do the right thing.

In fact, if asked about the prisoners and what he intends to do, Astarion will say he’s weighing his options. Not only that, but Astarion also gives his approval when Tav/Durge tells Sebastian that their freedom depends on whether or not they know how to control hunger. Adding immediately after that they can succeed. Anyway, at this moment, for the first time, the choice and the responsibility are entirely on Astarion's shoulders—and on his conscience. There are no orders from Cazador to carry out, no Tav/Durge acting on his behalf. The most Tav/Durge can do is help him think clearly in a moment when, between fear, the scent of blood in the air, and power within reach, Astarion might not be the most clear-headed being on the planet. But ultimately, the decision is his to make. The first of many more to come.

However, I believe Astarion truly takes responsibility for his actions when, after freeing the vampire spawn, he becomes the leader of the coven in the Underdark in the ending. In this particular case, the transformation is complete—Astarion is a leader who plans, makes tough decisions every day, manages resources, takes care of his people (his old victims, let's not forget), and continually grows in his independence.

Naturally, returning to the concept of the self, each of the endings—whether he travels across Faerûn with Tav/Durge, becomes a nocturnal vigilante in Baldur’s Gate, or even ascends—offers a perspective on how Astarion has changed and how new experiences have added positive aspects to his self-concept. These enable him to increasingly perceive himself as competent and valuable. At this point, I’m afraid I might have gotten lost in the flood of words, and I’m not sure if I’ve managed to address the proposed topics thoroughly. My apologies—I tend to lose myself in my thoughts and ramble on freely! If needed, feel free to let me know, and I’ll add a follow-up! xD Anyone who made it this far is a true hero, just so you know!

[mrsmangi]

Hibiscus 🌺🌺🌺

late night call - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: hibiscus - the realization of a friendship becoming something more - meaning: in victorian times, the gift of a hibiscus bloom meant that the giver was acknowledging the receiver’s delicate beauty. ♡ w.c.: 1k ♡ a/n: hi, love! thank you so much for your request. srry for the delay, i'm a bit backed up with requests. she's a short one, but i hope you enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

“Do you ever think people realize just how loud their ceiling fans are?” 

His voice comes through the phone, low and scratchy, like he’s been lying on his back for too long, staring at his own ceiling. You giggle softly, shifting against the pillow propped against your back. Your own fan spins above you, a rhythmic hum filling the space between his words and yours. 

“It’s white noise,” you say, quieter than usual. “After a while, you get used to it and stop hearing it.” 

“Mm, not tonight,” Luigi sighs. “It’s like the fan’s trying to keep me awake for as long as possible.”

You laugh again, a soft, breathy sound that feels just a bit too loud in the stillness of your room. It’s past midnight–long past the time you’d planned to be asleep–but this is how many of your nights with Luigi go. What starts with casual texts morphs into a phone call, then into hours of talking about nonsense; everything and nothing.

“Maybe it’s just your thoughts,” you tease. “What are the voices yelling at you about tonight?” 

He pauses on the other end of the line, just the faint sound of his breathing audible. You know Luigi well enough by now to know he’s not actively ignoring your question; he’s only deciding how much of himself to give away. 

“Life,” he answers lamely, though the vagueness of the reply altogether makes it clear there’s more to it than that. “Do you ever feel like no matter how much you do to succeed, it’s never enough?” 

You roll onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. The dim glow of your bedside lamp casts uneven shadows against the wall. 

“All the time,” you reply honestly. “It gets exhausting, though. I feel like I’m just running a race no one even cares to watch.” 

He exhales, a sound that crackles through the receiver. When he speaks again, his voice carries the kind of understanding that comes from being seen. “Yeah. I get it.” 

The two of you fall into shared silence, the steady hum of your ceiling fan whispering across the line. You let yourself picture him for a moment–probably sprawled out on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. His phone would be balanced in his other hand. The image feels familiar, like something you’ve seen a thousand times before, even though you haven’t. 

“Can I ask you something?” His voice breaks the quiet.

“Always.” 

He’s quiet again, but you don’t rush him.

“Do you think…” He pauses again, and you can hear the shift of his breathing. “Do you ever think it’s possible for something to change without either person realizing it? Like, to wake up one day and feel like everything’s changed, even though nothing is actually different?” 

“Maybe,” you say cautiously, voice softer now. “Sometimes things can change so slowly you don’t even notice until it’s already different. Then, you find yourself wondering how long it’s been that way.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s exactly what I mean.” 

You stare up at the spinning fan, asking him, “What’s different, Luigi?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. His continuous pauses make you grow somewhat uneasy, stretching a distance between you. “Us,” he says. “I think we’re different.” 

You exhale slowly. “Different how?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But it’s like every time we talk, it feels different. More important, somehow, like there’s something there that wasn’t before.” He stops and you can nearly hear the way he’s turning the words over rin his head. “I used to just…enjoy talking to you, but now, it feels like I catch myself waiting for it. I’m counting down to the next time I’ll hear your voice. And when we’re not talking, I’m thinking about what I want to tell you the next time I see you, or wondering what you’re doing, or–” He breaks out into nervous laughter, cutting himself off. “Um, does any of that make sense or am I just rambling?” 

It makes perfect sense. Too much sense. Your heart picks up speed, the weight of his words pressing against the thoughts you’ve tried to push to the back of your mind. You notice it too. You’ve felt a change in the way you catch yourself thinking about him at odd moments–when a song reminds you of something he’s said, or when you replay the voice messages he sends just to hear his laugh on repeat. Tonight, he speaks heavier, like he’s cracked open a door you have both been staring at for weeks, maybe longer, unsure of who will turn the handle first. 

“It does,” you whisper. 

There’s a small, nearly imperceptible breath on his end, like he’s been holding it and didn’t even realize. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You chew on your bottom lip, letting the word sink in. “I didn’t know if I should say anything. I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” 

“Me neither,” he says, “but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it. I do. All the time.” 

You close your eyes, the glow of the lamp behind your lids is a soft orange hue. “So, what now?” 

“I’m not sure,” he says. There’s no pretense, no cleverness to soften the edges of his words. “But maybe we can figure it out. Together.” He says his last word carefully, almost like it’s fragile–like it may break under the weight of its meaning if he doesn’t say it the right way. 

You hear him shift, the faint sound of fabric rustling through the receiver. It’s a small thing, but it makes the moment feel so real, tangible, like he’s not just a voice in the dark. You let his words settle over you. Luigi doesn’t have the answers to all your worries and neither do you. But, it feels comforting somehow–to know that he’s with you in this journey, and you with him. 

“Okay,” you say. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You know he can hear it, even if he can’t see it. Your heart is full of love for this boy as you exhale: “Together.”

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (16/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: The progression of your pregnancy sends Sylus away for the day to acquire something important from the dragons, leaving you alone on the mountain.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15)

Read on AO3

As the months passed and winter melted into spring and into summer you found yourself heavily pregnant during the hottest month of the year. There were good days and bad days and worse days. Pregnancy was beautiful in some aspects, like when you first felt them kick. Sylus hadn’t let go of your stomach for an hour after that just so he could feel them move around more. But other days were filled with puking, mood swings, and insatiable cravings.

“Sylus?” you called.

“What is it--” he stopped when he walked in the bedroom and saw you laying starfished on the floor. “Did you fall?”

“No.”

“Then why are you on the floor?”

“It’s hot and the ground is colder than the bed.”

“Can’t be comfortable though. How about we get you up--”

“No. I live here now.”

“Little bird--”

“Nothing little about me now. Look at me! I look like I swallowed a pumpkin!” Your whole body ached. “Can we just get this kid out already? I’m tired of being pregnant!”

“You look beautiful.” He rubbed your swollen stomach. “You’re growing our child and they will be ready to meet us in another month. I’m sorry you’re having a rough day though. Can I get you anything?”

“You can make it winter again so I’m not dying of heat stroke.” you fanned yourself.

“If I could turn the seasons for you I’d do it but as it is this is the most I can offer.” he unfurled his wings and beat them gently, causing a cool breeze to blow on you. “Better?”

“That does feel nice.” you sighed.

“Now what did you call me in here for? Or did you just need to complain.”

“No. I did need something.” you tried to sit up but your stupid big stomach was making it hard. Sylus stopped fanning you to help you sit up. “Can’t even sit up anymore…can’t believe I agreed to have three more of these.”

“No backing out now.” he said. “Now what did you need?”

You held out your arms. “A hug?”

“Oh my sweet,” he pulled you into his arms. “It’s been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah…” you had barely gotten any sleep last night because the baby decided midnight was the perfect time to start doing somersaults in your womb. Then it was just so hot you couldn’t think to do anything but flop onto the ground. You were sore, you were tired, and you just wanted this baby out already!

He looked down at your stomach. “And you in there, treat your mother more kindly. She’s working hard on making you, you should be more appreciative.”

There was a kick to your side. “Baby says no.”

“I fear we have a rebellious child on our hands. Just know, little one, if you keep hurting your mother like this we are going to have words when you are out of there.”

You laughed. “I don’t think they’ll understand why you are scolding them, Sylus.”

“They’ll know. Just like they know what they’re doing right now.”

“You are ridiculous.” you sighed, your mood easing again.

For a few minutes you sat together, tracing your stomach, feeling the faint thumps of the baby kicking at your insides. “I hate to worsen your mood again but I need to tell you something important that I don’t think you will like hearing.”

Your smiled dropped. “Do you have to?”

“Unfortunately.” he brushed some hair from your face. “I need to leave for a day or so.”

“What! Why are you leaving?”

“Hush, it’s alright. You see I…” he sighed. “I have been enjoying our time together so much this past year. I cannot believe that I’ve been able to call you mine for that long. But there’s a certain dragon tradition I need to complete with the due date coming closer.”

“I thought you were done with dragon traditions. You said you were going to create your own rules.”

“I did and I meant it. But there are some laws and practices that I still have to adhere to out of safety.”

“Safety? What do you mean by safety?”

“You see, there is a special salve that all new hatchlings in a dragon tribe are anointed with when they are born. It marks them as dragon and helps keep them safe. It is said to ward off predators and evil spirits. I don’t know how much I believe in evil spirits but with this being our first child I do not want to take any risks.” he cradled your stomach. “The dragons are the closest that they venture this way but the journey is still long. I will be gone for a day, maybe two.”

“I see. But why is it so far? When we went to the beach where they were that only took a couple hours.”

“That was because they needed the sand. And if I showed up at a ride asking for the salve after I had left the tribe it would be seen as exceedingly rude. So I had to wait for another time and this is the time they are closest to this land otherwise. It is still more than half a day’s journey by flight hence why I said I will be gone for a while.”

“That makes sense I suppose. Just promise you’ll hurry back.”

“I will. I promise. Do you want to go stay in the village while I’m gone?”

“No. I can survive a day or two without you here. I don’t much feel like taking a flight. Not if you want me to hurl in your arms.”

“Alright. I leave early tomorrow morning and with luck I should be back late in the evening, or the next afternoon at the latest.” he kissed your temple. “Don’t strain yourself while I’m away.”

“Trust me. I don’t feel like doing much of anything.” you sighed. “One more month…”

The next morning Sylus left, stirring you from sleep but for a moment to tell you he was leaving before giving you a kiss and taking off. You went back to bed for a few more hours until the baby decided to kick at your bladder and woke you up for good.

You went about your day as normal and decided to occupy your time by finishing some of the baby clothes you had been working on. You couldn’t wait to finally meet your baby! Tara had assured you in the reading she did that the birth would go by smoothly. She had asked if you wanted to know whether you were having a boy or a girl but you decided to let it be a surprise.

You were sitting in the hoard room, the reflection of light off the gold provided the best light to work by, when you heard a sound from somewhere else in the mountain. Strange. Was Sylus back already? Maybe the dragons were closer than he thought.

“Let’s go see if your father is home.” you said to your stomach and waddled out of the hoard room. “Sylus?” you called. “Did you forget something?”

You made it to the entrance chamber and saw there was an entire squadron of people there. You didn’t recognize any of them. “Excuse me, you’re trespassing in my home.” you said, drawing their attention to you, “I’m going to need you to leave at once.”

None of them were speaking which immediately put you on edge. You gripped the fabric shears in your pocket. From the back of the crowd one of the men shuffled forward. You knew this man. He was one of the villagers, the one that had been staring at Sylus and you at the woodworker’s cottage.

“That’s her.” he said, pointing to you.

“You weren’t shitting us, Aaron.” one of the others said, “The dragon really mated with a human.”

You placed a hand over your swollen belly. “I don’t know for what reason you have all come here but I suggest you leave now while you still can. If you so much as touch me you will have to answer to my mate and I doubt you want that.”

“Your mate isn’t here.” the man from the village, Aaron, said. “And he won’t be back for a while. We spotted him leaving early this morning with a large pack. Hardly something you take for a quick flight around the mountain, is it?”

They had been stalking the mountain? How long had they been watching? What did they want? None of that mattered right now. You needed to act. You were severely outnumbered and you couldn’t fight without endangering your baby.

“Now, miss, you can come quietly or we can do this the hard way.” they said, brandishing their weapons.

Fuck! You turned and sprinted as fast as you could back into the tunnels of the mountain. You lived here for over a year. You had time to memorize these tunnels. You could hide from them so long as you kept ahead. But it was hard to do that when you were eight months pregnant! You needed to go. You needed to find some place to hide they’d never find you.

“Hard way it is.” their cruel laughter echoed off the walls, “Get her!”

~~~

Sylus was not looking forward to this. The closer he got to the dragons the more agitated he got. He had to talk himself out of turning around and returning home a dozen or more times. He was already anxious leaving you alone and he started to question how much he really needed this salve. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen if he didn’t get it.

He also didn’t want anyone else letting them know that another half-breed was being born. He would deliver that news himself and face whatever ire came with it. It was late in the afternoon when he finally spotted the tribe down below.

Too late to back out now. He flew down, bracing himself for any manner of reactions from the others. Immediately they picked up on his scent. He recognized most of those that he passed. They glared, some growled, but no one had yet to make a move to stop him.

He steeled himself, his hands balling into fists as he charged forward only to have his path abruptly cut off by a large blue dragon with citrine eyes. “The half-breed returns,” they laughed, “And he reeks of human.”

“Nilamegh, how dearly I have not missed you.” the Draconic fell off his tongue easily. It was strange speaking it again after so long. It was rough in his mouth.

Another of the dragons, a green one landed behind him. “He always reeked of human. But this is new.” they pointed a massive claw at Sylus’s neck. “He is mated now.”

“Yes I have, Bercilak.” Sylus said, “And I see you still have not. Why does that not surprise me?”

“You--” Bercilak snarled before Nilamegh cut him off.

“Really? You took a mate?” their large head glared at Sylus, “What poor pathetic human did you force yourself on?”

“Shut it!” Sylus felt his composure slipping. “She is my mate and she wanted to be my mate. She is now pregnant with my child. I have only returned to get the salve for the anointing of my offspring. I promise I will not return after I have acquired a jar to take home with me.”

“More half breeds?” they snarled and the others that had been eavesdropping showed the same shock. “Was our race not already disgraced by the addition of you?”

“That is enough.” a voice boomed louder than all the others. Every dragon bowed their head and moved out of the way as Tengya stepped forward. Despite being surrounded by dragons twice his size this was the only time Sylus felt truly dwarfed. He took a knee, keeping his head low.

“Sioltach,” Tengya said, his voice calm, “You have returned.”

“I go by Sylus now.”

The old dragon made a noncommittal grunt. “You would.” he dismissed the others. “Raise your head. Walk with me.”

Sylus followed obediently, his entire person on edge as he and Tengya wandered farther from the crowd. He wanted to just ask for the salve and leave but knew better than to talk before the elder did. When they were far enough away Tengya sat down, Sylus knelt in his massive shadow.

The large dragon regarded him for a moment. “You come seeking the salve to anoint your offspring, yes?”

“You heard that much, did you?” Sylus muttered.

“No. But I know there is only one reason you would return to the tribe after so long away.” Tengya said, lowering his head to be more eye level with Sylus. “You have a human mate.”

“Yes.”

Tengya sighed, his molten red eyes assessing Sylus up and down. “You have grown. Last I saw of you, you were but a child. Rebellion in your blood, fire in your eyes. You were such an angry child.”

“My anger is what let me survive.” Sylus could feel all those emotions clawing at him. “Are you not angry, elder? You know why I am here. I have a human mate. She is soon to give birth to our child. There will be another half-breed running amok in the world. Does this not make you angry?”

“Why would it? I am glad that my progeny has found peace.”

Sylus stared at him dumbfounded. “Your jokes are cruel.”

“I do not joke. Do you think that I regard you so little, my son?”

“I am a curse!” Sylus fumed. “A punishment for a woman who tried to take your magic. I know you do not care for me.”

“I created you. If I thought you would be a blight on this world I would have found a different way to punish that woman.” Tengya’s quiet and calm response only stoked Sylus’s own ire. “But I see how your time away has warped your opinion of me.”

“It is not warped. I know I was not accepted here. You all saw me as a monster. An atrocity!”

“I cannot speak for the others, but I know what I thought.” Tengya huffed, blowing a jet of steam at Sylus. “And I never saw you as a monster. You were my creation, my child, whether you accept that or not is your own decision. And then you left. Ran away from the tribe.”

“Because I was not accepted.”

“You were accepted, Sioltach. You are because I say you are. But that was not the problem.” Tengya said, “You are dragon, but you are also human. And you craved to be loved, but that is not something dragons can provide. I cannot apologize for not being able to defy my nature. But I can give you this.” he reached into a chink of his massive scales and produced a jar the size of an urn.

Sylus caught it with a small grunt. “Take the salve. Anoint your child. Accept them as a dragon, love them as a human, as only you can.”

“That is it?” Sylus stared at the jar. “You have nothing else to say?”

“What more is there to say?” Tengya stood. “Return to your mate. Live well, my son.”

Tengya took off into the sky, leaving Sylus alone in the field holding the massive jar. He bowed his head. “Thank you.” he said to the wind.

He packed the salve into his pack and immediately began the flight back to the mountain. There were many thoughts going through his head but all he cared about was going home. Sylus was relieved though. He had the salve and while it wasn’t set in stone there was an implied promise that Tengya would not let any of the others harm you or your child.

Sylus wanted to get back as soon as possible but the flight was long and he needed to bunk down in a tree for a couple hours before continuing the journey. He finally made it back to the mountain late the next morning. The sight of the mountain had filled him with so much joy. He was finally going to be back with you.

He touched down at the entrance and the joy of being home immediately evaporated. Something was wrong.

He sniffed at the air. Your scent was faint, almost gone. And there was something else. Other scents that didn’t belong. Sweaty and masculine scents. Had you decided to go to the village after all? Had your father come to get you? What was happening?

Sylus set the pack down and ran through the cave trying to find you but could find you nowhere. That’s when his nose caught another scent, it was hidden but the further into the caves he got the more prominent it became. Blood.

“No…” Sylus followed the scent into a dark room. His eyes strained in the darkness until he found the source of the smell. That horrible sweaty masculine smell was strongest in here, mixed with the faint sour tang of fear and metallic blood. He found a pair of large scissors were covered in blood. Not yours. But the dark stain on the ground, that was yours. That reeked of you.

Someone had come in here and and hurt you. Someone had raided his home and taken his mate and child!

His skin grew blisteringly hot. What felt like fire surged through his blood and red hot heat burned out of his eyes. Each breath he tasted smoke and death on his tongue.

He ran back out of the cave, his skin shredding around him as he took to the sky once more. A scream ripping from his throat in pain and fury. He was going to kill them! He was going to kill all of them!

[lucygraysboy]

“so, they’ll come to me even if they don’t know me well ‘cause they’ll somehow sense that i’m not tryin’ to harm ‘em? just like you did?” the cowboy asks, his voice soft and sweet when the significance of the moment finally dawns upon him. she could have ran away. the thought crossed his mind when he first walked into this little hut and realized that she was gone… she ran away from his brother, and yet chooses to stay with him? discreetly wiping his tears away, he never thought that he’d be getting emotional over something like this but it truly means the world to him. “thanks for not makin’ a single parent to a disabled bear cup out of me,” he playfully muses, gently patting reva blue’s back. there’s a silly grin on his lips, but his eyes remain glassy, betraying his true feelings. “are you the kind of person who can never choose just one favorite thing?” he teases, shaking his head but finding this attitude adorable. all flowers are beautiful, he agrees and doesn’t try to change her mind. “i was tryin’ to find some to put in your bath and make it more relaxin’ but i couldn’t find any.” it’s too cold for anything to bloom. “yeah, that’s definitely normal. it will probably keep hurtin’ for a little while. the good thing is… you don’t have a fever and it’s not drippin’ pus. i remember, back when i was a kid, there was this one rebel who got some debris stuck in his thigh and they’d done everything to try and save his leg… but god, the smell in that room was rancid. by the time he finally agreed to have it amputated, he was delirious and feverish and it was too late, the infection and gangrene had spread to his bloodstream and… awful. it was absolutely awful.” he isn’t trying to scare her, but he wants her to know that it’s a serious situation and she has to take care of herself now — prioritize her health. “alright.” he grabs a chair just so that he doesn’t have to squat and places it behind the tub, so that all he sees is the back of her head and her back. eyes trailing over each cut and scratch, realizing just how much she’s suffered. it breaks his heart. and she’s so skinny that he can easily count her ribs and the bumps in her spine… poor thing. “of course.” he’ll do both. gathering a piece of soap and a clean cloth, he dips both in water and rubs them together until there’s foam forming on the soft fabric. other hand carefully scooping lucy gray’s hair up, moving it over her shoulder so he can begin to scrub her back. ever so gentle and careful, he presses the cloth to her shoulder blade, rubbing small circles into her skin. “let’s try to save your pretty curls, alright?” the most important thing is that she doesn’t have fleas or something. it’s badly tangled, he’ll admit that, but… hopefully, it can still be salvaged. “and if we’ll have to cut it… you’ll still look very beautiful, and it’ll grow back. besides, my brother’s after a long-haired girl, right? i guess every cloud has a silver lining, after all. but don’t worry ‘bout it, we’ll try our best to untangle it. see how that goes.”

“of course they will. if they know you’re helpin’ them, they’ll come along right to you.” and birds are intelligent, so they’ll know. “there is no such thing, but…” a tiny laugh sounds from her, glancing down at her water, swirling a finger around at trying to find the words to describe it. but she’s not used to it. “those are wonderful flowers to love. don’t ask me to choose a certain favorite, we’ll be here all day. there is somethin’ admirable about wild flowers though, you’re right.” a smile pulls on her face at his recognizing that. “thank you, tryin’ to be. i realize it’s still hurtin’ some but i guess that’s normal.” she figures, rubbing at her knee before glancing over at him, “oh, it’s alright darlin’. come on right over.” her legs are squished to her chest and while she’s a little shy and awkward about it, she’s not so shamefully shy she can’t grow bravery and accept she doesn’t care if he sees her bare back. “you can do both things if you’d like to.” now that she’s soaked in water, she guesses it’s not too embarrassing now that her hair is wet even if it’s in knots. “i’m just scared i won’t be able to get these knots out and i’ll have to cut it.” reaching back with an unpleasant look on her face, hand feeling the knots and worry spilling over her visage. almost puts tears in her eyes at how bad of shape she’s let her once beautiful hair get in. it reaches all the way down her back, like everyone in the covey, long hair is sacred. and at this point, she’s worrying she’ll lose the last thing that means a lot to her.

[mybelovedfleur]

,,𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶" 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝐼

(Yandere!Silco x Amnesiac!Fem!Reader)

!TW! FantasyAU! Heavy Yandere Themes, Silco is ooc for sure, vomiting, sick!reader, violence, mention of death, violence, dark yandere, I will tag every chapter seperately! :)

Description: ,, A series of unfortunate events causes you to completely lose your memory. Now, you find yourself thrust into the role of the Duchess of Zaun, married to a man you don’t recognize. But was this ever truly your life? And why does the scent of blood cling to you, no matter where you go? "

Note: english is NOT my first language, I am very much open for critique and suggestions but pls be nice and respectful :c I DO NOT support any of these behaviors!

─ ⊹ ⊱ -'♡'- ⊰ ⊹ ─

Silco leaned over you, concern in his eyes, as if the slightest sign of your pain hurt him just as much. He carefully adjusted the pillow so that you could comfortably rest your injured head on it.

"Do you feel worse? Should I get a doctor?" he whispered with tension in his voice, the trembling note betraying how much he cared about your health.

You haven't shown the slightest interest in leaving your bed all morning - a completely different behavior from your determination yesterday.

No wonder Silco noticed it right away. Seeing that you didn't even try to get up to eat breakfast, he became clearly worried. From that moment on, he constantly circled you like a tireless bee, trying to help you in every way possible. Instead of comforting you, his excessive concern began to irritate you - it was the first time he seemed so burdensome. You were overwhelmed by the dark memories of the nightmare that still weighed on your mind, and Silco didn't give you a moment's respite to simply delve into your own thoughts.

,,I feel like I always do, I just don't have the strength. It's nothing serious" you said, finally trying to calm him down. But Silco didn't look convinced. His gaze wandered over your body, as if stubbornly searching for something that could betray you

,,I have an important meeting today... " he whispered under his breath, clearly to himself, but you heard it clearly. You didn't have time to say anything, because his gaze fell roght back on your face.

,, It doesn't matter" he said in a confident tone, his voice firm" I'll stay with you"

If you had more strength, and the wound on the back of your head wasn't throbbing with irritating pain, you would have surely jumped up.

"No, please..." you said pleadingly, staring at him. "I don't want to be a burden again. You hardly leave my side anyway"

Silco froze for a moment, as if your words had hurt him more than he would like to admit. When he finally spoke, his tone was unexpectedly serious.

"Don't ever say that again" he said firmly.

You sighed, feeling the weight of guilt gripping your heart."I just don't want to stop you," you began quietly, struggling to gather your thoughts. 

"I want to prove to both of us that I can handle myself, even in times like these. If you go to this meeting... I'll be truly happy"

Silco stood up and began to pace nervously around the room, you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth. His hand involuntarily went to the scarred side of his face, which he rubbed as if trying to quell the growing frustration. You waited tensely, holding your breath, wondering if your words had angered him.

"The servants are well trained" he finally said, his voice full of reluctance, as if each word was difficult for him. "They know what to do. Don't hesitate to send for me if something happens, or if you simply need me."

His gaze finally met yours.

"I'll drop everything and come to you" he added with such intensity that you had no doubts about the sincerity of his words.

─ ⊹ ⊱ -'♡'- ⊰ ⊹ ─ 

It wasn't like you hadn't noticed the estate workers before – they were there, but rather like shadows moving in the background, silently carrying out your husband's orders. They were the ones who helped you with more intimate activities, such as changing or washing. Although it made things easier for you, you quickly noticed that Silco approached this matter with clear reluctance.

When you first asked for a new nightgown and the opportunity to wash up, he fulfilled your wish almost immediately. However, his reaction to this request exceeded your expectations - before you knew it, he was already filling the bathtub with water, sitting you on the stool next to it. When with unwavering determination he wanted to help you take off your clothes, you felt your face immediately turn red like a beetroot.

Embarrassed, you calmly asked him to let you do it yourself. His expression was hard to read - as if he was fighting with his thoughts. From that moment on, he waited for you outside the bathroom door, visibly anxious and even outraged whenever one of the servants helped you with something that he felt should have been his role.

 Now, you had a real chance to make contact with them, maybe even have a short conversation. Up until now, everything you knew about your life had come from Silco's mouth. His stories, while very romantic, were undoubtedly tinged with his feelings, perhaps even idealized – which was no surprise, considering the way he was devoted to his role as your loving husband.

The prospect of hearing something about yourself from an outsider, someone who wasn't emotionally attached to you, seemed almost exciting. It could be a chance to look at your life from a different perspective – and perhaps discover something new about yourself.

You were being looked after by three women: two middle-aged and one clearly younger. They were all dressed in impeccably ironed black uniforms that emphasized their professionalism. They moved around you with mechanical precision – their movements were so perfect and synchronized that they almost resembled some sort of machines. Silco wasn't exaggerating when he said that they were highly trained.

 Your ambitious plans to start a conversation didn't go so well at first. You were too nervous, and their distant attitude only increased your embarrassment.

It was only when the younger girl was left alone in the room to change the sheets on the bed that you felt it was the right moment to speak up. So you broke through, saying the first words

"What's your name?" you asked, trying to make your voice sound natural, although you yourself felt slightly embarrassed. The girl, noticeably surprised, stopped for a moment, as if wondering what she should do, whether to answer you at all.

 A moment of silence passed, which seemed to last forever, before finally, with a nervousness in her voice, she answered

"Erin, my lady"  she somehow radiated a warmth that immediately worked in your favor, and you felt your self-confidence begin to grow.

"Erin" you repeated. 

You noticed how the girl visibly relaxed, and a delicate, almost shy smile appeared on her face.

"Tell me, how long have you been working here?" she put down the pillow she was working on and finally turned her full attention to you.

"Only a month, Ma'am" she replied. As soon as you heard her words, you sighed with resignation.

"The entire staff has been here for a month" she added quickly. At these words, you looked up, and your eyes narrowed in a sign of dissatisfaction and suspicion.

"How so?"

The girl, now clearly regretting speaking, began nervously adjusting her uniform.

"The Duke replaced the entire staff after your accident," she explained quickly, as if these words were supposed to calm the situation, although they had the opposite effect.

You wanted to ask for details, for reasons, for what exactly had happened, but before you could say anything, the door flew open. One of the older women entered the room with a silver tray full of medicines.

The older woman gave the girl a reprimanding look that was telling enough for the young maid to immediately return to her work, lowering her gaze like a guilty child.

When the servants finished their duties, both women bowed low and asked if you needed anything else. You forced yourself to briefly deny it, even though your thoughts were screaming to stop them and force out more information. A moment later, the door closed behind them, leaving you alone in the room, again.

─ ⊹ ⊱ -'♡'- ⊰ ⊹ ─ 

By the end of the day, your strength had returned, at least enough to get out of bed and sit on the edge. You still felt a slight weakness in your legs, but the knowledge that at least you had managed to overcome your constant fatigue was comforting. On the nightstand stood a silver tray of medicines – the same tablets whose bitter taste made you nauseous, and whose effects locked you in a numbing fog. You looked at them with reluctance, the dark purple – almost black liquid standing in the cup almost made you nauseous by its very sight. A decision was made in your head – not now. You would use this moment, when your body finally did not betray you, and Silco did not hover nearby like a guard watching over a prisoner.

Without the constant feeling of sleepiness, you finally felt like your thoughts were your own—clear, clear, unencumbered by the fog of medication. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could look at your situation clearly. For days, weeks, maybe even longer, you felt like Silco had not only taken control of your life, but also of what you thought and felt. His words, his presence, even his care—all seemed to shape your reality.

But now, as that grip eased, the truth began to weigh on you, something here was wrong. The situation you found yourself in was far from normal, no matter how beautifully Silco tried to present it. There were too many of his versions of events in this story, his sweet promises, his comfortable half-truths. And the answers you were desperately searching for? There were none. There were only gaps, silence, and then his narrative again. You could see it clearly now—and it was that clarity of mind that made the weight of it all seem unbearable.

You knew that if you wanted to regain even a shred of sanity, you had to get out of this room—this claustrophobic prison where everything seemed to reek of control. You wanted to feel the fresh air, to touch the earth in the garden that had only existed for you as a view through closed, unyielding windows.

But you couldn't. Your body was betraying you, just as it had been betraying you all these days. You knew that if you tried, your legs would give out and you would eventually collapse to the floor—helpless, weak, unable to even get up. The arms that should have held you up would fail. Your imagination showed you the image of Silco entering the room, of you lying there—motionless, completely defenseless, yet more proof that you should have listened to his commands.

The thought squeezed you from the inside, and the frustration you had tried to suppress surged like a wave. You felt the stinging tears welling up in your eyes, the helplessness choking you in your throat. You yearned for freedom so much, but you were a prisoner of your own body.

As if all that wasn't enough, you still felt the weight of your nightmare from today, never leaving you. It lingered in the back of your mind like a persistent shadow, blurry but still clear enough to send shivers down your spine. There was something disturbingly familiar about the nightmare, something that wouldn't leave you alone.

Raised voices could be heard from behind the door leading to Silco's office. They were muffled, but their tone indicated that this was no ordinary conversation - it was an argument. You easily recognized one of the voices as Silco's. The other voice, however, was unfamiliar to you, although unlike your husband, he didn't care about the volume of his tone, probably not knowing that someone on the other side could hear them, the words were still too distorted for you to understand anything.

Your eyes automatically went to the tray of medicines, and then to the door leading to the office. Common sense told you to stay in bed, but something else - curiosity, anxiety, maybe even instinct - told you to act. Pushing aside all logical thoughts, you slowly shifted on the bed, trying to get closer to the source of the sound. However, despite your efforts, the voices were still indistinct, and frustration grew inside you.In a burst of courage—or perhaps mad stupidity—you decided to do something more. 

You grabbed the bed frame, bracing your shaking hands on it, and struggled to your feet. The wall was your only support as you took your first step toward the door.

When you reached your destination, your heart started beating faster, but this time not from the effort, but from relief. You made it – for the first time, you had crossed the entire room without anyone's help. But that feeling of pride only lasted a moment, because suddenly you heard the slam of the office door and quick footsteps, clearly heading your way. Your heart froze in your chest. You didn't have time to back up or think about what to do. 

The door opened abruptly, almost hitting you in the face. You were leaning against the door frame and the handle to keep your balance, but the sudden movement took away all of your support. The world around you blurred, and you felt yourself starting to fall. Before you could touch the floor, you felt strong hands grab you at the last moment. 

The grip was firm, almost too strong, you looked up and looked straight into Silco's eyes, which shone with something between surprise and irritation. His face was drawn, as if he was fighting to keep from exploding with anger, but you could clearly see the shadow of concern that was breaking through his mask of composure.

"What are you doing?" he hissed quietly, his voice laced with a mixture of anger and concern.

Silco wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, so that your faces were almost at the same level. You felt his hands grip your waist tightly, holding you in place as if to make sure you didn't disappear from his field of vision. His gaze was intense, piercing, but you avoided it, lowering your gaze and whispering barely audibly:

"I heard noises outside the door... I got scared" your voice was shaking. Silco narrowed his eyes, then looked away, glancing over your shoulder as if searching for something behind you. But that only lasted a moment. His gaze quickly returned to you - now full of irritation, and his expression changed as if someone had turned off the mask of composure he always wore.

"Why didn't you take your medicine?" he asked, anger growing in his voice.

 "Why are you trying so hard to disobey me?!" before you could say anything, his hands moved to your shoulders, gripping them tightly, his voice growing increasingly tense. Before you could protest, you felt him shake your body. Not hard, but enough to force you to look him in the eyes. His hands seemed to desperately hold you to him, as if they were trying to force you into obedience. 

"Look at me" he growled, his voice shaking, but it wasn't just anger anymore. There was something else in his eyes, behind the facade of anger - fear.

Your gaze remained fixed on your hands clasped on his torso, however, Silco clearly had no intention of waiting for your reaction. In a burst of frustration and desperation, his hand moved to the back of your head, grabbing a spot that had not yet healed. Before you could react, he forced you to lift your head and look him straight in the eye.

Pain exploded like fire, spreading throughout your body, and a sudden, suffering cry escaped your lips. Silco froze, as if he had only just realized what he had done. His hand immediately let go of your head, and the rest of your body recoiled in terror, it was enough for your tired legs to give out. You fell to the floor, with nothing to hold on to.

For several long seconds, Silco stood motionless, as if what had happened was unreal to him. His gaze, filled with anger a moment ago, now seemed as if something inside him had snapped.

As you lifted your gaze, trying to catch your breath and control the pain, something about the image before you seemed strangely familiar. Silco stood still, his silhouette silhouetted against the warm glow of the dying fire in the fireplace, but your eyes could no longer focus on the details. The tears that had welled up in your eyes began to blur reality, and you felt as if the room had suddenly become dark.

You blinked once, then twice, and the image before you changed. Instead of a room, you saw something that resembled a scene from a nightmare. Silco stood before you in the rain, his clothes soaked through, drops running down the material in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic pace.

The entire figure seemed to be taken from another world, yet terrifyingly real at the same time. The only thing that remained clear in this illusion was his injured eye. It glowed in the darkness like a cursed light.

You didn't know if it was a memory, a hallucination caused by the pain, or something more. But one thing was certain - at that moment the line between reality and nightmare began to blur, and you felt like you were drowning in this darkness, the epicenter of which was him.

You curled up on the floor, burying your face in your shaking hands. Tears flowed steadily, hot and stinging, as if burning paths into your skin. The pain, both physical and mental, seemed to take over every aspect of your existence.

"Drink," you heard suddenly, his voice hard, almost impervious to argument.

Before you could protest, you felt Silco lift you off the floor. His movements were surprisingly gentle, though you could feel his hands shaking.

Before you knew what was happening, a silver goblet touched your lips. The dark liquid, the sharp smell of which filled your nostrils, was thick, viscous, its bitter taste immediately hit your taste buds, almost causing a gag reflex, but Silco didn't stop

"Drink" he repeated, this time more insistently, and his free hand held your face, not letting you turn away

You felt the liquid pour into your mouth, and he forced you to swallow. His hand, although shaking, was unwavering, and his gaze was focused on only one thing, regardless of your protests.

When he finally moved the cup away from your lips, you felt the remnants of the liquid run down your chin, leaving a sticky trail on your skin. A few dark drops landed on your nightgown, staining the delicate material.

Your body began to betray you – weakened and tired, unable to fight any longer. Your head fell limply, and Silco gently supported it and placed it on his lap. His touch, although full of anger a moment ago, now seemed almost tender.

You felt a piece of his shirt wipe your face. It was a rough, yet surprisingly caring attempt to wipe away the tears, the traces of liquid, and the pain that seemed to be etched into your skin. His gestures were mechanical, as if he was trying to recreate something a loving husband should do.

Your eyelids began to close, heavy with fatigue and tears. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence surrounding you, although you didn't feel safe at all. It was more than resignation – it was capitulation to fate, to him.

─ ⊹ ⊱ -'♡'- ⊰ ⊹ ─

Taglist: @missbeeentertainment

Notes: I'm sorry if there is a lot of mistakes, I was writing it on my phone which has a polish auto correction, and I do not know how to turn it off :( Thank you so so so much for all your love and support, every time I see a notification I feel so grateful for every one of you! Thank you so much and hopefully see you again! <3

[tea-and-secrets]

I learned how to check my bra size from the internet. My mom taught me everything about growing up but I guess she just... forgot to teach me how to do that? Or figured it wasn't worth it to teach me???? Anyway.

To check your bra size at a store

Is the band comfortable? Are the straps comfortable? Are the cups comfortable?

Bend over. Do your boobs spill out? If so, it's too small.

Is there space between your boobs and the bra? There shouldn't be. A good cup that fits should be snug around your entire boob, and they should fill your bra whether you're standing or bending over. If there's space, it's too big.

Your torso size and cup size are related. If you're a 38c, like me, then slimming down will get you to a d cup, and fattening will get you to a b cup. Make sure you know your torso size first, because getting a bra that's too tight will hurt and damage you.

Bra sizes and binder sizes are NOT the same so be careful when getting a new bra or binder after a few years of wearing the contrary. Binder sizing is complicated but basically just make sure it's snug and not tight.

Also!! If you have saggy boobs for whatever reason, the cup shape will be different. Cup shapes are mostly the same across the board, but if you want your tits to look good and be comfortable, you ought to buy a cone-shaped bra. Flat bras are more likely to squeeze.

Bra types are different, too. If you're a binder wearer you already know this, but there are three types of bras. Compression, lift and mix. Compression bras are more meant for pressing your boobs — they're most helpful when doing exercise as it keeps them out of the way. Lift bras are more for casual wear, but they might be uncomfortable for some as they.. you know, lift your boobs. Mix bras are my favourite, as they both lift and push your boobs back — great as a binding alternative, in my opinion, and comfortable, but they're not for everyone.

Don't forget there are differences between regular bras and sports bras. I don't wear regular bras that often, but the most important difference you need to note is that you can't adjust a sports bra, so you should find a type or brand that's right for you, since there's no way to fix it once you've bought it.

And of course making sure you get the right bra brand is important even if you don't use a sports bra. It's all about YOUR comfort and safety.

Dont know why my mom never taught me this, but here's your ladies guide for the day. Might make one for menstrual products since they can be scary

.

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

25 - I Find Some Peace Of Mind, Knowing I Let Go In Time

Pairings: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky, Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x OFC Samantha Kazansky, OMC Captain Bodhi 'Sunshine' Denson x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!) (DON'T YOU DARE I STG)

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNINGS description of sexual coercion leading to dubious consent leading to sexual assault, traumatic fear response in a separate encounter, and at the end SMUT (not related to the SA) unprotected!piv (wrap before you tap)

A/N: This is long and it's very important. There are trigger warnings. They are as follows: description of sexual coercion leading to dubious consent, leading to sexual assault. Yes, this is a flashback of what Sam told Jake about. No, it is not the entire encounter but if you feel uncomfortable in any way, I suggest you not read it and you skip down to the planes and anchor page break. After the page break you will find and encounter that Sam has with another man that is not Rooster and not Jake. This encounter is from Sam's memory and it shows her trauma and hesitation and it is also the one that helps her heal (slightly) from what Rooster did. At the very end you will find a small section of her with Jake. This chapter is a fucking journey and I honestly enjoyed writing it so much because though we speak about about sexual assault and a certain 'R' word, I don't think we speak about encounters like this one mentioned enough. That's all I'll say on that. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, and thank you for continuing to read. I know I've thrown some real curve balls at y'all but hopefully they bring something real and emotionally to the story that resonates.

As always your feedback drives me and I appreciate every comment, reblog, and like on these stories. And yes, I thought of Alex O'Loughlin when I was writing Bodhi Denson. Song listed below was the inspiration for the title and storyline for this particular chapter.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03

Samantha entered the bar on her father's arm. He had just had surgery not long ago to remove several tumors along his esophagus and he was not in much of a place to talk. She noticed a familiar face coming through the crowd. 

“Hey Sammy.” Rooster said as he pulled her into for a hug. It was a warm and tight hug, and she could tell how much he missed her by the duration of it.

“Hey Roos. Long time no see huh?” She said. Her father stepped away, being ushered by Maverick to hang out with some of their old friends. She recognized Slider and Wolfman, old friends of their, and fellow pilots, who had come visit the house many a time while Sam was growing up. Rooster left his hand’s lingering on her waist and he smiled down at her.

“I missed you.” He said, pulling her in again for a hug, this time shorter and then he awkwardly let go of her.

“Yeah you too.”Sam said, feeling there was an odd tension between the two of them, but she decided to ignore it. Rooster found a table in the back of the room and set Sam up there. He went to get drinks for both of them several times and  it didn’t take long for Sam to feel herself getting tipsy. Rooster noticed and put a hand at her back to steady.

“You okay?” He asked. 

“I'm a little drunk Roos.” She giggled, her brain feeling all happy and bubbly with the alcohol.

“Well maybe you should head home?” He said, as he gently caressed her cheek. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. She was dizzied by the action, his hand wrapping around her back and his other at the back of her neck. She pushed him away and wiped her mouth, glaring at him.

“Dad's with Mav. He's enjoying himself.” She said in a somewhat annoyed tone. It wasn’t directed at her father. It was towards Rooster.

“I can take you wherever you wanna go then.” He said and she pursed her lips.

“Why don't we go back to your place if you're so keen on kissing me. I don't want anyone to think we're together.” She joked, making Rooster bristle. Sometimes he hated her when she was drunk. She became a completely different person.

“Wow, Sammy. That's harsh.” He said and she shrugged and took another sip of her drink.

“Sorry but I'm not allowed to date Navy guys. Daddy says so.” She said in a teasing tone. Rooster grabbed for her again, this time pinning her to a wall in a more secluded area.

“I'm not just any Navy guy.” Rooster said as he descended on her lips again. Sam fought him, clawing at his shirt to try to get him off. He only pulled away when she dug her long nails into his chest.

‘Bradley. Stop it. I'm drunk.” She murmured, with a goofy smirk. Rooster couldn’t tell if she was being serious, or if she was trying to get him horny. Either way, he wasn’t having her be this drunk and stay at the bar.

‘C'mon princess.” He said, taking her hand and pulling her out of the bar.

“Where are we going? You can't drive.” She asked as he pulled her along.

“My apartment is a couple minutes walk.” He murmured and she tried to dig in her heels but she was wobbly and he was the only thing keeping her from falling. Not wanting to hurt herself she gave in and followed. When they arrived, he fumbled with his keys but unlocked the door and let them in. He led her to the couch and got her settled and then went to lock the door and get two glasses and a bottle of vodka. “Another drink?”

“I don't need to be more drunk you idiot.” She groaned and laid her head back against the back of the couch. 

“Well now you're safe so...if you want it...” He said, pouring a shot in each glass. He handed it to her and they both smirked at each other and took the shot. Rooster loved a good drink with a pretty girl.

As they sat on the couch, Rooster placed his phone on the table and pressed play on a playlist with old soft rock music that his dad used to listen to. He scooted closer to Sam as she placed her glass down. He reached for her, his hands going for her waist. She tensed and Rooster’s grip tightened slightly. 

“Roos...” Sam sighed, as he began to kiss her neck. “Roos, stop.” 

He drew back and he sighed. He stood and walked to another room. Sam sat there for a few moments, wondering if she’d upset him. She stood, wobbly as all hell and used the wall to head toward the room that she thought he went into. He was standing in the middle and when he saw Sam he stepped toward her.

“Roos, why are you so sad?”

“I just need a friend right now, Sammy. Work’s been hell. I’m so tired.”

“I’m sorry, Roos.” She said, placing a hand on his cheek. He leaned down and pulled her close. He drew back and kissed her again.

“I need a friend right now, Sammy.” He said softly, as his arms caged her in. She was dizzy from the alcohol. The room was spinning and she was so disoriented so she let Rooster pull her toward the bed hoping it would stop there, both the effects of the alcohol and Rooster coming onto her. He turned and placed her down on the bed, climbing over the top of her. He began to pull the skirt of her dress up and she squirmed in his arms.

“Bradley...I don’t want...” She began but his fingers made their way to her core. She gasped at the intrusion. He was rough and sloppy with his digits as he worked her arousal up. 

“C’mon princess, please, just be a good girl for me? I’ll be really good to you.” She couldn't help what her body was doing. She felt betrayed by it. She felt betrayed by her childhood friend. 

“Bradley, please stop.” She moaned. He drew back for a moment and his gaze darkened. 

“I thought you liked me, Sammy. I like you. I love you.” His grip tightened more and Sam’s eyes widened. He pulled away to unbutton his pants.

“I do like you, Roos.” Sam said, becoming complacent. She knew she couldn't overpower him, and she also knew that this wasn't him, it was the alcohol. In the back of her mind though, this was him. He had always been pushy with her. The alcohol just seemed to make him worse.

“Well, then kiss me Sammy.” He said and she kissed him back hesitantly. If she appeased him, he wouldn’t escalate, or at least that was her hope. 

“I don’t want to do it like this...” She said, and it seemed as though for a moment, his demeanor changed and his gaze softened. His grip lessened. 

“You’re killing me with all this back and forth, princess. Let's just do this. We've been friends forever, don't you want more?” He asked and he gave her a moment, running his hand gently over her cheek, a stark contrast to how he had begun. Her eyes met his.

“I...Roos..” She began but as he freed himself from his pants, there was no time to object. He pushed inside of her and quieted her pained moan with his mouth. He only pulled away to praise her.

“God, I knew you’d feel good, Samantha. I fucking knew it. Been dreaming about this for years, princess.” He sighed against her ear and she closed her eyes tight, as she grabbed his biceps, trying to ground herself. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he continued.

She didn't want this.

🛩⚓️🛩

A couple of months later...

“This seat taken?” Sam heard a voice behind her, making her flinch slightly. She wasn’t coming out to get hit on. She came to people watch. And because she knew Rooster wasn’t in Miramar.

“No, feel free.” She said, her tone annoyed. The man sat down at the bar stool next to her and smiled. Sam glanced at him and did a double take. He was...good looking. Tall, blond, blueish eyes, and a beard with a bit of grey mixed in. He was slender and muscular, and surprisingly pale. He wore his Navy khakis, and Sam glanced at his name patch and rank. A silver eagle. Captain Denson.

“Thanks. I'm Bodhi.” He said, holding out his hand for her to shake.

“I'm Samantha.” She said, taking his hand, it was big and warm. She blushed a little and pulled her hand away. His smile was warm and he regarded her softly.

“Your Kazansky's daughter right? He's an old friend.” He said. Sam raised a brow.

“Yeah.  How do you know my dad?” She asked.

“ I'm a pilot.  Flew with him a while back.” He said, leaning his elbow on the bar. Penny smiled at him and placed a beer in front of him.

“Oh yeah? What’s your callsign then? Maybe he’s mentioned you.” Sam said, her tone slightly teasing.

“Sunshine.” He said, taking a sip of the beer.

“Nope, don’t recognize that. You have a story for that?” Sam asked, finishing off her own drink. Her third Moscow Mule.

“Everyone in my squadron used to make fun of me for being a grumpy fuck in the morning, so they called me Sunshine. I grew to love the teasing. Meant they cared about me. I uh...heard your dad was sick? How's he doing?” Bodhi asked, his smile widening as he told her about his callsign and then a frown returning at the mention of Iceman.

“He's okay. Just had another surgery but recovered well. I'm hoping he'll make it to my graduation.” Sam explained and he nodded.

“I'm sure he does too. What about you? Graduation from where?” He asked.

“Harvard. Finance.” Sam said matter-of-factly.

“Smart and beautiful. “ Bodhi said with a smirk, then he glanced away as if he’d embarrassed himself by saying that. Sam thanked him for the compliment and it almost made her laugh. His eyes searched the bar and then he asked her another question. “Are you just home for the weekend?”

‘Yeah.” She said, as Penny came by and Sam put her hand over her drink, signaling that she didn’t want another.

“Can I buy you a drink then? No strings attached.” Bodhi said as he took another sip of his drink.

“Um...I don't think that's a great idea.” She shook her head and pursed her lips, her eyes fixating on him.

“Okay, yeah, no I get it. Sorry, that was creepy.” His eyes traveled back to hers and his smile was apologetic.

“No, no, I’m just not trying to get super drunk. I've already had a little more than I should've.” Sam said, leaning back on the seat and glancing around. She didn’t know if she should look for a way out yet.

“How about a non-alcoholic drink then?” He asked. Sam’s head whipped around then and she tensed.

“Thank you, but I'm all set.” She said, swallowing hard. Time to start looking for the exit. She shifted in her seat and went to pull her card from her wallet.

“So...you didn't wanna join the Navy like your dad?” Bodhi asked, slowly sipping his beer.

“Haha, no. I have an issue with authority.” Sam chuckled as she handed her card to Penny.

“Yeah? You're a rebel then?” He asked.

“I just don't like men dictating my every move.” Sam said, her eyes meeting his.

“Well, sometimes your superior officer is a woman.” He said, shifting in his seat. Did he just move closer to her?

“Yeah but more often than not it’s a man.” Sam said, bouncing her leg slightly. She was getting inpatient and uncomfortable now.

“Okay...yeah I gotcha. I get it.” He said, another gulp of liquid going down his throat. 

“You don’t. You’re a man.” Sam affirmed, her stare hardening.

“You’re right, I don't get it. Help me understand.” Bodhi said, his tone softening. 

“You could never understand...” She said, as Penny handed her card back. She placed it in her phone case.

“Try me.” He said, leaning closer, his voice going slightly higher.

“I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.” Sam said, standing and placing her phone on the bar in front of her as she brushed off the front of her dress, making sure there was nothing on it. 

“I get the feeling we’re not talking about you not being in the Navy anymore...” Bodhi said, straightening. He tilted his head.

“I’m sorry...I have to go.” Sam panicked and she nearly ran out of the Hard Deck then, wobbly on her feet as she went. By the grace of god she made it out the door and down the front steps but then she heard Bodhi’s voice behind her.

“Hey! Wait up a sec!” He called, and as he got closer, Sam drew back, her eyes wide in fear.

“Look...I’m not interested in you okay?” She raised her voice and he put his hands up.

“Wasn’t asking if you were...you left your phone on the bar...” He said, holding out her phone. Now she felt like an asshole. All thanks to Rooster and every other guy that had tried to pick her up at a bar. Fucking men.

“Oh...I’m so sorry...Thank you.” She said, taking her phone. His hand lingered on hers for a few moments before he pulled back and rubbed the back of his neck. Sam hadn’t realized her breath was coming out quicker than before.

“Look, honey, are you okay to drive home? You just seem real upset...” Bodhi said softly, stepping toward her. 

“I’m fine...” She warned, her eyes flicking up to his. 

“No, you’re not. Let me drive you home. I swear, I mean no harm, I’m just lookin’ out for you.” His hands were careful on her upper arms and he noticed the mistiness in her brown eyes. She pulled away from him and stepped back.

“No...I...please leave me alone...” She turned to walk away and stumbled.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I wish you the best.” He said, shaking his head. She could hear the complacency in his tone. She took a few more steps and then took a deep breath. She shouldn’t drive. Her vision wasn’t blurry, but the world spun just a little bit and she didn’t want to get into an accident.

“Hey...wait...I’m sorry...actually...you offered...I don’t feel comfortable driving.” She turned and held a hand up apologetically. Bodhi hadn’t budged from his spot.

“Okay. Here, c’mon. My trucks over here.” His voice was gentle and he stepped toward her, putting his arms around her. He helped her into the passenger side and shut the door. He walked around and got in, starting the engine and then glancing at her.

“Where do you live?” He asked. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to tell him but then reasoning with her stupid brain that she had to for him to drive her home. Idiot.

“Just off Antares Drive.” She said, leaning against the window.

“Okay, short drive.” His hands wrapped around the wheel and Sam could only think about how veiny and big they were...

“Do you not have a wife or kids to go home to?” She asked, eyes searching his form for a lie. He sighed heavily.

“Nah. Divorced. She took the kid and moved him across the country. Cheated while I was deployed. I’m hoping one day Toby, my son, will want to come find me, but I’m not holding out hope.” His glance only made it over her face, which he noticed a blush over her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry.” She said, moving in the seat to face him.

“Nah, it’s okay...what about you? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” He asked as he observed how dark it had gotten in so little time. 

“No boyfriend. Boys suck. They’re all assholes.” Her tone was bored and flat, and it made Bodhi laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” He said with a smile.

“Especially when they’re your best friend. And they think that you owe them something.” She said, more annoyed now. Bodhi raised a brow.

“Uh...are we getting to the root of your problem here?” He asked, eyes flicking between her and the road.

“I don’t know you...I’ll probably never see you again...I feel like I can tell you anything and it won’t fucking matter.” She confessed, hands playing with the skirt of her dress as she looked back out the window. She could see jets taking off as they drove along a quiet road next to the airstrip.

“That is all pretty accurate.” He said. Sam breathed out and reached for his arm.

“Can you pull over?” She asked. 

“Yeah sure.” He pulled over almost immediately, a spot on the shoulder that would give them some privacy. He shut the truck off and turned in his seat to face her. “Okay, I’m listening intently.”

“My friend...not best friend, but childhood friend...did something...and I don’t know what to make of it now because he’s acting like nothing happened.” Sam explained, glancing out the window and biting her lip. 

“I’m sorry, honey. Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me this.” Bodhi’s brows knit and his tone was soft.

“I’m not fucking telling anyone else so you’re it.” Sam’s in contrast was harsh and he could see tears form in her eyes, even in the dark.

“Okay, okay. Keep going.” He coaxed, leaning toward her slightly. 

“I don’t even know what to call it. It’s so confusing. We were so drunk and his feelings just kind of came to a head. He made me feel bad for not wanting to...so I just let him...but I didn’t want to!” She began to cry and Bodhi reached for her, pulling her into a hug over the center console. 

“Honey, that's not a good friend. I know that much. A man should never force you to do anything like that, even if he says he has feelings for you or whatever. If you said no, he should’ve stopped.” He let go of her for a moment and raised the center console and she scooted closer to him. He caged her in, his strong, musky scent somewhat comforting to her.

“He didn’t...” She whined. Sobs wracked her body and Bodhi thought for a moment, what the hell did he get himself into?

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her. He smoothed a hand over her hair gently.

“Physically, no...but my brain is all fucking confused now. I don’t...I don’t understand why he did that. If he loved me, why would he force me to?” She questioned, hoping maybe Bodhi had an answer to her inner turmoil. He did in fact, showing his age and worldly experience.

“Because he thought by making you do it that you’d love him back, which is a pretty fucked up way to think, but you’d be surprised how many men think that way.” He kissed the top of her head and she curled her legs up on the seat, trying to get closer to him.

“Do you think that way?” She asked, looking up at him. He wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled.

“No, honey. I don’t. That’s why I got cheated on. I was too nice. Too vanilla.” He said, his grip loosening for a moment. Sam leaned up, their faces only inches away from each other. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” She murmured, her eyes glazing over. His tongue poked out to wet his lips and his thumb rubbed over her cheek. She closed the distance, pressing her lips to his fleetingly.

“I’m probably twice your age.” He purred. His thumb stilled as his gaze settled upon hers.

“So what?” She teased and he shook his head.

“This is a bad idea.” He said, drawing back a few inches. He saw how rosy her cheeks were and how pleading her eyes were then.

“Not If we both want it. You came on to me first. You had to expect something like this was going to happen if you played your cards right.” She noted, begging him for another kiss. 

“You’re not wrong about that. You’re a pretty girl. Figured I’d at least shoot my shot. Didn’t expect it to go this way.” He obliged, his breath quickening. It had been entirely too long that he;d been with a woman, let alone one so beautiful and young.

“I didn’t either, but now you know my secret.” Sam said seductively.

“So what's that supposed to mean?” Bodhi asked, the hand around her waist tightening. He felt her tense.

“Maybe just for tonight, we both get a little of what we want?” Sam suggested, willing herself to relax into his arms.

“And what is it that you want, honey? What do you need?” He asked, and Sam felt a rush of heat pool at her core. Never had a man asked what she needed so intimately.

“I just want a man to respect me for once.” She affirmed. She shifted, Bodhi slipping closer to the center, placing his legs on either side in the middle of the truck. She straddled his lap and placed her hands on his shoulders. 

“I’m being respectful now.” His lips met her collarbone and she let her head fall back. 

“You know what I mean...” She whined and his hands went for her hips, massaging the skin there through her dress. 

“You really wanna take this old guy for a spin?” He asked, letting his head dip between her breasts.

“I’m open to experimenting.” She’d stopped crying and the alcohol had given her back the courage she needed.

“Damn, girl. I’ll be gentle...I promise...and you ask me to stop...I’m out.” He sighed, raising the skirt of her dress. She unbuckled his belt. As she sank down on his length, Sam’s eyes fluttered closed and then when she opened them, she wasn’t in the truck with Bodhi...

She was in Jake’s room, and he was between her legs, his pretty green eyes staring up quizzically at her.

“You okay, honeybun? You didn’t even notice that I stopped goin’ down on you.” He mused, his smirk wide but his brows furrowed. Sam felt dizzy, like she was drunk, but she knew she hadn’t had any alcohol. She gazed down at Jake. At her fiance..

“Jake...yeah...I’m...okay...can you...please keep going. Sorry. Work just has me frazzled.” She said, propping herself up on her elbows. He crawled up on the bed, over the top of her, all muscle and sinew bound into one handsome package. His lips met hers and she felt his smirk. She did that. She made him smile like that.

“Well let me help with that. Where do you want me?” Jake purred, reaching one hand up and brushing his thumb over her cheek, then his hand steadied her at her chin, pressing a kiss full of desire and devotion to her lips.

“Inside...I want you inside me, Jake, please.” She moaned, smirking when his dog tags jingled and settled between her breasts. Jake pulled her hips taut to his, pressing inside of her with one smooth motion. His name fell from her lips, as he braced himself, grabbing the headboard. 

“Demanding. I like it. Relax for me, okay? Let me get’cha there.” Jake growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck, licking and sucking marks into the skin there. One of her hands trailed up his back to the back of his neck, threading into his short blond hair, nails scratching at his scalp. He groaned in ecstasy, his thrusts deep and slow. Her other hand gripped his bicep tight, steadying herself. Grounding herself. 

This is what she’d always wanted.

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

I feel like War Games is such an important plot point because before that, the Doctor isn’t a traumatized character.* He runs around messing with the universe with few to no consequences and picks up companions along the way. Susan, the first to leave, he pushes out so she can grow up. He’s disappointed when others choose to leave him, but like it’s either they always wanted to go home or they’ve found somewhere/someone to be their home. This includes all of them up to that point: Ian & Barbara, Stephen, Dodo, Ben & Polly, Vicki, Victoria.

So the War Games is his first big trauma, and (from a personal perspective, not knowing what else is coming), it’s huge. He’s executed, hundreds of years stripped off his life and all element of choice taken away. He’s labeled a foolish criminal by his own people. Jamie and Zoe are forcibly taken away and made to forget their time together. And then he’s exiled, a large part of his identity stolen indefinitely.

I’d argue that’s where his abandonment issues first came from. He threw a fit when Liz left the way he hadn’t before, and then when Jo left he did the goodbye dodging and sadly hovering on the edge of her life thing for the first time. He didn’t plan to leave Sarah but he never went back for her, probably because he knew she would leave eventually (maybe even because she’d just threatened to).

Leela leaving was more chill so skipping over that, but Romana basically building a life with him then taking off, while not a trauma in itself, reinforced his abandonment issues and made him feel alone. And then Adric died, and it was his fault, and that WAS traumatic and what he probably needed after that was some time alone or at least companions that could be the adult for a bit, but Tegan and Nyssa were. Not that.

Nyssa’s was ok but Tegan’s leaving would also reinforce his everyone-leaves-because-of-you thing

The next few companions were ok, but then yes there was the Time War, which was really only his third great trauma (after war games and Adric), but eclipsed everything else in the universe

The traumas kept piling up after that, too, but you get the point

*out of things shown on television, don’t come at me with eu stuff because I’m talking about the acting of the character