#the cast doesn’t like her either they’re taking it back and I had to be like. she makes money off it. that’s where she gets the lobbying mon

[lila-lou]

✨Double Trouble✨

Summary: Christmas in the bunker was supposed to be quiet. With the twins finally in bed, Dean and you were ready to enjoy a little “grown-up time”. But as always with these two, nothing went as planned.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 9734

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

The bunker was quiet, the kind of quiet that only came on Christmas Eve when all the excitement of the day had simmered into the promise of tomorrow. You should’ve known better than to trust your five-year-old twins, Ellie and Jake, to stay in bed. But Dean had insisted, grinning ear-to-ear, that they’d be too tired from all the snowball fights and cookie decorating to cause any mischief.

Apparently, that grin lied.

You were leaning against the counter in the kitchen, enjoying the brief silence. The soft glow of the string lights you’d hung around the bunker shimmered faintly, casting a warm, cozy light over the room. It was moments like these—rare, fleeting moments—that made everything else worth it. The chaos, the hunting, the danger. This was home.

Dean walked in quietly, brushing flour off his dark flannel, his hair slightly disheveled. He still had that boyish grin, the one that had charmed you all those years ago and hadn’t lost its effect. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there for a moment, watching you. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze making your cheeks flush.

“Hey,”, he said softly, his voice warm, as he crossed the kitchen toward you.

“Hey yourself”, you replied, smiling at him as he closed the distance between you.

“You look too calm”, he teased, resting a hand on the counter beside you and leaning in slightly. “Makes me think you’re plotting something”.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “For once, no. Just enjoying the quiet while it lasts”.

Dean smirked, his other hand slipping around your waist. “Quiet doesn’t last long around here. Might as well make the most of it”.

Before you could reply, he leaned in and kissed you, soft at first, then deeper, his lips warm and familiar. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the tension of the day melted away in an instant. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no monsters, no apocalypse-level threats, no five-year-old twins who could rival Sam and Dean in sheer determination. Just you and him.

You smiled against his lips when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “What’s that for?”, you whispered, still feeling the warmth of him surrounding you.

Dean shrugged, though his smirk deepened. “Do I need a reason to kiss my wife?”.

“Guess not”, you murmured, sliding your hands up to rest on his shoulders. “Not that I’m complaining”.

“Better not”, he teased, his tone light. “Otherwise, I’ll have to—”.

Before he could finish, the sound of not-so-stealthy giggling reached you both from the hallway. Dean pulled back slightly, frowning in mock annoyance. “You hear that?”, he whispered, though the twinkle in his eye gave him away.

“I hear it”, you replied, sighing as you glanced toward the doorway. “And I think I know exactly who it is”.

Dean smirked, his hands still resting on your waist. “Think we should let ‘em sweat it out, or should we just go ahead and bust them?”.

“Let’s see how far they’re willing to take this”, you said, grinning as you leaned against him.

Before either of you could move, Ellie’s little blonde head peeked around the corner, quickly followed by Jake’s. They froze when they realized they’d been caught, their identical green eyes wide with a mixture of guilt and amusement.

“Uh-oh”, Jake whispered, elbowing his sister. “Run?”.

Ellie shook her head, whispering back loudly, “No, we gotta play it cool!”.

Dean chuckled, letting his hands drop as he turned toward the doorway. “Alright, you two little troublemakers”, he said, his voice carrying just enough mock sternness to make them squirm. “What are you doing out of bed?”.

Ellie straightened her spine, clearly deciding to be the spokesperson for their operation. “We were just… making sure Santa didn’t need any help”, she said, her small chin lifting with determination.

Jake nodded vigorously. “Yeah, ‘cause, you know, Christmas is important”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as he leaned back against the counter. The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh. “Uh-huh. And what’s so important about sneaking through the bunker in the middle of the night?”.

Ellie’s confidence faltered just slightly, and Jake’s gaze darted to the floor. They exchanged a quick, silent sibling look before Ellie blurted out, “We were looking for presents!”.

Dean groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face, though the twinkle in his eye gave him away. “Of course you were. You two are worse than I was at your age”.

“Got that right”. you muttered under your breath, earning a smirk from him.

“Did you find anything?”, Dean asked, crouching slightly to look them in the eye.

“Nooo”, Jake admitted, dragging out the word. “But we did see you kissing Mom, so… ew”.

Ellie wrinkled her nose in agreement. “So gross”.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at the twins. They were a whirlwind of mischief wrapped in innocence, and as much as they drove you and Dean crazy, you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Ellie and Jake padded into the kitchen, their tiny feet barely making a sound against the bunker’s cool floor. Their sheepish grins betrayed their earlier bravado, and you were just about to send them back to bed when another figure appeared in the doorway.

Sam.

He looked like he had just fallen out of bed, his hair a mess, and his flannel pajamas slightly askew. His face carried the same half-annoyed, half-amused expression he always wore when dealing with his niece and nephew’s antics.

“Let me guess”, Sam said, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. “The dynamic duo strikes again?”.

Dean smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “What gave it away, Sammy? The giggling or the fact that it’s two in the morning?”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “I was hoping they’d finally give you guys a break. Especially after the sugar high they’ve been on all day”.

Jake piped up, “We weren’t doing anything bad, Uncle Sam!”.

Ellie nodded in agreement, tugging on Sam’s sleeve as if to convince him. “Yeah! We were just making sure Santa’s okay!”.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking down at them skeptically. “Uh-huh. And you thought Santa was hiding in the bunker kitchen?”.

Dean snorted, clearly enjoying the show. “Give ‘em some credit, Sammy. At least they’re committed”.

Meanwhile, Sam’s son, Caleb, was notably absent, which didn’t escape Dean’s notice. “And where’s the little angel?”, Dean asked, glancing behind Sam. “Still tucked in, dreaming about saving kittens or whatever perfect kids dream about?”.

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a smirk. “He’s asleep, like a normal kids. Not wandering around trying to play detective”.

“Pfft”, Dean said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s just too scared to get caught. These two? Fearless”.

Ellie beamed at the backhanded compliment, while Jake puffed out his chest, clearly proud of their escapade. You shook your head, stepping in before they got any more ideas.

“Alright, enough”, you said firmly, placing your hands on your hips. “Ellie, Jake, back to bed. Now”.

“But Moooom!”, they whined in unison, dragging out the word as though it might change your mind.

Dean, however, backed you up, straightening to his full height and putting on his best stern-dad face. “Don’t ‘but Mom’ her. Get your butts in bed before Santa really skips over the bunker”.

The twins’ eyes widened, and Ellie clutched Jake’s arm. “He won’t skip us, will he?”, she asked, her voice tinged with panic.

“That depends on how fast you get to bed”, Dean replied, pointing toward the hallway.

That was all it took. They scurried out of the kitchen, their little footsteps echoing down the hall as they whispered frantically about whether Santa had heard them.

Once they were gone, the silence returned, broken only by the low hum of the bunker’s lights. Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You guys have your hands full”.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, you could’ve had twins too, but nooo, you got lucky with Mr. Perfect”.

Sam smirked. “Caleb’s not perfect, he’s just… well-behaved”.

Dean shot him a mock glare. “Same thing. Next time, send him over here. Maybe some of that ‘well-behaved’ will rub off”.

“Doubt it”, Sam said dryly.

Just as Sam turned to head back to his room, the sound of tiny, pattering footsteps echoed back down the hall. You sighed, already knowing who it was before Ellie and Jake reappeared in the doorway, their little faces full of a mix of defiance and something you recognized as an attempt at innocence.

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned back, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t you two just get sent to bed?”.

Ellie, clutching her favorite stuffed animal—a well-loved bunny missing one ear—padded straight toward you. “Mommy, we can’t sleep”, she said softly, her green eyes wide and pleading as she held out her little hands toward you.

Jake nodded behind her, trying to look equally earnest, though his mischievous smirk ruined the act. “Yeah, we need another story. Just one more”.

Sam let out a low snort, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “I’ll say it again—you guys have your hands full”.

Dean groaned, running a hand over his face, though you could see the small, fond smile tugging at his lips. “You two are the worst negotiators ever”, he said, though there was no real heat in his tone. “Didn’t we read you a story already?”.

Ellie nodded solemnly. “But it wasn’t enough”, she said, her little voice trembling like she was delivering the most heartbreaking news. “I can’t sleep”.

Ellie had been having trouble sleeping the past few nights, and it didn’t take much to see the shadows of her recent restlessness in the way she clung to you now. Jake, you suspected, was just along for the ride, but Ellie’s unease was genuine.

You knelt down and gently scooped Ellie up, settling her on your hip with ease. She wrapped her little arms around your neck and rested her head against your shoulder, her well-loved bunny clutched tightly in one hand. She was already five, and you knew these moments wouldn’t last forever. Soon enough, she’d be too big to carry like this, but for now, you held her close, savoring her warmth and the soft scent of her shampoo.

“It’s okay, baby”, you murmured, running a hand soothingly over her back. “Mommy’s got you”.

Ellie sighed, her tiny body relaxing against yours. “I don’t wanna have bad dreams”, she whispered, her voice trembling.

Dean’s teasing expression softened instantly, and he stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Ellie’s face. “No bad dreams tonight, kiddo”, he said gently. “You’re safe here. Nothing’s getting past me and your mom, okay?”.

Ellie nodded but didn’t lift her head, snuggling further into your shoulder. You kissed the top of her head and glanced at Jake, who stood nearby with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pajama pants, looking both sheepish and protective.

“And you, mister”, you said, giving Jake a soft smile, “are you here to keep your sister company?”.

Jake shrugged, his little smirk reappearing. “She doesn’t like being alone”, he admitted. “And I didn’t want her to cry”.

Dean chuckled, ruffling Jake’s hair. “Good man”, he said. “But you’re still going back to bed after this story”.

Jake rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, his smirk growing as he stepped closer to rest his hand on your arm, as if to reassure Ellie without saying anything.

Sam, who had been leaning silently against the doorway, let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “You’re raising a couple of night owls, you know that?”.

Dean shot him a mock glare. “Yeah, thanks for the observation, Mr. Perfect-Kid. You can go back to your room now”.

“Gladly”, Sam replied with a smirk, pushing off the doorway. “Good luck with bedtime round two. Merry Christmas”.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Sam”, Jake called after him, earning another chuckle from Sam as he disappeared down the hallway.

With Sam gone, Dean turned his attention back to you and the kids. He reached out and gently took Ellie from your arms, shifting her easily onto his hip as if she weighed nothing. She yawned and leaned her head against his shoulder, her bunny dangling from her fingers.

“Alright”, Dean said, his voice soft but firm. “One more story. But that’s it. No excuses this time. Deal?”.

Ellie nodded, her fingers clutching the collar of Dean’s flannel. “Deal”, she mumbled.

Jake gave a little salute, his smirk still intact. “Deal”.

Dean shot you a knowing look, his lips twitching in a half-smile. “You coming, or do I have to tell this story solo?”.

“I’m coming”, you said, laughing softly as you followed them back to the kids’ room. Jake scampered ahead, already climbing into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin. Dean sat down on the edge of Ellie’s bed, still holding her as she blinked sleepily up at him.

“What story tonight?”, Dean asked, his voice quieter now.

Ellie mumbled something about heroes again, her words barely audible, and Jake chimed in with, “And monsters! But the good guys win, like always”.

Dean smirked, glancing at you as you settled into the chair beside Ellie’s bed. “Heroes and monsters, huh? You kids are gonna grow up thinking hunting is some kind of fairy tale”.

“Not fairy tales”, Jake corrected, his grin wide. “Adventures”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, adventures it is”. He adjusted Ellie in his lap, holding her close as he launched into one of his and Sam’s hunts—toned down, of course, with a few embellishments to make it sound like a grand, thrilling tale.

Ellie’s eyes grew heavier with every word, and Jake, though fighting it, began to yawn halfway through the story. By the time Dean finished, Ellie was fast asleep, her bunny tucked under her chin, and Jake was dozing, his head resting on his pillow.

Dean carefully laid Ellie down and pulled the blanket up around her, tucking her in snugly before standing. You leaned over to press a kiss to Jake’s forehead, smoothing his hair back gently.

The next morning, you stirred slightly, still wrapped in the warmth of the bed and the familiar weight of Dean’s arm draped across your waist. You were half-asleep, lost in the haze of early morning, when you felt the soft brush of lips against your cheek.

Dean was awake.

His kisses started gentle, barely brushing against your skin, before growing more deliberate. His lips moved from your cheek to your jawline, lingering there for a moment, warm and lazy. His scruff tickled slightly as his mouth trailed down to the curve of your neck. A soft, open-mouthed kiss followed, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Morning”, he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with sleep.

You made a small sound in response, still too drowsy to form words. Dean chuckled softly, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest as his hand began to move, sliding slowly down from your waist to the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his old, worn AC/DC shirt that barely grazed mid-thigh.

His fingers brushed against the fabric lightly, teasingly, before slipping just underneath, grazing your bare skin. His touch was warm, deliberate, and achingly slow as his hand traveled along your hip.

“Dean…”, you mumbled, your voice still groggy but laced with amusement and warmth.

“Hm?”, he replied, his lips pressing another lazy kiss just below your ear. “Kids are still asleep. We’ve got time”.

You smiled faintly, your eyes still closed as you leaned into his touch. “Barely. They’ll be up in an hour”.

“An hour’s plenty”, he murmured, his hand sliding further under the shirt as his lips found your neck again, kissing a little more firmly this time. His thumb traced gentle circles against your hip, the touch soothing and tantalizing all at once.

You turned your head slightly, your nose brushing against his. “You’re really risking it, Winchester”.

Dean grinned, his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that was as playful as it was intimate. “Worth the risk”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Besides, it’s Christmas. Can’t I wake my wife up with a little holiday cheer?”.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, finally opening your eyes to see his face inches from yours. His green eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint, his smile equal parts boyish charm and devilish intent.

“You’re impossible”, you said, your voice carrying no real conviction as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“And yet”, he replied, his grin widening as his hand skimmed up your thigh, “you love me anyway”.

“Lucky for you”, you teased, pulling him down into a kiss.

Dean’s smirk deepened as he shifted himself between your legs, the soft fabric of his sweatpants already discarded on the floor. His movements were unhurried, his hands warm and steady as they slid along your thighs, gently spreading them apart. The teasing, deliberate way he pulled your panties aside made your breath hitch, his knuckles grazing your skin as he moved.

He leaned down, his forehead brushing yours, his lips hovering just a breath away as he locked eyes with you. His green eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and tenderness, the corners crinkling slightly as he grinned.

“Attempt number three for baby number three?”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His swollen tip brushed against your folds, the sensation sending a shiver through your body. He paused, grinning even wider as he added, “Or should I just wrap myself up? Merry Christmas and all”.

You snorted softly, shaking your head against the pillow. "You're ridiculous", you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep, but the corner of your lips twitched in amusement.

Dean's grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider. He nudged against you with his tip, teasingly brushing against your folds, just enough to make your breath hitch. His hands rested firmly on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin in slow, lazy circles.

"You better answer", he murmured, his voice low and thick with that familiar playful edge, "or I’ll decide for myself". He dipped his head, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "And as you know", he added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I hate being wrapped up".

A soft laugh bubbled from your lips, your hands sliding to his shoulders as you looked up at him, your gaze warm despite the teasing frustration in your tone. "Oh, poor you", you said, your fingers curling slightly against his skin. "Such a hardship".

Dean chuckled, his lips grazing your collarbone as he pressed closer, his weight settling against you in that perfect, familiar way. "Yeah, it is", he muttered, his tone mock-serious. He nudged against you again, this time with a bit more pressure, his breath hitching slightly as he felt you respond.

"Dean", you whispered, your voice soft but filled with equal parts exasperation and affection.

He rested his forehead against yours, his voice softer now as he murmured, "So, what’s it gonna be? Option one or option two?".

You sighed dramatically, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. "Fine", you said, your hands sliding to rest on his lower back. "Let’s try for number three".

Dean’s grin widened, and he pressed another kiss to your lips, this one filled with both triumph and affection. "That’s my girl".

Dean’s grin softened as he aligned himself, his eyes locked on yours, searching your face as if committing every detail to memory. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed forward, his swollen tip parting you with a gentle ease. His movements were unhurried, savoring the moment as he sunk deeper, a quiet grunt escaping his lips.

His forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours, warm and steady. He paused for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his hand sliding up your thigh to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing tender circles against your skin. Then, his lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss that was both soft and consuming, filled with a love that ran deeper than words.

Your hands moved to his back, your fingers curling against his warm skin as he began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His quiet groans mixed with your soft gasps, the two of you melting into each other in the quiet stillness of the morning. His lips stayed on yours, sometimes breaking away to trail kisses along your jaw or murmur your name in that low, gravelly voice that always made your heart flutter.

Dean’s hand slid from your hip to lace his fingers with yours, pinning your hand gently beside your head as his pace remained slow and steady. He kissed you again, his lips lingering this time, his breath catching slightly as he pressed deeper, his movements careful yet filled with passion.

Dean’s movements were deliberate, his hips rocking against you with a rhythm that was uniquely his—something so unhurried yet devastatingly precise. It wasn’t rushed or frantic; it was intimate, passionate, and filled with a kind of love and care that only Dean could give. Each thrust was measured, purposeful, his body moving with yours as though the two of you had been perfectly designed to fit together.

You felt his breath against your skin, warm and steady, as his lips traced a path along your jawline and down your neck. His low groans vibrated against your skin, sending waves of warmth coursing through you. He tilted his hips slightly, the angle changing just enough to send sparks of pleasure radiating from your core. Dean’s name fell from your lips in a breathless gasp, and his mouth curved into a grin against your neck.

“Right there, huh?”, he murmured, his voice husky and low, as his movements became more deliberate. He hit that perfect spot again, and your back arched off the bed, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. It was maddening how he could find it every time, how he knew your body so intimately after all these years.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes blazing with intensity as he watched your reactions. “You’re so beautiful like this”, he whispered, his lips brushing yours. “Every time. Always”.

The way he said it, the raw honesty in his voice, made your chest tighten with emotion even as the pleasure built inside you, overwhelming and all-consuming. Your legs tightened around him instinctively, pulling him deeper, and he let out a quiet groan, his forehead pressing to yours as his hips rocked against you with just a little more force.

Dean’s grin widened, a flicker of pride flashing in his eyes as he felt your body respond to him, just like it always did. He knew exactly what he was doing, and his ego absolutely thrived on it. He never rushed, never stumbled—his confidence in how to handle you was unshakable, and it was maddeningly effective. He knew how to make you come, how to unravel you completely, and for him, it was almost too easy.

His hips pressed deeper, rolling against yours with deliberate precision, each thrust brushing that perfect spot inside you that had your breath catching and your nails digging into his shoulders. Dean’s quiet groans mixed with the soft sounds escaping your lips, and he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his mouth.

“Look at you”, he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of teasing and reverence. “Already so close, aren’t you? Always so easy for me”. His words weren’t taunting—they were filled with a heady mix of love and cocky pride, the kind only Dean could pull off.

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, to come up with some smart remark, but all that came out was a broken gasp as his hips shifted slightly, hitting you even deeper. He chuckled softly, his lips trailing along your neck, leaving warm kisses in his wake.

“That’s right”, he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek as he kissed you deeply, swallowing the sounds you made. “Let go for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you”.

It wasn’t just his words or his touch—it was the way he looked at you, his green eyes locked on yours as though you were the only thing that existed in the world. It was the way he moved, deliberate and passionate, completely focused on you. It was everything about him, all at once, that pushed you over the edge.

Your body tightened around him, a cry escaping your lips as the orgasm crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Dean’s hips stuttered slightly as as he worked you through it. His breathing grew heavier, his quiet groans vibrating against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He pressed deeper, his rhythm faltering as he gave in, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he spilled inside you.

The tension in his body melted away as he stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder. His chest heaved against yours, his warm breath tickling your skin as he whispered your name, almost reverently. He stayed like that for a moment, his weight comforting and grounding, his hand lazily brushing along your side.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his green eyes soft as they found yours. His lips curved into a tired but satisfied grin, the kind that was uniquely Dean—equal parts smug and adoring.

“Now that”, he said, his voice still rough with lingering passion, “was a hell of a way to start Christmas”.

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that bubbled up, your hands sliding to rest against his shoulders. “And here I thought the kids opening presents was supposed to be the highlight of the day”.

Dean smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, this one slow and sweet, a stark contrast to the fire from moments before. “They can wait”, he murmured against your mouth, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “This is my highlight”.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “You’re impossible, Winchester”.

“And yet”, he teased, grinning as he kissed you again, “you still married me”.

The two of you were still tangled in the quiet aftermath, basking in the warmth of each other, when the sound of Sam’s frustrated voice carried down the hallway.

“Ellie! Jake!”, Sam’s tone was exasperated, yet with that trademark calmness he always managed to maintain, even in chaos. “How many times do I have to tell you—stop hiding my toothbrush!”.

Dean groaned, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “And there goes the peace”, he muttered, though his smirk said he wasn’t entirely annoyed.

You stifled a laugh, pressing your hand over your mouth as Sam’s voice grew closer, clearly still trying to track down the culprits. “What do you think the odds are that they’ll deny it this time?”, you asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

Dean chuckled, sitting up slightly to rest on his elbows. “Oh, they’ll deny it. And then Jake’ll throw Ellie under the bus”.

Before you could reply, another voice joined the commotion in the hallway—Caleb’s, Sam’s ten-year-old son. “Dad!”, Caleb called, his tone half-annoyed, half-panicked. “I can’t find my toothbrush either! Did they take mine too?”.

Dean let out a full laugh now, shaking his head as he glanced over at you. “Well, guess we know what they’ve been up to”.

You snorted, sliding out from under the blanket and reaching for the nearest shirt—still Dean’s, of course. “Should we intervene, or let Sam handle it?”.

Dean leaned back lazily, folding his arms behind his head, his smirk wide. “Let him handle it. He’s got this”.

The sound of Ellie and Jake’s giggling reached your ears next, along with Sam’s resigned sigh. “Guys, this is the third time this week. I need my toothbrush. And Caleb needs his, too. Just tell me where you hid them”.

Ellie’s voice piped up, cheerful and completely unrepentant. “We didn’t hide it, Uncle Sam! Maybe the monsters took it”.

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his sweatpants as he grinned at you. “Guess I should go rescue Sammy before he loses it completely”.

You laughed, grabbing his arm before he could get up. “You’ll just make it worse, and you know it”.

“Exactly”, Dean said, his grin widening. “What’s Christmas without a little chaos?”.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling as the sound of the kids’ laughter and Sam’s exasperated attempts to rein them in filled the bunker. It was chaotic, sure, but it was also home.

Dean swung the bedroom door open, stepping out into the hallway wearing nothing but his sweatpants. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and his smirk was firmly in place as he leaned against the doorframe. His bare chest caught the dim light of the bunker, and his presence immediately drew the attention of everyone in the hallway.

Sam stood there, arms crossed, his expression a mix of exasperation and long-suffering patience. Ellie and Jake were huddled together just a few feet away, their faces plastered with matching innocent grins that Dean could see through in an instant. Caleb, already taller and more composed than most ten-year-olds, stood off to the side with his hands on his hips, looking equally annoyed and amused.

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as his eyes landed on his twins. “Alright”, he drawled, his voice still rough from sleep. “Who’s messing with Uncle Sammy’s toothbrush this time?”.

Ellie giggled, clutching her bunny closer to her chest as she tried to look innocent. “Not me!”, she chirped, her tone far too cheerful to be convincing.

Jake, true to Dean’s earlier prediction, pointed at Ellie without hesitation. “She did it!”, he declared, his voice a little too eager. “I told her not to, but she wouldn’t listen”.

“Jake!”, Ellie squeaked, her eyes wide with mock betrayal. “That’s not true!”.

Dean sighted, running a hand through his messy hair as he stepped closer.

Jake pouted, crossing his arms. “I didn’t do it! It was her idea this time!”.

Caleb groaned, clearly fed up with the entire situation. “I just want my toothbrush back”, he muttered, looking at his cousins with a raised eyebrow. “You can’t keep stealing them!”.

Sam shot Dean a pointed look, his expression screaming control your kids. Dean just grinned back, completely unfazed. “Alright, alright”, he said, holding up his hands. “Let’s cut a deal. You two”, he pointed at Ellie and Jake, “tell Uncle Sam and Caleb where the toothbrushes are, and maybe Santa doesn’t hear about this little stunt”.

Ellie’s eyes widened, and she clutched her bunny even tighter. “You wouldn’t tell Santa!”, she gasped, her voice full of dramatic disbelief.

Jake’s resolve faltered, and he glanced at Ellie before mumbling, “Fine. They’re in the cereal box”.

Sam blinked, his arms dropping to his sides. “The cereal box?”.

Dean laughed, shaking his head as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Gotta hand it to ‘em, Sammy. That’s creative”.

Sam just sighed, muttering something under his breath as he turned toward the kitchen. Caleb followed after him, shaking his head as he glanced back at his cousins. “You guys are so weird”, he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Dean crouched down to the twins’ level, his smirk softening into something more affectionate. “Alright, you two”, he said, his voice quieter. “What’s the deal with the toothbrush thing, huh? You trying to drive Uncle Sam crazy?”.

Ellie looked down at her bunny, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “We were just playing”, she mumbled. “It was funny”.

Dean sighed, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “Yeah, it’s funny until Uncle Sam loses it and makes you scrub the bathroom for a week. You wanna deal with that?”.

Jake shook his head quickly, his eyes wide. “No”.

“Good”, Dean said, standing up and crossing his arms. “Now, go help him find them. And no more hiding stuff, got it?”.

“Yes, Daddy”, they chorused, their voices small but sincere.

Dean watched as they scampered off toward the kitchen, and he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Turning back toward the bedroom, he caught your amused expression.

Dean’s grin widened when he saw you leaning against the doorframe, your messy hair and his AC/DC shirt hanging loosely on your frame. He gave you a once-over, then nodded toward the bathroom with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.

“Wanna take a shower?”, he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the mischievous twinkle in his eye made it clear he wasn’t just talking about getting clean.

You were about to reply when Sam’s voice cut in sharply. “Nope. No way. You two aren’t disappearing on me right now”.

Dean turned slowly, raising an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at Sam, who was standing there with Caleb and the twins, all three kids looking suspiciously close to starting another round of chaos.

“Come on, Sammy”, Dean said, his voice dripping with mock indignation. “You can handle breakfast for twenty minutes”.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, sure. Because last time I ‘handled breakfast’, I had to explain to Caleb why Jake thought peanut butter went on the stove, and Ellie was using syrup as hair gel”.

Dean snorted, turning fully to face his brother. “You’re telling me you can face down demons and angels, but you can’t manage two five-year-olds and a ten-year-old for twenty minutes?”.

Sam opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Dean held up a hand, his expression turning serious—or as serious as he could manage with his sweatpants slung low on his hips and his hair still sticking up.

“Sam”, Dean said, his tone low and firm, “it’s Christmas. Give us a break. Twenty minutes. That’s all I’m asking”.

Sam sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before glaring at Dean. “Fine. But if I find syrup anywhere it doesn’t belong—”.

“You won’t”, Dean said quickly, his grin returning. “They’re angels”.

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like yeah, right before shooing the kids back toward the kitchen. “Alright, come on, you three. Let’s see if we can make pancakes without burning the bunker down”.

Ellie and Jake cheered, bounding after him with Caleb trailing behind, looking both amused and resigned.

As soon as they disappeared, Dean turned back to you, his grin now entirely unrestrained. “See? Twenty minutes. Plenty of time”.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “And what exactly are we doing in these twenty minutes?”.

Dean stepped closer, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you flush against him. “You agreed to the shower”, he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that made your knees weak. “I’m just making sure you don’t back out”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as he leaned down to kiss you, slow and lingering. “Alright”, you said against his lips. “Twenty minutes”.

Dean smirked, pulling you toward the bathroom. “You know I can work with that”.

Behind you, the faint sound of Sam’s exasperated voice carried from the kitchen, followed by Ellie’s laughter and Jake’s declaration that syrup was “just fancy hair gel”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the bathroom door behind you. “Angels”, he repeated, his voice full of affectionate sarcasm. “Absolute angels”.

After the fourth attempt at trying for baby number three, you and Dean finally emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, the lingering steam from the hot water clinging faintly to your skin. The scent of Dean’s cologne mixed with the cozy aroma of pancakes and syrup wafting from the kitchen. As you walked in, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the kids gathered around the table, the twins buzzing with excitement while Caleb calmly helped make sure everything was in place.

Ellie and Jake had already set the table with plates, forks, and napkins—though not all of them were straight, and Ellie had stacked three napkins on her plate for some reason. Caleb was pouring juice into cups with the steady precision of someone who had been here before, a slight grin on his face as Jake talked a mile a minute about all the presents under the tree.

“We set it up, Mommy!”, Ellie exclaimed proudly, holding her bunny in one hand as she gestured at the slightly messy table with the other. “Is it good?”.

“It’s perfect”, you said warmly, walking over to ruffle her hair before noticing her sleeves. “But let’s get these up, okay? Don’t want syrup all over your jammies”.

Ellie giggled as you gently rolled up the sleeves of her favorite snowflake-patterned pajamas. Just as you finished, Dean’s phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

Dean grabbed it, smirking as he saw Jodie’s name flashing. “Looks like the cavalry’s here”, he muttered before answering. “Hey, Jodie. Merry Christmas”.

Before he could get another word in, Caleb bolted toward the door, shouting, “Auntie Jodie! Auntie Jodie’s here!”.

Dean shook his head, grinning as he hung up the phone. “Guess I didn’t need to answer after all”.

You chuckled as Caleb yanked open the heavy bunker door, his voice echoing through the hallway.

Sure enough, standing just outside in the frosty morning air was Jodie, her two girls—Claire and Alex—beside her, all bundled up against the cold. Donna stood to the side, her signature bright smile lighting up the moment, while Castiel and Jack stood behind them, looking equally festive despite Cas’s usual stoicism. In Jodie and Donna’s hands were several large bags, overflowing with brightly wrapped Christmas presents.

“About time you let us in!”, Jodie teased, stepping forward as Caleb flung his arms around her waist.

Donna laughed, hefting the bags higher. “We were starting to think you guys were still asleep!”.

Jack grinned, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he hugged Caleb. “Merry Christmas!”, he exclaimed, his eyes darting to the twins, who were already bouncing in place at the sight of all the presents. “We brought a lot of stuff!”.

“I can see that”, you said with a laugh, helping Donna with one of her bags. “Did you guys empty the store or what?”.

“Oh, you know”, Jodie said, her tone casual but her smile warm. “Just a little something for everyone”.

Claire rolled her eyes but smiled as she set her bag down by the tree. “You mean a lot of something for everyone”.

As everyone settled into the kitchen, the sounds of laughter, conversation, and clinking plates filled the bunker, the space alive with the kind of warmth that only came from being surrounded by family—both the one you were born into and the one you chose.

An hour later, the bunker’s usually stoic and cold atmosphere had transformed into a scene of warmth and chaos around the glowing Christmas tree. Wrapping paper and ribbons were scattered across the floor, the remnants of enthusiastic unwrapping now forgotten as everyone enjoyed their new gifts. The soft twinkle of lights illuminated the room, casting a warm glow on the smiling faces around you.

Jake sat in your lap on the floor, completely engrossed in his new dinosaur toy, his small hands moving it around as he made roaring noises. You leaned back against Dean, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist, his warmth anchoring you in the midst of the joyful commotion.

Ellie was sprawled on the floor nearby, her bunny nestled by her side as she played with a doll Jodie had brought her, already inventing an elaborate story involving an adventure in a magical forest. Caleb sat beside her, tinkering with a new model kit, his focus intense as he explained the mechanics to Jack, who listened with wide-eyed curiosity.

Dean’s hand rested lightly on your knee, his thumb brushing against your leg absentmindedly as he surveyed the scene. “Look at ‘em”, he murmured, his voice soft and full of pride. “Like a bunch of happy little squirrels”.

You laughed quietly, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “It’s chaos, but the good kind”.

He kissed your temple, his scruff brushing against your skin. “Yeah. This is the kinda chaos I could get used to”.

Across the room, Jodie and Donna were sitting on the couch, laughing together as they admired their gifts. Donna held up a fuzzy scarf that Claire had picked out for her, wrapping it dramatically around her neck as she struck a pose. “How do I look?”, she asked, grinning.

“Like a movie star”, Jodie teased, shaking her head. “A really dramatic one”.

Claire rolled her eyes from her spot on the floor, but a small smile tugged at her lips as Alex nudged her playfully. Castiel, ever the observer, sat quietly in a chair, his gaze fixed on the tree as if he were contemplating the deeper meaning of its existence.

Jack was perched on the edge of the couch, his face lit with excitement as he examined a book Jodie had given him on Earth’s natural wonders. “Did you know there’s a lake that glows in the dark?”, he asked Caleb, his voice filled with awe.

Caleb nodded, still focused on his kit. “Yeah, bioluminescence. It’s pretty cool”.

Dean chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against your back. “Leave it to Jack and Caleb to turn Christmas into a science lesson”.

Jake, oblivious to the conversation, looked up at you suddenly, his dinosaur still clutched in his hands. “Mommy, look! He can roar like this!”, He made a loud, exaggerated roar, his face scrunched up in concentration.

You grinned, smoothing his messy hair as you played along. “Wow, that’s a scary roar!".

"I think he might be the loudest dinosaur in the whole bunker”, Jack said.

Dean smirked, leaning forward slightly to ruffle Jake’s hair. “I dunno, kid. I think your Uncle Sammy might give him a run for his money”.

Sam, who was sitting cross-legged nearby and flipping through a new book, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “I heard that”.

Dean winked, clearly unapologetic. “Yeah, you did”.

The laughter and chatter carried on, the room filled with the unmistakable sound of family—messy, chaotic, but completely full of love. You glanced around at everyone, your heart swelling as you took in the scene. This was what Christmas was supposed to feel like.

Dean’s arms tightened around you slightly, and when you looked up at him, his green eyes were soft and content as they met yours. “This is a pretty damn good Christmas, huh?”, he said, his voice low so only you could hear.

You smiled, resting your hand over his. “Yeah, it really is”.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you a little closer. “And it’s not over yet”, he said with a grin. “Still gotta watch the twins try to eat their body weight in cookies”.

You laughed, closing your eyes briefly as you leaned into him.

Ellie and Jake suddenly stood up, exchanging exaggerated whispers that had everyone turning to watch them curiously. Jake glanced back toward the couch, giving Ellie a quick nod before the two of them ducked behind it, giggling quietly as they rummaged for something.

“What are they up to now?”, Dean muttered, raising an eyebrow but smiling fondly. His arm tightened around your waist, keeping you close as he watched his kids with amusement.

Moments later, the twins emerged triumphantly, holding a small, brightly colored bag. It was obvious they’d been saving this for the right moment, and their matching grins could barely contain their excitement. Without a word, they turned and marched straight toward Castiel, who was still seated near the Christmas tree, quietly observing the scene.

Cas tilted his head slightly as the twins approached, his usual stoic expression giving way to curiosity. The twins stopped in front of him, their smiles widening as they held the bag out together.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Cas!”, Ellie declared, her voice bright and filled with excitement.

“Yeah! Merry Christmas!”, Jake chimed in, bouncing slightly on his toes.

Castiel blinked, his piercing blue eyes moving from the twins to the bag, then back to the twins. “This is for me?”, he asked, his tone laced with genuine surprise, as if the thought of receiving a gift hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Of course!”, Ellie said, nudging the bag closer to him. “You’re our favorite uncle!”.

Jake nodded eagerly, adding, “Yeah, you’re funny. Like, the way you talk and stuff. It’s, like… cool”.

Dean let out a quiet chuckle behind you, muttering, “Well, that’s one way to put it”.

Cas’s head tilted even further, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed their words. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile appeared on his face—the kind of rare, warm smile that made everyone in the room stop for a second.

“Thank you”, Cas said, his voice soft and sincere. He took the bag carefully, as though it were something fragile and precious. “I… appreciate this gesture. Merry Christmas to you both”.

Ellie and Jake beamed, clearly proud of themselves. They stepped back, watching eagerly as Cas opened the bag. Inside, he found a small, hand-painted ornament—a slightly crooked angel with golden wings and a blue trench coat, its expression remarkably serious.

Cas held up the ornament, studying it with that same intense focus he brought to everything. “It’s you, Uncle Cas!”, Ellie explained, bouncing on her toes. “We made it! Well, Mommy helped a little”.

Jake nodded. “Yeah, it’s your coat and your serious face! You can hang it on the tree!”.

Cas stared at the ornament for a long moment, his lips twitching as though he were trying to understand why the kids had chosen him for such a tribute. “It’s… accurate”, he said finally, his voice thoughtful.

The room burst into laughter, even Sam cracking a rare grin as Donna doubled over with a wheezing chuckle. “Oh, Cas”, she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Never change”.

Cas looked up at Ellie and Jake, who were grinning from ear to ear. His expression softened, and he nodded solemnly. “Thank you. I will treasure this”.

Ellie and Jake’s smiles widened, and they darted forward to hug him, surprising the stoic angel. He hesitated for only a moment before carefully placing the ornament back in the bag and returning their hugs, his movements slightly stiff but no less genuine.

Dean leaned over to you, his grin wide and teasing. “They’re right, you know. Cas is basically a cat in human form. Aloof most of the time, but when he decides he likes you, you’re stuck with him”.

You laughed softly, resting your head against his shoulder. “They adore him. It’s kind of perfect”.

“Merry Christmas, Cas”, Dean said, his voice soft but full of warmth.

Castiel’s blue eyes shifted to Dean, his face as calm and serious as ever, though his words carried the weight of a casually dropped bombshell. “Merry Christmas, Dean”, he said, before adding, in the same matter-of-fact tone, “Oh, and congratulations on child number three”.

The room went silent.

Ellie and Jake paused mid-conversation, their heads whipping around to look at you and Dean with matching expressions of surprise and curiosity. Jodie’s mug of coffee froze halfway to her lips, her brows shooting up. Donna’s jaw dropped, and even Claire stopped fiddling with the wrapper of a chocolate Santa.

Dean, for his part, blinked at Cas, his arms tightening around you instinctively as his brain worked to catch up. “I’m sorry, what?”, he finally managed, his voice cracking slightly.

Cas tilted his head, his expression neutral, as though he were oblivious to the bombshell he’d just dropped. “The child you conceived this morning”, he said patiently, as if clarifying something simple. “It will grow strong and healthy. Congratulations”.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You turned to Dean, who was now gaping at Cas like the angel had sprouted a second head. “Cas”, Dean finally said, his voice strained. “Are you… are you serious right now?”.

Cas nodded solemnly. “Of course. I wouldn’t joke about something so significant”.

Donna choked on her coffee, sputtering as she tried to recover. “Uh, am I hearing this right?”, she asked, looking between you and Dean. “Is this, like, angel-level baby news?”.

Jodie covered her mouth with her hand, clearly trying not to laugh as her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, this is gonna be good”.

Dean’s eyes darted to the twins, who were staring at you both with wide eyes. “Wait a minute—Ellie, Jake, uh… you guys don’t even know what Cas is talking about, right?”, he asked, suddenly looking panicked.

Ellie tilted her head, her little brows furrowing. “Does it mean we’re getting a baby for Christmas?”.

Jake gasped, his excitement palpable. “Like a baby brother?".

Dean groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face as he muttered, “Oh, for the love of—Cas, you couldn’t have said this later?”.

“I thought you’d like to know”, Cas said simply, looking genuinely confused by the commotion. “It’s joyous news, isn’t it?”.

You finally managed to speak, your cheeks flushed and your voice a little shaky. “Cas”, you said, holding up a hand, “you… you’re saying it worked?”.

“Yes”, Cas replied with a small nod. “The energy surrounding you both was unmistakable”.

Jodie finally let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Well, congrats, you two”, she said, her tone warm but teasing. “I guess we know what you were doing this morning”.

Dean groaned again, burying his face against your shoulder.

Sam threw his head back dramatically, letting out a long, exaggerated groan before turning toward Caleb, who was still sitting on the floor with a model kit in his hands. “Caleb”, Sam said, his voice filled with mock desperation, “we need backup”.

Dean’s hand rested protectively on your belly, his fingers splayed across the fabric of your shirt as though it were the most natural place for them to be. He didn’t even seem to realize it, his focus entirely on teasing Sam as the room buzzed with laughter. But you felt the warmth of his touch, grounding and comforting, and it sent a wave of emotion through you.

As you watched him, you couldn’t help but remember how he had been six years ago when you were pregnant with Ellie and Jake. Back then, Dean’s protectiveness had been a force of nature. He had insisted on doing almost everything for you—cooking, carrying anything remotely heavy, even trying (and failing) to assemble the crib himself without asking Sam for help. He’d hovered over you like a mother hen, always checking if you needed anything, always making sure you were comfortable and safe.

You smiled to yourself at the memory of him sneaking out in the middle of the night to get you a very specific brand of ice cream because you’d mentioned craving it once. Or how he’d built up an entire arsenal of baby books, even if he claimed he didn’t need them because “it’s instinct, babe”.

And now, seeing him so casually yet instinctively protective, even before you were showing or feeling the full weight of the pregnancy, reminded you just how much Dean cared—how deeply he loved his family.

“Sammy”, Dean drawled, grinning as he gestured toward the twins, who were still buzzing with excitement. “You’re just jealous because my kids already have a battle plan for world domination, and you can barely get Caleb to do the dishes”.

Caleb smirked from his spot on the floor, holding up his hands. “Hey, I do the dishes. Sometimes”.

“See?”, Dean shot back, his grin widening. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a baby on the way and two kids already training to take over the family business”.

Sam groaned, rubbing his temples. “Oh, yeah, the family business. Great. You’re turning them into mini versions of you”.

“Damn straight”, Dean said, his tone proud. “Best Christmas gift ever”.

You laughed softly, resting your hand on top of Dean’s where it still lay against your stomach. The motion caught his attention, and his teasing expression softened instantly when he looked at you. His green eyes met yours, a quiet, unspoken emotion passing between you.

“You okay?”, he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“I’m perfect”, you replied, your smile widening as you squeezed his hand. “You?”.

His lips quirked into a softer smile as he laced his fingers with yours. “Never better”.

"Merry Christmas, Dean”, you whispered, tilting your head just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. His hand on your belly tightened slightly, and you felt him smile against your mouth before he murmured back, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart”.

Before the moment could deepen, a loud chorus of exaggerated gagging noises erupted from nearby. “Ewww!”, Jake groaned dramatically, scrunching his nose. “Gross!”.

“Disgusting!”, Ellie added, clutching her bunny to her chest as she made an exaggerated barfing sound.

Even Caleb, normally the calm and composed one, couldn’t resist joining in with a muttered, “Seriously, get a room”.

Dean pulled back from the kiss with a laugh, shaking his head as he looked at the kids, all of whom were now thoroughly invested in making the most dramatic gagging noises they could muster. His hand stayed on your belly, his thumb brushing against you in that comforting, protective way that made your heart flutter every time.

“Alright, alright”, Dean said, his smirk widening as he shot the kids a mock-stern look. “You can stop with the barf noises. We get it—you’re all scarred for life”.

Jake crossed his arms, still pouting. “I’m telling Santa about this”.

Ellie, clutching her bunny tightly, nodded with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, Santa should know what you’ve been doing”.

Dean let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, really? You’re gonna tattle on your own parents to Santa? Good luck with that, kiddo”.

“You’re both impossible”, you added with a laugh, shaking your head as the twins dissolved into giggles, their earlier protests forgotten. Caleb just rolled his eyes and muttered something about needing earplugs next Christmas.

Jodie, sitting on the couch, leaned over to Donna with a grin. “You know, I think this might be the most entertaining Christmas we’ve had yet”.

Donna nodded, chuckling as she sipped her coffee. “Definitely. And the most chaotic”.

Castiel, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, tilted his head slightly. “I fail to understand why the children find displays of affection so objectionable. It is a natural expression of love”.

Dean barked out another laugh, pointing at Cas. “See? Even the angel gets it”.

You shook your head with a smile, leaning back against Dean as the room filled with laughter and playful teasing. The twins went back to their toys, Caleb resumed tinkering with his model kit, and the rest of the family settled into the warm, easy rhythm of Christmas morning.

Dean leaned closer to you, his voice low so only you could hear. “Crazy, isn’t it? This life, these kids, a new baby on the way…”.

You glanced up at him, catching the quiet wonder in his green eyes. “It’s crazy,” you admitted softly, lacing your fingers with his where his hand still rested on your belly. “But it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything”.

Dean smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Me neither, sweetheart. Me neither”.

As the kids’ laughter echoed through the room and the twinkling lights of the tree cast a warm glow over the bunker, you felt a profound sense of peace. This was your family—messy, chaotic, loud, and so full of love it was almost overwhelming.

And as you sat there, wrapped in Dean’s arms and surrounded by the people you cared about most, you couldn’t help but think that this was the kind of Christmas you’d always dreamed of—perfect in its imperfection, filled with laughter, love, and the promise of everything good yet to come.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[autopsytableromance]

I hate being friends with psych majors who. Apparently have never had a bad experience in therapy bc it means they have never even once considered that therapy might be bad or there might be problems in the psychiatric field at large. Tell me why I was talking to someone about the ways that ODD is like. Extremely racially biased in its diagnosis and typically is either 1 the child acting out bc they are facing some kind of trauma at home or or 2 literally just a black child with adhd and she said “see this is why I love your generation (she’s. Literally 4 years older than me) you guys do so much research on things i never even would have thought of” girl! What do you mean you never thought of it. This isn’t even as a radical of a take as other ones I have within psych like there are many people who mostly believe in the psychiatric system and still say “yeah I don’t diagnose kids with conduct or impulse disorders bc of the way that it can like. Ruin their life” bc it CAN and DOES. Like yes recommend therapy if you feel it would help but. Putting this kid doesn’t trust or listen to authority in there medical files demonstrably makes it less likely for medical professionals (in psych and non psych fields) to listen to their symptoms and help them. It also makes it much easier for those same professionals to force them to undergo treatments they might otherwise not want as them not wanting to do it literally seen as a reason they need it. Anyway that same girl has to explained that even if the cast says she’s bad jk Rowling does definitely still profit off of Harry Potter merch and why the two trans ppl she was with did not want anything to do with it.

[highonmarvel]

heyy lov ur fics. saw you wanted some bucky recs so i got one. how about like bucky and reader have been dating for 2-3 months and he's always sweet to her and always making sure she was happy. he even promised to get rid of almost all of his weapons. but then he secretly didnt. he still had them, for "saftey purposes" he couldnt let anything happen to u. so he kept them in a secret room along with some pictures of u he took when he was observing(stalking) you before he entered into ur life -P1

that’s actually such a scary idea, i love it. okay, okay, you had a lot so apologises if it’s a bit different than you were expecting, but i tried, and i had fun! let me know if you like it! and my sweet sister @thehydraethereal, tell me what you think.

The Sun

Bucky Barnes: Bucky’s world revolves around you, The Sun, his sunshine, and he’ll do just about anything to make you happy, but everything to keep you safe.

CONTENT WARNING: This is a dark fic, please read content warnings here! 18+!

You’ve always been more of a glass half-full type of person, but with Bucky, you’ve really turned into a ray of sunshine—he just brings that out in you, treating you as precious as every breath he takes and as vital to life as the Sun itself. He said that to you once, when you asked why he calls you sunshine while laying your head in his lap, smiling in bliss as he stroked your hair. He said, “My world revolves around you.”

Even after three months, he still treats you with the same respect and gentleness and love and patience as that very first day, if not even more. There was only once you two had had a serious disagreement—it wasn’t really an argument, no one was angry, but it certainly could’ve been a massive dealbreaker for you.

Bucky never spoke much of his childhood, his teenage years, or even his adult ones, he only really went three years into the past, max, but you had pieced together he’s been through a lot, and so you never pushed him, but you made sure to make it clear you’d be there for him if and when he was ready to talk about it. There was a lot he did that showed you he was a war vet, and that as reluctant as he may be to admit it, he was suffering from some form of PTSD—he doesn’t like watching espionage films, or even movies with too much violence (which you don’t mind skipping, you don’t care too much for them either way), he’s sensitive to loud noises and a few times he’s jolted you out of your slumber with his nightmares, but he claims they’re much better with you than before. The metal arm also fascinated you—he said it’s made of vibranium, and you frowned at the thought of why he would need such a strong arm, but that you managed to get used to. What you couldn’t get used to, however, was his weaponry.

You had been sitting on the couch together when there was a thud from the next room over, and Bucky jumped up, soldier stance and everything, ready to go check it out. You were about to assure him it was nothing, tell him you forgot to close a window and a breeze probably knocked something over, when he slid a knife out of his boot and your breath caught in your throat. You followed the silver glint with your eyes as he stalked around the corner and then disappeared for a few moments.

“Birdie slammed against the window,” he said, relieved with a small smile, and you could hardly believe the juxtaposition between his use of the term ‘birdie’ while he held a knife securely in his hand. When you didn’t respond, staring at him with wide eyes, his brows turned downward in show of concern, and his voice came sincerely, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? It was nothing.” He incorrectly assumed the noise had scared you, but quickly came to understand when he noticed your gaze fixed on the knife.

“This?” he asked, casually, spinning the knife on his finger, but when you jumped back, he quickly hid it behind his back and cast his head downward in shame. He hadn’t meant to scare you, and though he felt bad, he couldn’t help but feel a little offended you’d think his arsenal was something to be afraid of. He’d never lay a hand on you, let alone a tool, why were you scared? Did you not trust him? He only kept this stuff to keep you safe. And besides, you knew about his slight paranoia with defence, so why did this catch you off guard? Sure, maybe the knife in the boot was a little too much for you to handle, but you seemed to take more issue with its existence rather than his convenient hiding.

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology, managing to look up at you. “I didn’t mean to scare you, just had to make sure everything was alright.” He offered a weak smile in hopes of setting you at ease, but it faded when you stood up to confront him, shaking slightly.

“Why do you have a knife?” you asked in horror, voice raising in pitch. “What— do you just— do you just always have that on you?”

It’s the knife you’re worried about. Darling, if you knew the half of it.

“Protection,” he answered simply, innocently, not understanding your reaction.

“What— what else do you have? And— and in your house? You have to get rid of it!”

At any other time he would have pushed back on this (gently, of course), but in your frantic state he knew it wouldn’t serve either of you very well. He really hadn’t expected you to start hyperventilating about it. He switched to soothing you, holding you in his arms and promising he would get rid of all that, that you could feel safe… even though in his mind, his weapons were to make you feel safe, to keep you safe.

There’s a cupboard in Bucky’s house that’s always locked, and he tells you it’s just tools and some clutter he needs to clear out. But what you don’t know is he’s still got his shit in there. In any other circumstance, he would do anything you asked of him, but in this case, he got the impression you didn’t understand, that you were a little naïve when it came to this sort of stuff, like you’d always been sheltered and protected in a way that never needed violence. But he knows what the real world is like, and he knows what he’s got to do to keep you safe.

That was a few months ago. Now, trying to watch a film from the 40s—something with Jimmy Stewart, to grant Bucky a little nostalgia and tick another movie off your cinephile list—you both doze off, but you wake up before him. He usually wakes up earlier than you and falls asleep later, so you rarely see him asleep, only once you had to wake him up from the vivid nightmare, but here, now, he’s peaceful—his eyes are shut, his breathing is steady, his muscles aren’t tensed, this is the first time you’ve seen him lose himself to unconsciousness, and your heart swells at the realisation he feels safe enough to be so vulnerable around you.

As much as you would have loved to watch him breathe, after all the snacks you ate during the movie, your hands are sticky and you can’t really fall back asleep without washing them. On the way to the bathroom, you pause just before the door. The cupboard Bucky keeps his tools in is slightly ajar, it’s always been locked. And you’re not sure what compels you to head over to the door, but you carefully open it, wincing when it creaks slightly, before gasping at the scene.

He said he’d get rid of them! Not only are there multiple sharp blades of varying lengths, there’s more ammo that you could ever imagine needing, pistols, and a shotgun on the wall, you’re pretty sure you spot a fucking grenade, but maybe most terrifyingly is a mask. If this really was for safety (you’re really trying to give him the benefit of the doubt here) why the fuck did he have a mask? Like he was hiding behind it. He wouldn’t need to hide his identity from an intruder, he’d only need to if he was trying not to get caught if he was doing something wrong, if he was—

Bucky drops the bat to catch you before you hit the ground, wincing at the sight of your limp body in his arms. Fuck, he had stuck up a few more pictures of you earlier that day, and clearly forgot to lock the closet. The guilt from hurting you is enough to make him sick, but he’s got to figure out how to savage this.

If he just sets you right back on the couch and puts on some kind of thriller movie, you’ll think it was a dream when you wake up again, right? That your subconscious mind was taking in what was playing on the TV and affecting your sleep. That makes sense, that makes perfect sense, and that’s for you to figure out on your own; he won’t need to explain it or answer questions because really all it was was a bad dream, and he knows about those, you know he has experience with them, you’ll believe him when he tells you how real they can feel—you’ve seen it—and trust that everything’s alright, and he’s good to keep you safe.

After an hour, you begin to stir, and he redirects his gaze from being hyper focused on you to watching the film intently, though this far in he doesn’t know anything about the plot and hopes you don’t ask too many questions about it.

When he hears your quiet moans indicating you’re awake now, and feels your stretch beside him, he looks back at you. “Mornin’, Sunshine,” he teases, hoping you’ll giggle and say something about not realising it was dark outside. But you don’t, instead you startle and recoil back slightly, eyeing him suspiciously.

He forces his brows to furrow in confusion as he sets his half empty bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table. He tries to shift towards you but when you shift back, he sighs and stays in place.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks in a low voice, his tone sincere and soothing. But he can tell you don’t buy it.

“You said you’d get rid of them!” you yell, and he winces slightly—you’ve never raised your voice at him, and if you’re this worked up over it it might take him a little more patience than anticipated to do some damage control.

“Get rid of what?” he asks. The best thing to do here is just play dumb.

“Your— your weapons! There’s— there’s so many of them, you said you’d get rid of them!”

“Baby, baby, baby,” he coos when you start breathing heavily, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “You just had a bad dream, okay? It’s alright…”

“No!” you shriek, kicking him away from you. “In the— in the closet!”

“What closet?”

“The— the one with the tools!”

“There’s nothing in there, sweetheart.”

“Then open it.”

He freezes for a second—he hadn’t expected you to ask that. “I don’t— I don’t know where the key is.” Fuck. He’s fucked. He knew it from the moment he hesitated, and his stuttering further solidified his guilt in your mind. His eyes grew just a little wider as he waited for you to respond, hardly breathing. You can read him like an open book, and he knows he can’t backtrack the few small ticks that set you on the scent.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him for a moment, but blink, and then nod, slowing your breaths down and directing your stare to the floor. “Alright,” you say, and Bucky himself can’t help but sigh in relief.

“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” he coos as he shifts closer to you, and this time, you don’t shift away. He puts his arms around you and comfortingly rubs your shoulder, resting his head on top of yours.

You don’t buy it for a second.

That’s way too specific a dream for you to have months after even thinking about that stuff, and you’re not fucking stupid, you can tell what’s real and what’s not, and that was real. But for the time being, it seems easier to appease him. Maybe you really did imagine it… you doubt it, though, especially when Bucky’s body went rigid in response to your request. Even if you didn’t see what you thought you did, he’s definitely hiding something in that closet.

His phone rings, and he sighs, apologising as he carefully unwraps himself from you, reaching into his pocket to answer the phone as he stands up. “Hello?” There’s a few quick and low words from whoever’s on the other end and the groan he lets out allows you to guess it’s something Avengers-related. Though he isn’t an Avenger anymore (he gave up all violence, even in the name of justice) Sam does occasionally call him up to ask for advice on espionage matters or blueprints or just his thoughts on whatever’s going on.

“I’ve got to run, sweetheart; Sam’s being an asshole and I need to do some damage control,” he chuckles, and looks back down at you hesitantly, waiting for a response of some kind, but you’re quiet, arms crossed over your chest, slouched on the couch and looking at the floor, almost petulant but more… pensive. And that worries him.

“I can— I can stay if you want me to—”

“No,” you answer so casually it’s like something in him shatters. Sure, you’re not always grovelling at his feet when he opens the door but you’ve never been so nonchalant about him leaving to go take care of stuff. Even if it wasn’t all that sincere, you’d still make a little scene out of missing him so much. “I’ll see you later.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it, pressing his lips into a thin line as he nods, and then sighs.

He can’t leave you alone here: you’ll either run the second you can or hurt yourself trying to figure out how to get the cupboard open again. In both cases he won't be able to keep you safe, you’ll get hurt. But you’re also not yourself right now, and he doesn’t want to come on too strong and risk scaring you off for good. Not that he’d ever let you get away.

So he leaves, locks the door, but doesn’t get in his car. Usually he would grant that you’d be able to see the red flag there but you seem hyper focused on getting to his shit and he surmises he can get away with it. Between the tall plants covering his windows, he can just about make you out, sitting completely still on the couch for a few moments, it’s like you’re not even breathing. He subconsciously finds himself holding his breath as well—Are you waiting for him to start the car? Have you noticed he didn’t take his wallet?—narrowing his eyes at you, trying to anticipate your next move.

60 seconds, and you jump up.

***

You take a very quick look around the lounge, just to really make sure he left, and with no sign of him, you start off down the corridor again to his cupboard. It’s locked, and you know better than to even try to look for the key. But you have to do something: how could you live with yourself knowing that either you’d have broken up with your seemingly perfect boyfriend for no reason at all, or ever feel at peace again when there’s this heavy suspicion just hanging there?

You don’t know how you ever learnt it but you pull a pin from your hair and unfold it, closing one eye and sticking your tongue out slightly as you wriggle it around in the key slot, muttering “Please, please, please, please, please” to yourself over and over as you strain to hear for the clicks. One, two, three clicks and it opens! And you have no idea how you did it but it’s done now. You quickly open the door and gasp. You really shouldn’t be surprised—you know it wasn’t a dream—but the double confirmation really takes the wind out of you, and you feel betrayed. He lied to you, why did he lie to you? But there’s something else you didn’t notice before. On the inside of the door, polaroids of you that you know are before you met him are hung up haphazardly with messy tape—and they’re pictures of you doing mundane tasks, your everyday life. With shaking hands, you reach towards one that you’re afraid is of you in the shower, tears collecting on your lashes. As you reach for it, your elbow hits a shotgun and it falls and fires.

You scream as you jump back, and away from the door, you come face to face with Bucky at the end of the hallway, looking horrified as if it’s you who’s doing what you’re not supposed to.

Why the fuck is this thing even loaded if it’s just sitting around? These are assault rifles and deadly tools just at the ready, all the time.

Bucky carefully calls your name, and you turn on your heel and sprint towards the bedroom door at the opposite end of the corridor, but he catches up to you way too easily. He grabs you and slams your head against the doorway, causing you to black out and fall to the floor.

***

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck! How was he so careless not once but twice? What if you’d gotten seriously hurt or even killed? And he’s mad at himself but he can’t help but feel mad at you, too. Why didn’t you just leave it alone? Sure, he fucked up by forgetting to lock it but why on Earth did you push for it? It was locked this time, why were you so obsessed with this!?

He takes a few deep breaths to stop himself from launching into a panic attack. He can fix this, it’s fine, you just need a bit of time to calm down, but he has a feeling if you took a relationship ‘break’ he’d never find you again. So you can’t leave, you just need to be somewhere safe.

Bucky’s basement is hardly even a room—that’s why he keeps his weapons upstairs, and so that they’re always there when he needs them. It’s small, but big enough for a few shelves and a twin-sized mattress, it’s more a very temporary storm shelter—or a panic room, to a weaker person. There aren’t any windows, and so the thought of getting you situated there for an indefinite amount of time isn’t pleasant. He always gets up before you, and, yes, part of that is nature, and part of it is his awe for your peaceful sleeping form, a level of serenity in darkness he’s not sure he’d ever be able to achieve. The sun peaks in through the curtains and lightly bronzes your skin for a few minutes until you stir and wake up to him beside you, pure adoration in his eyes. And every morning, he knows he’d give up the light of day forever if he could only wake up next to you one more time.

***

You grimace as you wake up, feeling uncomfortable—the room feels somehow cold yet stuffy, and the mattress you’re laying on feels scruffy and a little old. You toss and turn a few times before you realise that this is real. When the thought hits, you rip your eyes open, shooting upright to scan your surroundings while your breathing gets heavier and heavier.

Your eyes land on Bucky sitting at the bottom of the stairs with a book in one hand, his metal one mindlessly twirling a thick chain between his fingers, tightening and loosening it. To test, you tug on your leg and he automatically grips tighter to the restraint, even before noticing you’re up.

“Hey, sweetheart…” he coos, setting his book down and letting go of the chain. He crouches down and sits at the bottom of the mattress, coaxing you with soothing rubs on your shin like you’re a mental patient or a wild animal, unpredictable. “How’re you feeling?”

How are you feeling? How are you feeling?

“Are you out of your mind!?” you shriek, and kick at him—it doesn’t hurt him, but he does raise his palm from your leg. Dropping his voice to a sweeter tone, he tries to calm you down. “You’re alright, you’re safe, everything’s okay, baby.”

He reaches out a hand to stroke your face but you slap it away, looking up at him with wild eyes and messy hair, you let your tone drop to a dangerous low as you warn, “Don’t… touch me.”

He gives a disappointed sigh but eventually tuts to himself in agreement. You just need to get this out of your system, it’ll be fine.

But it’s not. It’s not fine, and it’s taking a toll on him. You’ve never been like this before, so angry and irrational and erratic and unpredictable, but that’s not what he minds. He can deal with you throwing insults his way, swinging at him (in vain, of course) or resorting to silence, but what really starts to tick him off is when you refuse to eat. He let it slide the first day, tried to play it cool and just left the tray down for you, but he went upstairs and nervously paced back and forth until the morning. When he came down with breakfast, he discovered you hadn’t so much as touched your meal, not even the tray itself, and though he asked you in an even tone to eat something (and got nothing but silence in return) it was worrying him, he nearly wanted to plead with you, but he knew if he cracked you’d see a weak spot and keep ramming it until you get your way, and he can’t have that.

It’s the third day now, and he finally decides he needs to feed you. He sits down in front of you and pulls the tray towards him, scooping up some rice on a plastic spoon. He holds the food to your lips but you keep them shut tight, even when he gently pokes your mouth a few times. He’s sure you can see the stress you’re causing him: he’s hardly sleeping, as shown by the bags under his eyes, and he can’t even go for a jog to clear his head in case you do something crazy while he’s gone. With a deep breath, he sets the spoon down and leans back, considering his next move. Maybe you’d drink a smoothie. Not ideal but better than nothing.

“Alright,” he huffs as he stands up. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna make you a smoothie.”

He’s only just turned his back when he hears clattering, and when he looks back to you, you’ve got fury etched onto your features and the food he so carefully and lovingly prepared for you is strewn across the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” he bellows, and backhands you, sending you to the floor. With your mouth agape, you clutch your cheek and look up at him in shock. He’s never even raised his voice at you, let alone yelled, let alone lay a finger on you. “Just fucking listen to me! Eat!” He kicks the tray further back and you startle, paralysed by pure shock.

He takes a deep breath in, and a long huff out, clenching his fists at his sides. His blue eyes you had once thought of as calm oceans are ablaze, he’s shaking with anger, and his voice quivers as he tries to speak in a level tone to you. “I… am going to make you a smoothie, and you are going to drink it, or you’ll never see the sun again.”

When he slams the door shut behind him, you finally allow tears to fall. You don’t know what that threat means—will he never let you out? Will he kill you? At first you didn’t think so, even when he held you down as you screamed and kicked, but you never thought he’d hit you either, you never thought he was capable of such rage, and though he kept it relatively under control, you saw what that was. It wasn’t just ire, it was like flames licked his entire being, engulfing him and lighting him up. While you thought of him as your Sun, now, that was for a different reason—now, he feels like the actuality of the star: unpredictable and unbearably dangerous, but… necessary for survival, and inescapable.

✪

[my beloved taglist; @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10]

[feyascorner]

1 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”

Intimacy is not something you like to indulge in after your last lover nearly strangled you to death. Sometimes, you wonder if letting him ascend would mean he would still be here, by your side, rather than lurking the shadows of Baldur's Gate.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. very excited about this!!!! I have a lot of ideas on what to do w this plot!!! ALSO there is some material (pressuring??) in this specific chapter that may be a bit uncomfortable for some readers it's very brief, but it is there so please take care of yourself!

As dark spots blur your vision, you realize you can no longer breathe.

His hands–the slender pale fingers you’ve grown to love more than your own–wrap desperately around your throat, digging crescent-shaped indents into your skin. You’d always thought that if he were ever to realize you weren’t as precious to him as he believed you to be, your neck would be the one part of yourself he’d continued to cherish. The softness in which he brushed his fangs against the most vulnerable areas of your throat had led you to believe so.

But as you stare up at him with wide eyes meeting a murderous glare, you understand that you are wrong.

His crimson eyes gleam with an emotion you’ve seen plenty on his pretty face, but never toward a friend. Never to you. You’re going to die, you think. And it wouldn’t have seemed so bad to die at his hands if it were not for the hatred reaching his eyes.

You’re not sure who–maybe Karlach or Wyll–but someone tears him away from you. Your chest dares to tighten from the loss of contact, yet you desperately grasp at the air, hands flying to the tender flesh of your neck while Shadowheart rushes to your side in an instant with her eyes narrowed dangerously at the very man who’d made the dark blemishes.

They’re yelling. Everyone is. At you, out of panic, or at Astarion, you’re not sure, but you just stare at the vampire spawn who’s now unwillingly locked into a life cast into the shadows of the city. He doesn’t look at anyone else, either.

He says something and a few more muffled voices spit back before he throws the dagger you’d given him to the ground, turning to leave. Your hearing clears just in time to hear his parting words.

“I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”

A pair of hands shake you awake, and you quickly remember the poor consequences to your back of falling asleep on the empty, narrow street beside the Elfsong tavern. You look up wearily, eyes in a daze as Shadowheart sighs irritably, brows furrowed in a way that tells you to ready yourself for a scolding. “Honestly, at this point, I’m just surprised you haven’t gotten robbed during the night yet.”

You force yourself onto your feet, leaning against the walls as you rub at the crust forming under your eyes. “I have nothing of value anyway. They’re better off stealing from some other poor bard who actually bothers to write songs.”

She raises a brow at this, scanning over your appearance. “Where is your lyre?”

“Sold it,” you shrug, dusting off the muck garnered at the sides of your pants. “Wasn’t much use to me anymore. Better off adding to the funds to rebuild the city, don’t you think?”

Shadowheart frowns, and it makes you look away shamefully. Thankfully, she quickly shakes her head and then paces past you. “Speaking of which, are you in any condition to help today? Gale’s promptly exhausted trying to cast mage hand at least a dozen times yesterday to rebuild the Blushing Mermaid. That foolish wizard nearly passed out by noon.”

“‘Course,” you offer a pathetic smile. “We’re nearly finished with the Baldur’s Mouth. I’ll catch up with you once I check on everyone there.”

“Very well,” she says. She purses her lips after a slight pause. “You should stop falling asleep on the street. Especially since there’s been quite a few murders recently around the city,” she checks to see if you haven’t dazed off, “I expect you to come home tonight–We’re making stew.”

“I will. Don’t think my back can stand much more of this anyway.”

Her shoulders relax the slightest bit, and she finally manages to catch your darting eyes. “Is it the nightmares again? They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”

Your throat goes dry, and you can feel your knees grasping at its remaining strength as you search your mind for a way to respond. You’re tempted to lie through your gritted teeth, knowing she’s fully aware regardless of what pathetic answer you offer her, but you opt to seal your mouth shut, shrugging.

The flash of disappointment in her eyes is enough to make you feel the knots tighten in your stomach. With a curt note, she turns to walk away, glancing back for one last time. “Don’t give him the privilege of occupying a part of your mind for so long. He doesn’t deserve even the dirty filth you have all over yourself.”

For the first time after he nearly killed you and you defeated the Elder Brain four months ago, you think she might be right about him.

Intimacy is not something you like to indulge in after your last lover nearly strangled you to death. Though after the pitiful look your companions gave you when you arrived back at camp and the aching truth in Shadowheart’s words, you find yourself feeling bolder than the last time you dared to call Lae’zel’s cooking inedible (which it was, quite frankly). 

He’s handsome. A reasonably tall elf with pale blue eyes glinting with attraction as he stares at you across the tavern. Sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and long hair brushed back and away from his face. You only notice everything else after the silvery shade of his hair–not entirely white, but fairly close, or as close as you could get to it while still being blond. You were sure he was approaching you for your title–the famed hero of Baldur’s Gate–rather than for pure physical attraction, but you weren’t in any position to nitpick at the moment.

You just wanted to feel skin other than the unsettling feeling of your own.

“Seems to have taken a liking to you,” Shadowheart sips at her drink.

Lae’zel glances at you. “He’s tolerable to the eye. Not quite attractive by githyanki standards, but tolerable.”

You stifle a smile at their attempts to urge you forward and put down your drink. “You sure you two won’t be lonely without me?...Or kill each other.”

“You can leave them to me,” Gale smiles, pacing toward your table with his drink. “I’m sure a Hold cast or two would settle them down.”

Lae’zel snatches the cup from his hand. “You act as if you aren’t fresh out of cast slots, wizard.”

Shadowheart shakes her head, nudging you forward. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

“I won’t be long. Certainly won’t be overnight,” you assure her. “I can’t miss the stew, anyway.”

She smiles, and Lae’zel scoffs in the other direction. “Hurry, he looks almost demented waiting for your graces.”

You snort and offer a clumsy glance to the elf across the tavern before striding out the door. 

Behind the tavern, he’s quick to press a desperate kiss to your lips, lacking the usual tenderness you experienced with Astarion. Or had it been tender at all? Even now, you’re unsure what parts of him had been to manipulate you and what parts of him had been his raw feelings. At the time, you’d embraced either with open arms–you’d embraced him. 

The elf bites at your lip, which snaps you back into the waking world. And while you curse yourself for comparing the moment to him, you find that it’s impossible as you observe that this elf is slightly shorter than he’d been. And instead of his hands wandering to your hip or waist, they graze your behind, pushing you into him in a way that feels nearly suffocating. 

And most glaringly, his lips are warm. Not the cold, yet soft lips of an undead being.

You’re grateful that he keeps his eyes closed because you can simply stare at his pale hair, longing for something you vowed to forget.

It doesn’t feel right. Not at all, and you hate yourself for it.

You shove him away, face falling as you realize you want to wipe his touch away from your mouth like it’s filth, and you do. Understandably, he appears puzzled, brows furrowing as you push yourself away from the wall, shaking your head. “Sorry, I don’t think I can do this.”

But as you try to walk away, his fingers close around your wrist like a death grip, sending shivers up your spine as you find that you hate the feeling of his skin. You hate the feel of your own skin, too. Why, you’re not sure, but he leans close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheeks and yank you out of your daze. “What’s gotten into you? I didn’t do jack shit.”

“I just can’t do this,” you hiss, tugging at your hand. You could just knock him out, but the hero of Baldur’s Gate punching people as they pleased wouldn’t look too good on your end. “Let go.”

“Well, you have to give me at least an explanation,” he snaps, grip tightening. It hurts. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been sending me looks all night.”

His words seem to snap the remaining patience inside you because you elbow his stomach, shoving him backward onto his ass before pressing your dagger that seemed to appear from thin air into his neck. You haven’t had to use the knife in a while, considering how your biggest recent foe was the stinginess of patrons when it came time to pay their tabs at the tavern. Though it belongs to you, it feels foreign in your hands because, for a time, it had a different owner.

One who used this very blade against you. The same one who taught you how to elbow someone hard enough to make them reel.

“P-Please, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You’d forgotten he was there. “Just let me go, please; I won’t bother you again.”

You drop your head, sighing loudly as you sheathe your dagger once more. You think you must really be losing your mind—threatening to slice open a civilian’s throat despite the significant power imbalance between the two of you. You’re sure the greatest threat he’s faced in his life is from petty theft or something along those lines while you—well, you’re you. It’d be equivalent to a full grown owlbear attacking a goblin with a half broken club.

So, as much as you want to make him bleed just a bit, you opt to step away. “Do that again to anyone—not just me, and I won’t be so forgiving next time. Understand?”

The tremble in his irises tells you enough. You sigh again, turning to leave.

You curse your luck. Of course you would have to attract the foulest person in the tavern on a night where nothing seemed to be going correctly. Or rather, the past four months that haven’t been going as you anticipated.

Getting rid of the tadpole meant you should’ve been free from the chains of someone else—and it had, but at the cost of losing something else. And that ‘something else’ was one you weren’t sure you were ever ready to sacrifice. It should have made you happy to see the Elder Brain fall, and to rid of the squirming feeling in your skull, but all you could remember was the churning in your stomach as you realized the last string tying you to him had been snapped.

You’d gone to every tavern, every bar, playing a tune at each one until the skin at your fingers split open, because he knew you’d be there. He’d known what your lyre meant to you. Yet among the sea of faces, not once had you seen the one you wanted.

As you walk around the corner, you wrap your arms around yourself. Though Summer’s quickly approaching, there’s still a chill in the air this late at night. You pull out your dagger once more, lifting it to the sky to examine its hilt against the moonlight, which glistens with what was once your pride and love. Now, it just looks dull, and faint.

You back feels too light, now lacking the lyre. You suppose you’ll have less of a hassle moving around now, since you don’t have to worry about the strings snapping, but it doesn’t soothe you. Still, you’d sold it for good reason.

An instrument is nothing without a player who can use it, after all.

So you turn your attention back to your dagger, the last crumb he’s left for you to hold dearly to your heart, and then to the trash can perched beside a nearby wall.

You’ve tried a million times before, and you’re not sure what makes you think you’ll be successive this time, but you swallow hard in determination to rid of the thing entirely. But just as you’re about to take your first step toward it, you hear a loud, halting screech muffled instantly.

It’s from the direction you came from.

You’re breaking into a silent sprint, the weapon in your hand ready to be used. You stop before you turn the corner, readying yourself for the worst. A murder? There’ve been more than a few occurring around the city, but you’d thought the Flaming Fist were investigating that already…You can hear your blood rushing in your head, but a crunch of bone and the silence that follows afterward is all you can focus on as your grip on the hilt tightens desperately. 

Cautiously, you peer at the moonlit alleyway, poised to attack.

You nearly drop the blade.

Draped in the moonlight with his face hidden by a hood, he nearly glows, though you’re not sure if it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. His fangs are buried viciously into the man’s neck, whose legs and arms lie limply at his side while the life in his eyes slips away as if it were never there. And while you don’t dare to breathe, you stare with wide eyes, drinking in his appearance as if it would be the last. A part of you thinks it may be.

But as quickly as your heart begins to race, it calms. A drop of your stomach tells you it’s not him. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or how you know, but you can just tell.

The man finally drops the now lifeless body onto the ground with a thud, wiping at his mouth with the back of his dark sleeve. He turns, and you finally see one of Astarion’s brothers–the one who’d been at the flophouse, confirming your suspicions. Regardless, your guard stays up. “I thought you guys left for the Underdark.”

He snaps his head toward your voice, eyes wide. He looks a lot better than you’d last truly seen his face after Astarion nearly burned him against the sunlight in the flophouse. What had been his name, you try to recall? Pallet? Peter? It doesn’t matter, much. “You were at the flophouse.”

He cringes at the memory but nods. “Petras. You’re the one who stopped Astarion from killing us all, aren’t you?”

Your throat goes dry at that. You’d never thought about it in such a–vulgar way, and it makes your stomach churn, but he doesn’t give you time to respond. 

“Dalyria, Leon, and I have decided to stay for the sake of the spawn hiding in the city sewers,” he explains curtly. “My other siblings are in the Underdark with most of the spawn, as you expect them to be.”

You stare at the corpse on the ground, expression twitching as you meet his eyes. “Why’d you kill him?”

He licks his lips, stained with the man’s blood.  “I didn’t. Someone did the work for me. I just didn’t let his precious blood go to waste.” He pauses. “I’d put a few rats on betting that it’s Astarion.”

Your eyes go wide, your armed hands dropping to your side. “Astarion? He was here?”

You’d been here mere moments ago. Had he seen you? Was he watching you?

“Maybe. Judging from how quickly he ran away from the scene when he saw me, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Shoving your dagger into its rightful place on your back, you immediately turn to search for your former companion. He couldn’t have gone far. You’d been talking to the dead man mere minutes ago, and if the death occurred between now and then, he couldn’t have possibly gone more than a few buildings away–

“I never got to thank you.”

Petras looks at you anxiously, and as much as you’d like to cut the conversation short, the way he shifts nervously can’t help but keep you in place.

“There’s no need,” you reply, stopping to shake your head. You hadn’t done it for him or any of his siblings, for that matter, anyway. Not even for Astarion. Your choice to stop had been for yourself, to keep him by your side. Your brows furrow at the selfishness draping your thoughts—that you were willing to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls for the sake of protecting the one you loved. It was a lapse of judgement. Naivety. “It’s just how things turned out.”

He tilts his head but doesn’t push it any further. “Have you seen him recently? Astarion?”

“...No. He left after we—I killed Cazador.”

His eyes flicker with disappointment, and you wonder if he’s forgiven Astarion for what he tried to do in Cazador’s dungeon. “He’s always been good at hiding. Seems some things never change.”

You nod numbly. “I’ll let you know if I do see him.”

Though you doubt you ever will. Not after how things ended. But if there’s a slight chance, even the smallest of hopes, that you can bring closure to the sleepless nights you spend on the streets, staring up at a sky that no longer brightens the way it used to, you’re willing to wait until you’re shriveled up and old, while he remains beautiful.

“I don’t think he wants to see you right now.”

The painful clench in your heart doesn’t go ignored. “Have you spoken with him?”

“Once,” he says. “But it seems he doesn’t want to speak with us anymore either. You see, our conversation didn’t quite end in a happy family reunion. We did manage to ask him a few things—like asking if he was to be staying with you.”

“And?” You’re afraid to hear the answer, but your voice is far too hopeful.

Petras gives you a look of pity, and you understand.

You understand that no matter how long you wait or how long you search for him, Astarion will not be seen when he does not want to be.

“I don’t think he wants to see you right now.”

For the rest of the night, you weep. You weep in the comforts of nobody but your own arms and nobody to hear you but the moon above.

Baldur’s Gate is by no means a city that sleeps. The past four months have been a restless cycle of rebuilding the city, and while you’ve done your part, no matter how much you do, it never seems enough.

“Oh, welcome, dear. Your friends have been a wonderful help for my house as of late,” the lady of the Highberry’s Home, Cora Highberry, ushers you into her house, still missing a roof and half the windows but appearing in better shape than most other structures in the city. She offers you a wine glass. “Do you have a preference?”

“Anything’s fine,” you smile, but just as you reach for the glass, it’s snatched away by a familiar wizard’s hand.

Gale extends Cora a gentle nod and that charming grin of his as he hands her back the wine. “While we greatly appreciate your hospitality, I’m afraid my friend here is in no condition to drink as of now.”

The playful roll of your eyes makes Cora laugh. “Ah, of course. But do know I’m so grateful for all your help. I didn’t imagine we would be building the home back for the orphans so quickly!”

“It’s the least we could do,” Gale beams. “Now then, my dear friend and I will continue working on the second floor, so just give us a holler if you need us.”

He whisks you away toward the stairs before you can wave goodbye to the woman. While you’d expect him to initiate conversation, he doesn’t say anything until you arrive upstairs, where you’re mostly alone beside the few other volunteers in the other room. You tilt your head when he finally paces past you toward one of the broken windows. “Gale Dekarios keeping his mouth shut for more than a few moments? The city truly must be falling apart.”

He cracks a smile at this, dusting off a few glass shards from the windowsill. “I’m glad to see you still have your sense of charm.”

“When have I ever lacked my charm?”

He doesn’t lift his head, pulling out his spellbook and flipping through a few pages while you survey the state of the room. “You didn’t return last night.”

You tense.

“It would be wise to be grateful Karlach’s still in Avernus with Wyll, because I’m certain she would’ve given you quite the scolding for daring to miss my world-famous Wizard’s Stew,” he says lightly, his tone morphing into something more serious when he shifts his gaze in your direction. “We’re worried about you, you know. Especially Shadowheart, even if that woman doesn’t know what gentle means in every possible level of hell.”

He’s silently asking you for an explanation, and your heart breaks at how gently he prods at your walls, giving you an opportunity to slip away again. But with how his eyes plead at you, you can’t imagine that would be possible anyway. Slowly, you perch yourself on the windowsill, looking down at the bustling crowd working together to rebuild the Highberry’s porch. They’re laughing—some face red with wine, while others scold them for it. You see a bard playing a tune you haven’t heard before, but it’s effective in lifting the mood regardless, and you finally glance at Gale.

“I met one of Astarion’s brothers yesterday.”

His face is grim. “I didn’t realize they were still in the city.”

“Me neither,” you sigh. “Some of them stayed. From what I could tell, they're mostly in the sewers, but they’re definitely here.”

“Did he seem…hostile?”

“No. He just asked me about Astarion.” You leave out the part about the dead body.

Gale’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything, only silently urging you to continue. And you do.

“He doesn’t want to see me. Not ever, I think.”

There it is. The same gaze everyone seems to give you lately: pity.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you hop off the windowsill, pacing across to the other side of the room. “If he doesn’t want to see me, I won’t. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I won’t. I’m tired of waiting for him, Gale. I’m tired of waiting for someone who won’t ever come.”

And despite the puffiness of your eyes last night, and despite the way your eyes gloss over even now, you offer him a crooked smile. “I want to focus on the city now, for better or worse.”

Gale appears the happiest he’s been since returning a few months ago with the news that Mystra has healed him of his orb. “You thought well, dear friend. You should know how glad we are to have you back. We could certainly use more hands in the kitchen, as well, considering—well, you know how the rest of our companions are with cooking.”

Just as you open your mouth, there’s an ear-shattering scream from downstairs. The two of you meet wide eyes briefly before hurrying downstairs.

Only a few feet from the patio of the Highberry home, there’s a crowd gathering with hushed whispers and the weeping of a woman. And when you manage to push through the mountain of people, you finally see the corpse.

Cora Highberry sobs over what remains of her bloody husband, who, without a doubt, has the markings of two fangs punctured through his throat.

[elvensorceress]

idk I get incredibly angry at homophobes being cast on my gay shows. anybody want the start of my fic where Eddie dumps her bigoted ass and then has a gay ole sexy time with his husband and his husband's new boyfriend? because here. you can have. it's cathartic 💕

test drive - 2K, BuckTommy, BuckEddieTommy, Buddie endgame forever / Explicit

The restaurant is dimly lit in a way that might be classy and romantic, but Tommy’s hand is also on Buck’s thigh. And he’s having a lot of very not-classy, not even very romantic sorts of thoughts. Everything is far more along the lines of, he could put his hand on my dick, and I know what his cock feels like down my throat, and why are we here in a public place when we could be back at my loft taking turns fucking each other until we’re both a mess of cum and lube and sweat and sexy bruises and love bites? Because all of that is way more appealing than what they are sitting here, waiting to do. 

If it were just one of their dates, it’d be great. Those are fantastic. Tommy likes to pick him up and take him to nice places and he smiles in a really, really soft cute way that also has an air of, I am going to fuck you until you scream and you will love every second. And holy fucking god, does Buck love every second. 

Bisexuality, man. Who knew? 

It’s so fantastic. It’s so different? Or maybe it’s just that Tommy is different because he’s ridiculously cool and hot and Buck always really liked when someone knew what they wanted and would take the lead and he could do everything in his power to please them and make them feel good. Confidence is infinitely sexy and competence even more so. And Tommy has all of that in spades. 

And Buck loves men. Buck really loves men. It makes so much sense and how had he never even considered? Maybe he considered but he sure as hell never realized wanting a man and being attracted to a man was something that fit so well. Fuck, it fits so well. 

Maybe he could even end up with a man someday? Maybe he could marry a man and have a relationship that is like this all the time for the rest of his life? Not that he doesn’t like women still. Women are great. People who don’t identify as either or they identify as both or however they choose— they’re great, too. 

Everyone is hot and Evan Buckley is very bisexual, and it just might be one of the greatest revelations he’s ever had. 

He’s just really, really enjoying being with a man right now. 

He is not, however, enjoying the thought of this dinner. Everything about this dinner makes his stomach a washing machine of anxiety. For no reason. He doesn’t know why. There’s nothing wrong with it. 

Why wouldn’t he and his boyfriend go on a double date with his best friend who is their mutual friend, and his best friend’s girlfriend. What is wrong with that? It’s fine. Should be— fun? 

Shouldn’t be a bad taste in his mouth that the wine still hasn’t gotten rid of and roiling in his stomach that is really killing his appetite. But it very much is. 

Tommy squeezes Buck’s thigh and rubs it in a way that surely is supposed to be comforting. But it makes Buck want to drag him out of this restaurant and back to the loft where he can show Tommy how good he is at fucking him now. Not just because it would be a thousand times better than the prospect of this dinner. The bar is so low on the ground, it’s buried at this point. But also because sex with his new boyfriend is better than— actually, Buck is having a hard time thinking of anything that is better right now. 

Very hard time. 

They’ve been practicing. Everything. Blowjobs, fucking, fingering, ball massages, prostate milking, rimming— all sorts of really fun things Buck never even imagined could feel so good. Not that he was oblivious to a lot of it. He has toys. His ex was into pegging. Buck might have been unaware of how intense and gay— well, bi. He’s bi now. Buck is bi now. Probably always was but he knows it now. He’s bisexual.— his attraction to men could be. But he was not unaware of sexual acts that feel good to his body. 

But it’s totally different with a real man and a real cock and being manhandled by someone who might actually be bigger and stronger than you is really fucking hot. 

He checks his watch again and it’s already 7:28. They’re almost half an hour late. Which is so not like Eddie. He’s not sure if Marisol is like that but he knows for sure Eddie is either fifteen minutes early for everything or he texts if there is a problem. Even then, he’s only ever a few minutes late. If that. And last Buck checked, there were no new messages on his phone. 

He checks again, and still nothing. Not even to Buck’s message of, hey u ok? u on the way? He frowns and sets his phone back on the table and turns to Tommy. “How long before I’m allowed to be really worried?”

Tommy gives him an amused smile. “You can be worried.”

“How long before we need to bother Athena? Ten more minutes? Five? Sh-should I bother Athena now?”

Tommy’s eyebrows scrunch and he looks at Buck like he’s crazy. Okay, it’s probably crazy. Just. He’s worried? That must be the churning in his stomach. “I’m sure Eddie’s fine. It hasn’t been that long. And he’s Eddie.”

Yeah. Yeah, he’s Eddie. But Eddie was also shot downtown in the middle of broad daylight and nearly bled out all over, and there’s not much anyone can do even if they are trained in hand to hand combat and self-defense and those kinds of things. Not many ways to defend against a sniper round that shouldn’t even be a thing. 

Not that Buck is thinking about that. Ever. 

He’s just turning into a washing machine over this dinner. That’s all. 

Five minutes later, some of it finally eases when Eddie finally shows up and sits down across from them. Alone. 

Alone?

“Sorry, guys,” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and breathes like he’s run a hundred miles. He’s hardly been looking distressed at all lately. He’s been glowing smiles and pretty laughs. Not pretty. Nice? Good? Good that he’s so much happier and at peace. 

But he’s not that now. 

“I would’ve—” Eddie checks his own watch, one that was a Christmas present that Buck had engraved with, all the time you need, and must realize how late he actually is. “Fuck. Sorry. Really sorry. I’ll buy? Unless you’ve already eaten and paid and are about to leave.” 

Tommy shakes his head and has that nice smile that’s so reassuring. “We haven’t. Don’t worry about it.”

“We were waiting,” Buck adds and itches to ask him what’s wrong, why he’s late, why he looks— like he isn’t okay. 

“Great.” Eddie nods tersely and it sounds anything but great. “They got anything stronger than wine and cocktails here? Because—” He doesn’t say. But he does make a face the conveys everything. 

“Doubt it,” Tommy says. “But we can get something somewhere else. Is Mar— Mari?”

“Marisol,” Buck supplies. Not that it matters. Not that he cares. Is he supposed to care? There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s fine. 

“Right,” Tommy says, which should say everything. Eddie’s been hanging out with Tommy for months, Buck’s been with Tommy for months, and Tommy is pretty damn good at remembering people’s names. “Marisol. Is she still on the way?”

Eddie’s jaw gets very tight. “No. We’re done.” 

Tommy looks at Buck and Buck looks at Tommy. They’re done? They broke up? Not that it’s particularly surprising. Part of the curse of dating someone you met on a call. Gotta be. Also the whole thing where Eddie has some kind of commitment issues or something because as soon as he gets a girlfriend, he has to spend all his time doing anything besides being with said girlfriend.

“So, drinking?” Tommy says. 

Buck pushes his wine glass across the table. They usually share when they eat together. Drinks, food, anything. And he’s happy to offer it to the cause. 

“Yes, drinking.” Eddie takes Buck’s wine and downs all of it. 

Eddie’s single again. Marisol isn’t coming to dinner and she’s not part of their lives any longer. Not that Buck has a problem with her. She’s fine. She was nothing really. That wasn’t going to last. Eddie likes the idea of being with someone. So he says. He’s allergic to actually having a relationship for some reason. 

The washing machine in Buck’s stomach disappears though. Which is so much better. Now, it’s just Buck hanging out with his best friend and his boyfriend. 

Maybe there’s a little washing machine. It’s nothing though. 

They order food and drinks, and Eddie only goes through a couple shots and three glasses of wine and one beer. But he eats and also drinks water and doesn’t seem inebriated at all. So, they focus on the meal and Tommy’s latest work stories of helicopter rescues. 

It’s not until after Buck discreetly hands their waiter his credit card before they’re actually brought the bill, that Eddie actually starts talking.

“I kind of fucked up. Didn’t mean to. I owe you an apology,” he says and looks at Buck with worlds of regret and sorrow. 

Whatever it is, Buck forgives him. He’s sure he’s done far worse than whatever it is. “Why? What, uh, what happened?”

Eddie doesn’t look at him. Or Tommy. He does shake his head but not like he’s saying no. More like he’s disgusted. “I let it slip that you two are— that you’re. Dating. Together. Boyfriends? Do you call each other that? Are you boyf— never mind, I let it slip. I’m sorry. That was my bad. Not my secret to tell.”

Tommy looks scrunched and confused again and Buck— he doesn’t understand what the problem is? No, he hasn’t told many people yet. But it’s not a secret that he and Tommy are together. 

“Eds,” Buck says and immediately thinks he probably shouldn’t have called him that. He doesn’t know why. But he shouldn’t. “It’s fine. I’m not— It’s not a secret. I’m not hiding. Or— or in the closet? I’m out. Now. I’m bi and—” And he’s really happy about that. He really loves it. He’s bisexual. He loves women and men and whoever regardless of gender. And holy shit, does he love men right now. He really, really loves being with a man. He looks to his side and grins brightly at Tommy. “And I’m not ashamed or embarrassed that Tommy and I are together.”

There’s a cute half smile that curves the side of Tommy’s mouth and Buck so wants to kiss him. And do all sorts of other things with him. 

“Well. Good.” Eddie taps his finger on an empty shot glass like he’s contemplating ordering another. “Still. Didn’t go well. Didn’t mean to out you like that.”

“Didn’t go well?” Tommy asks. “Saying that Evan and I are dating didn’t go well?”

Eddie purses his lips and does a slow, exaggerated shake of his head. “Nope. But at least I learned that now. Has the waiter brought our check yet? Because I’m just going to drink more if I don’t head out soon. Not that I’m sad about her or anything. I’m pissed. You think you know someone, and no. No, she’s a raging homophobe.”

She— oh. Oh, that’s what happened. “She broke up with you because we’re gay? Bi and gay? Or— you know what I mean.” Is Tommy gay? Or bi? Or something else? Buck hasn’t actually asked what label he uses. How he qualifies his sexuality. He felt weird asking. It’s so personal. Is he supposed to ask? All he knows is that Tommy was into him. Tommy kissed him and it was breathtaking, incredible, magnificent and changed Buck’s whole life. He didn’t really think anything beyond that. Couldn’t really think beyond that. 

Eddie definitively points at himself and then at phantom nothingness. “I dumped her. Because I said this was a double date with you guys and she said, well not really, and I said, no really. It’s a double date. Her and me and both of you. Double date. Except not her. Ever. Anymore. Because she had to go off about how it was wrong and made her uncomfortable and I ‘let both of you be alone with Christopher?’ And it couldn’t possibly be a date like me and her would go on a date because she’s a woman and I’m a man and that was normal. But you two are both men. Both muscular, powerful, masculine, manly firemen type men— so it could never be the same especially because neither one of you are flamey or girly or whatever, so it could never work, the two of you since neither one of you is ‘The Girl.’ Which is all bullshit. By the way. Obviously. And,” he finally stops and breathes, and there’s a hard swallow in his throat and his eyes are distant and his whole body is strung tight and if he could breathe fire? He probably would. Holy shit, he’s pissed off. Buck isn’t even sure he’s ever seen Eddie this angry at anyone who hasn’t hurt someone he loves. 

Although. Technically she did? Not hurt per se, Buck doesn’t give a shit about what she thinks of him. But she was insulting them. So. Yeah, okay, of course fiercely protective Eddie would be angry. 

“And anyway,” Eddie says, still never quite looking at Buck or even at Tommy. Never quite focusing on them. “That’s how I’m single and back on the market again.” He smiles a wide, bitter, snarky kind of smile, and steals the half-full beer glass in front of Buck and downs it in one gulp. 

(Read on AO3)

[vampsired]

Hobbies JJK characters would have

cast ᯓ✦: gojo, geto, shoko, nanami, haibara, utahime

GOJO SATORU

1. eating/cooking - I feel like teen gojo mostly but older gojo would also find great joy in concocting heinous meals in the kitchen like his ‘ultimate sandwich’

2. wordle - doesn’t matter how good he claims to be, he has a meltdown and a half whenever he can’t get the answer in two tries. He’ll also gasp when he forgets to do his daily wordle and does it then and there.

3. map quizzing - he claims to be good, and with full confidence says the wrong answer. But will shove it in your face if he gets it right. He’ll go through a phase every couple of weeks trying to force anyone to vers him

GETO SUGURU

1. fixing/updating his motorcycle - he’d only be able to do this when he’s at his parents house bc it’s tedious work and needs a lot of time which he doesn’t rlly have when he’s at school.

2. music - I feel like teen geto would be swamped with school and missions most of the time to fully indulge himself into music, so when he gets more time I feel like he’d post

3. photography - defo the friend who takes pics of the sunset and sends it to you like you don’t have eyes yourself. But he’s a really good photographer, everyone ask him to take their photos when they’re out. He also has a bunch of digital cameras and loves going to photo booths

SHOKO IEIRI

1. amature barista - I think she missed good coffee when she’d go back home, so she took this up to satiate her coffee addiction. But then ended up having so much fun making it at home she got a full station when she got her own home.

2. swimming - she finds swimming relaxing, whether it’s the ocean, the pool or a lake. When she was young she had a lake near her house and she’d go swimming with her friends there all summer long, she hopes to take her friends one day.

3. collects mini toys - like mini purses and doll pieces, her fav is the mini hair dryer and straighter but she absolutely cherishes the ones utahime makes her <3

NANAMI KENTO

1. baking (duh) - although he doesn’t get into bread making until he’s older, I feel like teen nanami could make gooodd brownies and cookies that aren’t sickeningly sweet

2. reading (another obvi) - teen nanami would probably like those very long and complicated fantasy series and perhaps would like crime/thriller novels. But I feel maybe as nanami gets older he likes to read more literary fiction.

3. walks - I feel like he’d love to take the subway to a less crowded area and walk around with headphones in. He especially loves places with green landscapes or rivers

HAIBARA YU

1. comic and manga collector - loves seeing his collection grow over the years and loves sharing the stuff he has with his friends for them to enjoy also

2. legos - I feel like he has an impressive lego collection at his parents house but never dares to bring the larger ones to his dorm, he has smaller builds in his dorm which are still very impressive

3. board games - probably owns games you’ve never heard of, mostly plays with either you and nanami. But sometimes the group plays if they can get the rules down. But word of advice, don’t play monopoly with utahime or gojo 0.o

UTAHIME IORI

1. jewellery making - is the friend who has a lifetime amount of beads at her disposal. Loves making friendship bracelets for you and shoko, especially to mark like special events like holiday you guys go on or just for fun

2. painting - specifically flowers and landscapes, it reminds her of the place she grew up in and how her mother used to paint the summer flowers when she was growing up.

3. mini clay pieces - using air drying clay to make some little things like tiny mugs or tiny figurines like dinosaurs. When she made some little tortoises for shoko she screamed

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[1800titz]

HI BESTIES. This is the first part of Shibari man/Shibari Asshole/Rigger!Harry x Rope bunny!Reader ((the one I teased here))

The one where Harry runs shibari classes and you think he should smile more

WC: 2.4K

This is part one of a patreon exclusive series; the rest will only be accessible through my patreon. You can already find part 2 up on my patreon (✿◠‿◠) 

When you were a little kid, your brother had an ant farm. 

An acrylic formicarium that’d started out as two boxes with a set of tubes. Over time, it morphed into a staggering, caged cityscape of twisting, pellucid hoses and burrows that spanned the entire length of the desk in his bedroom. 

You'd watch them scatter the tunnels as a little girl, lugging cracker crumbs and bits of fruit off your sticky fingers, weaving along the chutes connecting the boroughs of their curated city.

Your brother did what any nasty, older brother would do— those harvester ants were the torment of your childhood. You'd bicker, and he’d threaten to spill them into your bed when you were sleeping. Told you that the colony would eat her toes, that you'd wake up to wiggle nothing but grisly, little, ichor-soaked stumps.  

The gory intimidation tactic never really did much.

You'd still press your nose to the screen barring the insects and smudge your fingerprints over, fascinated as they congregated to the wet cotton ball in the depths of their home. 

You think it's a little like that now, wandering the swarming alcoves in the underbelly of New York. You're a little harvester ant (all exoskeleton to sheathe the pulpy anguish of a long day— ball it inside, keeping your face even and your mouth in a line), plodding through a network of crystalline, vinyl tubing. Swimming against the swathing current of the colony seeping past you in their beanies and their coats, deadpanned on their dog-eat-dog pursuit of errands. 

During the evening rush hour, it’s teeming under the city that never sleeps. It’s a stunning exhibit, maybe, for a tourist whose hometown flickers every porch light off by nine and has one tributary of a road that seeps away from the community, but it doesn’t help the headache thrumming behind your temples. Instead, it kindles the narked throb in your limbs until it feels like an itch in your bloodstream.

The day’s chewed you up with its sharp, ivory incisors and spit you out. Left something tired and empty. The dregs are grounds of a mucky ire, ready to be shed under the scalding spew of a showerhead. 

You mingle through the horde, slinking the gaps you can manage to squeeze past. Your nose burns. Anti-seize lubricant. Cherry cleaners and old concrete. Musk and brake dust. Ground up, heated steel from the wheels burning — metal on metal. Grease. It smells like asphalt and strife. 

The car is packed. A lumbering throng that weaves and scatters, either casting indignant looks over their shoulders when they’re nudged as you politely shoulder your way through, or soul-sucked into their phones altogether, scrolling in detachment. 

There’s one tawny seat, empty and tucked against the back wall. You inch for it on aching ankles, burning knees; the bits of a long day left sewn into your joints. It gnaws into your marrow, and nothing sounds better than hot water on naked skin. You twist—

Marimba blares from you bag. Someone casts an irrationally exasperated side-eye over their shoulder. You straighten out, and rummage through the contents. Find a battered lanyard. A spare stick of deodorant. A hair tie coated in lint and a sparse handful of change—

Drink water. You thumb the alarm off. 

When you sit back, it’s rigid. Firm and uneven. Warm, like a breathing furnace. It takes you all of a split second to recognize that you've managed to perch on a splayed thigh, clad in denim that’s shredded at the knees, rather than the grooved, ochre plastic of a hovering seat.  

You had thought there was little emotion you could have summoned beyond something drained and miffed. The day surprises you, yet, in its dying breaths. Like a mortified buoy, embarrassment bobs from the cesspool when you startle up and twist.

There’s a man in your seat. 

He looks oddly comfortable, almost as if he’d been there all along. As if you had just conjured a mirage of an empty seat. The only acknowledgement he gives you, blinking up from the phone cradled in his enormous, right hand, is a stoically disgruntled glance from behind the squared, pitch-framed lenses resting on the bridge of his nose. 

“Um. Excuse me—” you blink. Your brows crease, “I was sitting there.” 

He spares you a glance. There’s gems in his sockets. Emeralds. Dewy and dulled from the same, shitty day of skyscraper-morphed incisors gnawing. He looks away, and they coruscate in the near blinding glare of his LED, cast in a faint echo over his glasses.

“No, you weren’t.”

You blink again. He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he denies it. You're forced to stare at the part in his hair; the way a burnt umber curl sweeps over his temple. He scrolls over his screen, instead, with a neatly saffron-lacquered thumb. 

You swallow a flattering epithet that (his obvious disinterest) nearly wrests from your mouth. A flimsy facsimile of a smile sculpts over. Appalled. Nearly seeping into the beginnings of borderline deranged as your threadbare composure gets toyed at by a prick with a clandestine pair of scissors. Almost, almost, almost. 

“Well. I was going to.” 

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs, brows kinked, “because this seat is taken.”

A little noise clambers from the back of your throat. You swallow it down and scoff. “Are you serious?” 

“Deadly.” 

It’s dry, derisive, disinterested. The three D’s that are going to get his glasses plucked off and tossed to the floor to be crushed under someone’s heel. 

“Unbelievable.”

His eyes— mossy, reminiscent of the woods— sweep up. He’s quiet. Stony. For the first time, you really get a good look, and decide, instantly, that if he weren’t such an apparent dickhead, maybe his specs and his voguish jumper would make him look sophisticated. Handsome, with his even slope of a nose, full, pink lips, and the dusting of stubble along his cheeks and jawline. 

There’s a sharp contrast to him, like inverted colors. Patchwork of sutures that don’t fit. It’s off, his cozy sweater and his soft hair. He looks like a warm, barbed hug. 

Prickly— saguaro, in a Marc Jacobs pullover, with stinging spines sticking through the stitching. 

“What’s the matter with you?” It’s softer that you'd intended. 

You quiver— everything, all over. Your bottom lip wobbles, your mandible sets, your fingers wring at the strap of your tote. They twitch and stretch at your side with this provoked, goopy slurry of cortisol and adrenaline. It permeates your pericardium. Snakes the tubing with an incensed warmth— embers kindled.

“Do you realize how rude that is?” 

Asphalt and strife. Someone to your side glances over their shoulder and then turns back. The stranger blinks up at you from his phone with soft features chiseled apathetic. Vetiver and musk. 

“M’not sure what you mean.” 

“Are you joking? You stole my seat, dude,” you wave out with your hand. 

He blinks again. 

“I don’t think it ever belonged to you, to be fair—“ then, “Is your name on it?” 

It’s a childish retort to spall your argument into flinders. Your eyes narrow into anticipatory slits. 

“No—“

“Then I suppose it’s not your seat, is it?” he responds sharply— chiaroscuro to the lax, impassive shape that molds his face, “S’first come, first serve …dude.”

A stranger grazes your shoulder blade in passing— something you've become accustomed to. People finding walkways in strait gaps on a train that’s packed like a can of sardines. 

“Oh my God. You are such an asshole— I could be pregnant.” 

He raises his eyebrows. His eyes trail. A slow once-over, wry and disbelieving. Sage and owlish. A stray curl stemming from the forefront of his crown meddles to coil over his forehead. The corner of his otherwise indurated mouth twitches.

“Are you pregnant?” 

No.

“Yes,” you glower. 

It slinks from the back of your throat, unbidden— this lie. Rides up the back up of your tongue and slips through the cracks of your teeth. It’s curdled and twisted, miasmic pulp in tar— who the fuck lies about being pregnant for a subway seat?

You're never going to see him again. 

You're never, ever going to see him again. 

You cup your hand over the underside of your tummy. Sell it, now that you have to. All soft flesh under the button of your jeggings, shrouded under the boxy shaping of your fleece turtleneck— where a baby (that definitely doesn’t exist, last you checked), the size of a citrus limon, would curl up. You tuck your palm over the phantom at your underbelly. 

You've had a shitty day, and now you've been backed into a corner, offering the universe shitty manifestations with your hands cupped out. 

The seat stealer ogles. Meanders from your strategic hand placement to your ireful scowl. Back. His mouth purses. 

“So, it’s not that you could be,” he clarifies, slowly, “It’s that you are.”

Languid. Unrushed, like an overflowing, murky lake lapping at a berm. Someone brushes the back of your arm. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you lying?” 

You scoff. He’s fully transfixed on you now, the glow from his smartphone dimmed on its pending shut-off timer. 

“Are you kidding? Who—“ you hike your tote up, “lies about being pregnant for a subway seat?” 

He purses his lips again, ruddy pillows bordering the sharp chasm of his mouth where the tools to dissect her claims are stowed. Bobs his head. 

“How far along are you, then?” 

You grit out, teeth bared, “Thirteen weeks—“

And a stranger prods past with enough force to nudge you forward. Enough for your shin to brush against the bespectacled stranger's own. Enough to step into his space, nearly between his parted thighs. He frowns. 

He does another slow sweep with his gaze. Furrowed brows, glimmering viridian dancing from behind limped lenses. Gleaning pieces like cattail and twine for a nest. Deciding; are they worthy? A grip over your underbelly, the little frown on your lips that mirrors his own, the way you suddenly crowd his atoms. He’s unconvinced, almost. Apathetic. 

You fully expect him to tell you to fuck off, but then he nudges with his stubbly chin. You shuffle back as much as you can with about three, broad strangers at all sides. 

He bleeds out into you, for a moment, all heat, when he clambers up and steps in to make your cycle — this game of musical chairs to the tune of white noise, flitting on a screeching rail through a tunnel— smoother. He’s broad. Tapered. Thick in the shoulders, a carnegiea of a man towering when he nearly presses his firm chest to you, wrapped in french terry. He’s much softer to the touch than the spikes bristling from his mien implicate. Woodsy and clean, like smoke, and cedarwood, and soap. It flushes the miasmic undertone of grease the subway always has. 

He cocks his head. Sit down. 

“Congratulations,” he tells you when you slot into the nook, splaying your tote over your lap. 

He’s kept your seat warm. 

Whether the statement is in reference to your unborn pseudo-baby or your victory, you're unsure. 

-

-

-

-

KNOTS resembles a yoga studio, with its clean, tall walls, its french oak flooring, and its bone-white bulbs, linearly tiled into the ceiling. It smells like an amalgam of grapefruit cleaning products and spritzes of an air freshener that vaguely echoes the lapping sea. 

Salt, an airy ozone, muguet. Something pretentious that doesn’t fit into the city. 

If it weren’t for the myriad of ropes, lubricants, and toy cleaners stacking the shelving units by the front, you would have felt as if you were here to attend a pilates class. Cycling, maybe. Something sweaty and less …abrasive.

You're late for your seven-to-nine open level, beginner’s course— two soporific hours of staring at rope and tying knots that you'll never get back.

(Slaphappy and fecklessly inept at knot-tying are two traits that don’t work well to take up shibari as a hobby.

“Please— she’s been begging for months and none of those online tutorials make any fucking sense.” 

“So— why don’t you take her with you?” 

“Because I want it to be a surprise,” Niall had opposed. Puffed his chest, “I wanna surprise her. Like a proper ropes guy, you know. And she’s so flexible, too, I could tie her in loads of positions—“

You'd raised your hand. “Spare me.” 

Niall’s always been a glass half-full. Crystalline, effervescent. A bright color.

You couldn’t bear to ruffle his plume when, two autumns ago, he spent a Wednesday afternoon standing outside a women’s handicapped stall in an auto shop for pure, courageous moral support as you took an actual pregnancy test— not even by his doing, and he still was a very good sport. Even if he’s absolute shit at knots beyond tying his own shoes.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that if he struggled with twine and a palomar, it wasn’t going to matter how bendy his girlfriend was.)

You're fourteen minutes late. Eight-hundred-forty seconds and change for every two steps, by the time you find the right door in the balmy corridor of boundless doorways. The portly, alder ingress squeals on its hinges when you shuffle, as quietly as you can manage, into what vaguely resembles a dance studio. 

The attendees look the part, too, perched over their yoga mats in contemporary dancer garb, turning their chins over their shoulders at the disturbance. Dress casual and comfortable. There’s only about eight of them, and they coil in a piqued coterie ahead of the instructor, who has about six varying ropes, diverse in their tint and structure, and then he peers up—

It’s him. Saguaro, with the frames and the eyes like beds of flinty malachite. 

He’s holding a furled, plaited cord, the head of the class, and he pauses, blinking up. Briefly. He clears his throat—

”—Jute, on the other hand, has great knot stability. You can see here, the braided texture— that makes it less slippery.”

Compunction crinkles the valley of skin between your eyebrows as you trudge in alongside Niall— he’s much more amicable about it, mouthing apologies and raising his hand in friendly hello’s that don’t receive much beyond awkwardly indifferent glances. You sink to your knees toward the back, which isn’t all that far from the front, all things considered. It’s a small class. The wood burrows into your tailbone— were the yoga mats a complementary piece? Were you supposed to bring a yoga mat?

“It’s great for floor bondage, but it’s water sensitive. So if you want to work it into suspension, don’t wash it too often. Otherwise, you’re losing carrying capacity.”

The city of New York is a metaphorical hayrick. It’s a paradox, since the big apple is the furthest thing from watery mud, fir-constructed barns, and scythes sweeping through crops. 

Theoretically, though, you should have never seen this man again. 

He should have become swept into the mound of straw— got lost in it. Mortification strums at your muscles, tensing every sinew. It scars deep— scrapes at your cartilage. If you'd known this needle would prick your thumb again, maybe you wouldn’t have waged war for the seat on the subway. 

And yet, here he is.

[mangora]

Something I think about a lot is the people who went to school or lived in the same neighborhood as the ROTI cast seeing them on TV. Everyone in Cameron’s neighborhood knew that a kid lived in that house but they never knew or even really saw him; and now they get to know him for the first time, and they feel this weird mix of pride for him, as well as melancholy or even anger at the fact that he was kept inside his whole life. Lightning was a star in his community and everyone thought he had an idyllic life, until they saw the finale and found out how much pressure he’d been under all those years, and they can’t see him the same way when he comes back. Zoey was an outcast at her high school and was ignored or even picked on by most of her peers, and they only realized how much of an impact that had on her when they watched her struggle to make connections over and over again until she lost her first real friend and snapped. No one liked Scott, everyone thought he was an asshole and knew he only got by via cheating and lying— but seeing him near catatonic after that shark attack, they can’t help but feel horrified on a deep personal level, and remember some of the good or just pitiful things Scott did, and wonder if he really deserved something that terrible. Jo was bullied but never seemed intimidated or effected by it; when everyone sees her struggle with her body image, or worry about the things she hasn’t done yet, or slip up and smile or help someone out, it both makes them realize that she’s weaker than they thought and also that they’re wrong for being happy about that. Similarly, Mike was widely treated as a freak and a delinquent, and had barely if any friends; seeing him open up about his DID on TV and learning where DID comes from created this sense of crushing guilt and horror for everyone who’d ever picked on him or written him off or spread rumors behind his back. Anne Maria was beloved by people at her school and in her neighborhood, and seeing how people like Zoey treated her and watching her lose was devastating. Brick was always known to have a heart of gold, and while seeing that on TV was inspiring for some of his friends and peers at boot camp, it made him a new target for other kids and commanders, who saw him as soft and effete and not worth wasting time on. Sam never had many friends due to his nerdy interests and social awkwardness, and after seeing how kind he was on the show, everyone wishes they’d given him a chance. Seeing Dawn properly mad at Scott during her elimination is super uncanny to everyone who knew her as the calm and collected local cryptid, and it reminds them that she’s human (or at least humanoid) and makes them take her more seriously. B’s community was rooting for them, since everyone knew how smart and thoughtful they were; seeing him get deadnamed by Chris and then get taken down by Scott made them genuinely mad on their behalf. Watching Dakota’s last moments as a normal human girl was horrifying for everyone who knew her, especially because after the episode aired there was nothing they could do about it. Staci went on the show as the annoying girl who lied for attention, and she left the same way; no glory, no gold, just humiliation.

And this isn’t even mentioning what their families felt watching the show, whether that be fear or pride or disappointment or anger— either at Chris and the show or even at their own child, in some cases. Like, could you imagine coming back home to your family, your friends, your neighbors, your teachers, your coworkers, after they’d seen you at your worst or most vulnerable on international television— after everyone who’d ever scrutinized or believed in you watched you lose big time. The horror and/or tragedy of ROTI doesn’t end or even really start with the radioactive island; the things that led them there and the things they returned to could be dismal or scary in their own ways.

Anyways I’m so normal about them rghhhhhh

[artist-issues]

I’m bored and I really enjoy your opinions on Disney, so I thought you might have something interesting to say to get my brain ticking. I came across a post on Frozen and I was like, “Ah, a perfect starting place for dropping you an ask.” I’ve never really been that bothered by Frozen and I don’t know what it is that I’m just not fond about. Maybe it’s that I dislike the characters? Maybe it’s that they didn’t really have any established rules for the way magic worked in that universe and thus had anything they wanted happening? Maybe it’s the twist villain? I don’t know, it’s probably just the characters that they tried to make so cool and girlboss!

Elsa is made out to be this awesome protagonist that is never in the wrong and that grates me. She has flaws, but the film doesn’t act like they’re flaws. She runs away out of fear and shame for not being able to control her powers, but then two seconds later she’s singing “Let It Go” and making giant ice castles and bringing snowmen to life?! And “Let It Go” is super annoying for the fact that Elsa starts off worried and upset (fair enough, she’s just ran away from her home, her kingdom, her sister whom she hasn’t seen in years, she lost control of her powers) but then immediately turns round and is like, “Actually, it’s not my fault and I’m fine as I am and I don’t need any of those responsibilities!” Which would be fine, but she also finishes the film with the same attitude!

Anna, too! Naive and optimistic and perhaps a little too trusting, she never realises that even if Han hadn’t turned out evil, Elsa had every right to be worried over their marriage. She never realises that it’s partly her fault for revealing Elsa’s powers (and she definitely doesn’t apologise). There’s a lot she doesn’t realise, and the only lesson she takes away from it all is that Christoff loves her instead of Han.

Oh my days, I’ve just realised how ridiculously long this has gotten, super sorry! Have a lovely day!

Let’s do this! For fun!

1. They don't need to establish exhaustive rules for how magic works in their world.

Red Riding Hood doesn't explain how the Big Bad Wolf can talk-it just explains that he can. Cinderella doesn't explain how Fairy Godmothers work, or why the spell should only last until midnight—it just explains that she casts one, and it does only last until midnight. Beauty & the Beast does not explain how, after The Beast has died, the "breaking of the curse" could bring him back to life. After Belle confesses her love, he should just go from dead beast to dead human, for all the explanation they give.

Beauty & the Beast also famously refuses to explain (explicitly) why all of the household were cursed, along with the castle and the Prince. But what it does explain is, "there's a curse, it was put in place because of a defect in the Prince's character, and there's a time limit on it's ability to be removed, which can only happen if the defect in his character is overcome."

The whole point of having magic in the story is just as a tool...to create a plot. You don't have to explain everything; you just have to explain what will affect the characters. So, Frozen says, very plainly in the beginning: "you can either be born with magical powers or cursed with them in this world, and trolls are the experts on how magical powers work. The way Elsa's specific magical powers work is, they're beautiful, but powerful, and they're tied to her emotions. Therefore, if her negative emotions control her, her negative emotions control those powers. Also, if you're struck with magical powers in the head, the effects can be removed with memory alteration. If you're struck with magical powers in the heart, the effects can only be removed by an act of True Love.

Also, here's an explanation of what counts as 'True Love." They actually do way more explaining than the average fairy tale. And they set you up really nicely to receive that explanation by having the opening scene be a song that describes Ice Magic as “beautiful/powerful/dangerous/cold/ice has a magic can't be controlled.” Etc.

If you were wondering what limits there are on Elsa's powers, and whether or not she can just make anything out of ice, and how it's possible for her to bring inanimate snow to life

—well, you're focusing on the wrong things for this kind of story.

It's not that important for a fairy tale like this one. In a superhero story, limitations on powers would be important. Because the point of a superhero story is, "how am I going to take selfless responsibility for what I'm able to do?" And if you don't know the boundaries on "what I'm able to do," then you can't communicate that point clearly. That's why we need to know that Superman can see through just about everything, but not lead. That's why you need to know that Elastigirl can't stretch in the cold. You can't know how to take responsibility for your abilities if you don't know what they are and are not.

But Elsa? The point of Elsa having powers is not as a metaphor for her unique skills. That's what it would be in a superhero movie.

Like, in superhero movies, Spidey's ability to stick to walls is supposed to be a reference to like, your ability to...l don't know, draw really well. How is Spidey going to use his ability to stick to walls for the good of others = how are you going to use your ability to draw for the good of others, because it's something special and unique to you, you have something to offer, are you going to use it selflessly, etc.

But for Elsa, that's not what it's about. Her powers are just a metaphor for how what's going on inside of her effects everyone around her, relationally. And it's still relatable. But not in a "skills" way. Just like all of us non-superpowered people: "if you let fear control you, you'll hurt everyone around you. But if you let love cast out fear, you'll love and be loved."

That's what's so good about this movie. When you look at it like that, you realize the powers aren’t the point.

Elsa isolates because she thinks that'll keep her from hurting everyone (fear controls her) but actually, by isolating, she's still hurting everyone-nobody in the kingdom gets to see their beloved ruler, and her sister is hurt, relationally, and feels unloved and shut-out, enough to trust the first scoundrel she meets-etc. See how the powers just make the story interesting, but they're not the point of the story? If Elsa's powers were replaced by "frantic outbursts of human temper" the story could be told in a lot of the same ways. But that's a post for another time.

So I don't think you disliked it because of the powers not being "established." "Whatever they wanted to have happen" did not happen, in the story. They laid out the rules that were relevant—“if fear controls you, it'll lead to great danger/but an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart."—and then they followed those rules in an interesting and consistent way.

2. The "twist" villain worked perfectly for the story.

A good villain is supposed to be the opposite of whatever your story's message is. Frozen's is, "Self-Sacrificial Love Casts Out Fear." Elsa is afraid she'll hurt everyone around her, and afraid that makes her unloveable-so she's a control freak over her circumstances. Anna is also afraid she's unloveable-simply because she's shut out and unknown-so she's always trying to control who she keeps in her life. Hans is both "unknown" and "controlling." He's "unknown" in two ways—1, nobody sees him in the shadows of his brothers in his own kingdom, and 2, nobody in Arendelle "knows" his true nature, especially not Anna. But the difference is, where our heroes don't like being unknown, Hans does, and uses it to his advantage, because he's also "controlling." But unlike our heroes, who learn that "control" is not the way to love, Hans is willing to do anything to stay in control. Which is, always, rooted in fear, too. Hans is just afraid he'll never get a throne. So. You see that he foils the two main characters perfectly.

But the main point of Hans is that he's not self-sacrificial, he's self-serving, which is the opposite of what the story claims "True Love" is.

Why's the "twist" part important? Because he uses the main characters' fears as a weapon to serve himself, and he couldn't have done that, for these two particular characters, by being anything but a liar. Anna is afraid she won't ever be loved, so he pretends to love her to get something for himself. Elsa is afraid she'll hurt everyone, so Hans pretends to be protecting everyone from her. And honestly, that's another core of the movie-love that is self-sacrificial, true love, can't be separated from truth. Anna can't really "truly love" Elsa in a way that HELPS Elsa feel loved if she doesn't know Elsa's flaws. Elsa can't "truly love" Anna if she's refusing to know Anna by always shutting her out. And Hans comes along and doesn't let himself be "truly known." Perfect.

So, the movie says "Self-Sacrificial Love Casts Out Fear" and Hans, the villain, says, "Self-Service Uses Fear As a Weapon."

So I don't think you disliked the "twist" villain. Because it wasn't just an empty "shock-jock, look how edgy we are, to make the Prince the bad guy" move. It was the right move, for this story and these characters.

3. I think your definition of "so cool" and "girlboss" might be different from what l understand those terms to mean, because none of the characters fit those descriptions.

Anna (as we understand her throughout the story) is introduced like this:

And she's constantly dropping stuff and getting into awkward social situations-and she basically makes zero correct decisions, for the entire adventure. Tries to fight wolves like a girlboss-and instead accidentally knocks her guide out of the sleigh and has to be thrown to safety while she ruins his livelihood. Tries to climb a cliff with zero experience-looks ridiculous and falls. Tries to talk her sister into lifting a curse and insists that she knows best because her sister would never hurt her-gets crippled, because her sister absolutely does hurt her, and totally fails. Tries to marry a handsome prince-really bad judgement of character, totally duped, basically would've died without help from the weakest and most mentally-confused character in the movie, Olaf. The only "girlboss" moment you could argue she had was punching Hans in the face at the end of the movie, and I would argue that that one moment, in the face of all her failures and humiliation throughout the movie, and in the face of him as a vile villain? That moment is okay.

Also, the whole way they pace that moment is still in-character for Anna. It's still like she's not doing the "dignified" thing. She delivers her little one liner, "the only frozen heart around here is you," and then turns around to walk away with her nose in the air, like she's

"above it all." Which frames the moment where she turns around and punches him like a joke. It frames that moment like it's a satisfying, but still "not decorous, not dignified," thing to do. It would've been "cool" and poorly received if Anna, the character who's always jumping into doing the emotional, awkward thing, had suddenly become the bigger person and risen above her hurt in that moment.

So instead, she punches him. And whatever. He deserved it, blah blah blah. The point is, even that moment isn’t supposed to be strictly “cool” or “girlboss.” It’s just supposed to be “in-character funny.”

See, usually a "girlboss" character knows exactly what the best thing to do is in a situation, and does it well. Or, she gets knocked down, but consistently gets back up and hits harder. Anna does not do any of those things. She keeps trying when she fails, yeah-but it's not because of an inner strength, it's because of an inner weakness. She keeps pushing because she's desperate, and insecure, not because she's awesome and never-say-die. Eventually, after Elsa strikes her and Hans betrays her, Anna does give up. She tells the snowman "we won't (come back.)" after Elsa strikes her. She tells Olaf she doesn't know what love is. It's not until she learns that lesson that anything she tries to do works—and she gives herself up to do it. And that's finally a moment of strength from her, not weakness. As for "cool"-gimme a break.

There's nothing "cool" about Anna. Anna's not good at anything except, at the very end, self-sacrificially standing in front of a sword and getting one punch in on a villain who's already disarmed, defeated and probably slightly concussed anyway. She's not supposed to be "cool" or "girlboss." She's supposed to be "Desperate to Love and Be Loved." And that's what she is, perfectly. "Desperate" is not a characteristic that fits the definition "girlboss" or "cool."

But maybe you just meant "Elsa is so cool and a girlboss." Okay, well, again, depends on what you mean by that. If you mean "having superpowers are cool" okay, well, are they? Is that what the movie is telling you? Because powers basically ruin all of Elsa's childhood and life until the last 3 minutes of the movie. You could be like "come on, she can make snow and ice monsters, glitter gowns, and an entire palace just by dancing. They totally tried to make her 'cool." That's like saying Simba's ability to eat bugs and belch and fight with Nala is "cool." She does all those things at her "Character in the WRONG" moment, in the story, just like Simba living in the Hakuna Matata jungle. Therefore the movie is not trying to tell you that Elsa is cool, it's trying to tell you that Elsa is wrong, but you can understand why she's wrong. You can understand why she feels triumphant for a moment-and then the movie shows you that triumph is misplaced.

I mean, she's taken out by her own falling chandelier. Every time she's confronted with a problem, she runs away. When she gets into "battles of wits," she says the wrong thing, or the shy, shut-down thing, not a girlboss one-liner that shuts the other person up. Elsa's not cool either. She doesn't have the answers, she doesn't save the day-she gets saved.

Both of these characters are desperate, open wounds-—they're needy and they're in the wrong, each in their own way, for the majority of the movie. They're weak, and they have to learn to find strength in love, for most of their story. There's nothing "girlboss" or "cool" about them.

I think maybe what some people make the mistake of is noticing the Frozen mania, and the fact that the two main characters are girls and one of them has superpowers and they other doesn't get with a Prince, and then they get the impression, from that, that the characters are "cool girlbosses." But like...that's like saying Dory from the first Finding Hemo movie is a girlboss. She's so totally not. She's a wreck. A funny, appealing, sometimes-relatable-human wreck. And a good character, but the hype doesn't change who she is, as a character. And who she is, like Anna and Elsa, is just a good character.

4. Elsa does not finish Let it Go with an "I'm Fine As I Am" attitude, and she doesn't finish the movie that way, either.

She finishes "Let it Go" with an "I'm fine up here, isolated from everyone," attitude. And then the movie very quickly proves her wrong by having Anna show up and reveal to her that no, actually, she is not fine up there, because the person she cares about most can still find her and be hurt by her, and the whole kingdom is still reeling from the problems she ran away from.

At the end of the movie the only thing I can guess you got the impression that she's "fine as she is" from was the fact that she's using her powers again.

But like. Elsa's whole problem was never her powers. She wasn't supposed to learn to stop using them. She was supposed to learn to stop living in fear. Instead, she was supposed to lean on love-love that sacrifices for her, flaws and dangerousness and all-and stop trying to control her image and what everyone knows about her.

Because in trying to control what everyone knows about her, she was controlling whether or not they loved her or treated her like a monster. And even running away and singing Let It Go was still an effort to control everything-by not being around people who could treat her like a monster or be hurt by her. Instead, accepting that she might hurt people because she can't always control everything, and trusting that they'll still love and forgive her, was her character arc.

She lives by faith in sacrificial love by the end, not by fear. That's the arc. She does that perfectly.

It was never, "I'm fine as I am." Because the point was never "there's* something wrong with me." It was, "I don't need to fear a lack of control, because true love covers what I can't control." That's all.

4. Anna does communicate to the audience that she's sorry and willing to understand the reasons behind Elsa's secrets.

The lesson Anna takes away from all of this is not "which guy loves me." It's "what is love?" And you know she's learned that because she demonstrates it. If Anna had died-frozen forever-or been cut down by Hans' sword, you realize that Elsa would never have been able to repay that gesture, right? But Anna still made that choice.

Even though it meant Elsa would never repay her. And the point is — excuse me, I know this is long enough, but I feel like you're missing out on something wonderful here—

Anna could have left Elsa to be killed and ridden off into the sunset with Kristoff.

They make it very clear that that is her goal when she stumbles onto the ice, free from the room Hans trapped her in. Elsa is no longer her motivation. She isn't looking for Elsa. She's not trying to get that love she's looked for, from Elsa, in that moment. She's trying to get it from Kristoff, not just for her emotional need-but for the "breaking of the curse" that's killing her in the moment. That whole scene where she realizes he loves her-truly loves her, because he fits the description Olaf gives-is in there to communicate to the audience that he could save her. He could give her what she needs.

And the reason that's important is that it proves that this is character development: when she chooses not to go to Kristoff, and to go to Elsa instead.

Because it's her, choosing to turn away from the person who could give her something (even if it is "love") and to turn toward the person who can't give her something (Elsa.) Who has repeatedly failed to give her something, for their entire lives.

Anna at the beginning of the movie would've run to Kristoff. That was the whole point of Hans, when it comes to Anna-he represents someone who can fulfill a need in Anna. But when Anna turns away from Kristoff and runs to save Elsa instead, Anna is demonstrating what she's learned —that love isn't about her own needs. It's putting someone else's needs before yours. She stands between Hans and Elsa, with the full expectation that she's not going to get anything out of it, not even a guarantee of E/sa's love in return. And her own needs will NOT get met if she puts Elsa's first.

And that's what she does. Whereas, at the beginning of the film, Anna would not have done that. Because that's not what she thinks love is. She hasn’t realized that yet.

She thinks love means closeness. And that does come with love. But that's not love. Love is, like Olaf says, putting someone else's needs before yours. But the whole movie, Anna is not working to put Elsa's needs before her own. She's working to change Elsa's mind, now that she knows the truth, so that she and Elsa can be "close again." She's climbing that mountain and arguing with Elsa, because she thinks that all that stood in their way before was this secret that's been uncovered. And sure, Anna has always been willing to “be there for” Elsa, but you have to see that Anna wanted that to come with Elsa being there for her, in return.

Which would be nice. But it's not true love. True love is being there for someone even when they refuse to be there for you. Because that's putting their needs before yours.

Thanks for the super long ask! That was fun! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as l enjoyed writing-I think sometimes we judge Frozen by the mania that followed, not the good quality that actually caused the mania, and deserved the mania, though. Anyway 😂

Guards! Take them away! Back to the theater with you! Watch the movie again!

[puppetwoman17]

I’ve been wanting to talk about this but I thought it would sound weird and kinda Mary Sue like! Glad to hear that I’m not the only one.

I’m very adamant on Cap being a pillar in not only the magic community(cause of his Champion role obviously) but the hero community as well. He’s well-known for his heroics and impossible stories about battling sentient worms and being diplomatic with alien dinosaurs.

He’s also loved for the advice he gives. All Billy wants to do is bring smiles to these peoples’ days. He dishes out advice like it’s candy and always sees the good in people. He’s great at looking at situations through multiple viewpoints and understanding everyone’s thought processes. This in particular helps with the Superman and Superboy problem. He tells both of them individually that both of their hardships are valid. Clark is allowed to feel violated because his DNA was stolen and mutated in a way that was against his consent. Connor never asked to be created, always wanting Superman’s love but never receiving it.

They reconcile, and Billy doesn’t think much of it, because it’s what anyone would do, right? No biggie. He even does something similar with Red Arrow, convincing him that he’s not just a clone. He’s his own person. He built his own life. He has his own achievements. He shouldn’t feel bad for any of this because none of it was in his control. And Roy is so damn grateful because it feels like a weight has been taken off his shoulders.

Marvel just shrugs. No biggie.

He talks Leaguers through both personal and professional problems and guides them onto a simple, honest path because adults make everything so damn complicated so why can’t you just sit THE FUCK DOWN—

Ahem.

So he helps with that too. No biggie, right? Just another good deed.

He expands his one-way business to other teams too, like the JSA, the YJ team, the Teen Titans, etc. Spends time with each of them, helps them solve their own problems whether they’re big or small.

No biggie, right?

Fucking. Wrong.

The world of heroes absolutely adores him! The other hero teams look to him like he’s the cool uncle. Despite no one knowing jackshit about his personal life, they trust him wholeheartedly. They know he’s got their back.

That’s actually what hurts, tho. Whenever anyone asks him about his life outside the cape, he gets tongue-tied. Panicked. Silent. Doesn’t say a word until a new topic is brought up and then changes wheels like it’s nothing. It hurts, knowing he doesn’t trust them. They know it’s stupid, he never had obligations to tell them anything about the real him, but it stings. Where does he go when he isn’t Cap? Does he have family? A lover? Hobbies? Pets? Why is he like a brick wall with them? Did they do something wrong?

Things get especially annoying when characters like Booster Gold(from the future) and Doctor Fate(Lord of Order, basically on the same pedestal as the Champion) know his identity and don’t even bother to hide that fact. Leaguers will frequently catch Booster making knowing jabs at the Captain, winking and saying strange things that get the Captain riled up and shaking his head profusely. Nabu is no help either, with Leaguers catching him and Marvel quietly conversing. When someone, say, Barry, shows up, Marvel stops talking.

It fucking hurts. A lot. And Billy doesn’t even notice the looks of jealousy cast at his future teammate and fellow Lord by his coworkers. The YJ team is not taking that shit because that is their den dad. Diana doesn’t appreciate that these strangers know more about her brother than she does. Flash is all confused and slightly annoyed because when are they gonna play another prank on Hal? Is he just gonna keep talking to those weirdos all day? And the next?

Billy’s honestly just happy to be here. He never thought he’d get past the age of ten, so doing all of this, helping these heroes while learning more about himself, is just great. He’s speedrunning his way through every moody, self-righteous, hurt, traumatized hero with no sweat on his back.

So yeah, he is beloved and he doesn’t even know it. You betcha that when Cap’s identity is revealed, everyone goes full mama bear/papa bear/protective older brother or sister on him. No way is he leaving without supervision.

Nabu and Booster are rolling their eyes cause hello? That’s the Champion of Magic. If anything, he’s the one they should be worried about.

Yeah, they are politely asked to leave after that. Anyhow Billy, wanna go get some hot chocolate 😘😍

Excuse the word vomit.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

I’M STUCK ON THIS FUCKING PLANET. I’M STUCK ON THIS GODDAMN EARTH.

Tap photo for better quality

That’s right!! I’m talking even more about sinner bodies because I’m CRAZY!!! RAAHHH!! 🤪 SHES SO CRAZY WE CANT TAKE HER ANYWHERE!! 😝 it’s 3 in the morning and I can’t stop thinking about this goddamn TV.

I think Vox is genuinely the most fucked up character in this rewrite currently. Not really morally fucked up, there’s definitely worse people, but physical alterations in hell out of the main cast he definitely has it the worst. In my last post I talked about how Angel formed in hell and I want to go back to this because Vox did not form in hell as a TV or even a robot at all. He got formed on the road after dying in a car crash and was literally just this fucked up clump of wires and metal panels and had gross little robot hands and he had to make everything else himself and wait for his body to adjust to it, so he literally cannot regenerate normally. He didn’t even have a face yet or screen of any kind, just a little camera to see out of. If his screen shatters he needs to get a new one or if his body breaks he needs to get it repaired, thats why he’s able to upgrade his body and stuff.

And like yeah some tech sinners do just form as robots but Vox just is a fucking mess and I think about it all the time and thats why his demon form is all fucked up like that and I think thats partially another reason he hates Alastor’s ideals so much sometimes because hes like “technology bad!” even though he literally is also partially a tech sinner and hes just stupid but like without technological advancements Vox literally would have nothing like they wouldn’t’ve met, Vox would not have a company, etc, etc and thatd probably help a lot of people yeah like the Vees would not fucking exist but ignoring that, just on a personal relationship scale I imagine your “friend” being like “man I really hate the thing that gives you life and allows you to live a somewhat normal existence” hurts a bit.

Technological regeneration is a bit more confusing and hard to explain than biological regeneration since machinery can’t really “heal” in real life. The concept sounds almost bewildering, like you can’t cut a wire and have it slowly heal like skin would, you’d need a whole new wire. But Vox internally, the things that allow him to move and live how he does now, it’s the only part of him that he can heal, and to him, it’s still “defective”.

Vox is disabled mentally and physically; he has Autism, ADHD, and epilepsy, all of which he is unable to be medicated for due to his new body. These are all things that he hates to acknowledge and will become irrationally upset by if they are mentioned to the point he will actively to deny certain aspects of disability. Being a man from the 1900’s-1950’s his views on mental disabilities and mental illnesses are… less than uh.. “acceptable” for today’s standards. He often disregards slurs towards this being called slurs and insists that “They used to just be words” or “It’s a medical diagnosis.” yet still gets incredibly upset when he is ever called a slur that actually could apply to him. In a way he tries to come off as purposely ableist so that he doesn’t have to confront this aspect of himself that he doesn’t understand. His knowledge in technology or sharks or economics aren’t “special interests” to him, they’re just “regular things a man likes”. He can’t process what a hyperfixation is. He doesn’t know that it’s normal for him to be unable to speak on occasion or that certain textures make him severely uncomfortable. These are either seen as weaknesses or “average people things”. Aside from how terribly disabled people were treated back around the 50’s, he views the neurodiverse aspect of his mind as something that only serves to further push him from grasping the feeling of regular humanity again.

For physical disabilities, he doesn’t lie or deny that he has epilepsy, yes he has an intense disdain for mentioning it, but for very few people he is close with he will disclose this information to them privately. There are a very select few people that are aware of this and two of those people are Velvette and Alastor. This post isn’t really about diving into Vox’s epilepsy so I’m keeping this concise because I have another post to put all of that in. Hope you all enjoy the wacky art :)

The binary says “Trust us” for anyone curious

[withclawandvine]

tw: mentions of drug use/withdrawal, reader has a child 

Touya looks like shit — rumpled, gaunt, a little waxen. All made worse by the fluorescent lights in the hallway of your building, flickering ghoulishly and throwing dramatic shadows as he stands under them. At least he’s standing, this time; he’s not slumped against the wall, ravaged by tremors or cold sweats.

Still, you square yourself defensively in the threshold, arms crossed and mouth tight, trying to keep your voice at a whisper as you rattle off names. “...Fuyumi, or Jin —”

Touya, who had been silently shaking his head with each suggestion finally lets out an aggravated sigh. “Think I’d be doin’ this if anyone else could put me out?”

His whisper, while harsh and impatient, is not loud. But you pause anyway, holding up a finger and tilting your head to listen. When no cries or little feet on hardwood reach your ear, you relax. Touya stares into the dimly lit entryway behind you, his expression unreadable —something that doesn’t come naturally to him. If you can’t tell what he’s thinking by looking at his face, it’s a product of immense effort. 

It needles at you, not knowing what he’s feeling, why he’s here of all places, after so long. Why not even Natsuo will open the door for him. But then, you do know Touya — sharp and resentful, and always so, so angry. 

The pills made everything softer, or so he used to say. They dulled the shards of memory, and wrapped around all of his own broken pieces. They made him hazy and remote. Lulled him to sleep with his head in your lap, while you sat awake, counting every rise and fall of his chest. 

Back then, you were desperate to be the person who stayed. Who else would keep vigil? Who would make him see he was worthy of such devotion, if not you? 

That same temptation needles at you even now, as you meet his eyes. They’re heavily shadowed, despondent as ever, but clear. 

Looking into them throttles you back in time two, three, five years. Before you learned that you can’t help someone that won’t help himself. Before there came along someone else who needed you, fast asleep in her room. 

You start to close the door.

A hand jumps out, stopping it. 

“Please,” he says, and you let go. Touya doesn’t beg. A muscle in his jaw jumps and he looks up at the ceiling, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll stay on the couch — be gone first thing in the morning.”

If for no other reason than the fear of your daughter’s father winding up in a gutter, you find yourself saying, “You know I have to ask.” 

Touya flinches. A minute flash of hurt you almost miss before he restores his indifferent mask and answers, “Six weeks ago, yesterday.” 

You close your eyes, and after a long, heavy breath, nod to his dusty boots, haphazardly laced. “Take your shoes off out there.” 

Your limbs ache with exhaustion, but your mind has been buzzing for hours. When you finally give up on sleeping and pad to the kitchen for a glass of water just before dawn, the apartment is quiet as a graveyard. The silence is oppressive, without the murmur of your neighbor’s television, the hum of the freezer, or, you realize, the soft snores that should be coming from the couch.

You fumble for the nearest light switch, casting a faint beam of light into the living room, onto the rumpled heap of blankets on the floor beside the empty couch. There’s still a body-shaped dip in the cushions.

Your heart betrays you by sinking.

It’s a familiar weight, straining your ribs. Touya always made you ache; he was the bruise you could never stop prodding at. 

Either unwilling or incapable of turning back to your own room, you creep to the opposite hallway, where the last door on the left is already cracked open, just enough for you to peer through. A nightlight shines on the toys littering the floor, the crayon scribbles on the walls — and on Touya. 

His feet hang off the end of the bed and his head is wedged between the wall and a pillow. But his face is soft and serene as he gently snores, his arms cradling a small, sleeping form. 

Your foot carries you forward with one small, tentative step.

You freeze. And then take two steps back. 

Letting yourself lean heavy against the doorjamb, you watch them sleep, watch Touya’s shoulders rise and fall — one breath for every two of your daughter’s — until your throat starts to burn and the image of them blurs.

[showtoonzfan]

Also yeah this new Hazbin cast is not it man. I’m sorry. Most of them either sound flat, don’t fit with the character design, or are just not as good as the original. Angel and Alastor I especially don’t like, Alastor sounds so nasally and Amari just can’t top Bosco’s performance, with Bosco not only was he good but when Alastor was threatening, he SOUNDED threatening. I may have made fun of Al’s design, but Bosco’s voice is what made the character interesting and threatening for me. With Amari’s voice he just sounds beyond silly and I can’t take him seriously.

Blake Roman is literally just intimidating Kovach, except this time Angel just sounds forced and awkward. It makes you wonder why Viv just didn’t get Kovach back since it’s obvious she wanted to find someone so similar to him, and then you realize…oh yeah, Kovach wasn’t on Broadway or is a big singer. Micheal was really good at what he did as Angel too as everyone has already said so Viv fumbled the bag SO hard with these two it’s sad. I’m especially pissed about Alastor cause Bosco was the reason he was my favorite character and now he sounds so cringe.

Husk and Vox are played by two very talented actors/singers but their voices just don’t fit with the character design, though I’m not that against Christain Borle as Vox, the voice doesn’t fit the twink design but at the very least they got a man who sounds like a full grown adult playing a full grown adult lmao. Husk is a different story however, because it feels like Keith was picked to play him just because he was famous and nothing else. Back in the pilot, Viv had a specific voice in mind for Husk and she found it, aka Mick. He perfectly came off as an old washed up grumpy alcoholic, and Keith’s voice kinda just…erases all that personality. Sure Keith’s voice sounds cool but that’s it, it’s style over substance.

I wish I could say more about Charlie and Vaggie but I’m not sure what to say other then they kinda sound forced and awkward too, and I hate saying that cause they’re also played by two very talented actresses. Stephanie B played Mirabel from Encanto, she’s had voice acting experience before so I hope she ends up sounding good in the actual show. Erika meanwhile…I hate to say this but other than her singing voice there’s nothing really special about her as Charlie compared to Jill Harris, though even with Jill I never felt any strong feelings towards her performance.

Adam meanwhile, dear GOD I was right about him looking bad in animation form, his design sucks so fucking much. Fans were right, that’s Alex Brightman’s voice, he seems to be using his normal voice but just a tad deeper. He’s the only one who’s a fine choice, though I really wish we got to hear him as Pentious here!

But yeah in terms of the voice cast I’m just disappointed man, really disappointed. It makes you really realize how talented the pilot cast was. They were so good cause they were all chosen for a reason that wasn’t just “they’re famous” and it fucking sucks how bad Viv fumbled everything.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Congrats on wrapping up the Cursed Raven Saga!! 🎉 I had a lot of fun reading it. One thing I loved was how Miss Raven has different relationships with every character. A lot of the saga was focused on just her and J Word though so I wanted to ask if you could clarify what her relationships are like with the other characters especially the ones we don’t see a lot of in the saga or not at all. Sorry if it’s a big ask, I’m just curious! You can do just the 22 NRC boys for now if you want. 😊

[Referencing this series!]

AAAAAAH THANK YOU FOR LIKING IT, I'D LIKE TO THANK THE ACADEMY 😭💐

Having a character with very different relationships with the rest of the cast makes them feel more "real", doesn't it? Miss Raven doesn't get along with everyone! I spent a long time thinking about how she would interact with the others in the cast. A lot of those relationships are complicated or change over time, which is why I decided to explain each individual one rather than slap together a quick chart. The NRC students, staff, and a few key characters are included. I hope you enjoy reading ^^

Riddle

They’re very awkward friendly acquaintances. If you asked either one of them though, they’d deny it and instead claim they just have a professional relationship.

They initially get to know each other via dorm meetings (as Raven attends to take notes); Riddle likes that she does her job and stays focused. He sometimes nags his freshmen students to be more diligent and to follow her example.

They take tea together occasionally and complain about the eels. Riddle has to deal with them all the time—one as his classmate, the other approaching him at random, much to his chagrin.

Not sure how to deal with him when he’s mad. Raven locks up out of fear but attempts to talk him back into a state of calm. Sometimes just cowers.

Frequently tells Raven it is “ill-advised” to associate with the twins.

Trey

Acquaintances out of convenience, I’d say? Raven and Trey don’t talk much themselves, but Trey appreciates that she’s Riddle first “new” friend at NRC.

Raven sees Trey has a reliable senpai, but doesn’t really have reasons to talk to him outside of business. She tries not to bother him since it looks like he’s already got a lot on his plate dealing with his own dorm members.

Trey uses her as a waste receptacle taste tester for his latest creations whenever he feels the Heartslabyul boys have had their fill of sugar. “Ravens can basically eat anything right? Here, have some of this then.”

Cater

Calls Raven "Rae-chan".

They’re not close at all, but they’re aware of the other person’s existence. The two don’t vibe so well…

Raven’s an introvert that doesn’t really understand Cater’s sparkly persona and social media obsession. Cater doesn’t get why a cute girl like Raven doesn’t show off more.

Cater isn’t entirely comfortable around her because sometimes it seems like she’s staring at him… It makes him feel like he’s an open book and she’s examining him for flaws or seeking out something more of him. He really plays up his persona around her to compensate and to cover for that.

Ace

Classmates but not friends. He’s more like a bully. Raven tolerates him because they share the same homeroom. She thinks of him as an annoying little brother she has to "model" the correct behavior for.

He’s constantly teasing her for a variety of things: being short, being a brainiac, being related to the useless headmaster, etc. Raven tries to be the bigger person and ignore him, but there’s only so much she can take before snapping at him.

Occasionally steals glances at what she’s writing in her diary or snatches it from her to read the entries out loud. Tells her she has shit taste in men.

Raven thinks she’s more mature than Ace, but Ace sees right through her “lady” act and points out she’s more childish than she’d like to admit. He says she should be more honest with herself, but she never is. She probably avoids Ace if given the choice because she doesn’t like her lies/tsundere behavior being called out.

Deuce

Classmates, closer to being an acquaintance than Ace is. Though they’re not exactly friends, Raven thinks of Deuce a little more positively because it’s usually him who intervenes to tell Ace to “cut it out” or to “leave her alone”.

Deuce looks up to Raven as the honors student ideal. (Raven gets a slightly swelled ego because of this and thinks of herself as Ace and Deuce’s “big sis” figure.)

When he goes delinquent mode, Raven cowers in the corner until he has returned to normal. Can’t totally understand some of his delinquent slang. Probably repeated a few of the phrases to ask what they mean and Deuce apologizes for saying them in front of her.

She once heard that Deuce likes eggs and she looked at him horrified.

Leona

Calls Raven “Canary”. It's meant to be an ironic nickname, since despite her black feathers she tries to be bright and optimistic with him.

They started off having a really sour relationship because Leona has an attitude that Raven finds is difficult to work with. She sees a lot of her old self in him (disheartened, lost, not willing to try) and takes it upon herself to encourage him because she doesn't want to see him going down the same dark path she did. Unfortunately, Leona doesn't appreciate that he's her "charity case" and tends to put up resistance to her efforts.

Raven's REALLY skittish around him since he's a big cat and she's a bird--they're naturally predator and prey.

Leona saw her as super annoying back then; he doesn’t understand why she has so much faith in him when he has given up on himself. This frustration manifests in a few threats which definitely did not help the relationship.

Over time, I guess the two realize on their own how similar they are and they sort of soften up to one another. Leona starts to treat Raven a little nicer and finally acknowledges her for the "lady" that she is. "I can't quite place it, but Leona-san seems to be different somehow," she says. In a good mood + feels proud when she sees him in high spirits.

Raven really praises his intelligence and leadership abilities, but laments that he doesn't use them to their full extent.

They can bond over intellectual activities or something. Chess, reading books, etc.

Still get on each other's nerves by making verbal jabs. I guess that's the nature of a cat and bird, huh... Their relationship is very "Zazu-Scar" and "Beauty and the Beast" coded.

He's aware that she has a crush on Jade 💀 Angsts in private about not being "the one", why couldn't he have had this kind of support earlier in life, etc.

Ruggie

An acquaintance, forced to be cordial with him due to circumstances. Raven's often around campus doing odd jobs for her uncle, and she sometimes bumps into Ruggie (doing his own odd jobs). They chitchat here and there, but aren't super close.

Raven initially views Ruggie as "one of Leona-san's goons", but they become a little more amicable as Raven's relationship with Leona improves. Ruggie now comfortably teases her and commends her for putting up with the demands of their dorm leader.

He was the mediator for Leona and Raven back they didn't get along at all, asking Raven to cut Leona a little slack and telling Leona to lighten up with the birdie.

They share a love for shiny things and have a talent for finding edible plants. Sometimes they trade tips on the latter.

Jack

Raven's scared of Jack based solely on the principle that he looks intimidating. The first time they ever crossed paths, Raven took out her wallet and handed it to Jack (thinking that he was going to wail on her for her lunch money). He was very confused and handed the wallet back to her.

They don't talk. Like, at all. They only communicate on an as-needed basis, and even then it's difficult to get the ball rolling because Raven just freezes up when he looks at her. Jack very much reminds her of the wild predators she'd have to avoid in the forest.

She thinks it's cute when his ears twitch and his tail wags, but doesn't dare get close to him. Would prefer to stand on the other side of the room and shout at him.

... Jack doesn't get why she acts this way, isn't this way of communicating inefficient?

He tries to remain respectful of her since it seems like (in his eyes) she's friends with Ruggie-senpai and Leona-senpai. Wonders if there's something more there that he's not fully getting, but figures it's none of his business to ask about it.

Azul

Thought he was polite at first, but Raven eventually came to understand that his smile is, in fact, shady. She maintains a certain level of professionalism (given that he's a dorm leader), but she's pretty on edge around him otherwise. If he's nice to her, she assumes he wants something or has an ulterior motive.

Azul sees a lot of value in Raven due to her connection with the headmaster. He's always reaching out to her and 'offering" favors or items to get in her good graces. Often is rejected, but man doesn't know when to quit.

Though Raven doesn't like Azul or what he stands for, she thinks the Mostro Lounge is very comfortable and dines there on occasion. (Insists on paying full price when Azul tries to slide over a discount.)

Jade

Her crush

When Raven first arrived at NRC, she got really attached to Jade since he seemed like a kind and reliable gentleman. They had a falling out (after Raven learned that Jade was sent by Azul to manipulate her) and have been on rocky terms since. Unfortunately, a (very stupid) part of her is still attracted to him, though she strongly denies it.

He derives a lot of amusement from her overreactions to little things, like having their fingers brush against one another.

Raven keeps Jade at as much of a distance as she can. Sadly, he keeps popping up in her life (all orchestrated coincidences) to charm her. She convinces herself that he doesn't actually like her and that these are all calculated moves to get back on her good side.

Many of their interactions devolve into bickering, with Jade teasing her and Raven trying to fire back with something witty.

They're curious about each other's home biomes and true forms. Back when they were friends, they'd teach each other many new things on those topics.

Very vengeful towards those who are "too cruel" to Raven (because only he's allowed to be that mean to her :>). Offers to "take care" of them for her. She tells him not to, but isn't sure if he actually listens to her.

Floyd

Calls Raven “Black Pearly”/“Kuroshinju-chan”. Normally Floyd nicknames people after sea creatures--and notably, with Raven, he calls her an inanimate object from the ocean. This is intentional (from a meta perspective), as it highlights that Raven is an entity that doesn't quite "fit" within the school and the story.

Raven's not a fan. She can't deal with Floyd acting so unpredictably and rashly. He's such a headache, why can't he at least PRETEND to be polite like Jade does? (This comment really pisses Floyd off and makes him stomp off.)

He thinks she's boring but keeps starting shit to see if she'll react if he pokes the right buttons.

Makes fun of her because he sees her crush on his twin is sooo obvious. Doesn't understand why she has to overcomplicate things by hiding how she really feels. "Just do it already."

Kalim

Friends! But in small doses. Raven gets tired being with Kalim, who’s always so friendly and energetic, for extended periods of time. Cares for him in the same way a big sister might for a younger brother, even though Kalim is in the higher grade level.

Showers her with gifts, especially foods. He shows her his menagerie and encourages her to try petting tigers or something 💀 Kalim had a big heart and shares a lot of what he has with her.

He listens to her worries about connecting with others and fitting in. Not good at wording his advice, but encourages her to keep trying and that he’ll always be there for her!

Raven finds Kalim’s cheer refreshing but worries that people could take advantage of his naïveté like she was (by Jade). Tries to protect him from shady types of characters.

Jamil

Not exactly friends, but they see each other and immediately see the tired mom energy. There’s a mutual understanding between them.

Raven takes shifts with Jamil to help Kalim with his assignments. Helps keep an eye on his dorm leader when he’s up to his neck with other tasks. It’s like they’re coparenting 😭

She often finds herself staring at his hair accessories. When she was less accustomed to human life, she yanked on one of them and earned his ire for the next several weeks. Jamil has cooled off since then, but he’ll bring it up subtly if he’s annoyed with her.

Vil

Calls Raven “Shetland potato”. (Yes, I know Shetland is an irl location that doesn’t exist in Twst; just assume Shetland is an old fashioned way of saying Shaftlands/it’s a variety of potato from the Shaftlands.)

She approached Vil first and nervously asked him for etiquette lessons (since she wanted to know how to be more human and “ladylike”), which he agreed to. Vil’s pleasantly surprised that she had the agency to seek self improvement like this, so now his expectations of her are set really high.

Raven admires Vil’s mastery of potionology and tries her best to emulate him in the lab. Her technique is a little clumsy, but her heart’s in the right place. She also loves his sense of fashion since she lacks the confidence to pull off the daring looks that Vil does.

He’s like the stern, icy older brother she never had. Vil doesn’t go out of his way to help her out (he wants her to learn to fend for herself), but he’s there if she needs advice or help dressing for an occasion.

One of the few guys she can go to for “girl talk”. Raven tries to keep who she’s talking about vague, but Vil always sees right through her and tells her it’s a poor choice.

Rook

Calls Raven “mon petit oiseau”. Later on (like, after Raven becomes more confident in her identity), he'll switch over to the nickname "Conteuse des Corbeaux".

A good friend! If not a little too over eager. Raven was definitely put-off but him at first, but he grew on her over time. She loves listening to him wax poetic; it inspires her in her own creative endeavors—and his cheer is so infectious!

They share a love for the arts and sit around trading their takes on the latest movie or play or art piece they saw. Sometimes he reads and offers critique of her latest work.

Lives for the tea. Besides Vil, he’s one of the other guys Raven can talk to about love. Problem is, Rook is content watching her try to find her way (there’s something romantic about it!) and vaguely encourages her to “follow her heart’s desire”.

Tries to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe too much. (“I-I’m sure Rook-senpai has a perfectly good reason for breaking into your dorm room to leave a rose on your pillow… r-right?”)

They sometimes whisper stuff to each other in bird.

Epel

Epel has beef with her cuz she's a raven (aka one of those pest animals that wreak havoc on his village's crops!). Stares at her from a distance with kind of a grumpy face.

He doesn't really act on that beef because Vil will whoop his ass for being rude and provoking a fight with his peer. If he's in a situation where he has to talk with Raven, Epel will do his best to put on that soft, sweet polite facade that Vil has taught him.

Raven has zero clue what Epel's saying when he speaks in his accent. Asks him to repeat himself, which annoys him.

Idia

Raven thinks he’s basically a ghost that haunts Ignihyde. Does that guy ever go out and get sunshine??? (Raven thinks that, but she’s a hypocrite because she also holes up in her room… writing…)

Doesn’t really have an opinion of him since he’s so withdrawn and they barely interact. However, she doesn’t like it when he acts all high and mighty about the media he consumes. Raven thinks it discourages people from giving the media a shot because he’s making it seem so unappealing.

She also thinks his laugh and general presence is

a little eerie. Maybe she’ll get cursed if she bathes in his negative miasma for too long.

Even though they don’t know each other irl, I think it would be funny if Raven posted her writing online and Idia was one of her biggest fans 😭 Like this guy religiously likes, comments, and shares every post…

Ortho

Calls Raven “Raven Crowley-san”.

They’re friends! Little buddies experiencing a lot of their firsts and exploring the world and its oddities together.

Ortho is very pragmatic while Raven has a big imagination and tends to daydream. They balance each other out well.

He tells Raven about his older brother (which is how she first learned about Idia’s existence.) “Eh… Ortho-san, you have a difficult sibling like that…?” She feels bad for him 💦 but respects him for having the patience to deal with that.

Ortho thinks Raven’s an interesting subject to observe and gather data on. It’s not every day that he gets to do this! He’ll be sure to collect accurate readings on her.

Malleus

Calls Raven "the young Crowley".

Because Malleus is often missing from dorm leader meetings, Raven has to either go fetch him for them or deliver the meeting notes to him. He’s thankful for her help but doesn’t engage with her outside of these instances.

Raven is pretty neutral about Malleus?? She respects him and all, but doesn’t get involved with him more than she thinks she should. Malleus is the same way with Raven; he doesn’t think much of her beyond her duties.

Malleus was slightly amused by Raven standing up to him during GloMasq; he announces his intent to strike Rollo down but Raven insists they hear him out. Since then, he’s kept an eye on her and wonders if she’ll have the audacity to do it again.

I imagine that Raven goes to Briar Valley to serve as a royal scribe or messenger for Malleus in her fourth year internship. This would lend them a Maleficent-Diablo dynamic.

Lilia

Acquaintances, mostly because Raven communicates with him about dorm leader meetings or sometimes passes meeting notes to him if she cannot find Malleus herself.

He commends her for being a bright girl but thinks she could make do with loosening up a little. Takes delight in popping up out of nowhere to spook her.

Believes that Malleus and Raven are friends. (They’re not.)

Lilia jokingly asks his boys who they think os cuter: Raven or him? It’s definitely him, right? 🥺

Raven has the inkling that Lilia is a lot older than he seems just based on the stories he tells when he has the chance to. She loves listening to them and dreams about traveling to those places too.

Silver

Friends, but not right away. Raven used to be scared of Silver because he looks intimidating when he stares at you. Still, she feels oddly drawn to him anyway. It must be his princely aura drawing in all the local wildlife… including her 😭 For a long while, she just observed Silver from a distance.

Once she learns Silver’s actually very normal and even sweet (most likely from the neighborhood birds), Raven settles in nicely by his side. For example, she might work on writing while Silver dozes off beside her on a warm afternoon.

Models some characters in her stories off of Silver. He’s so gallant! (Raven complains that the other NRC students should be more like him. Silver doesn’t understand what she means.)

He’s dense, but he’s a good boy. Will help her grab or carry things she can’t on her own. However, Silver is useless with other matters. Like if he sees Raven and Jade bickering, Silver will intervene and try to help “sort out the misunderstanding” so they can all be friends.

Sebek

(Loudly) calls Raven “Bird”.

Frenemies…? Sebek talks down to Raven and demeans her like he does many of his peers, but sometime around GloMasq he came to the conclusion that she must be a long lost relative of Malleus's and develops a sense of respect for her. Since then, he has been acting like an eager puppy that trails after Raven and says/does things in hopes of earning her praise.

Raven is confused by his shift in demeanor and wonders why he's suddenly being so nice to her... Not that she's complaining, but it took a while to get used to.

She's still a little intimidated by his looks and loudness.

Book buddies! They give each other recommendations and discuss their latest reads.

Crowley

Calls Raven “my adorable little niece”, sometimes “Raven-kun”.

He's your typical bumbling/silly but well-meaning father figure. Irresponsibly offloads many of his responsibilities onto her. She also often serves as a messenger to Yuu on behalf of Crowley. Usually apologizing for him.

Not above using Raven to make himself appear competent to potential sponsors and donors. Crowley uses a combination of fake tears, bribes, and flattery to get her to act in his favor.

Despite this, she cares for him and he cares for her too. Raven just wishes Crowley would step up sometimes!!

Crewel

She’s scared of him, especially when he raises his voice (even if the scolding isn’t directed at her). Works hard in his class to avoid his ire.

He sees a lot of potential in her, but dislikes that Raven lacks a spine. Crewel often picks on her in class in an effort to get her to be more confident in herself and to learn how to speak up.

Trein

Raven likes Trein! He provides her with a sense of warm and grandfatherly comfort. She's never had a grandpa before, so she considers Trein something akin to that.

Sometimes stays after class to ask questions or just to chat with him. He appreciates this since some of the other first years act out or don't have an interest in the subjects he teaches.

Trein keeps things professional; he feels that a teacher and a student should remain in those roles and not cross those boundaries. However, he lets Raven know that if she needs any guidance, his door is always open. Maybe that's his empty nest syndrome speaking.

Lucius

The one cat Raven isn't immediately apprehensive about, if only because Trein reassures her that Lucius is gentle.

He chills in Trein's lap while they talk.

If he's in a good mood, he might bat a paw at her or let Raven stroke him. She calls him a "very good boy".

Vargas

Slightly intimidated by Vargas's physique and gung-ho attitude. She admires his enthusiasm for self-improvement, but isn't so sure about his methods.

He doesn't let the fact that she's a girl deter him from pushing her hard! If anything, Vargas declares that she has to work two times as hard to prove herself and build some muscle! Raven always leaves his class hugging and puffing, sweaty, and red in the face... but also feeling super proud of herself.

Traumatized by that one time she witnessed Vargas down five dozen raw eggs for breakfast.

Sam

Business owner and customer--there's nothing more to it than that! Sam sees Raven as a particularly valuable customer due to her need for specific ingredients to concoct her enchanted inks. Occasionally puts aside a rare find and lets her know about it for a good deal.

Raven's thankful to Sam for filling in the ingredient gaps for her. Though, uh... she begs of him to stop placing bets with her uncle about whether or not he can buy out his stock.

Yuu

Cordial enough classmates. They're in the same homeroom which is convenient for when Raven has to pass messages or tasks from Crowley to them.

Willing and able to help Yuu out whenever they ask for it.

[Insert other information as desired; varies widely depending on what kind of Yuu features here.]

Ramshackle Ghosts

Raven greets them like they're her friendly neighbors.

The ghosts treat her like that nice Girl Scout from down the lane that stops by every so often to offer them cookies.

Grim

Brings a tuna can as a peace offering. Pushes it to Grim using a stick. Makes him promise to not bite her or set her on fire. Raven walks on eggshells around him.

Grim is mildly insulted by her acting like he's a monster. "I'm a civilized mage too, yanno!!" (He eats her peace offering anyway.)

Neige

Raven mostly knows him from all his appearances as a celebrity. Doesn't think much of him other than "oh, he's cute" or "he's like a fairy tale princess".

Upon welcoming Neige to NRC for the cultural festival, she's surprised to see him being so princess-like in person as well. To Raven, Neige almost doesn't seem real.

Neige gives off a very inviting aura that makes Raven feel welcome and comfortable in his presence, even though they just met.

He'd treat her as he does all of his fans, in a very sweet and pure manner. Might be interested to know that she's a raven; Neige could think it's cool or invite her to join in on their song since ravens count as a songbird. She gets embarrassed and says she can't possibly do such a thing.

Chenya

Another cat boy? Big nope for Raven. Her bird instincts are shouting at her to keep away. Chenya's a lazy sort of cat, so he seems fine to be around (especially since Riddle and Trey vouch for him). They're basically strangers though.

Raven stares at him as he picks up a slice of cake and chomps through it, then asks for seconds. Her only impressions of him are that he's sneaky and kind of a glutton.

Chenya thinks Raven's sorta funny. He teaches her some bad cat puns and asks her a variety of nonsensical questions just to see how she responds.

Loves spooking her by appearing out of nowhere or poking her while he’s still invisible.

Cheka

Calls her "ojitan's friend". Cheka is 100% convinced that Raven is besties with Leona.

She thinks he's a lost child and takes him by the hand to take him to help him reunite with his parents. (Cheka thinks Raven is a lost child too.)

He's a little ball of fur and energy! Cheka runs all over the place and wears Raven down real fast. She's never been so eager to hand the kid off and be rid of him (though she tries her best to smile and wave good-bye).

Rollo

HE HATES EVERYONE, INCLUDING RAVEN.

... But Raven doesn't want to give up on him! She insists on being his pen pal and keeping in touch, since she feels that a large part of why he broke down was not having people to talk to or to support him. Rollo's forced into this situation... but no matter how often he tells her to quit this, she won't let up!

He finds her extremely bothersome, of course. (Rollo won't admit that there's sort of a comfort in including this in his routine, that it's nice to have somewhere to vent and let loose his bottled rage.)

At some point, he extends the offer to listen to her woes about the NRC boys, whom he is certain are sin incarnate.

What? No, they are NOT friends. Absolutely NOT. (His aide and vice president think they are.)

Fellow

Calls Raven the “lil’ lady” of Night Raven College.

Picks on her. Steals her food, takes her books, etc.

Such an ass-kisser (he's hoping to get sympathy and then leech resources off of her). Gets Gidel to play along with his schemes too. Alas... Raven does, in fact, feel something for their situation.

She's highly suspicious of him. Doesn't like it when he acts overly familiar and touches her on the arm or shoulder... or cocks that smug, suspiciously crooked smile.

Raven likes it when Fellow allows his inner child to come out; it's nice to see that he's still able to keep dreaming as an adult, she thinks.

Gidel

To Raven, Gidel's some kid that Fellow strings along in his schemes. She's much more forgiving of him compared to Fellow and does her best to read his body language to understand what he's trying to communicate.

Gidel's curious about her. She's a scholar, right? Wow, he wants to know what that's like! He just kinda stares at her with big, eager eyes.

Skully

He acts like they’re BFFs but Raven tries to keep him at a comfortable distance. Skully (wrongly) assumes that she's his ally and will agree with him on everything.

She thinks that Skully acts and talks like a character from a fairy tale, but in practice she's a little put off by how touchy-feely he is. Raven will let him kiss the back of her hand, but when he's not looking, she'll gently wipe it off on her skirt.

She'll happily sit there and listen to him ramble for hours about Halloween and the traditions of his village. Raven loves a good story!

She acts as the mediator when Skully butts heads with other people about his hyperfixation and idol. It's not very effective, but someone has to do it.

[feyascorner]

Preview | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”

Intimacy is not something you like to indulge in after your last lover nearly strangled you to death. Sometimes, you wonder if letting him ascend would mean he would still be here, by your side, rather than lurking the shadows of Baldur's Gate.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. 0, TBA

a/n. This is just a preview of the multi-chapter fic I thought of :)) I'm not sure if I'll be able to continue writing it yet, but I'll definitely try lol. It takes place after the game!!!

As dark spots blur your vision, you realize you can no longer breathe.

His hands–the slender pale fingers you’ve grown to love more than your own–wrap desperately around your throat, digging crescent-shaped indents into your skin. You’d always thought that if he were ever to realize you weren’t as precious to him as he believed you to be, your neck would be the one part of yourself he’d continued to cherish. The softness in which he brushed his fangs against the most vulnerable areas of your throat had led you to believe so.

But as you stare up at him with wide eyes meeting a murderous glare, you understand that you are wrong.

His crimson eyes gleam with an emotion you’ve seen plenty on his pretty face, but never toward a friend. Never to you. You’re going to die, you think. And it wouldn’t have seemed so bad to die at his hands if it were not for the hatred reaching his eyes.

You’re not sure who–maybe Karlach or Wyll–but someone tears him away from you. Your chest dares to tighten from the loss of contact, yet you desperately grasp at the air, hands flying to the tender flesh of your neck while Shadowheart rushes to your side in an instant with her eyes narrowed dangerously at the very man who’d made the dark blemishes.

They’re yelling. Everyone is. At you, out of panic, or at Astarion, you’re not sure, but you just stare at the vampire spawn who’s now unwillingly locked into a life cast into the shadows of the city. He doesn’t look at anyone else besides you, either.

He says something and a few more muffled voices spit back before he throws the dagger you’d given him to the ground, turning to leave. Your hearing clears just in time to hear his parting words.

“I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”

A pair of hands shake you awake, and you quickly remember the poor consequences to your back of falling asleep on the empty, narrow street beside the Elfsong tavern. You look up wearily, eyes in a daze as Shadowheart sighs irritably, brows furrowed in a way that tells you to ready yourself for a scolding. “Honestly, at this point, I’m just surprised you haven’t gotten robbed during the night yet.”

You force yourself onto your feet, leaning against the walls as you rub at the crust forming under your eyes. “I have nothing of value anyway. They’re better off stealing from some other poor bard who actually bothers to write songs.”

She raises a brow at this, scanning over your appearance. “Where is your lyre?”

“Sold it,” you shrug, dusting off the muck garnered at the sides of your pants. “Wasn’t much use to me anymore. Better off adding to the funds to rebuild the city, don’t you think?”

Shadowheart frowns, and it makes you look away shamefully. Thankfully, she quickly shakes her head and then paces past you. “Speaking of which, are you in any condition to help out today? Gale’s promptly exhausted trying to cast mage hand at least a dozen times yesterday to rebuild the Blushing Mermaid. That foolish wizard nearly passed out by noon.”

“‘Course,” you offer a pathetic smile. “We’re nearly finished with the Baldur’s Mouth. I’ll catch up with you once I check up on everyone there.”

“Very well,” she says. She purses her lips after a slight pause. “You should stop falling asleep on the street. Especially since there’s been quite a few murders recently around the city,” she checks to see if you haven’t dazed off, “I expect you to come home tonight–We’re making stew.”

“I will. Don’t think my back can stand much more of this anyway.”

Her shoulders relax the slightest bit, and she finally manages to catch your darting eyes. “Is it the nightmares again? They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”

Your throat goes dry, and you can feel your knees grasping at its remaining strength as you search your mind for a way to respond. You’re tempted to lie through your gritted teeth, knowing she’s fully aware regardless of what pathetic answer you offer her, but you opt to seal your mouth shut, shrugging.

The flash of disappointment in her eyes is enough to make you feel the knots tighten in your stomach. With a curt note, she turns to walk away, glancing back for one last time. “Don’t give him the privilege of occupying a part of your mind for so long. He doesn’t deserve even the dirty filth you have all over yourself.”

For the first time after he nearly killed you and you defeated the Elder Brain four months ago, you think she might be right about him.

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (06)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Teen (series will be explicit) Words: 1.2k Summary: Sleepwalkers

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

He can see her ass.

He doesn’t bother trying not to look. There’s just the two of them in the small room, her stretched out on the bed while he sits with his back to the wall across from her. There’s no blanket to speak of and she’s lying on top of the ancient cot facing away from him. He’s still not sure what happened but she shifted a while ago and the skirt of that little sundress had ridden all the way up to her waist.

He was a saint for not touching her.

It was a few hours til morning yet, she’d let him sleep longer than he actually needed. While he was hefting himself off the bed she had yawned, stretching her arms to the ceiling and making parts of her body do some absolutely fascinating things.

No harm in looking.

His hands move as he keeps one eye on her, an ear turned towards the hallway, waiting for the inevitable footsteps. If someone doesn’t try to rob them tonight he’ll eat his hat. Fingers far too used to the work refill his shotgun shells, checking their weights and deciding if the contents are still any good with barely any input from his brain.

And those damn thighs keep calling to him.

They’re edible, is what they are. Two prime pieces of grade-A meat. Of course he’d stare, his mouth was practically watering.

“It ain’t you,” he mumbles to his cock. “You ain’t had a vote in a long fucking time, ya hear?”

It does not. It twitches in interest as she sighs in her sleep, thighs rubbing together. It’d be the work of a moment to cross to her - hell he wouldn’t even have to get off his knees - set his teeth to those perfectly rounded asscheeks and bite. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to turn those little sighs into moans.

Yeah, his cock was definitely looking to cast a vote.

He felt almost light-headed, hormones his body hadn’t made in decades suddenly swimming in his system. With a hacking cough he takes a hit of chem, hoping it might resettle his balance. It does, a little, enough that his fingers stop twitching her direction.

A floorboard creaks.

The Ghoul cracks his neck, setting his hat to the side and resting the end of the shotgun on his knee. Another creak, then the shuffling of boots outside the door. It opens slowly and he clocks three men standing there, two he recognizes.

“Well now, I was beginning to think y’all weren’t ever gonna show. D’you come to party or just watch?”

The man in front stops suddenly, single eye scanning the room. It’s nearly pitch black, barely any light coming from the hallway either. Ever one for the dramatic, the Ghoul scrapes a match across the floor, letting the flame light up his face before he sets it to the end of a cartridge.

“Now, ordinarily, I might let y’all off with a warning seeing as you’ve only made some regretful decisions thus far. But it seems to me a group of fellas like yourself could only have one reason for breaking into a lady’s bedroom in the middle of the night.” He drops the shell into the shotgun, chambering it one fluid motion. “And I cannot abide that kind of man.”

The shell is a special cocktail of his own, a mix of chemicals and tar that burns hotter than acid and sticks to everything it touches. The effect is quick - no need to burn the place down - but aggressive.

The sound of the blast is deafening in the small room, the screams of the two men the shell explodes onto nearly as bad. Next to him he hears a muffled “What?” before he rolls to his feet and places himself between the wakening woman and the door.

“Does anyone else have something they’d like to add to the conversation?”

The screaming continues, even though the fire has burned out. He can see patches of bone where the mixture ate through face, neck, and arms. Smiling to himself he takes a step forward, gently pushing the trio away and closing the door.

“Y’all should go take care of that, and stop that caterwauling.”

“What happened?”

One strap of that dress of hers has fallen and he reaches out to fix it without even thinking. He can almost hear the scrap of his leather gloves on her skin, too much rough against all that softness.

“Just a group of townies looking to make friends. I disabused them of that notion.”

She looks confused, still blinking away sleep. “You shot them?”

“Look here, when it comes to charming the locals you’ve got me beat by a mile - but when a fella needs to be reminded of his manners a bullet has a more lasting impact.”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “I knew this would happen.”

“You knew they were gonna come up here, and yet you were sleeping there sound as a babe?”

“I knew it was a risk,” she groans again, “kind of comes with the territory.”

“And yet I found you prancing your way through the wasteland alone, looking like that.”

“I’m not alone, I have you.” He barely gets to revel in that statement before she frowns. “And what do you mean, looking like that?”

“Sweetheart, you look like a six course meal in that getup. It’s a wonder no one ain’t gobbled you up already.”

She looks down at herself and purses her lips. “It is a tradeoff.”

“For what?”

Her mouth opens for a moment like she is going to answer then clicks shut. “It’s… thank you. For protecting me.”

For a moment he considers telling her he hadn’t been. That he was just guarding his stuff. Or that it was tit for tat since she had taken the first watch. But it wasn’t true - alive and unharmed included by other people. So instead he simply grumbles, “Don’t say nothing about it.”

Sighing, she lies back on the bed, stuffing her pack under her head with her feet facing the wall. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get back to sleep.”

“Well, if you ain’t gonna use it…” he moves to the cot, shifting her legs so he can stretch out, back propped to the wall.

She snorts, closing her eyes. “Tell me a story.”

“You looking for some once upon a time fairy tale shit?”

“No,” another one of those low laughs, “you’ve been around a while, tell me something that happened… here.”

He considers her for a moment, stretched out next to him. There’s about a dozen better ways to pass the time that he can think of offhand, but quite a few of them require him to be the kind of man he swore never to be. He didn’t have many lines in the sand, but that was one. Faded and brushed over as it was - it weren’t like he had much of a call to use it.

“You ever seen a naked mole rat fuck a Brahmin?”

That laughter would have to be enough.

☢ ☢ ☢

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