#they could do the 'i am not my father' bit a little more subtle... they have said it explicitly like three times in one episode we get it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chimivx · 2 months ago

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Im so happy that you are accepting vegas scenarios. Thank you so much 💗

Can it be like a lazy fluffy family day, just them enjoying their day with Dae.

Actually, am ok with whatever you write lol I just miss them. They are my comfort place 💕

Have a great day ✨️

...dads and their toddlers -> vegas!yoongi/vegas!couple <3

moms and their infants, dads and their toddlers… i enjoyed writing this. i miss them with all of my heart. trust they are happy & taken care of.

wc: 2.5k. warnings: f l u f f. vegas masterlist.

“No, no, no!”

Feet thundered on the hardwood floor, startling you where you stood at the counter slicing up fruits, tossing the pieces into a little pink bowl. Pressing a hand to the stretchy cotton wrapped around your front, your shoulders and your back, you curled a finger over the fabric and peeked inside, hoping tiny fluffy eyelashes were still laying over round, chubby cheeks. Taking the smallest breath without disturbing the little one, though she was used to everything by now, you cover her back up and finish chopping up the apple your three year old asked for ten minutes ago.

“No!”

Yoongi’s shout carried through the living room, echoed into the hall and found you in the kitchen. The sound of his voice alone, though he seemed like he was fighting a battle, brought you comfort. His voice and Dae’s maniacal giggles. Inseparable, the two of them, since Yoongi’s been able to live back at home with the three of you. Your girl, your Dae, an exact replica of her father, she adored him.

And she had him wrapped around her finger.

Wherever Dae went, Yoongi was behind her. Whatever Dae wanted, Yoongi gave her. All it took was a little pout and the blinking of her lashes and he melted into a puddle on the floor. The subtlest slouch of her shoulders and he would give in, even if he’s said no many times before. So many times you’ve mumbled what trouble she got him in, but with one tip of his chin, glare of his eyes and smirk of his lips, he told you she got this from you.

Truthfully, Dae’s fixation with her father made it easy to bring her sister into the family. Though you sometimes wished she’d ask to lay with you at night instead of Yoongi, or that she wanted you to read her a book instead of Yoongi humming her songs, you were burdened with glorious purpose.

Hyejin came into your lives around the end of August, right when things flipped upside for you and Yoongi for a bit like life normally would. Everything happened at once, that’s how things went around here, new baby, private life media breach, something of a public scandal that you’ll fight till your last breath defending- Nine months pregnant, heavily exhausted from mothering a two year old at the same time, every reporter, every nonsense human being who came around looking for their fifteen minutes, they didn’t stand a chance.

Not Yoongi nor Jin could stop you. If you caught someone's ear, if they dared to step up to the woman in sweatpants with her belly popping out of a cropped sweater, that was their own fault. Neither man could tell you to lay down, eat something, or sleep. It was your second rodeo and you knew what you were doing. Pregnant with Hyejin, you could take on the fucking world, you were invincible, you were fearless. Every worry you had the first time around with Dae, gone. Every precaution you’d take, every cautious step, every jump at every single subtle sound, gone.

You weren’t sick like you had been throughout your first pregnancy, you weren’t drowsy and fatigued, you didn’t have the need to lie down or sit down often- You were exhausted, yes, but not because of Hyejin. Dae kept you on your toes, especially on days when Yoongi had to work, or Sunny had to fly to LA, or Jin had to also work. When it was just you and her, she ran the show, but as she should. You soaked in as much time as possible with her, your first baby, the girl who changed your life for the better.

Time spent with Dae healed you in more ways than one. You worked hard to be the best mother you could be for her, and Yoongi the best father. A promise you kept with one another, for your children.

The two of you went on mother daughter dates appropriate for a two year old. Getting your nails painted, shopping for clothes and toys, letting Sunny cut and style your hair together, making art with her, dancing around her bedroom with her. It’d been your favorite time with her, the best time, and now with a baby strapped to your front, it was Yoongi’s turn.

The nights he’d lay with Dae were nights you spent nursing Hyejin, something you never go to experience with your first born. She was an entirely different child, but that didn’t mean you loved either one any less. It’d been scary the first time around, a lot of things did not go how they were supposed to, how you and Yoongi wanted them to go. After Hyejin’s birth it felt as though you both needed to relearn how to be a new parent.

She grew quickly, she ate when she was supposed to, she made it past the one month and two month old check up without having to be readmitted to the hospital. Getting her to sleep was a breeze, but she was sure to let you know when she was awake and ready to be fed. Hyejin became the boss in the sweetest way, and you and Yoongi both know that Dae had paved the way.

Where your first born was kind, charming and gentle, Hyejin was already fearless, confident and headstrong. The day she starts walking is the day Dae’s life changes. You couldn’t wait for the two of them to grow up together, two tiny best friends.

“Min Dae,” you called out, turning your chin out the archway into the hall so your voice would carry to the little one probably pinning her father to the rugs in the living room. Slicing another apple for you and Yoongi you tossed it into another bowl and slid it onto the island counter behind you. Grabbing the already full bowl of grapes and tangerines, you slid that over as well. Spinning around, you grabbed onto Hyejin and gasped aloud.

“Hey, D, can- Oh my god!”

Dae sat on top of his shoulders, her pink pajama pants bringing a pink tinge to Yoongi’s cheeks. Holding onto her ankles, Dae holding onto the top of his head, they both wore the same tight lipped smile and broke into the same fit of giggles when they successfully scared you. They snuck in while you were situating the snacks, Yoongi still standing on bent knees he tiptoed into the kitchen with.

“I told you we’d get her,” Yoongi looked up at Dae who gave him an upside down smile as her dad shook her where she sat.

“We scared you,” Dae said, proud as ever, hands gripping at the dark strands of her fathers hair.

“Yes,” you breathed, giving her a smile. “You scared me,” you said, giving Yoongi a look, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he crooned, coming to your side with a kiss for you. Taking a hand to his cheek you pulled at it and curled your lip.

“Almost peed,” you mumbled, and Dae thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Falling forward over her fathers head her hands dropped to his shoulders and she almost slid off his back. Reaching his hands backward he grabbed her under her arms and maneuvered her around to prop her on his hip. “You think it’s funny Dae-sy!?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she giggled, “Don’t pee your pants!” Yoongi clenched his jaw, his smile unmatched, trying to withhold his laughter.

Leaning in toward her, you tapped the tip of her nose and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Snacks in hand, everyone acquiring a bowl, your little family ventured back into the living room, taking to the floor, the fruits living on the wooden coffee table between the couches. Dae, to your surprise, cozied up on your lap, or one of your thighs rather, her sister took up most of the room.

“What do we say to Mama?” Yoongi asked Dae from your left, raising his brows into the hair that was slowly starting to grow longer over his forehead.

Your three year old looked over her shoulder with a mouthful of grapes and smiled. “Tank you,” she said quietly, not every letter quite making it out with the words.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, you said, “You’re welcome, my baby.”

Yoongi danced a hand over your back, scooting even closer to you on the rug. His legs pressed into your hips, if they were stretched out they’d be able to wrap around you and you’d fit perfectly between his hips. Sliding his fingers down your arm reaching for a tangerine, he took it, tossed it into his other hand, laced his fingers with yours and pressed his lips to your ear. “How’s my baby doing?”

Warmth burned in your cheeks as you smiled back at him, catching his lips in the quickest kiss. “Good,” you whispered. He leaned forward and laid his head on your shoulder, both of his hands wrapping around your front, just over where Hyejin slept. “She’s tired today.”

“You’ve got her all warm and snuggly, I’d be tired too,” he said quietly. His hands held her, his fingers smoothing over her back through the fabric of the wrap around you. “Wish we had this with Dae.”

“She would’ve hated it, D,” you half laughed. “She’s so nosey, imagine trying to keep her in here.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, looking down at his first born watching the two of you intently with her cheeks puffed out, full of fruit. “That’s why you’re so smart.”

You poked her nose and she giggled. “‘Cause you’re so curious.”

“Yeaaah,” she tried to sing, and the two of you laughed aloud. Dae grinned wide, proud of herself.

“I told Jimin she’s a Shawol, he didn’t believe me,” Yoongi said. “We have to get that in a video.”

Taking Dae’s cheeks between a finger and your thumb, you squished them, turning her smile silly. “One of her dancing, too. Taemin can take her on tour.”

Yoongi furrowed his brow. “She could probably handle that, put Guilty on the TV.”

“Gui-tee!” Dae leapt to her feet, stomped in place, eyes wide, then rushed for the flat screen on the wall.

Scrambling to find the remote, Yoongi shot you a look. “You tell Kook she’s no longer obsessed with his song anymore?” Pressing the power button the TV lit up and Dae shrieked, making Hyejin stir.

Placing a hand over her back, you pouted. “I don’t have the heart, D, what the hell am I supposed to say?”

Yoongi, now leaning over the coffee table, his eyes fixated on the TV like his daughters, searched up Taemin’s music video, and the moment Dae saw the thumbnail she babbled something neither you nor Yoongi could make out.

“That she likes this shirtless guy now instead of him,” he joked, snickering as he clicked play, giving you a smile.

The music started and you couldn’t help it as your eyes slid over to the screen. The beat of the song, the sound of his voice, the artistry of the entire piece, you longed to know what went through his head when he came up with these concepts. Helping the guys with theirs before their enlistment, keeping the spark alive while they did their mandatory service, it was exciting- but nothing quite like this. Taemin had a creative brain you yearned to pick. The choreography, the music, the passion…

“See, you like him, too,” Yoongi teased, pulling you from the daze as Taemin pulled his hand out of his shirt.

Nearly breaking your neck you shot him a glare, the smile evident on your lips.

“For your information, I was admiring the art,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Mhm,” he smirked. “If he released this a few months earlier he’d be responsible for that one,” he mumbled, glancing down at Hyejin.

Clicking your tongue, you slouched over defeated, smile playing at your lips, arms wrapping over Hyejin who made some noise. “Is it so horrible it’s a tragically sexy song?” Supporting your baby you began to maneuver yourself out of the wrap. Yoongi moved to your side and helped, one hand beneath yours to keep Hyejin safe, the other untangling you from the fabric.

“It is tragically sexy,” he whispered, taking the wrap from you, smiling down at Hyejin who had opened her eyes. Free from her cocoon of warmth she stretched out her arms and wiggled her head, her legs kicking forward one by one. Her fluff of dark hair was cradled in your elbow. “I like the video too,” he whispered, meeting your eyes with the tiniest smile, “Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know you do,” you whispered back, kissing him when he tilted his head. Twirling behind the two of you, Dae sang along, or tried, and danced to the rhythm, following Taemin and his team of talented dancers. Hyejin let out one whine and you laughed against his lips. “Our kids don’t let us kiss.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and looked down at Hyejin and her pastel purple long sleeved footed pajamas. “It’s a wonder we were able to have her.” Catching his eyes for two seconds, heart sinking a smidge, he placed a hand to your cheek, his thumb dragging beneath your lashes. It wasn’t what he meant, he was adding to the joke, not making light of what you both went through last winter. Almost a month away from the date.

Hyejin whined once more, her arms and legs going astray, pulling your attention toward her.

“Are you hungry?” you asked softly, reaching between you and the baby to set her up for her own lunch. Yoongi moved behind you, helping you situate yourself, your shirt, the baby, giving you a place to rest while you fed her.

Taemin ended, and autoplay gave your daughter the greatest gift ever. The BigHit intro played, and she froze. She knew this intro. It was either her father, or BTS themselves, or someones solo stuff. You’ve given her a taste of Tomorrow X Together, some days she’d beg for Chasing That Feeling. The scream that rung through the air when Jungkook appeared, tattoos on display in his sleeveless vest, hair hanging over his forehead, it made you and your husband laugh.

“Kookie, Kookie, Kookie!” she shouted again, and again, and again, running in circles as she did.

Leaning your head back on Yoongi’s shoulder, you looked up at him and gave him a tight lipped smile. “She’s still obsessed.”

“Of course she is,” he mumbled. The smell of fresh, sweet citrus filled the air. He pressed a small tangerine slice to your lips and slipped it inside your mouth when you parted them. “Uncle Kookie gives her whatever she wants.” Kissing you any way he could, he smiled and fed you another piece of tangerine, making sure you were taken care of while you took care of his daughter, your daughter.

“She misses him,” you whispered.

Yoongi bobbed his head. “Yeah,” he sighed, looking at Dae twirling to the music, then at you with a pout forming on both your faces. “We all do.”

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works.

#vegas #yellow #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #bts x reader #bts x you #i miss them so bad #bts #yoongi #dad!yoongi #dad!bts

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alittlebitofloveliness · 9 months ago

Text

More Darry Curtis headcanons

-Goes to every single parent/teacher interview night or open house at Ponyboy’s school, even if he has to take off work. Part of it is because he’s determined to be a good guardian but part of it is because he just proud of Pony and likes hearing from teachers how great he is

-Speaking of how great Pony is, Darry brags about Pony SO much. Like his work crew and the gang never stop hearing about how great the kid is…except when the kid is present. Then you couldn’t get a compliment out of him if you pried his jaw open

-He and Sodapop both have a soft spot for soap operas and watch them together super late at night so no one else in the gang- Pony included- will find out. (Steve caught them once but he just sat down quietly, waving away their hasty attempts to explain themselves, muttering for them to shut up, and that he used to watch them with his mom when she was still around. The three of them finished the episode and went to bed without saying anything else.)

-Loves music of all kinds (I just know he’d be one of those guys that is SO into music history and makes it everyone else’s problem) “did you know this song was meant to be an apology to-“ “-to some random broad, we know Dar, now shut up would ya?”

-Is left handed

-He and Two-bit butt heads quite a bit but he’s also closer to Two than almost anyone else in the gang because they’re the closest in age. They have so many inside jokes that the rest of the gang gets confused because Two can sometimes get him to snicker from seemingly innocuous remarks that aren’t funny to anyone but Darry

-Has dragged Soda (and Steve by extension) away from Buck’s too many times to count and is pissed every time

-Worries the whole time when he goes on ski trips with his old buddies. He worries a lot anyway, but it’s always worse when he’s too far from home to get there immediately if something happened. Both Soda and Pony know this so they’re actually better behaved when he’s gone than when he isn’t

-Speaking of the ski trips, he always comes back glowing, for once looking his age, so the gang encourages him to go as much as possible. They have to be subtle about it though, because he gets suspicious that they’re planning something if they make it too obvious they’re trying to get him to leave, and then there’s no way in hell he’ll go

-Loves rodeos but unlike Soda has never and never wanted to participate in one

-Mother's day and father's day are contentious days in the Curtis house ever since the accident, so Soda and Pony just designated a random day as 'Darry Day" and got him little gifts, and did all the housework because they really do appreciate everything he does for them. Darry was super touched and vehemently denies tearing up when he saw the card Pony made for him

-His bond with Tim Shepard is hard for the gang, Darry himself, and even Tim to figure out, but it’s very strong despite how little they actually interact

-Despite refusing to ever go to the hospital, he’s actually the absolute worst patient when he’s sick. It takes a lot for him to admit that he’s ill, but once he does he’s absolutely insufferable. Pony and Soda takes turns taking care of him because they’re both liable to lose their temper if they have to do it for too long without a break. (“Soda my head hurts” “I know Darry” “Soda I need a glass of water” “you have a glass of water” “but Soda it’s not cold” “I got you a new one five minutes ago” “but Soda it warmed up” “damnit! Pony tag in, you deal with him, I need a smoke” “Pony I’m dying” “you’re not dying Dar” “yes I am” "no you're not")

-He’s a super fast walker. Like, anyone shorter than him has to jog a lil to catch up

-He’s a cat person. Pony and Soda are both dog people, and it has caused more than one argument despite the fact they have no pets and couldn’t afford one even if they could agree on what they wanted

-He and Soda definitely made a secret handshake when they were little, and he still remembers every single move of it even though they haven’t done it in years and he isn’t sure if Soda even remembers making it

#the outsiders #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #steve randle #johnny cade #dally winston #tim shepard #the outsiders headcanons

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edgeray · 8 months ago

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*presses my face against your tank* HELLO RAY !!! :D I AM FINALLY HERE !! MY BRAINCELLS HAVE COLLIDED AND PRODUCED A THOUGHT !!

or, er, sort of? more like a vague vibe, but i digress. basically, consider: pining arle. how does she realize her feelings for you? how does she cope? how does her behaviour around you change? does it? what is she thinking the whole time? when would she consider making a move? essentially i would like to see you psychologically pick apart this woman. go as in depth into her brain or inner monologue as you want !!! the set dressing can be canon or an au, i’ll eat it up regardless :)) and as a professional angst writer i know you can write some absolutely monstrous (/pos) yearning and i’m frothing at the mouth thinking about it 🤤🤤🤤 lookin forward to your thoughts but also take your time with it !!! godspeed 🫡🫡🫡

An Unfit Role

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Oh sev… you spoil me too much. You truly do. Somehow this turned into very ‘Arlecchino is a person'-esque and I don't know how but oh well. I don't know if this answered your questions very well, but hopefully this is what you mean by psychologically picking apart her! Was this enough pining? Content warnings / info - uhh none I think. just a lil bit of angst, 1.4k words

Arlecchino is many things. The Fourth Fatui Harbinger, a Snezynayan diplomat, the head of the House of the Hearth, and simply ‘'Father.’ She takes on many roles, and enforces them with an iron fist, every facade meticulously practiced and rationalized. Perfected as if she were an actor on a stage, every action and step is calculated beforehand. And if external factors or unpredictable variables crop up in the midst of her play? Well, a good actor knows how to improvise. Arlecchino is well aware of her roles, has memorized the lines and drilled through every movement. The Knave has many feats from each character she plays. A flawless performer, in those aspects.

A lover is not a character she can play. Someone who loves. It is a role that she cannot hope to touch, one she cannot imagine assigning herself too. She is far too inexperienced in what it pertains to. Her perception would grossly mischaracterize it, painting a rather crude display of what she knows of but doesn't know. After all, how could one act without an adequate example? No actor would want to showcase a poor impression of an original source material, an actor presents only their most remarkable qualities. A good actor knows what they cannot act, and it is this where her talents reach their limit. It is what her role as a ‘Father’ stems from; this inability to express something far too fragile and flimsy for her to hold.

Of the few showcases of others playing the role, Arlecchino is knowledgeable enough that they are simply inept showcases. The Tsaritsa, who has shown the capability to act, and yet chooses to conceal her abilities from her audience. Crucabena, an unqualified actor, whose words dripped with far too much venom for the soft-spoken voice that she used. Perhaps Clervie was the only accurate and genuine actor able to play the part, but one cannot appreciate the traits of an unfinished story. And the naive Peruere, who could hardly imitate her counterpart, was maimed by Arlecchino’s own hands. It is here that she learns that the role of a lover earns no applause, because it adds little to the plot, and so it lacks a function in her story.

Despite this, she finds herself in this scene, where she plays a character unlike her usual, an entirely new character involuntarily thrusted into her by the cruel machinations of her mind.

It is a subtle thing. First, she was just the Knave to you. But somehow, among your presence, her facade slips, and she dons another character.

She becomes a character who knows of nothing but the way her sight is captured by a singular person, a character whose dead heart begins to beat, daring to flutter back to life after it was painfully wrenched out of her chest by her favorite story's ending. She becomes acutely aware of this role when her eyes linger on you a moment longer than need be, when she indulges your empty but no less engaging conversations, when she familarizes herself with the particular fauna scent you carry. When she closes her eyes, your smile flashes through her mind, she knows she's fallen.

An actor knows when to quit, when they misfit the character they're performing. And yet her mind remains stubborn. Acting a role one does not fit will only damage the actor's reputation, and she intends on abandoning it. But it is difficult for her to dismiss how much she yearns for a warmth that the blood flames in her veins cannot bring. It is difficult to deny that she is not momentarily blinded and stunned by your beaming expression, even when you are not looking at her. It is increasingly more difficult to control the pulsing underneath her skin. This is a character she cannot control, instead, it often feels that the character controls her.

It is an unseemly, disgusting appearance for her. If it were physically possible, she would plunge her very own cursed, clawed hands into her chest, to grasp onto this fickle, volatile organ and crush it just to exhaust the remaining embers of a futile hope. If only it were as simple as that. Love is far too much of a complicated role for her, and yet it is somehow inescapable. Some sort of torment placed onto her by the archons.

She can long, she can reach, she can prance around you, but never can she touch. For love imprints its scorch marks deeper than any weapon or assault. One of the lessons her story has concluded to.

So, instead, she reduces its role to a minor character. She lets her stares remain, but she observes you from a distance. She does not dawdle a second longer besides you if she needn't be. She dresses the role of a lover as an observer. Everything she touches with these wretched, blackened hands soon turns into nothing but embers and ashes, and so the only way that you will remain is away from her.

On her desk, sits a vase with a single flower. It is your favorite flower, the flower that you smell of. It does not move from its place, nothing is done to it besides being watered. Its stem is so brittle, and the petals are far too easy to wither away.

(It is a reminder, every time she sits at her desk. Oh, how'd she like to stroke the patels with as much tenderness as she could muster. How'd she like to cradle it in her hands, this source of life, despite being so delicate, is so beautiful. How'd she like to be able to wake up everyday, and view upon this blossoming flower. But she is not a gardener. She knows nothing of how to make a flower bloom.)

Humans are the only viable actors for the role of a lover. A curse is not.

(In her dreams, sometimes you are in place of Clervie. Yet, like Clervie, the only moment she is able to cradle you is when her sword impales you. She will not let another flower wilt, she will not burn another flower.)

It is why you baffle her. Why do you gaze upon her with that expression, as if her claws are not one one more inch from piercing your skin and ripping into your flesh? How do you take her hands in yours, somehow slotting them as if they were always meant to, when they’re soiled with vulgar blood? Her cutting words and sharp tongue, how do they not dissuade you? How do you see her blackened skin, and not be driven away by such a mark of impurity and depravity?

How could you not tell that she is improper for the role that you seek?

She wonders if a flower is a poor description of you. She wonders if you are instead a Sundew ensnaring a spider, unwilling to let it escape. No, perhaps that is not fitting for you, because you are unaware how effortlessly she can char you–unaware of the imminent danger that comes with keeping such a venomous creature.

Arlecchino is many things. She is a coward, if only for you. She cannot abandon her role, but she cannot perform better, floating in the state of inadequacy that she so despises. Playing a lover makes her foolish, and it is a compromising role.

She is foolish, but she is despicable. She is selfish. And though she is perfect actor, even performers must fail to succeed. One day, her mental will and patience crumbles. She requests you into her office, your doe-eyed expression widens when she gives you the flower that sits lone in a glass vase on her desk. She tells you that you plague her thoughts, every feeling and emotion is muddied when they concern you, a culmination of things not within her grasp, not within her control.

It is your performance that finally teaches her what she lacked before: playing the role of a lover requires another. It is a role dependent on another character, otherwise it cannot succeed. It matters not how experienced one is with the other, as long as the characters are committed to it.

There is another lesson that she learned from you.

“I cannot act as a lover.”

“Why must you act to love me?”

Love is a fickle, unpredictable thing. There is no words to be practiced, no actions to be scripted.

Arlecchino is many things. A lover may be one of them.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #arlecchino #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests

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bitethedevil · 3 months ago

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If you’re taking writing prompts consider-

Raphael reacting to Tav/Durge confessing they’re in love with him

I made it a Durge because I haven't written a lot of Durge stuff (fun fact: the first longer fic I ever wrote was with a Durge warlock that had Raph as a patron, but I never released it). Raph is being a bit of a manipulative dick in this one, but what's new. Also, I'm slow as fuck at replying to my asks (especially prompts)

Love

Clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack.

His office was deadly quiet except for the sound of his claws tapping on the hard mahogany of his desk, a dangerous rhythm that she knew immediately what meant the second she heard it. The rhythm echoed her heartbeat as she waited for her patron to say something. She was in trouble.

He was leaning against his desk, looking at her and keeping her in suspense. A cruel smile stretched over his face, as he saw how she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She had defeated monsters, mindflayers, gods…even the biggest monster of them all, her father. Still, nothing made her stomach churn more than the thought of Raphael’s wrath.

The feeling humiliated her as much as it thrilled her and drew her closer to him. She had been a god in her own right with all the lives she took under Bhaal and the cult she had led in his name, but this mere cambion brought her to her knees.

She was like a moth to his fiery flames. Everything about him excited her: his cruelness, his gracious mercy at times, his power plays. He felt like home. There was something safe and known in that cruelty that drew her closer. It was something she understood the rules of.

Click clack…

“I have always questioned your loyalty,” he finally said and moved his claws up to his face to look at them as he spoke. “It is no secret that I am prone to play favorites, but perhaps I made a mistake when I took you in…”

His yellow eyes looked up at her. His comment hit her like a punch to the gut and she knew as well as him that that was the intended effect. She hated the feeling of disappointing him. She hated that she felt that way about it even more. She cleared her throat.

“What is this about?” she asked quietly.

That was the wrong question. She could see it from the way his tail flicked in irritation. She had taught herself every one of his physical cues. They were subtle sometimes, but easier to read in this form. The man had total control over his body, but the devil was just a tad less composed.

“What is this about?” he repeated his question in a smooth, even tone. “Many things, my dear.”

That was another thing she had learned: it was never just one thing. Raphael held grudges. He archived every little mistake in his head in neat files, so he could throw them in your face when you stepped out of line.

“You came crawling to me after your father spat you out, after defying me at every turn and without a crown for me. You begged me to take you in, and yet I question your devotion to my cause. You owe me a grand debt when it comes to loyalty. A debt you have not yet paid back with your services, and one that I now question if you will ever pay back if you keep associating yourself with the wrong people.”

She had wanted to give him the Crown of Karsus. She had liked him even back then. Her companions had fought her every step of the way, and with her dealing with Bhaal, she had too much on her plate to fight them on it.

“It wasn’t my choice, Raphael,” she pleaded. “You know—”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off impatiently with a wave of his clawed hand. “I have heard all your endless excuses…and I graciously forgave you, didn’t I? You would have been a bloody stain on my carpet long ago if I had not. What I cannot forgive is disloyalty.”

“Raphael, please,” she pleaded quietly. “Just tell me what I have done. I’ll make it right.”

Another flick of his tail. His nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, but he quickly schooled his features back into one of indifference.

“What were you doing in Waterdeep?” he asked slowly, each word as heavy as a brick.

That was what all of this was about. She had visited Gale. Gale who had been the very reason that the Crown of Karsus did not go to Raphael. Gale and her had started out as friends, but it evolved to something more along the way. It did not work out. Gale was too perfect, too functional for her. She broke his heart, and she would be lying if she said that this fact wasn’t taken into consideration when she gave up on trying to give to the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.

“I was just visiting,” she admitted. “Nothing more.”

“Just visiting,” he repeated with a hint of venom in his voice. “Just visiting an old flame that snubbed your patron of what was rightfully his, is that right? Is he well, our dear Gale? Does his new unburdened life suit him?”

“We are friends—”

“Friends,” Raphael said with a cruel laugh. “How awfully sentimental of you, dear. How soft you have become. I remember a ruthless woman who murdered her way through Baldur’s Gate. That woman, I could have used. It seems that your father has stripped you of everything that once made you interesting.”

That comment made her furious. It made her blood boil, but then why was she on the verge of crying instead? Why did she find herself pleading instead of yelling?

“Gale and I have been through hell and back,” she said. “It doesn’t change my loyalties for you. Please, Raphael.”

“I will NOT be made to look a fool!!” he roared with a sudden fire in his eyes.

The sound boomed through his office. She flinched. His tail flicked from side to side now. He looked her up and down. It seemed to please him how she was turning pale at his words and tearing up. He returned to his calm and collected demeanor as quickly as he got angry.

“Why are you crying?” he asked without a shred of sympathy in the question.

She tried to stop, but she couldn’t. She just wanted him to understand that she was devoted to him, and that this was all a mistake. She had not meant to cross him or make him angry, but merely to visit an old friend. His nails started tapping on the table again as he waited for her to speak.

“Can’t you— can’t you see that I’m only loyal to you?” she sobbed. Clack, clack… “I made a contract with you because I wanted to work for you. I’m yours, and only yours.” Clack, clack, clack. “Can’t you see how I only want to please you? How much I love you?”

Clack.

He froze for a moment at the oddly heartfelt confession that escaped her lips. She had not meant for that to come out, but he was great at pressuring her into saying things she didn’t want to admit. It was a humiliating confession. She hated being so vulnerable and weak. She wished that she could stuff the words right back down her throat. He wasn’t supposed to know.

A smile spread over his otherwise frozen face. He looked her up and down and let out a small huff of laughter. He looked like a man who had just been handed the perfect weapon. His hand left the table and beckoned her closer with a finger.

She walked over to him, unable to look him in the eye. He tilted her head up with a claw under her chin. He towered over her in that form.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

She looked into his yellow eyes. He was smiling at her.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated.

The humiliation in the confession was more apparent this time, and he was eating it up like it was the best meal he had had in centuries. He laughed her straight in the face.

“Oh, dear,” he said with a chuckle. “A creature of habit, aren’t you? You poor girl…”

She swallowed hard. She should have just shut up. His thumb ran over her jaw and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch set her aflame, despite the excruciating embarrassment she was feeling.

“Do I remind you of your dear old papa?” he asked, still smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Is that what this is about? It is always the fathers, isn’t it? Still searching for the approval of a cruel master, even now. Perhaps you haven’t changed at all, my dear…”

She kept quiet. He leaned closer as if sharing a secret. She could smell wine and tobacco on his breath. His thumb rubbed circles on her jaw.

“Tell me,” he whispered to her. “Where did your dear Gale fit into this picture? I’m awfully curious.”

Her eyes flicked to his lips for only a second, but he didn’t miss it by the way his smile widened.

There was only one acceptable answer and she prayed that she would choose the right one. She shrugged.

“He didn’t,” she said quietly.

That was the right answer from the way his smile widened.

“No, I would imagine not,” he said. “Too…boring…wasn’t he? He was not enough of a challenge for you, so you discarded him.”

There was a hint of guilt in her eyes at his words. He tutted gently and caressed her cheek.

“Who could blame you?” he cooed. “People like us won’t concern ourselves with boredom. You were right in choosing to focus on greater things. Gale was easy. Pleasing him was easy. He would not make you fight for it like I will.”

That promise made a shiver go through her. Raphael grabbed her arm and tugged her even closer, until she was standing between his legs with her chest pressed against his. His hand came to rest on her hip. He pressed his forehead against her, his nose touching hers. He was tantalizingly close.

“You are mine then, aren’t you?” he asked. “Only mine.”

She nodded. He gave a dangerous smile.

“You want to please me,” he said. “To make me happy…”

Another nod.

“You love and adore me.”

Another nod. His lips were so close she could almost taste them. His thumb was rubbing circles into her hip. His tail was flicking side to side, but not in rage. It was more like a cat that is ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey that it had been sneaking up on for a while.

“You will write a letter to Gale Dekarios and say that you are unavailable for any future visits,” he whispered against her lips. “That you have already done plenty for him and that you never want to see him again.”

His lips brushed lightly against hers before he pulled away, stealing her breath. She chased his lips, but he only smiled and pulled away further. She knew she had to earn it.

“Go. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” he said with a smile and let go of her.

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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doiliedaze · 25 days ago

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Apple of my Eye: part one

Butch Farm hand! Abby x Farmer! reader

Warnings: none in this part, however this series will have mentions and discussion of SA so if that makes you uncomfortable please don’t read

Genre: fluff, subtle foreshadowing of angst

A/N: Like I’ve stated in the warning this story will contain mentions and discussions of SA that the reader experienced and how it has effected her life so if that makes you uncomfortable or triggers you please don’t read. I make up my stories bit by bit so as of right now there shouldn’t be any other warnings. Both reader and Abby are southern. I’ve never written someone as butch so please be nice as I want this to reflect a femme4butch relationship (because I desperately want it). I hope you all can enjoy.

───────┈ · ·

The sun stretches into the room as the curtains lay still. The breeze outside wispy and sharp, pushing summer leaves in its wake. Pumpkin my cat mewls at me as she stretches. Her orange fur soft and short.

“Good morning” I say as I nuzzle into her fur. Pumpkin has been my closet companion since I left Atlanta. We found each other when we both needed it most. She was so small then, scared too. Pumpkin thought the whole world was out to get her and so did I.

Texas was our do-over in more ways than one. This land isn’t new to me and I’m not new to it but owning it is. This property was my grandpas, my pops and now mine. He was over running it and sprung it on me. My momma said, “opportunities don’t knock twice so decided if your door needs to open.” I know it’s mumbo jumbo but she has her point, this all fell in my lap when I needed it who’s to say I’d get a chance at solitude again. Speaking of solitude who’s taking me out of mine?

I haven’t even had a chance to take my bonnet off yet or change into some decent clothes before there was a rapping on my front door. Hurriedly I reach for my pink robe and shot gun. Peeping through the window I got a glimpse of a very tired looking woman.

She’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Her hair was long, braided back. The golden locks compliment her pale skin. “Who are you?” I say through the door. “The farm hand your father hired.” The drawl on her voice damn near made me melt and place the gun to the side.

I open the door but don’t take off the chains, “you gonna let me in little missy?”

“Yes sorry!” I take off the chains and fully open the door.

My pops mentioned that he was gonna hire a farm hand till I was more comfortable on the farm by myself but he never mentioned how beautiful she was gonna be!

“Abigail Anderson ma’am, but you can call me Abby.” She says softly like she’s afraid to raise her voice. “Hello Abby…well you know who I am so let’s sort out house rules I supposed.”

House rules:

Always knock

Be mindful of the other

Feed Pumpkin if you see her bowl is empty at 8 am and/or 8 pm

These three rules have kept us at bay for the last three months. I love new people truly just not when I find them attractive, so I haven’t given myself a chance to know her and been quite the cold roommate. Our farm is quite expansive. We home cows, sheeps, goats and horses. However we don’t sell them so we are a dairy farm!

Abby has a liking to the cows. I often catch her feeding them honeydew or reading to them, even falling asleep in the fields. It was one of those days.

I feel my heart thump as I approach her sleeping figure. Her hat tilted over her face, her button nose peeking out. Hair spilling from a loose ponytail. Her shirt open showing off her toned chest and wife pleasure. Boots thrown to the side I assume so she could be more comfortable.

“Hey roomie” she says slow and quiet. “Sorry!” I urge realizing I was staring. “Y’know you’ve probably said two words to me and I think both have been sorry.” She chuckles.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper

“What for?” Clearing her throat as she fixes her hat, “do you even know what your sorry for mhm?”

“Sorry for saying sorry.”

The only sound after that was the winding breaking our tension. Until she pat the spot next to her. Nervously I sat down.

“Why don’t you like me? Have I offended you or-”

“Please stop I don’t dislike you and I’m sorry to cut you off but I truly don’t dislike you I’m just nervous. Not just with you I mean with people. Like have you seen me bring a friend up here? Nope! Well I cut mine off but that’s neither here nor there, I feel like I’m sharing too much now so to make sure I answered your question I don’t dislike you, you make me nervous but people make me nervous.” I can feel heat settle into my cheeks and embarrassment weigh on me. I hate when I start to just ramble I probably sound so stupid to her…

Her blue eyes study my dark brown ones before saying “I get anxious too.”

I nod, wanting this moment to end. I meant it when I said I cut my friends off. I couldn’t handle people especially in a bustling city anymore.

“How about we finish our chores and have dinner on the porch and talk?” She said moving her face into my wandering gaze.

“Sorry I mean yes we can…sorry for-” her squeezing my hand was enough to shut me up.

The day seemed to fly by even when we cooked together. We sat on the porch swing, facing the moonlight. For comfort I wrap myself in the fuzzy knitted blanket my grandma made for me when I was a little girl. I wonder if she’s brought anything like that with her?

“Abigail…Abby may I go first?” I clear my voice as I speak and twiddle with my fork. She gives me a silent yes with that damned gaze of hers.

“Where did you live before you lived here?” Her freckled hand slightly tightened around her fork but she kept a calm expression. “Seattle, Washington…it was beautiful especially when it rained. Which was always so I guess it was always beautiful. The rains actually not as bad as everyone thinks. It’s like a constant drizzle.”

I take leisure sips and bites as I listen. Her eyes lighting up as she tells me a bit about what she’d do over especially with her big friend group.

“So how are you adjusting here then? Seattle is different from Texas.”

“I was born here I just moved up there for personal reasons for a while is all.” I nod sensing a weight to what she was trying not to say.

“So why are you taking over the farm? Your father mentioned you use to live in Atlanta most people wouldn’t make that switch.”

I laugh lightly…my dad would gossip about me to a stranger.

“Well my dad was ready to just say fuck it and let the farm get bought out but I couldn’t let that happen. My sister lives in Chicago and she is married with children so she wouldn’t shift her life understandably so. I was ready to change…I always am so I took it. I mean I helped when I was a little girl and it’s been mostly the same!”

I rocked myself a bit faster on the porch swing and she matched my tempo.

“I am not a cat person.” She says trying to break the silence I think I created. “Do you hate Pumpkin?” I gasp causing her to snort a little and shake her head.

“Never been much of a cat person. Use to have dog named Alice.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Everyday…” she says looking at me a little.

I scoot a little closer, “we can get a dog. Not to replace her or anything but I’d like you to be as comfortable as possible so if you want a dog we can get a dog.”

“You don’t think it’ll be too much?” She turns to me, “we are on a farm I think a dog is fitting.” I laugh.

The rest of the night was filled with laughter and conversation I only remembered having. I forgot how nice it was to talk to someone. Abby is a total enigma; she is sweet and inviting but she’s also closed off. I guess we’re similar in that way.

We wrapped ourselves into the blanket until sunrise, me falling asleep first. I could tell she was watching over me. She’s so warm, and smells like cider. Her musk lulling me to sleep almost as quickly as her voice is.

She’s caught my eye and I’ve caught hers let’s see who’ll make the first move.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: im quite nervous about how you guys will like this one but I hope you guys will like it because it’s near and dead to my heart. I’m tryna write a slow burn and I hope it’s working lol. I want to start a tag list so comment if you want to be on it!! I’m in love the idea of butch Abby so I can’t wait to really write out her character and I am inspired by @bambiesfics so I’ll be making a moodboard for certain fics and I definitely am making one for this one!!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout

(Dividers- @dollywons)

#dividers by dollywons #abby x reader #butch abby anderson #farmer femme #scared femme writes #abby anderson au #abby anderson x black reader #dazeduties #black femme #black! reader #absdoilie

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loveanddeepspice · 2 months ago

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𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis: you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating: 18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw: religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter: 6 / ?

✞ co-authors: redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link: here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again.

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched. One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize. But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right? It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help. You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him. “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird. Can you just tell me what’s wrong?” Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone. “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?” ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful. “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.” Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.” You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away. “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.” A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.” This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away. “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -” “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood.

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind.

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream.

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration.

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt.

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance.

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.”

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?”

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

“Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.”

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth.

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you.

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat.

Well, fuck.

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it.

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one.

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other.

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you.

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew.

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.”

Oh God.

There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed.

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.”

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented.

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked.

Everyone except for you.

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.”

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.”

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!”

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held.

“How would I do that?” You asked.

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.”

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head.

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building.

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed.

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?”

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?”

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?”

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence.

Dinner. Shit.

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior.

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest?

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so.

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.”

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did.

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?”

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf.

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church.

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home. She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect.

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door.

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket.

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction.

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside.

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming.

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change.

But, maybe -

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow?

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?”

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.”

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you.

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true.

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating.

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura.

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder.

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up.

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.”

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.”

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.”

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate.

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind.

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?”

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.”

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you.

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in.

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -”

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs.

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words.

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.”

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern.

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm.

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged.

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...”

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression.

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway.

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.”

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -”

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly.

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way.

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.”

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head.

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in.

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?”

Of course you did. More than anything.

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.”

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin. His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say.

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin.

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.”

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth.

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch.

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way.

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples.

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans.

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded.

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -”

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready.

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart.

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan.

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole.

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more.

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling.

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat.

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch.

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse.

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold.

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time.

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer.

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk.

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible.

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking.

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing.

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?”

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense?

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed.

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath.

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought.

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb.

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

#lds #l&ds #love and deepspace #lds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lds rafayel #lds xavier #lds fanfic

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williamrikers · 6 months ago

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thoughts on the first episode of 4 minutes

everyone seems to be doing these now, so i'll join in bc i need a way to process what i just saw. putting this under a cut bc of spoilers—if you are familiar with boc's other works (especially kinnporsche and dff) i strongly recommend you try and avoid spoilers before watching! i watched this episode not knowing what was coming and That Scene made me shriek so loudly i probably scared my neighbours. ANYWAY.

okay let's get the big thing out of the way first. bas and fuaiz. HOLY SHIT. i was literally pausing the whole time to text my friend just "WHAT" over and over. They Did That.

let me break this down. boc took one look at the current politics regarding shipped couples in bl, said "yeah we're not doing that" and let bas and fuaiz have a whole entire sex scene. (while gmmtv, for example, let phuwin and thor not even touch lips on wednesday club because phuwin is part of a sacred Shipped Couple.) AND WHAT A SEX SCENE IT WAS!!! i am pretty sure we're gonna see everyone's bare ass over the course of this show. if this is what they're showing us in the very first episode for a couple who i'm guessing might not be endgame?? i mean. damn. what will jes and bible get up to??? mark me down as scared and horny 🫣

sex in boc shows is usually pretty explicit but in this case it's also. just a thing two people do? it's not romanticised. it's strongly implied that tonkla is having sex with korn because korn is paying him for it. korn is older and from an incredibly rich family, and while they were sweet with each other and obviously both enjoyed it, it did feel like a transaction a little bit.

what i found most impressive about this scene was that we got to see tonkla being left alone afterwards and then visibly dealing with that. we could watch him processing—i don't think i've ever seen this kind of post sex unhappiness depicted in bl, and it was so beautifully subtle! we don't yet know whether tonkla was just unhappy with how that particular evening went or if he is unhappy with the arrangement as a whole, but Something Is Definitely Up and it is so incredibly intriguing.

while we're talking about korn, the family dynamics in this show have me in a chokehold. bas and bible as brothers was a genius casting choice, they really do feel like siblings, they have a very sweet vibe together while korn is obviously worried about his younger brother. the whole deal with their father's illegal business of which korn only learns when he is supposed to manage it, the way korn treats his father in general, korn's mother having passed away shortly after his birth and korn being raised by his step-mother (great's mom), it's all so incredibly juicy. bas just has so much presence on screen, he is an absolutely wonderful actor and at this point, i am almost more invested in his story than in the main story 🤭

speaking of which: love that bible got one of his cats to act with him 😂😂 thailand's number one cat dad. but yeah, i am Intrigued, i am seated, i am so happy to be alive to witness this. i don't think there's a lot to be said on this yet bc most of the episode was exposition and great learning about his new powers, and also the narrative tying them to near-death experiences so that we know what we're dealing with going forward. (shout-out to job here bc it was so nice to see him again and also so weird to see him as a character who is actually smart haha 😂)

the production value of this show is off the charts. the first scene of great being pulled back in time was ABSOLUTELY BREATHTAKING. literally the best i've ever seen out of thailand. boc are taking their craft very seriously and it is just such a joy to watch.

also, the numbers everywhere! it got to the point that i was like, oh of COURSE she is in room number 4, WHERE ELSE?? 😂😂

i am so seated for this show. like i cannot express how seated i am. BRING IT ON, BE ON CLOUD.

#4 minutes #*mine #god i love this show

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leiawritesstories · 4 months ago

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When We Think of Love

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 11 & 12: Song Fic & Forbidden Love @rowaelinscourt. inspired by "Soul Tied" by Ashley Singh

Word count: 3k

Warnings: angst. and pain. the song is quite sad. i'm so sorry.

A/N: this is a sort-of Regency era AU, so the language might be a little weird hahaha. also, Frederick got out of the basement. enjoy...?

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

Even though the gown was the latest fashion and only had two layers of skirts with a single underskirt and lightweight wore structure holding up its shape, Aelin felt weighed down by the fine silk that draped her frame, its rosy pink color completely at odds with the grey numbness clouding her mind.

“You are a vision,” her mother announced, sweeping elegantly into Aelin’s dressing chamber. Evalin Ashryver, Duchess of Orynth, never walked. She floated, and she had taught her only daughter to do the same from the time she could stand. “But why are you pensive, my dear?”

“Simply lost in thought, I suppose.” Aelin painted a soft smile onto her lips. “Mayhap I am a bit nervous for tonight.”

“As it is well you may be.” Evalin touched her daughter’s satin-gloved hand with her own. “I recall clearly the day my own parents announced my betrothal to your father. I declare I may not remember anything else from that evening.”

Aelin gave the skirts a gentle shake, letting the fine silk drape more fluidly over the subtle hoops rounding out its shape. “Let us hope His Majesty is pleased with the arrangement, yes?”

“Of course he is,” Evalin said, brushing away Aelin’s underlying concern. “The prince is the most advantageous match we could have made for you, Aelin dear, and Orlon has long been looking at the benefit of a military tie with Anielle. I know the two of you have only met a handful of times, but there will be ample time for you to become acquainted during the wedding preparations.”

“I suppose there will be.” Aelin shifted her gaze back to the mirror, resisting the urge to reach up and rip the delicate silver tiara from its perch atop the coils of her hair. She was fourth in the succession for the throne of Terrasen, and she had grown accustomed to the ways in which her family demonstrated their royal position, but there were ever so many moments when she wanted nothing more than to abandon the crown and its weight and flee into the depths of the Oakwald.

There, parted from society, she could be with her love.

A soft knock rapped on the door, and Aelin’s lady’s maid entered, curtsying politely to Evalin. “Pardon, milady, Your Grace, but His Grace is ready.”

“Thank you, Kaltain,” Aelin said. She turned to her mother. “We likely should not keep Father waiting; we know how quickly he disappears into his study if he does not have to make an appearance.” Evalin laughed softly and led Aelin out into the hallway and down the stairs, finding Rhoe waiting at the base of the sweeping staircase, fidgeting with his gloves.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, looking up. “You look so lovely, my Fireheart.” He squeezed Aelin’s hands and leaned in to whisper into her ear. “I would embrace you, but your mother might strangle me for crinkling your dress.”

She snickered. “She very well might.”

“None of that unladylike noise,” Evalin hissed, prodding Aelin with her paper fan. She nodded at the pair of footmen by the double doors leading to the ballroom. “Shall we?”

“I am as ready as I can be,” Aelin whispered as she placed her hand on her father’s arm. “Only help me not to fall.”

“Of course.” Rhoe let Evalin glide into the ballroom, nodding and smiling and exchanging greetings with the swarm of beautifully dressed nobility gathered there, and at the swell of the small orchestra in the corner, he led Aelin into the throng.

She fixed her smile firmly in place but coasted her gaze over the sea of blurred faces, seeking an anchor in the pair of pine eyes that seared into her soul. Catching Rowan’s gaze, she let loose a fraction of her anguish, silently crying her grief to him across the sea of elegantly clad gentry.

Please forgive me.

Rowan Alexander Whitethorn, heir to the Duchy of Doranelle, had known Aelin since they were both small children. His family estate bordered her family holdings, but his father had only recently been elevated to the title of Duke, honored for his many years of service to King Orlon. Rowan vividly remembered the day he had first met Aelin—he was ten and she was seven, and she was a golden-blonde blur of motion on the back of a silvery mare galloping through the forest between their lands.

“Whoa, there!” he cried in his childish voice, and he caught up with her as she managed to rein in her horse. “Are you quite alright?”

She gave him a stare far too imperious to be coming from a young girl and tossed her hair with a sniff. “Kasida and I are perfectly fine, even though we are alone. I do not need to slouch along at a snail’s pace like my governess insists.”

Rowan couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Pardon me, but I can’t imagine you…slouching along like that, miss…” He trailed off. “Um…”

Her stare melted into a bright smile. “I’m Aelin. My papa is the duke of Orynth.” She held out her small hand, and he shook it.

“And I am Rowan. My father is the duke of Doranelle.”

“So we’re neighbors!” Aelin beamed. “I ride away from my governess very often, and I like this forest quite a lot.”

“I like the forest too,” Rowan admitted. “It’s quieter than the manor.”

“Sometimes I dream about living in the forest forever,” Aelin said, an odd kind of yearning flickering across her face. “But anytime I even mention it, my mama scolds me for reading too many faerie stories.” She shrugged. “I still like riding here.”

“Miss Aelin!” The high-pitched cry echoed through the trees, and Aelin sighed.

“That’s my governess. I ought to go and find her before she gets lost.” She smiled at Rowan again, and he felt the warmth of it in his soul. “It was nice to meet you, Rowan!”

He managed to mumble some kind of farewell as she turned her horse around and rode off, only forming proper words once she was out of sight. It was nice to meet you too, Aelin.

She had told the truth about riding in the forest often, and it became a habit of theirs to ride through the woods together, trading stories of what they were doing and wondering what the Oakwald, the near-mythical forest that spanned western Terrasen, would be like. As they grew older, Aelin’s stories turned from school lessons to etiquette lessons, and she had such a knack for imitating the stuffy old people at her family’s banquets that she made Rowan cry from laughter. Still, he allowed her to practice her lessons and her dancing with him, ignoring how frequently she trod on his toes when she was learning a new dance.

And their childhood friendship turned into a partnership of sorts, a series of stolen moments of freedom and secret glances across a ballroom or dining room when their families were at a gathering together. Since she was not yet out in society, she was still largely overlooked during those events, and she was free to send him into stitches of laughter with her impersonations of the visiting nobility. He even asked her to dance several times, and she pretended to be a simpering debutante but still counted the music under her breath. He caught her any time she stumbled, and he caught each of her smiles too.

He was eighteen when he realized he had fallen in love with her.

But she was only fifteen, so he kept it to himself, forcing himself to stay within the lines of friendship yet falling more in love with her every time she flicked a hidden glance at him during a long, boring dinner. She grew a bit more distant over the next few years, caught up in her mother’s constant lady lessons and working so hard—too hard—to be the portrait of a perfect lady, but at her eighteenth birthday ball, he worked up the courage to ask her for a dance.

The smile that broke across her face, as bright and warm as it had been since the day he met her, kindled a wildfire in his heart. And late that night, hidden in a little-used gazebo in a corner of the Galathynius estate’s gardens, Rowan Whitethorn kissed Aelin Galathynius for the first time, and his heart surged towards hers.

Aelin made her debut at twenty, a few years later than traditional, but her parents had wanted her to wait a while longer so that society would be anticipating her debut. After all, she was fourth in line for the throne, and her marriage would undoubtedly be a topic of gossip and news from the moment she became eligible. Rowan longed for the day when he could bring her flowers and walk beside her in public, when he could finally bring the years of his love for her into the light of day, but he hesitated at the thought of exposing that delicate piece of his heart to the scrutiny of society and of Evalin Ashryver. For Aelin’s mother was a well-respected duchess, but he had seen the effects of her demanding nature on her daughter, and he feared the repercussions of her disapproval.

He suspected, as he knew Aelin did, that one day their secret courtship would either have to be brought into the light of day or be torn apart by circumstance, but neither of them had wanted to address it. The unspoken bond between them was too precious, too beloved to be so shattered.

Since her eighteenth birthday, he had courted her in secret, stealing precious moments and pieces of her heart beneath starry skies, foggy mornings, and shaded corners. He guarded every tiny bit of her with his life, from the letters in her tidy script that he kept tucked into his jacket pocket to the faint trace of her perfume that lingered on his collar when she kissed him. Although he could not shout his love for her from the rooftops, he reveled in their masked touches, in the flicker of humor in her eyes when she caught his gaze, in the echo of her laughter when he took her to the empty greenhouse on his family’s land and danced with her there under the sunset. With every encounter, he felt his soul drawn more and more towards hers, felt more and more as if his life were irrevocably tied to hers.

And when he saw her across the ballroom that evening, when he caught sight of the tiara in her hair and the proud smiles on her parents’ faces and the man in the military jacket standing beside her mother at the front of the ballroom, when her eyes caught his and an ocean of anguish opened in them for a brief, wrenching moment, he felt that tie fracture.

Aelin’s first kiss had been Rowan.

Her first everything had been Rowan, the only one close enough to her heart to hold its fragile pieces and treat them with tenderness rather than callousness. From laughter-filled memories of her childhood to secret, stolen moments in the gardens during banquets and balls before her debut, to the all-too-few snatches of time she had been able to steal with him after her debut, when she wanted nothing more than his kisses and his gentle, reassuring words.

She’d known for a long while, deep in the back of her mind, that her marriage would be a political one, for she was high in the line of succession. While it was unlikely that she would ever inherit, since Orlon could just as easily name someone else as his successor, her parents still strategized over which eligible noble could marry their daughter. They had settled on Prince Chaol Westfall of Anielle, the third son of the Prince of Anielle and a well-respected military officer. For him, marriage to Aelin was a massive step up, because he was so far down in the succession for the throne of Adarlan that he’d probably never known he was in line. For her, the marriage would secure military ties between Terrasen and Adarlan, a powerful alliance of nations.

She did not know the man save for a few cursory meetings.

At least, she supposed as she walked up to his side, he was not terribly hard on the eyes. He was even passably attractive, if a lady was drawn to brown-haired men in military uniforms with all the apparent personality of boiled potatoes.

“Your Highness,” Aelin murmured, dipping in a graceful curtsy to Chaol. “It is an honor.”

“The honor is entirely mine, Your Royal Highness,” he replied, bowing low.

With a flourish, Rhoe and Evalin turned out towards the assembled crowd, Aelin still with her hand on her father’s arm. The crown quieted, and Rhoe smiled warmly. “We have delightful news for all of you this fine evening. Our daughter, Aelin, has accepted the hand of Prince Chaol Westfall in marriage, and with all good hope, they shall be married in two months’ time!” Applause rippled through the ballroom, and Aelin mentally prepared herself for an evening of simpering congratulations. Beaming at her, Rhoe lifted her hand from his arm and placed it ceremonially into Chaol’s hand, linking the hands of the young couple.

“Would you like to dance?” Chaol asked, polite but also perceptive—he’d picked up on her unwillingness to be faced with a string of saccharine compliments from the noble ladies.

She flicked him a crooked grin. “I would love to.”

He led her onto the polished parquet floor and swept her into a waltz, his steps sure and practiced, quick and light on his feet. She must have murmured in surprise, because he grinned, the expression almost boyish. “I took dancing lessons too, once upon a time.”

“I almost forgot you were nobility under all that military regalia,” she teased. To her pleasant surprise, she found it easy to make conversation with Chaol, albeit mostly small talk and nothing about important issues. As the dance drew to a close, she skimmed her gaze across the ballroom and, once again, caught Rowan’s tormented eyes, his look a caress of her heart.

Determination sparked suddenly in Rowan’s expression, and he meandered through the crowd, joining the queue of congratulatory nobility, but when he reached Aelin, he bowed like any other eligible gentleman and reached for her dance card. “Might you have a dance for me, my lady?”

“I believe I do,” she said lightly, pretending this was just another ball and he was just another man who had asked her to dance. Chaol, who had no idea who Rowan was, simply shook Rowan’s hand and accepted his civil words, not noticing the well-concealed grief beneath the congratulations.

Rowan escorted Aelin onto the dance floor, and he placed one gloved hand at the curve of her waist and took her hand in his free one. As he led her through the sweeping, intricate curves of the dance, he subtly tugged her just a fraction closer than appropriate, just an inch nearer to the unsteady pulse of his heart. “Did you know?” he murmured, and her fractured heart cleaved further at the anguish that pierced his words.

“No,” she whispered, and she looked into his eyes, baring the depth of her own anguish to him. “I did not.”

His gaze flicked out the open windows, glancing for an instant towards the expansive gardens, knowing the privacy they could steal, if only for a moment, out there. “One moment?” he asked, turning her smoothly in a circle so her skirts flared out in a perfect arc.

“One moment,” she agreed, and she folded the mask of happiness back across her face. Rowan bowed over her hand as the dance ended, his lips just barely skimming the satin of her glove. He let her walk back towards Chaol, towards her parents, and he took an opposite course, stopping to dance with another young lady before he covertly stepped out a side door and disappeared into the gardens.

Aelin waited a few more minutes before she touched Chaol’s shoulder and whispered to him that she needed a moment for relief, and she quietly slipped out a different side door, one that led directly to a refreshing room. Before she could reach the powder room, though, she turned down a different hall and went outdoors, entering the gardens through a little-known side gate. Her heart guided her down the familiar paths of the labyrinth, and she found Rowan in an alcove near the center, seated on a stone bench cast half in shadow by the faint sliver of moonlight.

“Rowan,” she breathed, heart thumping unsteadily.

In a rushed blur, his lips were on hers, his arms firm and strong around her waist, supporting her as her legs buckled. She cupped the back of his head and kissed him hard, desperate, the ache in her heart poured into the press of her lips, the curl of her tongue. When she drew back, tears shone in her eyes, but she tipped her head back so they could not fall.

“I love you, Rowan,” she whispered. Simple, true, broken.

Tenderly, his thumb stroked the line of her jaw. “I love you, Aelin.” Simple, true, ruined. “But you are betrothed.” He took a single step back, wrenching himself away from the woman who had brought warmth and healing and love into his life. Wordless, she could only nod, every regret and wish that shone in her eyes tamped down by the force of duty.

She straightened her skirts, righted the dainty tiara in her coiffure, adjusted her gloves, and with one final lingering heart-searing gaze, she left the alcove, heading back into the manor, back towards her family and her betrothed and her duty. So too Rowan turned and walked out of the gardens, but he circled the side of the manor, went into the drive, and signaled his coachman. He climbed into his carriage, closed the door, rapped on the roof, and set his course for home.

Where his own arranged betrothal awaited him.

~~~

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everythingisawayoflife · 2 months ago

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Neil's Death & The Symbolism Within - An Essay

OKAY LIKE A FEW PEOPLE SAID I SHOULD SO LET ME TALK ABOUT THIS, its gonna sound like nonsense. this is a repost so it gets more visibility! Trigger Warning for discussions of Suicide, Self-Harm, Mental Health. Please read at caution cause I discuss a lot of sensitive stuff here.

So my scene analysis paper was exactly as it sounds, we watch a movie of our choice, and analyze it from our textbook, America on Film: 3rd edition. I chose Dead Poets bc it had been a minute since I’ve seen it and I also have seen it enough times to be able to analyze it. So I chose Neil’s suicide. a very chilling scene that when broken down, says a lot, for saying very little. so first lets get into the biblical allegory.

When we first see Neil, he opens his window and slowly puts his Puck crown on his head, like so:

This combines two major elements of the main biblical parallels at play: The Agony in the Garden and one of the major Instruments of the Passion, The Crown of Thorns. For those who have not grown up around Christianity/don't pay attention to it, here are some brief yet thorough definitions of the terms I just threw around:

Agony in the Garden: The night Jesus and his disciples spend in the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus spends the entire night praying and wrestling with his inevitable crucifixion. Some scriptures add that he was sweating blood during this but it depends on which translation you read. The Agony really shows Jesus' human side and can best be seen in the musical Jesus Christ Superstar's most pivotal number, Gethsemane, which I've linked here.

The Passion: A collective name for the events leading up to Jesus' crucifixion. Essentially all of what Easter is. Passion's archaic definition is suffering.

The Instruments of the Passion: Notable relics and icons from the Passion. These include the Crown of Thorns, the cross itself, Holy Lance, Veil of Veronica, and more.

Anyway, the entire first part of the scene shows Neil, who moves slowly and deliberately. No one else in the entire house is awake and he has become one with nature, by opening his window and feeling the winter breeze. Neil bows his head, presumably IN PRAYER, before we cut to the next part. While Christianity has become decentralized in households across America, it was still very crucial in 1950s America, especially in WASP-y domains. So, it would be correct to assume Neil's family is Christian, especially of how Welton is structured (i.e. the main meeting hall is basically a chapel, they sing hymns, etc.).

Jesus Christ was crowned with thorns as a way of mocking him. He was put on trial because according to the Romans, he claimed to be a God, which because the Romans adhered to their set pantheon, it was considered sacrilege and blasphemy. Jesus only ever responded (again, depending on the translation), "You say that I am." So they wanted to mock his authority and placed that crown on his head. Neil is essentially mocking his own authority because the entire movie he has tried and failed to have authority over his own life. His father continuously shoots him down and refuses to listen until the final break when he tells Neil he is sending him to military school. For Neil, he believes it was foolish to think he could even persuade his father just a tiny bit. He expresses this from the moment we first meet Mr. Perry to the final argument.

Where Jesus wears a crown of thorns, Neil's crown is woven with what appears to be fruits and maybe flowers. Flowers and fruit have had sensitive and romantic connotations throughout all of history and are often represented in classic art and literature. Neil is making this sacrifice in the name of art. If you notice throughout the entire movie, anytime death is mentioned, the camera is focused on Neil. It is brilliant subtle foreshadowing and it eats me alive every time it happens. Neil knows what he is about to do. Robert Sean Leonard played this scene beautifully and I so badly want to discuss all of this with him.

Continuing on, we watch Neil make a silent descent down the stairs and he is entirely shadowed. This gives the audience the implication that we already see a ghost:

Neil needed theater like he needed breathing and when theater was taken away from him, his life force was gone. The whole of Neil already died. We see this resignation with his final line:

"I was good. I was really good."

Neil already views himself as dead. He speaks of himself in the past tense. So Neil walking silently through his house as if he were already a ghost is so haunting. I mentioned earlier that Neil knows what he is doing. In Christianity, suicide is considered a sin. We see this in The Divine Comedy, an Italian narrative written by author Dante Alighieri in the 1300s CE. In the first and most famous section, Inferno, when Dante and Virgil arrive in the Seventh Circle and come across those who have committed suicide where they have been turned into trees. The only exception to this is Judas Iscariot, who is being feasted on by a three-headed Satan. Now again, Judas dies two different ways depending on which biblical translation you read but typically the narrative is this:

Judas turns Jesus into the Sanhedrin for 30 pieces of silver and when he discovers Jesus is to be crucified, Judas hangs himself.

In Biblical times, despite suicide being marked as a sin, in Judas' case, because he wanted redemption from his bad act, it was viewed as an acceptable death. So for Neil, this suicide is a redemption for betraying his father. A small parallel, maybe even a bit of stretch, but it is there for me nonetheless.

Back to Jesus, Neil's descent down the stairs also parallels to the walk along the Via Dolorosa or the Way of Suffering. It is the path Jesus walked to his crucifixion, a long and arduous journey. The walk is about 2,000 ft (600 Meters in Metric) yet this is a man who has been beaten, starved, tortured, who was also tasked with carrying his own large wooden cross, and Neil has his own cross to bear: The emotional weight of what he is about to do. It was a slow and painful walk for Jesus and its a slow and painful walk for Neil. Skipping ahead, Neil finally arrives to his destination. The choice to do it in his father's office was absolutely on purpose. Neil comes back to the spot he emotionally died, the moment he lost everything. We get just a brief bit of hesitation for Neil. He fiddles with the key to his father's desk. He holds it gingerly and turns it over in his fingers a few times before reaching down to unlock the drawer with the gun. This goes back to the Agony in the Garden, which again, is best expressed in Jesus Christ Superstar's Gethsemane:

Why I should die?

Eventually, Jesus resigns himself to die:

Alright, I'll die! Just watch me die! See how I die!

Neil does not go silently. I don't know if I'm hallucinating or have really keen hearing, but I swear you can hear the tail end of the gunshot simultaneously as the dirge-like music cuts and Mr. Perry gasps awake. I might just be making that up but I don't know tbh. But anyway, while Jesus resigns himself, the following lyrics express frustration with God and the life that was already planned for him when he has a selfish sense to live. This song and musical really delve into the debate of how much human and God was Jesus Christ and it really opens the door for his human side. He expresses selfishness and a want to abandon his mission. He is hesitant to die. He is hesitant to die painfully. Like I said earlier, Neil hesitates ever so slightly.

Then I was inspired

Now, I'm sad and tired

After all I've tried for three years

Cause not only is God, well, y'know, GOD, he is also Jesus' father. A father who had planned out a whole life for his son and while his son goes along with it, he has a desire to live outside of that. Sound familiar? And I really am trying not to be sacrilegious or anything! I grew up in a Christian household but outside of that, theology has always interested me and I've learned to view it from an academic standpoint. As for my beliefs now, I'm still unsure, and I don't think I ever will be sure and I think that's okay. We're getting off topic, so let me get back on track.

The final time we see Neil alive is him sitting at his Dad's desk, gun wrapped in cloth with Neil gripping it:

He looks sure, with maybe just a flicker of sadness. The entire scene Neil has looked serene. And not like the calm kind of serene, the morose kind. Solemn, I think is a better word for it. Neil's soul has died. Neil is about to crucify himself and become a Dead Poet. He has fulfilled the purpose of the poets they read about in the Society. He lived life as full as he could only for it to be cut down so short. That's the tragedy of it: Neil had so much life to live and so much more to contribute to the arts. But Neil's father killed that passion, killed that love. Earlier in the film, Keating recites the Whitman poem, O Me! O Life! In summary, the poem essentially states that life itself is what makes life worth living. It's a question and answer poem. The speaker wonders what about life is worth living when it is full of constant suffering. They get an answer: life itself is. You being here on Earth and having an identity is what makes it worth it. Neil doesn't see that worth anymore. Life without the arts, his friends, Keating, is not worth living for him anymore. I really recommend reading that full poem, linked here, it is so gorgeous despite it being so short. That sweaty-toothed madman had a gift.

I think that's pretty much everything. There have been a MILLION think pieces on Todd and Neil's whole relationship (TLDR: those boys are GAY) so I didn't get into it here, mainly cause I wanted to focus on Neil and the real meat of my rambling, which was the Biblical allegory. I feel like I said a whole bunch of nothing and it might not make sense to me in the morning but it feels good to get it all out. I love this movie and I love Neil and I love Biblical allegory.

I also hope that this post communicates that suicide is not the answer! Please reach out if you have feelings that make you feel unsafe or need someone to lean on. My DMs are always open and I will leave the major crisis hotlines if needed.

988 - Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, call for support

741741 - Crisis Text Line, text TALK to speak to someone for support.

#dead poets society #dead poets in nyc #do i sound a little insane #maybe #just maybe #my barbaric yawp moment i think #neil perry #i love neil and he makes me so sad sometimes

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junkdrawerfics · 1 year ago

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First Date

Part 5 of Series of Firsts

Summary: Jasper takes you on your first date, but getting to it is a little more up and down than you expected. Worth it though.

Words: 1555

Note: definitely not what I planned to write, but I think I like it!

---

He knocks. For the first time since you really became friends, Jasper knocks on your front door. He doesn’t scare you at the window with that stupid smirk or wait outside by his car, far away from your father.

He knocks.

And when you stumble down to the first floor landing, there he is, with his charming smile and the stupidly nice dark blue button-down that you’ve always loved. And there your father is, laughing. Actually laughing. You blink. Your father and the boy you like, who happens to be a vampire apparently, getting along…

Now it really feels like you’re in a different world.

The racket you make draws the attention of both men.

You freeze, giving them an awkward smile, “Hi, uh, did I, am I interrupting?”

“Just having a man to man chat with your prospective boyfriend here,” your father chuffs, slapping Jasper on the back.

Your face goes tomato red, “Dad!”

“Alright, alright,” he snickers, holding his hands up innocently as he backs into the kitchen, “I’ll let you kids have your fun.” Right before he slips away though, he gives you a not too subtle wink and whispers, “He seems like a keeper, sweetpea.”

You groan, wishing you could just melt into the floor. Mortified. You are absolutely mortified. Leave it to your dad to find the best way to embarrass you in a moment like this.

When you look back to Jasper, he’s giving you one of those wolfish grins, one dark eyebrow perked.

“And what do you think, darlin’,” he drawls, voice low and teasing, “am I a keeper?”

“I- You- Stop. No, I’m not answering that.” You trip all over your words, not quite able to make your voice steady. If only he’d stop looking at you that way. It’s hard to even think when he looks at you like that.

Jasper can’t help but soften at the completely flustered look on your face. Your heart is racing so fast, it almost worries him. Gently, he brushes his fingers along the small of your back, using his ability to sooth your frayed nerves as he leads you outside.

“I hope you’re not nervous about our date,” the blond murmurs, tone serious.

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your blouse, “How could I not be?”

“It’s simple.” He traces his hand around your waist, bringing you to face him. You bite your lip, sight trained on your feet until Jasper places a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. You look at him, eyes so wide and doe-ish, his still heart melts. “You, darlin’, can do nothing to change my mind, so I don’t want you worryin’.”

You frown, heart fluttering, “Nothing?”

He traces his fingers along your cheek, his touch gentle and cool. You can’t stop your eyes from fluttering shut, another sigh passing your lips.

“Absolutely nothin’. I’m afriad I’ve already decided you’re a keeper.”

A snort escapes you. Just like that, the rest of your worries disappear. You peer up at him, trying to keep the smile off your face. You haven’t even gone on the date yet, but you’re already being swept off your feet. As if you weren’t swept off your feet on the very first day you met and every day after that.

“You, sir, are ridiculous.”

“You’re not nervous anymore,” Jasper points out cheekily.

You look down again as the smile finally breaks out across your lips, “No. Now I’m just wondering what else my dad said to you while I was getting ready.”

“Nothin’ much.” He shrugs, leading you over to his Ducatti. “Just that he’d string me up if I did anythin’ to hurt you.”

Of course. Your dad has always been a bit protective. He was probably joking…hopefully. Your brow furrows as a sudden thought hits you.

“Can you guys even get hurt?” You ask as Jasper passes you a helmet and a leather jacket.

“Not in the ways you may think,” he replies, “Most of what the world thinks is wrong.”

“So silver doesn't hurt you?”

“No.”

“Garlic?”

Jasper smirks, “No.”

“Sunlight?” That one, you’ve been wondering about. You’ve never seen the Cullens on a sunny day.

“Not quite,” he hums, climbing onto his bike.

You hop on behind him. “But it does affect you?”

Jasper purses his lips. He’s not sure he wants to admit to the whole sparkling thing. It’s not like you’d hate it, you had a strange pension for loving strange things after all. Like him. But maybe it can wait for another day.

So he settles with a small, drawn out, “It does…”

But you’re curious now, propping your chin on his shoulder with an innocently intrigued look, “How?”

The motorcycle suddenly revs to life under you, making you jump. Instinctively, you drop down to the seat and wrap your arms around the vampire’s waist. Jasper chuckles, the sound vibrating through his body so deeply you can feel it.

“Hold on tight, darlin’.”

You squeal as the bike takes off. Like all the Cullens, Jasper drives like a madman, going just a little too fast, taking turns like a drag racer. And even though you’ve ridden with him countless times, your pulse still races, your knuckles going white at his waist as you try to bring yourself as close as possible to him.

The forest blurs around you, turning into a canvas of green and brown smudges that you can barely make out as you fly down the street. It’s all but impossible to keep track of where you are, where you’re going, especially when a particularly sharp turn makes you snap your eyes shut and hide your face against his back.

You only dare peek out when the bike comes to a slow stop. Blinking the blur from your eyes, you let the world come back into focus, and what you see makes you gasp.

Part of you was expecting a simple dinner, like he said. A fancy restaurant maybe, humming with people and dimly lit. You were definitely not expecting a candle-lit picnic looking out over your town, the setting sun painting the sky with vivid reds and oranges. It makes the trees around you seem to glow, just like the candles scattering the ground around the thick blanket he laid out.

“How did you have time to do this?” You breathe, foot catching on the seat when you try to gracefully slip off of it.

Jasper catches you before you can go reeling into a tree, lips twitching with amusement, “My kind isn’t quite as limited by time as yours is.”

You give him a grateful smile, “So you’re fast?”

“Faster than a bullet, darlin’.”

“Wow. Okay, okay, then how about strength?” You lean towards him, all the questions that have been floating in your mind coming to the surface. “All the articles said vampires are, like, crazy strong. Could you lift me? Wait no-” Too easy. What’s something a really strong person couldn’t lift? “Could you lift the bike? Or a car?!”

“I could.” Jasper has to bite back a chuckle at the absolutely wide-eyed look you give him. It’s like a kid first discovering the world, disbelief and awe mingling in the air around you.

“That’s amazing,” you say, voice pitching up, “I can’t believe this. Any of this. It’s so beyond crazy.”

Jasper turns suddenly serious, drawing you close by the hand you didn’t realize he was still holding. You hesitate, mouth going dry at the proximity. His nose is practically touching yours and you can feel the coolness of his breath on your lips.

“Are you sure you want to be a part of this?”

Head tilting, you let your eyes linger on his face for the first time. You’ve never had the confidence to look, actually just look at him. He’s gorgeous. Dark brows, sharp jaw, and eyes like the sun setting behind him. Not a single blemish or wrinkle. And yet, you can read the concern written there with shocking ease. And the hope.

It makes your heart ache with something warm, knowing you both feel the exact same way about this.

You squeeze his hand, giving him the softest, sweetest smile, “I’m sure, Jasper. I know I should probably be scared, or at least freaked out, but, I don’t know, I’m just…not.” Your heart beats like crazy, making you feel almost nauseous as you finish, “You’re still you. And I’m still me. And I just, I think we’ll make a good we. I hope. So, I’m…I’m all in, Jasper. Is that okay?”

Jasper wishes he could drown in your timidly soft affection.

Tenderly, he raises your hand to his lips. It’s a ghost of a touch, like a brush of a cold breeze, leaving your skin tingling ever so pleasantly. His next words are a mere whisper against your skin.

“More than okay, darlin’. I’m all yours til the day I die.”

“Aren’t you unable to die?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“...good.”

The colors of the sunset did little to match the color on your cheeks as you sat down for the picnic. And the shine of the stars that come out cannot compare to the glitter in your eyes as you spend the whole night talking, asking questions, and sharing stories.

It may be the best first date you’ve ever had.

—-

Hope you guys liked this! I honestly didn’t know how to write the actual date part, so imagine what you will :) love y’all!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #series of firsts #first date

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ok555ficideas · 4 months ago

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Andrew finds out about Nicky Kissing Neil without Neil's consent, while Neil has amnesia and doesn't remember anything prior to that night.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Neil yelled at Nicky.

The usual happy demeanor of the backliner fell away from his face immediately. He pointed at himself as if he was asking if Neil really meant him.

“Yes, you. What the fuck are you doing here? Since you are so keen on always doing what you are told. So keen on following Andrew’s every order even if it means–,” Neil didn’t want to finish his thought out loud, “then follow his fucking example and get out of my sight.”

Nicky got up from the couch he was sitting on and was about to bolt through the door when someone stopped him.

“Even if it means what?” Andrew’s voice sounded like it could cut through ice.

Neil’s heart skipped a bit when he glanced Andrew’s way. He felt something weird brewing in his stomach. A feeling he didn’t recognize. It didn’t feel like anger or fear, but that was how Neil chose to interpret it.

He scoffed at Andrew and practically spat his next words. “Like you don’t know what I mean.”

Andrew looked at him and didn’t say anything. They were staring into each other's eyes like there was no one else around them. Both stubborn enough to not make the next move.

Naturally, Neil lost that fight. He made a couple steps closer to Andrew and stopped mare inches away from his frame. He didn't know what he was doing. He knew that he was angry, but his body craved to be as close to Andrew as possible.

“You know, it’s funny.” Neil said with a smile, he knew belonged to his father. He didn’t try to smooth it down. He still felt weird, looking at Andrew’s stone cold expression. “ You almost stabbed Nicky after he came onto me too many times and then you let him kiss me without my permission, after spiking my drink.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed and Neil thought “finally”. His satisfaction didn’t last long, because the next thing he knew, Andrew wasn’t in front of him anymore.

Andrew had Nicky pinned to the wall with a knife to his throat.

Nicky had tears streaming down his face and he was whispering something to Andrew. Neil couldn't hear what it was, but it only made Andrew press the blade more into his cousin’s skin. There was a tickle of blood already coming from the point of contact.

Every single person around them stood there and didn’t dare to make a move. Neil thought that he had finally found his voice, because the next words were the exact same he was thinking.

“You didn’t know?” Aaron asked, surprised.

Andrew’s hand faltered at that and he relieved a little bit of the pressure on Nicky’s neck. He looked back at his brother and asked calmer than he should in the situation they were in. “You did?”

“He wasn’t very subtle. I thought you had told him to–,”

Neil didn’t see the expression on Andrew’s face from where he stood, but it must have been a terrifying one, because Aaron’s next words were spoken with panic.

“I mean, back then. I thought that back then. I honestly forgot about it. It was so long ago. If I didn’t forget I would have probably put two and two together and realized that you would never.”

That made Neil incredibly angry. “So long ago?!” He directed his question at Aaron. “So long ago? Seriously? It was two nights ago. How the fuck is that long?”

Aaron looked at their other teammates with a pleading expression. No one seemed to want to answer that question. Neil wanted to scream at all of them, but Nicky’s quiet whimper took him out of his trance.

“Let him go.” He said firmly to Andrew. “I’m serious, Andrew. Let him go. You have no right to be pissed off at him more than I am.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Andrew said with the same empty voice he used ever since Neil woke up. Neil had enough.

“I don’t care if you didn’t know.” His voice was rising with every word. “I don’t care that it was not your plan for him to do it. It is your fault.”

Andrew’s blade hit the floor and Nicky went down right after it. He curled up on himself and started crying. He looked at Neil with his teary eyes and started frantically apologizing.

“Shut up.” Neil snapped at him and Nicky’s mouth snapped shut.

"Help me remember"

#aftg #fanfic #all fo the game #aftg fanfic #andrew minyard #nicky hemmick #neil josten #aaron minyard

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magicalbats · 1 year ago

Note

I DID SEE NEUVILETTES SAD FACE… they are making it so easy for us

also I am CERTAIN Father could handle two brats at once, just as well as mr neuvillette could. both of those thoughts make me feel INSANE. I don’t know what I like more, two unruly brats being put in place or… (bear with me, I just woke up and how do words) furina, the brat of brats, being made to show some appreciation and care and service to her loyal and long suffering little handmaiden, who is very good at following orders but has a hard time relaxing and letting others take care of her. smthin abt a dom handling two different types of sub at the same time, playing off of each other, just… iujghgffghyfg

— dinner guest

Oh, dinner guest anon

I love that idea. Like actually

I’m envisioning something that looks and feels outwardly soft, but with a hard underline just below the surface. The way we’ve seen Arlecchino speak and behave so far has been like that; very well mannered, even cordial, with a razors edge to it that adds a certain weight to her actions. I see her domination being both subtle and heavy handed at the same time. Something like …

“Isn’t it interesting, Lady Furina, that you have the privilege of a life of luxury and indulgence while your people are forced to make do with whatever they can eke out for themselves? They cannot lay claim to the same lavish comforts you enjoy on a daily basis,” Arlecchino drags her pointed gaze to the nervous handmaid standing just behind the Hydro Archon. “Does that seem fair to you?”

It takes you a beat to realize she’d asked that question of you and not your lady. Eyes going round, you look to Furina for guidance just as she turns on the chaise lounge to peer back at you as well. Twin expressions of surprise and confusion, and maybe just a little bit of fear are exchanged before she forces out a thin, tittering laugh.

“Oh, don’t be silly! Of course I treat my loyal attendants to many of the same indulgences I myself enjoy. Why, just the other day we had a tea party together, didn’t we? I even made sure we had the most exquisite cake to share between ourselves to mark the occasion and - -“

“Is that all it takes?” Arlecchino cuts across her, sharp as a knife. “A little bit of cake to sweeten the deal of servitude? Is this truly the only way you know how to show appreciation to others, Lady Furina?”

The Archon hesitates at that.

You anxiously shift behind her, unsure of what to say or do in this situation. Oh, how you wished Monsieur Neuvillette had been able to attend this appointment with the Snezhnayan diplomat. It was resoundingly obvious that you were in over your head and woefully ill prepared to handle it by yourself.

“I — I’m not sure what you mean,” Furina finally manages to squeak out, visibly fidgeting now. “What else would you have me do if not share my luxuries with those who have earned it? I am not a cruel or unjust god, I’ll have you know!”

Arlecchino puts her head to one side as if she’d just heard something rather interesting but her expression doesn’t change or give anything away. “You’re right. Neither of those words describe you, do they? I think what I would call it is selfish.”

Furina jolts as if she’d been physically struck, and you quickly step forward to intervene.

“Lady Arlecchino, please cease this at once! My lady does not deserve to - -“

The Knave stops you short with a slicing look that makes your breath catch.

“Oh, but she does. Even as the ruler of this nation does that really give her the right to ignore the cries and needs of the people? You, for example,”

Sedately, Arlecchino uncrosses her legs and stands.

You shake at her casual approach, those wicked heels near silent on the plush carpet laid out under the tea table as she steps around it. She comes close enough for you to feel the body heat coming off her and it makes you loose a small gasp when the taller woman brushes around you. A clawed hand finds your arm, horrible and monstrous in the way it softly smooths up to your shoulder and then across your collar. You think to pull away. To run and find Monsieur Neuvillette so he can take care of this problem which you are so clearly unqualified to do, but your feet seem to be frozen to the spot.

Without a word, Arlecchino presses herself against your back, hard and unrelenting, at the same time her fingers close tight around your breast. You gasp, and the sound is echoed by the Hydro Archon watching on from the lounge in fascinated silence.

“You, such a lovely little pet,” She croons into your ear, all silk and jagged edges that would cut you if you weren’t careful. “Surely there is more you want from life than to serve and eat cake? Wouldn’t it be nice if Lady Furina showed you some of the same consideration you give her all the time? I certainly hope you don’t think that you’re undeserving of even the most basic respect …”

“… Lady Arlecchino, please.”

“Call me Father.” She gives your tit a slow, savory squeeze that stops just short of pain. “I’m more accustomed to being referred to like that anyway, but I can see that my guidance is needed even here in the courts of Fontaine as it is anywhere else.”

Finally stirring out of her stupor, Furina starts to stand. “Now hold on a minute here! I’d kindly ask you to refrain from touching my - - eeek!“

She falls back with a rather inelegant squawk of surprise when Arlecchino shoves her back down. You draw a sharp inhale, thinking you’ll scream for help, but before you can follow through on it she roughly spins you around and tosses you across the lounge next to your lady. Terror makes it difficult to breathe as you blindly reach over to grasp Furina’s trembling hand, and the two of you huddle there together on the lush cushions when Arlecchino comes to loom over you both.

“How cute. Loyal to your god even now, even after everything I’ve said. No matter, though.” Drawing a perfectly calm breath, she bends at the waist and reaches for you. Two sets of frightened whimpers rise up on the couch but, to your gaping surprise, all she does is brush your rumpled skirt higher. “I’m going to give you and Lady Furina here a little lesson in showing one’s appreciation, and I do hope you’ll pay attention. There is so much more she could be doing for you in exchange for that loyalty she speaks so highly of.��

Beside you, Furina offers up a threadbare laugh. “Is this really necessary, miss, uh, Knave? I - I mean, this seems a bit … inappropriate.”

You couldn’t have agreed more, especially when she gets your skirt hiked up enough to expose your panties to the room. Your face burns in shame and embarrassment alike, but Arlecchino’s lack of concern is obvious. Slipping those long, sharp nails into the waistband, she starts to tug your underwear down your thighs.

“W - wait —“

“Do not fret, little maid. No harm will come to you or your precious god, I give you my word on that. This is but an exercise in humility and penance.”

Ignoring the way you twist and try to squeeze your thighs together, she gets your panties pulled down around your ankles where she stops long enough to pull one foot through. She doesn’t bother with the other, however, and just leaves your underwear dangling there as she then reaches for Furina.

Her fingers clutch your hand tight enough to hurt but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when Arlecchino grabs her by the back of the hair and drags her off the couch. The Archon yelps and sputters as she’s forced to her feet only for the taller woman to shove her down on the floor in the next moment.

“Ow! Please wait, I don’t understand - -“

“And that’s the heart of the problem, isn’t it?” Arlecchino purrs, twisting the handful of hair she’s gripping to make Furina let out a strangled shriek. It’s not enough to alert anyone though. You know you should be screaming at the top of your lungs but you can’t seem to pull in enough air to accomplish that, and you just stare up at her in petrified disbelief. “I’m going to teach you a much more appropriate method of giving your thanks to those who serve you so diligently. You want to be a good Archon, don’t you?”

Furina sucks in a wet, faltering gasp. “Yes, of course I do, but …”

“Then allow me to show you how best you can serve your people.”

Viciously, Arlecchino shoves her face between your legs, and you nearly jolt right up off the couch. Furina wails and struggles, but The Knave is as demanding as she is unrelenting. She forces her warbling mouth right up against your bare cunt, making you lurch at the sensation. Your legs frantically kick out as you try to shove yourself as far into the backrest as you can go, trying to escape, but Arlecchino just grabs you by the hair with her unoccupied hand. The pain that tears through your scalp is immediate and debilitating, and all you can do is seethe while she holds the two of you there as if without any effort at all to show for it.

“Now, Lady Furina,” She intones over the chorus of breathless gasps and whining mewls. “I want you to put that mouth of yours to good use. Show her just how much you really appreciate all her hard work.”

The shuddering Archon keens a faltering sound, and the resulting puff of hot hair on your cunt has you shaking like a leaf. You sway, unsteady and reeling, but Arlecchino’s hold on you is as good as iron. It must be the same for Furina because she hesitantly mouths at you in some parody of a kiss, evidently not seeing that she had any other choice but to comply. It’s not good enough for the other woman though and she meanly grinds her face down into your pussy, practically suffocating her in the process.

“I know you can do better than that. Be a good girl for me and open your mouth. Use your tongue.”

You shoot Arlecchino a tearful look, but all of her attention is on the other woman kneeling between your thighs. It’s clear she was just using you as a prop to further humiliate and debase Furina, and she didn’t actually care about you or any pleasure you might derive from this. It was just a means to an end, and you hiss when you feel a hesitant tongue slip out to nudge at you.

Noising a muffled sound that echoes your own little squeak, Furina shyly licks over your soft creases and folds without any real intent behind it. You feel as equally humiliated by this as she does but you still shudder when she accidentally brushes your clit. Arlecchino only clicks her tongue though, using her hold on Furina’s hair to forcefully guide and drag her mouth back and forth over the apex of your slit.

“Like this. You want her to feel good, don’t you? I wouldn’t have expected you to not even know this much …”

You finally manage to pull in a halting, paper thin breath. “Lady Arle — Father, please stop this at once. There is no justification for treating Lady Furina this way … if the honorable Iudex learns of this - -“

“Oh?” Her unsettling gaze at last comes up to fix on you again. “Are you going to tell him, little maid? You don’t look like you’d have the courage, but perhaps I underestimated you.”

A blubbering whimper rips out of your throat when she leans over you, getting close to your face while Furina heaves against your cunt. Trying to lean away from her just gets your hair pulled again, and Arlecchino tugs you right back around to look at her.

“I asked you a question. Is it not customary to give an answer when someone is speaking to you? I’ll ask again: are you going to inform the Chief Justice of what took place here today?”

You screw your eyes shut. The threat in her voice was not near subtle enough for you to miss it, and you were under no illusion of guaranteed safety just because of your close proximity to the Archon of Fontaine. “N - … no, Father. I won’t tell him.”

“That’s what I thought.” Retreating back into her own space, Arlecchino sends a slow look of consideration over Furina who’s nose is so deeply buried in your pudgy mound that all you can see of her are her pretty mismatched eyes. They’re big and fearful, no doubt mirroring yours, and she issues a soft, muffled yelp at suddenly having The Knave’s attention on her again. “And you, Lady Furina … will you go running to your precious Iudex after I’m finished with you here?”

She hesitates, furiously trying to blink away the glisten of moisture filming her eyes as she pulls in a thickly labored breath. A muffled noise that might have been a ‘no’ rises between your legs, making you twitch only to full on shudder just a heartbeat later when she shakes her head as well.

Evidently pleased, Arlecchino eases up her hold on you before letting her hand slip away entirely. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Then what I want the two of you to do is relax. Just enjoy yourselves for a little while. I’d say both of you have earned your respective roles here.”

She releases Furina too, much to your reeling surprise, but both of you are much too frightened to move. The usually boisterous and flamboyant Archon obediently stays kneeling on the floor while the unnervingly collected woman steps around the lounge to loom over you from behind. Your skin crawls at her nearly palpable presence at your back. So heavy and oppressive it’s all you can do just to keep breathing when she casually reaches over your shoulders to smooth her hands down the front of your uniform.

“I’ll be here to instruct you the whole time and ensure each of you does as she is supposed to. As long as you remember your place I won’t have any reason to correct you.” She sighs, almost distant and dreamy, and you numbly peer down at yourself to watch those horrible hands drag over your breasts.

Abruptly, Arlecchino pinches the front of your shirt and pops it open with a sharp tug. You jerk slightly at the force, mewling softly when buttons go flying to clatter across the marble floor some yards away. She sets her sights on your brassier next and the way she tears into it is almost violent, cotton digging into you mercilessly as she shreds it to pieces. A fresh surge of withering shame has your cheeks burning hot when your bare tits hit the air and humiliatingly stiffened nipples cut up off your body in attention seeking points. You aren’t the least bit surprised when Arlecchino latches onto them with thumb and forefinger, rather indelicately pinching the tightly coiled buds, but it still startles a wounded sound out of you all the same.

“Now,” She intones, ignoring your hissed pleas in favor of looking down at Furina’s teary eyed face. “You’d better get to work, God of Justice. This little one seems so sensitive and tender … you don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

With a quiet sniffle, she hesitantly opens her mouth a bit more and drags her wet tongue through your cunt purposefully now. She seemed about as ready to have this done and over with as you were, and you fitfully arch when she finds your clit. Settling in now that she’s located the spot that makes you twitch, Furina nuzzles her face into you while she submissively laps at the sensitive nerve cluster. Between that and Arlecchino’s demanding ministrations on your aching teats, it doesn’t take long to have you gasping in reluctant pleasure and actively hating your body for turning on you so quickly. So readily.

You almost couldn’t believe how unbearably wet you were getting from this …

The Knave is nothing but pleased though, and she hums a satisfied sound as she gives your nipples a pointed tug to leave you keening. “Isn’t this a lovely sight to see. You look rather good on your knees, Lady Furina … I do hope you’re enjoying the taste of your little handmaid. The next time you feel so inclined to invite me to one of your gracious tea parties I simply must remember to bring some of my favorite toys for us to play with. In fact, I believe I already have one in mind for the two of you.”

⭐️

#arlecchino x reader #furina x reader #self insert bullshit #something short and silly

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child0feden · 4 months ago

Text

MOON IN THE MIST

pelle “ dead ” ohlin x reader x ( platonic! ) oc children

♡ general headcanons for pelle as a boy dad!

୨୧ writing this really made me want to replay god of war but i literally just replayed god of war ragnarök like two months ago so i am trying to hold off but dad! pelle and kratos would get along so strangely well, i just know it… this work should be read as a continuation to far away <3

♡ requested by anon | view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: krypta by wisielec - echoes of an old life by bear mccreary

♡ i think your second pregnancy with pelle would actually be just a little bit planned!

୨୧ not in the way that pelle really has a breeding kink or anything though, more so in the way that whenever he saw your daughter playing by herself or not having many friends due to her slightly more macabre interests, being so similar to her father of course, he just wants her to have a friend really bad, he knows loneliness more than anyone and he knows how hurtful it can be to be alone simply because your interests do not align with many others…

♡ and what better way to give her a true friend than to have another child with you? to give her a sibling when she is still so young, only being a little bit older than a toddler!

୨୧ pelle himself grew up with siblings, he knows very well just how special that sibling bond is and he actually really wants that for his daughter, he wants her to always have someone she can turn to outside of you and him, her parents…

♡ so pelle likely occasionally brought it up to you from time to time, albeit very shyly as he does not quite know how to go about telling you he thinks having another child would be nice! but you understand him quite quickly, catching on to all of the subtle hints and agree with him, much to his delight

୨୧ when you actually give birth to your son is where i can see some slight problems starting to arise, just some very slight issues…

♡ pelle is so soft on your daughter and so openly loving towards her, always making sure she knows how much he adores her and now she can come to him whenever she needs to! with your daughter, pelle was very rarely afraid, maybe it was because she looks so much like you that he just saw you in her, saw your comforting smile and warm eyes

୨୧ but your son is just a complete double of pelle, inheriting almost all of his features and having close to none of yours! whenever pelle looks at him, he feels as if he is looking directly into a mirror, looking back at his younger self, right into the eyes of his former self who had no idea how dark his life would soon become in his teen and young adult years…

♡ that is what scares pelle so much, whenever he sees your son, he sees himself and all of the pain that was brought down upon him by forces that he could not stop nor waver

୨୧ it is the thought of your son growing up and going through those same things that he did which terrifies him, the thought of your son doing those same things he did in his darkest days just absolutely kills him

♡ i mean, this was already a slight fear with your daughter, he was fearful of her growing up and falling into a downward spiral but with your son? it is even worse simply because of how much pelle sees himself in your son, anyone can see how much they look alike, it is as if a mirror is reflecting an image of the past and the future

୨୧ it is because of those fears that makes pelle almost not want to interact with your son, he is just so incredibly afraid of himself somehow tarnishing his innocence by simply being around him, as if holding him and loving him will curse him to a life of pain…

♡ it will take a little while for pelle to break out of this, only after so much assurance and love from you, only after you have told him to look at how amazing your daughter is turning out and only after you have told him how much your daughter so obviously loves her father is when pelle will become much more open to your son and luckily it is when your son is still very young

୨୧ it is not as if pelle was ever cold or hateful towards your son before, he was just afraid and extremely cautious but he did love your son, he still loves your son, it is just that now he feels like he can actually show it more and feel secure in it… he no longer feels like he is hurting his son by loving him

♡ as i mentioned in my post about this dynamic, the best representation or parallel for this family dynamic would likely be kratos, faye and atreus from god of war! pelle does love his son, more than anything, but he feels like he has to protect his son from himself, he has to protect his son from his own past self and the possibility of his son becoming like his old self when he grows up just scares him! he needs you to teach him how to open his heart to his son just as you taught him how to open his heart to his daughter, he needs to be assured that he is a changed man, a better man and an even greater father

୨୧ anyways, let me move on from all that slightly angsty stuff now…

♡ pelle would absolutely adore seeing your two children playing together, always sitting or standing close by as to keep an eye on them due to your daughter being a little older and having a bit more strength than her younger brother

୨୧ he is kind of a helicopter parent like that, he does not ever want them to get injured or upset, it just kills him inside although he does handle it really well when an accident does happen!

♡ he might be panicking really bad on the inside but he learns how to hide that from his children, even when he himself knows deep down that there is no real reason to be panicking this much

୨୧ like when they get a slight scratch from playing in the nearby woods! pelle is so quick to yell over and ask them to come over to him so that he can check the small wound, his voice wavering slightly and he walks over to meet them halfway! all kinds of thoughts running through his head, really ridiculous thoughts about the possibility of it being a poisonous branch or other things… but he keeps all of his paranoia locked up and hidden from them, he knows that openly freaking out will only scare them and scaring his children is not what he ever wants to do at all

♡ he keeps all of those fears hidden and silent inside of his head until he comes back inside to see you, coming over with slightly wide eyes as he bursts into a quiet spew of words about how you both need to keep an eye on your child for the rest of the day in case they get a fever and how it was all his fault that they even hurt themselves but you shut him up with a soft laugh before leaning up to pet his pale cheek and plant a gentle kiss on his lips, mumbling against them how small scratches are a part of childhood, how it was not his fault at all and he needs to quit blaming himself for everything but he is not as quick to forgive himself…

“ yes, but… if i had been closer to them, or maybe i just shouldn’t have let them go into the wooded section, then they wouldn’t have… ” ( the most pelle ever talks is when it is about his children, anything regarding them will usually cause him to ramble and go on for a while, almost always knocking the wind out of him and leaving him with heavy breaths )

୨୧ but seriously, pelle just cannot get enough of seeing your two children play together… every time he sees them running around the garden together, cuddling up on the couch and watching a cartoon together or even when they have a simple childish squabble over something small and stupid… it all just makes him smile, it makes a strong warmth overtake his heart, his mind becoming overwhelmed with memories of doing the same with his own siblings when he was a child, memories once buried and trapped under so much sadness and emptiness

♡ morning is now a favourite time for pelle, such a major difference from a couple years ago when he was kind of a nothing person, he never really preferred any time of day because he never had much to look forward to… but now, he just loves the morning! mainly because he thinks you looks so beautiful in the morning, your hair slightly messy and frizzy, wearing only the clothes you find the most comfortable as you prepare breakfast for your children!

୨୧ whilst pelle used to stray away from much physical touch, now, he reaches for it! he enjoys holding your hips from behind as your prepare breakfast, slouching down slight to rest his chin atop your shoulder, turning his head slightly to pepper light kisses on your cheek and down your neck, smiling against your skin when you laugh softly and tilt your head back to press a deep kiss against his lips before you have to slightly push him away from the kiss to actually be able to finish breakfast, smiling back at him and telling him to go see his babies

♡ and that he does, he parts from you with a final lingering kiss on your head before he walks out of the kitchen and into the living room where your two children are sitting up on the couch, both in their fluffy pyjamas and hair as messy as yours whilst their eyes are glued to a cartoon playing on the tv… he smiles slightly as he approaches them before sitting on the couch in between them, both children perking up from their previously sleepy state when they set eyes on their father, immediately scooting over and going to cuddle into him as he wraps an arm around each of them and mumbles quietly

“ morning… you hungry? both of you, i hope… breakfast is nearly ready ” ( his voice is already quiet and soft but in the morning? even more so! it’s the perfect voice to hear in the morning, so soft spoken and gentle as he speaks to them, planting a soft kiss on each of their heads as they both fall back into a sleepy state curled up into his side )

୨୧ when your son gets a little older, he only begins to look even more like his father! his blue eyes shining even stronger with pigment and blonde hair growing brighter in the sun

♡ speaking of his hair, he absolutely wants to keep it long, just like his father! you mentioned maybe giving him a haircut once and he almost threw a tantrum, he would have thrown a tantrum if pelle was not there to soothe him and assure him you would definitely not cut all of his hair off… all whilst your daughter was giggling up a storm behind him because of how whiny her brother was being, only causing pelle to crack a small smile at the sound of her high pitched laughter

୨୧ the fact of pelle being able to stop tantrums is something that runs a lot deeper than just that though…

♡ your son very quickly became a major daddys boy and absolutely loves pelle, they form an extremely strong father son bond, pelle overcoming all of his fears he had and having the most immensely loving relationship with your son, pelle is usually the only person who can ever soothe your son when he is upset or angry, neither of you really know why or how, the two of them just clicked so deeply and have such an unbreakable soul bond

୨୧ pelle absolutely loves making your children little pieces of jewellery and knick knacks out of animal bones! obviously he makes sure to clean them super well before giving it to them… but things like little necklaces or bracelets? he could make them all day, making matching ones for you and the children, maybe making himself one too

♡ not to mention if your children ever really get into drawing? likely influenced by always seeing him drawing and doodling in his sketchbook, just wanting to do something that their father also does and so obviously loves, his children are basically his shadow, they want to do everything they see him doing which never fails to make you laugh as you watch their wide and curios eyes watch him

୨୧ and he will gladly teach them both how to draw! he does not think he is the greatest teacher but as you watch him take them both onto his lap, steadying one of his children on each knee as he slightly bounces his knees to create a soothing rhythm, talking quietly down to them as he teaches them one at a time, his pale hand coming down to hold and guide their much smaller one, showing them how to hold the pencil properly and how to create shading, all whilst his children are just beaming as they spend time with him and pelle has a small smile of his on his face… yeah, you beg to differ about him thinking he is not a beyond great teacher

♡ pelle just still cannot really believe that he, of all people, has a family let alone two children who only ever see a side of him that no one else does, pelle might not be perfect but he has two children with the love of his life, two children who actually want to be like him when they grow up, two children who only see him for what he truly is and that alone is what makes life worth living for pelle… just you and his babies <3

#requested ✩#dad! pelle ohlin #dad! dead #pelle ohlin x reader #dead x reader #mayhem x reader #mayhem headcanons #lords of chaos x reader #lords of chaos headcanons #loc x reader #loc headcanons #fluff headcanons #headcanons

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