#though vague and indirect

[warnerswilsons]

This isn’t a serious theory but wouldn’t it be wild if the doctor regenerated into a child, somehow ended up in the very, very far past near Gallifrey, and through timey wimey shenanigans, the timeless child arc was revealed to take place in the doctor’s future rather than the past, creating a whole necessary paradox?

Does it seem far-fetched? Yes. Does it also seem plausible? Honestly after last week’s episode, I think so and I honestly think it would be so hilarious if RTD or whoever else ends up as showrunner does this, and I will keep a link to this post safe somewhere for the off-chance that it does.

[cluescorner]

Traveler @ Kaeya: How are you normal

Traveler: How am I not- I feel like I’m going fucking crazy right now. 

Traveler @ Paimon: Why are you chill? 

Traveler @ Dain: WHY ARE YOU CHILL?!

[snekdood]

is it magic or is it manipulation?

[galedekarios]

just musing about gale and his parents:

we only have a handful of conversations where he mentions his parents and when he does, it's usually only his mother, morena dekarios.

his mother is mentioned at several points in the game. during a custom protag playthrough, he mentions her in a datamined conversation that appears to be bugged/broken:

and he mentions her at the end of the game as well when he proposes to the player:

i was also able to find another mention in a banter with karlach that usually happens for me shortly after recruiting her:

from gale's origin, this aspect is explored even more deeply:

there's more, of course, and it very clearly shows that the bond he shares with his mother is a deep and loving one from both sides. it's also very interesting that he is called dekarios after his mother and not--even though naming conventions could certainly vary even in waterdeep--after his father.

who he doesn't mention at all.

the only time we do get a vague mention is during a conversation with the protag after saving mirkon from the harpies:

after that, i haven't been able to find any reference, indirect or direct, to gale's father in the game.

so, here we enter theory territory:

i feel that, from a narrative point of view, in keeping with what i think gale's themes are, gale's father may have abandoned gale and his mother when gale was still young.

gale's character is rife with what might be interpreted as abandonment issue and it makes sense to me at least that those weave through his life up until the point where the protag meets him in the game.

another theme with gale is that he appears to have a lot of female figures in this life, who all had a profound impact on him, whether that impact is positive or negative: morena, tara, and yes, mystra.

it feels like to me that he had no father figure--and i use that term a bit more loosely here--until later in his life with elminster. this is already hinted at in a game with a custom protag, but all the more solidified in a gale origin playthrough:

i think without directing telling you, the game does allow you to sort of guess at that part of his background in this way, and understand why gale is as he is as a consequence. you can also understand why he acts as he does with elminster. seeking his approval. yearning for it. being extremely hurt by elminster having to see him like this when mystra sends him to gale to deliver her... instructions. this almost pointed absence of a mention of his father in all his comments (and tara's too, now that i think about it) when it comes to family is glaring to me.

being left, being abandoned, makes it much more understandable to me why he doesn't speak of him at all: if gale's father had died, it would make more sense to me that he would remark on it or share it in some way or another. it might have come up in a banter with wyll, perhaps, who is struggling with the expectations his own father had placed on him.

"he died when i was still very young." perhaps, or something along the lines of, "i barely remember him; he died when i was only a child.", etc etc etc.

YET if gale's father indeed abandoned his mother--who he holds in such high regard, and not to mention his own hurt--i can easily see and understand why he wouldn't waste a word on him.

anyhow yes, this is long and ramble-y, and i 100% might be reading too much into what may be a simple oversight, but it was interesting to me and i still see it as tying in with the theme of abandonment, even though we don't know the reasons for it in this particular case.

was it not wishing to deal with a child with magical talents he couldn't control yet? was it for another reason entirely?

[shotanzz]

I wish you would do a full post dedicated to toxicity or angsty shortcomings in relationships with the boys 🫠 I loved reading the toxic head canons ❤️

angst hurts my heart but !!

RIIZE RED FLAGS based on astrology~

hyung line edition ❗️

reminder this is based off of MY opinions of their birth chart placements + aspects and is not exact fact unless I knew them myself and I am not a professional astrologer

Shotaro

Vague - not exactly a red flag but he cares a lot about the things going on within his personal life but sometimes he might prefer to keep things to himself due to paranoia of how his s/o will react or if they’d use it against him..he might have a fear of betrayal that can make him be pretty vague and unable to tell his s/o a lot of things in regards to him which can feel secretive to someone who wants a relationship with open info

Intense - His Scorpio moon paired with his Cap venus leads to a need for loyalty as well as his moon/mercury aspect making him very observant of your words and even remembering things you said a longgg time ago which can be overwhelming and feel even persecuting to some. He might also be paranoid in the relationship of cheating or disloyalty.

Coldness- When he's upset he might have a tendency to be cold yet indirect. He has a scorpio mercury and when upset or protecting themselves they can say things that really hurt or could be pretty cutting. He also has a libra mars so he'd be pretty passive aggressive or indirect with his upset.

Eunseok

Nonchalant- (reminder that nonchalant means that a person cares but acts in a way that suggests indifference/disinterest) He can sometimes be too nonchalant and can make someone overall feel as though he has no passion in the relationship when really he does but just doesn't think you have to be lovey dovey 24/7 or he cant express his passion super well as times

Outburst- Eunseok has a cap moon and moon/saturn aspects paired with a mutable mars so he doesn't express his emotions well or bottles them up which can lead to him getting triggered at random and having a spontaneous outburst out of NOWHEREEE due to suppressed feelings which can be super problematic to some

Insensitive- it’s not on purpose or with malicious intent but Eunseok can sometimes not realize that though a situation isn’t a big deal to him to someone else it might be, he also can forget the more subjective side of things which can accidentally hurt peoples feelings

Sungchan

Sensitive - His pride is high and his reaction to things may be 3x more dramatic than the actual event that happened. When he's been hurt emotionally (whether it was intentional or not) he has a hard time letting go of what happened and might even give a silent treatment until he feels you've shown remorse.

Insecure - He cares a lot about what other people think of him and that can bleed into his relationships. He might act one way in public but another way in private which can make his words/actions seem insincere or disingenuous.

Internal struggles- Has a hard time balancing his feminine side and masculine side and what I mean is he is someone super emotional and feels his emotions very deeply but might try to cover that side of him up with a masculine facade which can bring tension.

Wonbin

Avoidance - He might refuse to acknowledge the red flags or obvious shortcomings/problems in the relationship or himself and may take a long time fully accepting or facing these problems as they are or has a weak approach in attempting to fix or acknowledge the problems. Idealizes a lot of aspects and tends to withdrawal when things don’t match his vision.

Procrastination- Once again, has a hard time facing things head on and takes a while to put action into something and avoids the messier more negative emotions that one must face in relationships; he could also take a long time to let the relationship reach the next more serious levels.

Stubborn- It's hard to change his mind about certain things..in arguments he'll try to pull a "lets agree to disagree" but it's a topic where you both need to be on the same page. He might even just straight up go mute in arguments if he doesn't feel like his opinion was valued enough.

[whxre-bxby]

I think it’s okay to take plots aslong as you don’t have everything word from word, I know the very popular one is the jake sullys daughters x miles quaritch

Okay, this is based on a previous request someone made for this scenario, so here you are :)

"Forbidden But Desired"

Recom Quaritch x f. Human Y/N

(Based off a fanfiction on AO3 called "Forbidden Fruit Tastes The Sweetest")

Masterlist

Summary: (Y/N is in Spider's position) Quarithc captures you and finds out you are the daughter of the man whose memories and DNA he has. Being the only person he feels any emotions too, Miles can't help but have you to himself.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Non-con, somnophilia, indirect incest in a way?, penetration, unprotected sex, size-difference, age-gap, use of 'daddy',

Word Count: 4383

A/N: Sorry I'm so slow with uploading. I'll finish off the current requests, then I'll see if I even re-open them. Thank you for all the kind support though, it makes me really happy that so many people enjoy reading my work. Apology up ahead if this smut seems 'half-assed', I used to be more passionate about this

The room was cold. It was something you’d never seen or been in before. Even the lab back at home was not as cold and quiet as this. You could hear your own thudding heartbeat and every breath you took. The silence scared you. 

Yesterday, the worst thing to probably ever happen to you happened. You were taken from your family. The Sully’s. When the humans left Pandora, you were left behind because you were just a toddler. Born here, you stayed here. Now, of course, it had been many many years since your biological parents had died. You found out at the age of 15 that the man responsible for this was, Miles Quaritch, was your father. But you felt nothing towards him and while hearing that definitely disturbed you, you weren’t upset by his death. In fact, you felt relieved he was gone. And you were ready to spend the rest of your life proving that you are nothing like him. Now, a few years later, the information has settled in and you’ve managed to work past it psychologically. Just because you’re related by blood does not mean you have his intentions. In fact, being related to him makes you more passionate about protecting Pandora from others like him. But as one of the few humans left on this planet, that would be difficult. You’re a ‘big girl’ now, as Jake says when he talks about your responsibilities. He trusts you fully and raised you along with his kids. They are family to you. 

But a few months back, the Sky People were sighted again and we knew they were back. Hiding was currently our only option. Perhaps they had different intentions this time?

That thought died down the second a group of Avatars found you, Lo’ak, Tuk and Kiri in the forest. They must have come from the humans because of their clothes. They spoke English too. Their Na’vi was broken and hard to understand. 

While trying to escape, you fell. You can’t remember what happened but you have vague memories of being carried by the Avatar who seemed to be leading the group. Then you woke up here, all alone. Your toes felt cold and your spine sent a shiver through you as you retreated into a corner of the room. 

The Avatar from before had come into your room a few times already. He introduced himself and you refused to talk to him. You barely even looked at him. But when he told you his Avatar had the memories of the person you hated the most: Miles Quaritch; you couldn’t help but stare up at him in disbelief. Examining his features, you were quick to realise that he really did look like your so-called father. His presence intimidated you and you didn’t know how to feel about him. He didn’t seem like a threat to you. Your instincts weren’t ringing the alarm bells. You knew he wasn’t a good person, but there seemed to be some kind of string attaching the two of you. One that you both refused to acknowledge or act on. 

Quaritch would tell himself he’s being all nice to you because he’s trying to get information out of you through manipulation. You would tell yourself that you hate him and that he’s just as bad as the human version, but somehow, deep down you asked yourself whether he could be different. 

Miles was gentle with you, restraining himself from raising his voice when he questioned you and you would stay quiet. He started to bring you your food, hoping it would help you gain trust towards him. But he hated himself for trying to train you like some dog. Compared to him, you were a tiny creature. ‘A delicate little girl’ he thought, often finding himself admiring your features. Most of them were your mothers which seemed to only draw him more to you. 

He also seemed surprised that you had grown so much. It obviously made sense because he knew that many years had passed since the war, but you were hardly the little girl he had so few memories of. You were almost a fully grown woman and he wished he could be proud of himself for it, but he knows he had no part in your life until perhaps now. 

Today, things took a big turn. You lost track of time, not knowing whether you were sleeping through the days and crying during the nights or the other way around. It had been too long since you had seen the natural daylight or felt the fresh breeze of the wind. Being inside this awful room was so still and dead, it oftentimes made you feel ill. 

You sat curled up in the same corner once more. Miles had visited you during the morning, giving you your food and water. While you slowly ate the dry food, he tried to talk to you about things that weren’t related to his mission. He was asking about you. But not because he needed it for work, but because he cared. Miles realised he cared about you on Day 3 when Ardmore had suggested to just ‘get rid’ of you because you weren’t cooperating. Not even her tortuous methods worked on you. The thought of that happening made him panic inside and he managed to persuade her to give him more time. Though he wasn’t sure exactly how much time he was getting for you, he knew he would rather disobey her orders and ‘set you free’ in the forest instead of leaving you in her hands. 

He didn’t feel like your dad and he knew very well you didn’t accept being his daughter, but there was a deep emotional connection between the two of you that neither of you have with anyone else. Miles has been left to himself since he was brought back as an Avatar. Everything had constantly been strictly professional and work-related. 

You are the only personal thing he has in his life. The one person he feels he can let his guard down in front of. The only real person he actually seems to enjoy being around. Also, the only person he misses when he’s alone and not in your room. 

This is why he was spending his evening behind the mirrored glass, watching you softly cry in your little corner. You couldn’t see him because the glass only showed your reflection but he was there and he felt guilty for leaving you in such a state. You had been showered, cleaned and fed. But you weren’t happy and he could clearly see that. Miles knows he shouldn’t care as much as he does, but he can’t help himself. Something inside him longs for you and makes him want to protect you, even if it’s against his own people. He often feels like he needs to protect you from himself. After all, he’s the reason you ended up here. He knows he’s causing you your suffering, so he tries to think of ways to reduce it.

The large automatic door opens and he steps inside. You hold your breath, glancing up at him and holding back your tears. It annoys you when others see you at your most vulnerable. You don’t like feeling small, but oddly enough you don’t seem to care about that around Miles. His presence affects you differently. Almost as if you feel safe enough to cry and relax in his presence. Something your logical mind would clearly say no to. 

He gazes down at your small figure. His sad eyes take pity on you. 

“Come with me.” he says. The words were meant to be spoken as an order, but instead, his voice grew soft and became oddly comforting. 

You stand up, not thinking twice about his words. Anything to leave this room. He seems pleased with your sudden cooperation so he leads the way, making sure you’re close by. There’s no need to handcuff you or restrict you in any other way. He can catch you in seconds if you attempt to run away. You yourself know you don’t stand a chance. 

Quaritch leads you to a secluded hallway and uses a cyber key to unlock a door. The frame fits his size so you assume it’s made for Avatars. His large blue hand pushes the door open before his eyes glance back at you, silently telling you to go inside. 

You listen, slowly walking inside and looking around once he switches the light on. It’s his room.

“I’m not gonna let them treat you like some kind of animal.” he says, clearly seeming angered at the thought of that. 

“You did..” You reply, turning around. Your English isn’t at its best because you normally speak Na’vi. But you manage. 

He seems affected by your words and his eyes lower in disappointment. 

“Not anymore.” he says, promising that to you and to himself. 

“They don’t get te’ have you anymore.” 

His words confuse you. 

“But you do?” I ask, wondering what changed in his head to make him suddenly almost hide me with him. 

He doesn’t answer that. Miles doesn’t know how to. But he knows that if anyone gets you it's him. He has a reason for you to belong to him. You are emotionally connected and he’s the one that captured you. It only makes sense. But to tell you his thoughts won’t happen. You’re too pure to be told that you’re being kept by him. Words won’t tell you, but you’ll find out soon enough anyway. Perhaps through actions. 

His room was split in two. The bedroom and what you assumed to be a bathroom. He pointed you towards the bed. You haven’t seen anything like it before but by looking at it, you could tell it’s soft, so you obeyed him and lay down. 

He watched you settle down for a few moments, noting how innocent you were. Nothing about climbing into his bed seemed wrong or even slightly uncomfortable to you. He knows it’s because you live differently than he does, but it amuses him. You lay down so willingly, almost tricking him into wanting to lay down with you. 

Quaritch managed to push his thoughts away, leaving you alone in the room as the bathroom door shut behind him. You didn’t mind anything at this point. You were just happy to not be cold and uncomfortable anymore. 

Time seemed to fly by because of how comfortable you felt, wrapped in this large blanket.

You heard the same door from before creek open and Quaritch stepped back into the room. He changed clothes or rather removed some. But seeing him without a shirt on didn’t really faze you. After all, that’s how you’ve always seen all Na’vi. But Miles had much more muscle mass. You could probably stare at his torso all day if you had the chance. The feeling confuses you because you don’t do that, ever.

He walks up to the side of the bed, peering down at you once more. The sight comforts his cold heart. You look happy which means he’s managed to help you in a way. 

You’re on the brink of falling asleep when you feel the mattress dip next to you as Quaritch lays himself down. The blanket is all around you which makes him chuckle. 

“You can’t have it all, you gotta share, princess.” he grins, looking over to you. You open your eyes and look at him, not understanding what he means. So to help you out, he pulls the blanket from you which makes you frown. An expression that amuses him further. 

“No.” you whine, trying to grab it back. 

“Don’t worry, it’s big enough for both of us, kid.” he chuckles lowly. The blanket is now on him but you’re too far away for it to reach you. 

“I want it back.” you plead, watching his eyes study you while he grins. Instead of responding with words, he lifts up a corner of the blanket and smirks at you, as if he were saying that you must lay there to get it. 

You stay still for a few moments. Your mind is loading. But Quaritch isn’t feeling that patient today. It’s his room, his rules, so he reaches for you and pulls your right against him so that your back is pressed against his chest. 

“What are you-” 

“Sleepin’ in my bed comes with terms and conditions, sweet’eart.” he replies in his gruff, sleepy voice. 

His large, heavy hands wrap around you, making it impossible for you to leave. But oddly, you don’t want to. His body warmth comforts you and you start to relax your tensed body.

Your eyes grow heavy and before you know it, you’re asleep. 

Miles feels your soft breath fan against his arm and he feels like he’s cradling a kitten. You’re so small and beautiful to him, he knows he must be careful having you around him. 

Being so close to you makes him realise how good you smell and how soft your skin and hair are. You just look so inviting, he’s having a hard time falling asleep. Instead, his heartbeat is starting to pick up speed, involuntarily riling him up. In the back of his head, he doesn’t feel wrong for handling you like this. Taking advantage of your innocence doesn’t seem that wrong to him right now. He would never hurt you, but he’s done worse than this, so it doesn’t seem to faze him. Especially when the slowly building arousal is starting to badly influence his common sense. 

You’re so close to him and you’re his. He has a right to be with you. You belong to him. Why shouldn’t he be able to explore and use what’s his?

His thoughts go wild as he starts to hesitantly imagine all the things he could do to you. You’re just laying there, so relaxed and available for him, he can’t just say no. He slowly unwraps his hands from around you, keeping his eyes trained on your body to make sure you’re still asleep. 

When you don’t move, he tells the guilty part of him that you want this. Even though he knows he’s fully taking advantage of your size and innocence, he’s too worked up to let this go. His shorts feel tight around him and his growing erection, but he doesn’t focus on that just yet. He wants to see you for you before he focuses on himself. 

They didn’t change you out of your Na’vi clothes, so most of your skin is exposed to Miles anyway. His hands move your hair to the side, exposing your back and the small strings keeping your chest piece attached. 

His heart is now racing. He can’t believe what he’s doing but he won’t stop. Not with you looking so pretty in his bed.

Quaritch props himself up on one elbow, while his free hand gently traces your body, running from your shoulder, along your side and to your hips.

He leans forward, massaging the soft flesh of your hip before pressing his lips against your warm skin. His eyes close and he inhales deeply, not being able to get enough of the way you smell. Then, Miles pulls away, kissing you up to your shoulder blade. You’re so soft he feels the urge to just grab you and sink his teeth into your flesh but luckily for you, he doesn’t. Knowing you will probably shy away if you’re awake, Miles decides to explore you further by himself so that he can take his time toying with you instead of having to hold you down and keep you quiet. 

Carefully, he slides the blanket off the both of you and sits up to properly look at you. He starts to fumble with the strings of your top, untying them and watching them loosely drape around your back. Miles’ large hand then finds your shoulder and he gently pulls you to him and turns you onto your back. He can’t wait much longer so he takes one string in between his fingertips and lifts your chest piece up, gently pulling it from your calmy sleeping body. 

He draws a deep breath to stay composed while his darkened eyes drink in your bare chest. Such a pretty young thing you are, fully on display to him and only him. 

He wants to devour you and drag his tongue and lips over every inch of your body, but he can’t risk waking you up just yet. He needs to see more before he can start touching you. 

Miles slowly moves onto his knees, sitting by your legs. You’re wearing a loincloth like all other Na’vi. Something he hated before, not liking how they imprinted their culture on you. But now, he was almost thankful you weren’t covered in human clothes from head to toe. 

He takes the material covering your crotch at the front and lifts it up to reveal that you aren’t actually bare underneath. You’re wearing something similar to panties except out of their woven fabric. Miles ignores the small beads and pattern of your loincloth and just hooks his fingertips under the sides of your waistband and slowly pulls it down your legs, teasing himself. 

Once he lays eyes on your bare cunt Miles groans, struggling to stick to his plan of just looking. He knows now that he won’t be able to just admire you. He needs you for himself. 

God, you’re just so beautiful he can’t help himself. His large hands gently wrap around your legs, parting them to fully expose your pussy to his predatory eyes. What a pretty little thing you’ve grown to be. 

You look so tasteful, Miles has to touch you. His fingers trace an outline around your pussy, watching a small shiver overcome your body in your sleep.

‘So sensitive’ he thinks, wondering whether you’ve ever done anything sexual with someone before. But judging by the way your body seems to eagerly be responding to his smallest touches, he concludes that you really are as innocent as he thought. It also means he needs to approach this with a gentle hand, not to scare or hurt you. 

His fingertip slips between your folds, gently massaging you while watching your reactions. You’re still asleep but your breathing seems to occasionally change patterns. Your warmth has Miles feeling excited to feel it around him, whether that will even end up working. He had to stretch you out for him first, knowing he could hurt you if he didn’t.

His fingertip continues to gently flick over your clit, rubbing you along your slit until he feels the flesh give in and he reaches your hole. Slowly, Miles starts to push his finger into you and a deep growl rumbles through his chest when he feels the slick start to form inside you. But you’re still so tight, which he loves but he knows he must relax your muscles to make this pleasurable for you. You're his little girl after all, he can’t have you crying in pain underneath him. 

It’s his job to care of you.

He starts to work you open for him, gently pushing two fingers into you now. Miles lowers his head closer to you, noticing that your slick has started to seep out of your tiny hole. His fingers have spread it all over your pussy until it is now glistening and shiny, making his mouth water. He must taste you, to confirm you’re really his. His mouth has to explore and experience his girl. 

He uses his tongue to pleasure you and take away the slightly uncomfortable feeling his fingers may be creating inside you. Miles’ eyes stay trained on your face as he peers up at you. You’re still asleep which amazes him. 

Once your pussy has managed to engulf his third fingers, Miles can’t wait anymore. That’ll do. He keeps your legs resting open for him while he pulls his loose pants down to his mid-thigh, finally freeing his aching erection. He knows he won’t fit all of him into you. You’re too delicate and small, but anything will do for him at this point. 

He wants to guide you through this experience because he knows you have no idea about these kinds of things. 

Seeing himself as your closest person, he feels he has the right to be your first. To take away the virginity you were born with, and lead you through this step of becoming a woman. To ‘break you in’. 

He reaches down, wrapping his hand around his shaft before pressing his tip against your heat. Miles hears you sigh in your sleep and your head turns to the other side, but your eyes stay closed.

He starts to rub himself against you, covering himself in your sweet wetness while letting his precum drizzle down onto your pussy. A shiver of excitement runs up his spine when he imagines how he’ll fill you up with his cum and permanently mark you as his. So that when he is finished with you, you’ll still be stained with his scent, making everyone who ever crosses you know that he claimed you. 

With that thought, he starts to slowly apply pressure to your hole, gently pressing his tip against it until he feels it give way and start to let him in. Once his tip is almost in, he lets go of himself and positions himself above you. Your eyebrows are furrowed and your breathing has quickened, but you don’t seem to be awake just yet, so he continues to push himself into you. 

He sharply inhales when he feels how tightly you’re squeezing him, but he can’t stop. Fuck it feels too good. His hips involuntarily buck forwards and he forces himself inside you until his tip hits your cervix. His eyes are closed in bliss, cherishing the feeling of being so close to you. 

A small whimper makes Miles open his eyes and he meets your confused eyes, slowly waking up. You rub your eye, glancing around the room before looking up at him. He can see that you have no idea what is happening yet, so he slowly withdraws his throbbing length from inside you before pushing back inside. You clench your jaw, sucking in a pained breath and gasping.

“What’s happening?” You ask, trying to sit up but Quaritch restricts you from doing so by hovering over you. He dips his head down to your neck, placing soft kisses along your warm skin. 

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re in good hands.” He whispers, starting to rhythmically move his hips against yours. Your mouth is parted in surprise. You feel him deep inside you and it‘s so unexpected, you don‘t know how to react. 

“Miles-“ you whisper in a shaky voice, not sure whether you should ask him what he’s doing, whether to stop or why you weirdly don’t hate it. 

“Shh, let me take care of you.” He whispers, nipping at your neck with his fangs while he continues to gently thrust in and out of you. 

“Daddy’s little girl” he hums into your ear. “Be good and stay still for me.”

Your small hands go up to grip his shoulders and you give him an experimental push but Miles won’t budge even a bit. So instead, you hold on to him, but you’re not sure why. 

One of his hands snakes down between your bodies and he starts to toy with your clit again, watching your confusion and pleasure mix. The stretch of him hurt you but somehow, that made it feel nice. 

“How’s that feel, sweet’eart?” He asks, continuing to massage you with his rough hands. 

Your innocent eyes find him while you try to think of an answer. 

“Good…” you whisper, wondering whether he might stop now but Miles doesn’t. 

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Do you know what I’m doin’?” He asks and his voice sounds gruff. 

You shake your head ‘no’. 

“Makin’ you mine.” 

His words make you feel more excited and Miles notices this when your pussy clenches around him. A smirk appears on his face as he continues to drive himself into you. He realises your tight muscles are finally easing around him so he quickens his pace, seeming happy that your body has accepted him inside you. 

“M’ gonna fill you up, baby.” He grunts, starting to slowly lose control of his steady pace. Your stomach feels fuzzy and it makes you spread your legs further, hoping it will make the good feeling stay. It does. Miles instantly receives your invitation and starts to rut himself into you

You hum in pleasure, not feeling too bad about this. Jake was a father to you. You barely knew this man, so it didn’t seem that wrong to you. Miles however knew some part of this was wrong, but he wasn’t related to you biologically, only through memories. 

His fingers rub rough circles over your clit and you gasp before the bubble inside you bursts. Your body trembles and your muscles spasming around Miles help him over the edge and into bliss. His biceps and core muscles flex as he shoots his cum inside you, thrusting a few more times to make sure he’s stuffed you full with it as much as possible. 

Once he starts to calm down, Miles takes a little pity on your small figure. He knows he took advantage of you, but he won’t dwell on it too much now. Instead, he lays himself down next to you, rotating your body with him so that you're both lying against each other and on your sides like before. He keeps himself halfway inside you to prevent his cum from dripping out of you. You need to stay full until morning. Then at least, he can replace the last load with a fresh one. Fill you up until your womb is full of him and until you can’t walk anymore. Maybe he’ll do this to you every night, just to make sure it’s clear to you and to Jake if he meets you again, that you belong to Quaritch and no one else.

Tag List: @ken-dala @ikranwings @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @numarusworld @number1gal @jatwow

[charmandabear]

Office Hours: you can rent the space inside my mind (1/16)

Pairing: Astarion/named f!Tav Rating: explicit Word Count: 4k Chapter tags/warnings: vaginal masturbation, imagined face sitting, pegging, vague femdom (full list on ao3)

Summary:

After bickering with her about Shakespeare's better plays and rudely interrupting her meeting with her student, Rosalind can't get that stupid Ancunín out of her head.

She's hereeeeeeeee!!!!!! A several months long project, but she's all done, which means that (hopefully) I'll be regularly releasing chapters once a week. I received so much direct and indirect support on this, but I want to give a special shout out to Nyx ( @editing-by-night ) for being such a patient and dedicated editor.

Read it on AO3. ~ Masterlist (coming soon.) ~ Office Hours playlist on Spotify.

There’s something about him that rubs Rosalind the wrong way. It could be his arrogance, or the condescending way he peers over his glasses. It might be the overpriced cashmere turtlenecks that hug his figure perfectly or the stupid silver earrings adorning his stupid pointy ears. But every time he opens his pretty little mouth, she can feel a snarl growing deep in her throat.

When she first started her position as the Classical Acting professor at Baldur’s Gate University, Rosalind was shocked to learn that the English and Theatre departments share a main office. She’s heard of Theatre and Music departments sharing an office, or even universities where Theatre and Dance have merged into a single department. But Theatre and English? It feels insulting, honestly. English PhDs are some of the snobbiest people she’s ever met, and they always speak to her like she’s a child. Is it because they’re unimpressed by her MFA, as though it makes her less deserving of her position? Who knows. But Astarion Ancunín is no different.

“Hope, would you mind making twelve copies of pages 219-255 when you get a chance?” Rosalind hands the administrative assistant the heavy book. “You can leave them in my mailbox, I’ll pick them up later.” Hope opens the book to the instructed page.

“Oh, Much Ado About Nothing! I love that one!” she squeals with delight. “That Beatrice and Benedick are so perfect for one another,” she sighs, stroking the Complete Works lovingly. Her almost childlike joy at the play makes Rosalind smile.

“They are, they’re just a strict upgrade from Kate and Petruchio,” she agrees, leaning forward on the counter in front of Hope’s desk.

“How tragic that his writing in Taming is better.” Rosalind snaps her eyes to where Ancunín is walking in checking something on his phone. He doesn’t even look up as he inserts himself into their conversation. Rosalind grits her teeth to stop a snide remark from weaseling its way out. He slides his phone back into the pocket of his well-tailored emerald green trousers and looks up at Hope, bypassing Rosalind completely.

“Good morning, Hope darling, how are you today?” He sweeps over to her and takes her hand in his, planting a kiss on her knuckles. Gods he’s fucking insufferable. Not to mention unprofessional. Hope, however, blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl.

“I’m very well, Dr. Ancunín, and yourself?” Her voice jumps up several pitches.

“Leagues better now that I’ve been blessed with your presence,” he coos at her, voice positively saccharine. It takes every ounce of Rosalind’s patience to keep from rolling her eyes.

“Dr. Ancunín, you silly little mouse, you can’t say that!” A bright flush crosses Hope’s freckled cheeks. She closes the Complete Works and starts playing with her red braid nervously. “Tell me, then, why is the writing in Taming of the Shrew better?”

“Well the dialogue is sharper, for one. The banter between Kate and Petruchio in Act II scene i may be some of his cleverest.” He takes a cloth out of his shirt pocket and uses it to clean his glasses. “But moreover Shakespeare was at the very start of his career when he wrote it. A budding young writer at the height of the English Renaissance, he had some awfully big shoes to fill: Christopher Marlowe, John Lyly, and the like.” His gaze briefly touches on Rosalind while he puts his glasses on. Then he looks back at Hope as he continues, “Much Ado, however, he wrote more towards the middle of his career. Still brilliant, of course, but he had much less to prove.”

Rosalind bristles as she tries to not audibly groan at his pretentiousness. “He had strengths as a writer other than just his wit, though,” she interjects. “The characterization of Beatrice and Benedick is significantly stronger than Kate and Petruchio. Not to mention it’s, you know, not an abusive relationship.” She bites her tongue to keep herself from getting too heated. She’s gotten into far too many arguments with male academics on this exact subject and she doesn’t have time to get into another one.

Ancunín moves his gaze over to Rosalind — for an instant she thinks he steals a quick glance at her chest and she stands abruptly. Fucking pig. A smug smile touches his lips before morphing into something more cordial. “That is correct, yes. Are you starting your study of the play with your students?”

Rosalind shifts uncomfortably under his piercing red gaze. “Yes, it’s a great way for them to practice switching between verse and prose,” she responds coolly, as though she’s bracing herself for an attack.

“Well of course, some of the best prose of his career.” He glances down at the volume on Hope’s desk and his eyebrows raise, peering over the top of his round glasses. “Going with the Bevington, hmm? Interesting. I’m more of a Norton man, myself.” He runs a manicured finger along the binding as Rosalind bites her tongue so hard she can taste blood. Is he really patronizing her over her choice of edition of Shakespeare’s Complete Works? Of course he is, he’s an English scholar.

“The Norton is a great tool dramaturgically, but the Bevington is a much better resource for actors, so, yes.” Her voice is steady but there’s an undeniable venom in it. Can he tell how much he’s bothering her? Probably, he’s almost certainly getting enjoyment out of riling her up. His little smirk would seem to suggest it, at least.

“Well certainly, and who knows acting resources better than our resident classical acting expert?” he intones, voice still dripping with honey. Rosalind narrows her eyes at him, unsure if he’s taking another jab at her degree. Hope hides a giggle behind her hand.

“Look at you two, practically a real life Beatrice and Benedick,” she sings, and this time Rosalind can’t hide her grimace.

“Well, as much as I enjoy standing around and debating the merit of various editions of the Complete Works, I’m about to be late for a meeting. Hope, thank you so much, I’ll be back later to pick up those copies. Dr. Ancunín,” she turns towards him with a snide smile and he looks back at her innocently. “A pleasure, as always.” She grabs her papers and walks out of the office, feeling the heat of his gaze boring into the back of her head as she leaves.

***

There was a time when Rosalind enjoyed season selection. But now it’s just a tedious process where no one can agree and everyone somehow ends up with shows they hate. To make it worse, the department chair tries to turn it into a fun little game every year.

“Now then, I want everyone to take a stack of index cards and write down your suggested plays and/or musicals. Be sure to include the name, playwright or playwrights, and a short summary.” Volo enthusiastically hands out stacks of colorful index cards to everyone on the season selection committee. Everyone begins to write down their suggestions, but Rosalind can’t keep her mind from wandering.

Something about Hope comparing her and Ancunín to Beatrice and Benedick is really getting under her skin. Maybe because if he wasn’t such a pretentious asshole, she feels like they might get along fairly well. His assessment that Shakespeare was trying to prove himself at the beginning of his career is brilliant, but why did he need to say it in the most obnoxious way possible?

She thinks back on the first time she met him. She had just started working at BGU and was in the middle of teaching a Beginner Acting class. The students were circled up playing Zip Zap Zop and suddenly there was a knock on the studio door. Rosalind stepped out of the circle and opened the door and the sight of him knocked the wind out of her. A tall, lithe, handsome elf with perfectly windswept silver hair, a baby blue button down with the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, and tight navy blue trousers.

She could immediately feel the blood rushing to her face.

“Dr. Geddarm told me he hired a new professor of Shakespeare, so I thought it fitting to introduce myself.” He flashed a devastating smile and stuck out his hand. Rosalind shook it in a daze. “Astarion Ancunín, professor of Renaissance Literature.”

“Oh, hi, nice to meet you,” she squeaked out, embarrassed by the way her voice cracked. “I’m, um, Rosalind Tavlin,” she adds quickly, then curses internally — he already knows that, clearly.

“I believe my office is just down the corridor from yours, so please don’t hesitate to stop by if you have any questions, whether about the university or, well, Renaissance Literature.” And then he giggled, an oddly whimsical sound for someone who otherwise seemed so refined. Rosalind blinked, trying to figure out if he had just insulted her or not.

“I will, thanks,” she responded, trying to scramble out of the stupor he left her in. She closed the door and turned back to her students, feeling incredibly self-conscious about how bright red her cheeks were. She stepped off to the side to take a deep sip from her water bottle before re-entering the circle. “Alright, let’s do a quick shake down and then we’ll start.”

“Rosalind?” Volo’s voice breaks through her memory and she blinks to bring herself back to the stuffy classroom. He’s collecting everyone’s index cards and she realizes that she hasn’t written down a single suggestion.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just a little out of it today,” she excuses lamely. “I’ll have more ideas next time, I promise.” He raises his eyebrow suspiciously but moves on to collect the rest of the index cards.

***

Rosalind returns to her office to see one of her sophomore students hovering outside the closed door.

“I’m so sorry, Thaniel, I had a meeting that ran long. Come on in,” she says hurriedly, unlocking the door and quickly setting her things down. He sits in the teal club chair across from her desk, dropping his overfull backpack onto the floor beside it. “So, Hamlet, that’s ambitious! I think it’s a good choice for you, but it’ll be a lot of work. Do you have your copy with the scansion?”

He nods and unzips his backpack, rifling through an absurd number of papers. He pulls out a well worn single sheet of paper with printed lines of the monologue and his pencil scratches above each line indicating stressed and unstressed syllables.

“Yeah, this is good, it looks like you’ve gotten most of it,” she says as she looks over the marks. “So what is it you’re having an issue with?”

“I still don’t think I fully understand what he’s saying, and I know you said how important that is,” he says nervously.

“For sure, I can guarantee all of the bad Shakespeare you’ve seen has been because the actors had no idea what they were saying. Have you used the Lexicon?” Thaniel looks off to the side, embarrassed.

“No, I don’t really get how that works either,” he says, an air of chagrin creeping into his voice.

“No worries, it takes practice. Here, we’ll do a few lines together. So first off, ‘To be or not to be,’ that’s a line we hear a lot in pop culture, but do you know what he’s actually contemplating?” Thaniel shakes his head. “He’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it for him to continue being, or you know, living.” Rosalind hands him his paper back and pulls a copy of Hamlet off her bookshelf, quickly flipping it open to Act III Scene 1.

“So when he says, ‘To take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing, end them,’ What’s ‘them’ referring to?”

“The sea of troubles?”

“Right, and what does he mean by that?” Rosalind waits patiently while the gears in Thaniel’s head turn.

“Is it like… the sea of troubles, like everything going on? And he wants to end them, by… taking arms? What does that mean?”

“To take arms, like armory, so to fight.”

“Oh! He’s thinking about killing himself?” Thaniel’s eyes light up, a stark contrast to the dark material they’re discussing.

“Precisely. So even though you might know what each of these words mean individually, you should look all of them up in the Lexicon to get a better understanding of their context. But you’re right, he’s trying to figure out if it’s better to suffer through all of the things that make life shitty, or to take his fate into his own hands and, well, end them.” Rosalind stands to grab the Lexicon off her bookshelf when a voice pipes up from the doorway.

“That’s not exactly what he’s saying, you know.”

She grabs the shelf to keep herself from tearing the book in half. She plasters a strained smile on her face as she turns around to face him. “Dr. Ancunín, thank you for gracing us with your presence. Care to elaborate?”

He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, face in shadows. Rosalind’s office is unusually dark because of the storm outside, and so the bright fluorescents in the hallway give him an almost ethereal halo effect.

“It’s a common misconception that Hamlet is contemplating suicide here. Life and death, sure, but ‘to take arms’ isn’t metaphorical, it’s literal. He’s contemplating dying as a result of killing Claudius, not taking his own life,” he says, almost sounding bored. Rosalind slams the Lexicon down on her desk, causing Thaniel to jump slightly.

“How can that possibly be true?” she spits, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. “He says ‘to take arms against a sea of troubles.’ He’s using the active voice, deciding whether or not to continue his life or end it. To be or not to be. It’s the first line in the monologue. He’s not talking about the consequences of killing Claudius.” She knows that she doesn’t sound nearly as eloquent as him, and it’s pissing her off. He shrugs nonchalantly.

“You’re oversimplifying it, it’s exceedingly more complicated than that. The whole soliloquy is filled with war imagery. He’s at war with himself, the part of him that wants to kill Claudius and the part of him that is afraid to die.” He pushes himself off the door frame and steps back into the hallway. “But apologies, please don’t let me interrupt your instruction.” And like that he’s off, leaving Rosalind to stew in silence. Thaniel looks up at her and looks back at the doorway where he stood.

“Should I…” he starts, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand, sighing heavily before answering.

“Dr. Ancunín comes at analysis from a very different angle as an English academic. He’s more interested in the words on the page and gives little to no consideration as to how they might translate to performance. But,” she sighs again, loath to give him any credit, “it’s a valid interpretation. We can go down that route, if you want, or we can look at it through this lens.” Thaniel chews his lip while he considers his options.

“I think what you said makes more sense, the suicide bit,” he finally decides.

“I agree, especially since that was your first instinct, and it’s important to listen to those,” she smiles at her student, swallowing the burning hatred for Ancunín threatening to bubble over. “Let’s go over how to use the Lexicon again.” She opens the book and flips through it, looking for the entry for ‘slings.’

***

Rosalind drops off her bag and tosses her keys into a bowl on the counter. This day has been fucking exhausting. She unzips her boots and places them neatly atop the shoe rack, stretching and curling her toes for relief. She hangs up her wet coat and shakes rain from her blue and purple hair, silently cursing the need to restyle it. Her eyes dart between the refrigerator, wherein resides a bottle of white wine, and the bathroom door, contemplating how good a hot bath would feel. Both? Both is good.

She pours herself a generous glass of Riesling, taking a gulp before heading to the bathroom to undress. She peels off her sweater followed by her tights and skirt, shivering as goosebumps traverse her skin in a wave. It’s one of those late-Hammer storms where everything is just slush and ice, and the damp cold penetrates Rosalind’s bones. She unhooks her bra and her breasts fall free, her nipples almost painfully hard. She hangs up her clothes to dry and sits naked on the edge of the tub, sipping her wine as the bath fills.

Fucking Ancunín.

She’s a little alarmed by how much he got under her skin today. Normally she doesn’t think twice about him, save maybe the one or two times she has the misfortune of passing him in the hallway.

Why did Hope have to compare them to Beatrice and Benedick? If anything they’re much more like Kate and Petruchio, and Rosalind refuses to let that asshole break her.

And ugh all that nonsense about “To be or not to be.” Rosalind doesn’t even particularly like Hamlet that much, so she’s mostly annoyed that his interpretation is, well, good. His read actually makes Hamlet an interesting character instead of just a cowardly incel romanticizing suicide.

She turns off the faucet and slides into the bath, hissing slightly as the hot water flows over her chilled skin. She leans back and settles herself comfortably in an attempt to relax. Without prompting, Ancunín worms his way back into her thoughts. Hmmph. She takes a gulp of wine to try to wash away the taste of the unpleasant image.

Well… not entirely unpleasant. He’s a good looking man, she’d be a fool to deny it. But gods he’s so smug. She thinks about the way he caressed the Complete Works with his red painted nails. As though he thinks he’s making some sort of bold feminist statement being a man who paints his nails. Ugh. Rosalind leans her head against the edge of the tub, trying to focus her thoughts elsewhere. He’s not about to monopolize her precious time again, and when he’s not even present, no less.

But there he is, in her mind, crimson eyes looking over the top of those metal frame glasses that she’s, like, 99% sure he doesn’t actually need to see. She takes another swig of wine to drown out his stupid face. With his stupid cheekbones. And his dumb fucking earrings that she wants to take between her teeth and—

Nine hells, what is wrong with you? It’s the wine, clearly, she’s been drinking too quickly and isn’t thinking straight. She grabs her phone and opens Spotify, letting her daily mix play through the bluetooth speaker on the counter.

Now Playing: Hatefuck by The Bravery.

If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them? If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?

By all of the fucking gods, seriously? She growls at the growing heat between her legs. Between putting off dinner and chugging her wine, her head is swimming. She groans audibly; she might be better off getting it out of her system if it’s going to be this pervasive. The wine glass hits the tub edge with a clank as she angrily puts it down and sinks into the water up to her chin. She’s satiating a purely physical need, nothing else.

Nevertheless, Rosalind still shivers as she slips her hand between her legs, lightly running her finger up her slit. She can picture his face, looking down at her through those glasses — those infuriating glasses — and her lips flutter. She wonders what he looks like under those sweaters. He’s so thin, but his clothes fit incredibly well. It’s not hard to imagine a chiseled body underneath. She spreads her legs further to let the warm water tickle her folds.

His silvery curls would look so good between her legs, slender fingers wrapped around her thick thighs while he laps her up. At least then he’d shut up. A gentle moan escapes her throat as she runs her middle finger along her inner lips, pretending it’s his tongue. He could look up at her, those red eyes boring into her while sucks on her clit. She imagines herself grabbing hold of those perfect locks, yanking on them to control where he goes, fucking his face while he groans into her pussy, happy to just be along for the ride.

She moves her other hand up to her breast and starts teasing her already hard nipple. She massages around its peak, pulling it under the water and feeling his soft lips around it. She gives it a gentle tug and groans as though he gave it a little nip.

She imagines sitting on his pretty face, his pointed ears flushed and hair a mess. Her hips buck into her hand as they might on top of him and her toes curl. She makes gentle circles around her clit, thinking of all the other uses for his silver tongue. She whines and squirms at the sensations of heat radiating through her body. She slips a finger inside and hisses as she can see those pale digits entering her cunt. She gyrates on her hand, curling her finger upwards and gasping, his imaginary eyes looking up at her through those long lashes and a smirk playing across his imaginary lips.

“Are you ready for more of me, darling?” She can hear his velvety purr in her ear.

“Yes, gods yes,” she replies breathlessly into the cold bathroom air. She slides another finger in and feels that delicious stretch. The ghost of him moans, coming undone at the sight of her. She delights in the prospect of leaving him speechless, for once. She whimpers under her own touch, wanting more, wanting to feel him fuck her.

She reaches over the edge of the tub and grabs her box of waterproof toys. She frantically sifts through the collection of dildos, trying to find the right one. Here. It’s long and svelte like the rest of him, but bright shimmery purple. She suctions it to the bottom of the tub and hovers above it on her knees. It sways lightly in the water, tip of it teasing her pussy just like she’d love to do to him.

Gods, what she wouldn’t do to see him beg for her cunt. To reduce him to a babbling mess, pleading to let him inside her. Her breath quickens at the mental image of him whining needily beneath her as she teases his cock mercilessly. He’d still wait patiently, of course, he wouldn’t dare disobey, but oh he’d be so desperate for her to satisfy him. She sinks down onto the dildo and her groan of pleasure mirrors what she wants to hear from him.

She begins to slide herself on the purple dick, feeling its ridges glide against the walls of her cunt as she continues to finger her clit. She imagines her hand splayed across his chest, her black nails standing in contrast against his pale skin. She claws at the bottom of the tub as she increases her pace, desperate to see the raised pink skin that her nails leave behind. The fingers on her clit speed up as well, and she can feel herself getting close.

“Oh gods, Astarion, don’t stop,” the words tumble from her mouth unbidden. She will absolutely hate herself for that later, but right now all that matters is her ecstasy. She bounces atop the dildo, disregarding the water that splashes over the side of the tub as she chases her finish. Her moans increase in pitch and fervor as the various images of him in all sorts of positions flash through her mind. Between her thighs, sitting on his face, riding his dick, even fucking pegging him from behind while she milks his cock in her hand, his cum dribbling down her wrist.

“Fuck, Astarion!” She cries out his name as she crashes over the edge, her walls clenching around the dildo and her vision growing starry. Her orgasm reverberates throughout her whole body as she rides it out, legs shaking and pussy pulsing. Eventually, her movement slows and the water gently sways around her. She looks down at her hand, milky juices swirling in the now tepid tub water.

Shit.

[ywooni]

hiii!! how are you? hopefully your well! I saw you take requests for dead plate and I just had to send one in!!

may I request vincent charbonneau sfw + nsfw headcanons with a trans male! reader ? (gn reader can be fine to if your comfortable doing that as well).

— thank you so much!!! :)

Vincent Charbonneau x FTM! Reader Headcanons! SFW + small NSFW

“ ..You don't need to worry about that, someone else will get the mess.”

Author's note: Omg! Hi!!! Well, sorry for taking long, since it takes me a while to do requests, and I have some unsolved personal stuff, but I will always write as much as possible!

Note: In my blogs, the reader personality will always sound vague, so that anyone can identify, regardless of the trait (Kind, Quiet, Clingy and so on...), since I particularly don't like having the reader's personality described, after all, it could be any reader who is reading this, not one in particular, that's why I don't make fics. He might sound OOC, and sorry if so!

★ I feel like wouldn’t have an type, like, he doesn't seem to be that picky about a lover, but I get the impression that he's more likely to fall in love with a man he's known for a while, or by a man who is present in his daily life (For example, Reader works on La Gueule de Saturne as a waiter, cook or anything...)

★ As we know, Vincent generally maintains a polite, charming persona and a successful chef persona in public, though, as already known, he can be a bit strict with his employees... But, he would soften up a little with you, well, it's not noticeable at first.

★ It's never anything too big at first, he seems more relaxed around you, he seems to smile, even if it's barely noticeable, he looks at you longer, little things like that...

★ I would be calmer and gentler with you than with your other employees, he doesn't seem to get mad at you, at least not easily.

★ Over time, you would become more intimate with him, just as he would become intimate with you, you discover things about him, and he discovers things about you.

★ When you two are finally in a relationship, not only is he more open with you than he was before, he seems to trust you more.

★ When you give him physical affection, he is somewhat surprised, it's not that he doesn't like it, is that he didn't expect it, much less is he used to it!

★ It will take some time for him to fully get used to it, but at some point, he would reciprocate as well...

★ He insists on knowing your favorite dish, he loves you, he wants to show it in his own way, after all... He wanted to cook with love for you...

★ He would support you about your gender dysphoria, no matter what anyone says, you are a handsome man, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

(Now... Here begins the NSFW Headcanons, so if you are a minor and have read this far, well... Until the next reading.)

★ He wouldn't go so rough with you, unless you want him to be...

★ He wouldn't compliment you so directly, compliments between his groans would be heard, of course, but it's kind of indirect.

★ He’s a switch, it depends on what Reader wants him to be, maybe it depends on Reader Himself...

★ It wouldn't be too tall, but not too short either, it's kind of neutral, but his groans are low, ranging from long to short.

(Again, sorry for taking it long!! My condolences, I hope you enjoyed it! Now I’ll finish the other requests)

XOXO, YWOONI!

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; fem reader, historical fiction (time period typical commentary about gender), bantering / romantic tension, smoking cigarettes, indirect kiss, enemies to lovers if you squint, a vague age gap hejkfdjks

✮ a/n ; i cant believe myself but i needed to get it out of my fucking brain.

"Aren't very good at being stealthy, are you Mr. Marston?"

His eyes linger on your frame longer than he'd like them too. You're still in your night clothes, and dawn has yet to break. Up earlier than he's used to seeing you. Up brushing his horse, of all things. Old Boy's nothing but tender under your care.

The faint mist of morning touches his skin, turns him cold. You oughta be even colder like that, but it doesn't show on your face.

He scoffs a little, hands tucked into his pockets. "Wasn't trying to be. Nobody's up this early so I though we had some unwanted company."

"I guess I still count for that, huh?"

“Oh, shut up would you?”

You giggle back to him in reply. It’s rare to hear. Normally when you're laughing, it's a lot coarser. Always so rowdy. He doesn't mind how you sound now. He sits on a log nearby, watching you as you pat the horse gently. Brushing it's mane and whispering words quiet enough that he can't hear over them over the crackle of the freshly lit campfire.

He can't see your face in the dark either, not well. But you're smiling.

"He likes you more than he likes me," He mumbles.

"A woman's touch or somethin' like that," You reply back. John laughs sardonically.

"A woman? Hardly. Got plenty of other options if that's what he needs."

You shoot him an unimpressed look, brows furrowed. Most women would be pissed at him for saying so. John wouldn't say it to anyone but you, he figures. You hardly look mad though, if a little displeased.

You rifle through the horses saddle (with all of John's things, not even bothering to ask him permission) until you find some sugar cubes. The horse makes a pleasant noise as you coo at him, opening your hand up to feed him.

"But he's eating out of my hand all docile anyway," You give John a furtive glance, smile pulling at the corners of your lips "Reminds of somebody,"

Yeah. Right. He bets it does.

For how much you and John argue and for how much you get on each others nerves, he can admit to himself that he spends more time looking at you then looking away. He can't understand it himself. Makes him feel guilty. He ain't much of a good man. He ain't much of anything. A decent marksman, a fine swindler. Not much else.

The flame paints your face orange-yellow in the light. Not enough for you. Not in anyway. But he can't keep his eyes from memorizing you . Always noticing the way you look back at him. All tender. You can be a lot of things when you want to be, but he doesn't often catch it.

It's hard to ignore when he does. "Don't you have things to do, Mr. Marston? Your turn to stand watch today, isn't it?"

He wants a little longer with you. He frowns at you. "Mr. Marston? You call everyone their name but me."

"Does it bother you?"

Course it does. That's what he wants to say. He looks around for his satchel and pulls a cigarette out from it along with a lighter. The flame sparks, looking away from you. "Just wondering why that is."

"Well, lets see," You stop tending to Old Boy after a few more lonesome pats, instead walking towards him close to the fire. You pour yourself a cup of coffee as you sit on the log adjacent. "Arthur's troubled when I say Mr. Morgan, says it makes him feel old. Mr. Smith is too formal for Charles, and Summers is... Summers. Same with Dutch, and Hosea and Bill. Mm, I guess that leaves Javier - but he's hardly a mister."

"And I am?"

You grin into your cup of coffee, not looking at him. "Course you are, Mr. Marston. What else would you have me call you?"

"My name would do you just fine."

"I like Mr. Marston. It's nice and formal, and well," You do peer up at him at him this time. "Young ladies are supposed to be prim and proper and formal, aren't they? At least from what I know. Shouldn't go around calling a man with a son by just his name now should I?"

Damn it. You're clever. "It's no wonder men lose their betting money to you."

"What are you saying now? Just trying to be mindful. Would you prefer I call you your name, Mr. Marston?"

You're doing it on purpose now. He sighs.

"Call me whatever you want," He says, giving up on it after a while as he takes another drag of his cigarette. You finish your coffee, bemused before empty out the grounds.

After, he watches as you saunter over to him. You bend forward, too close - bare skin inches away from prying eyes.

He's thankful everyone's asleep and not around to witness this.

You bend to him eye level, plucking the cigarette half-smoked from between his fingers and placing it between your lips. Your lips are smooth, shiny and plump and soft.

You hold it between your pointer and middle and take a deep inhale of smoke. The scent of tobacco floods his lungs again as you blow the remaining smoke out into his face, making him cough.

He stares at you wide-eyed and awe struck as your grin widens. A flush creeps up his face as he realizes where your mouths been, watching the end of butt of the cig get dark and stick between your lips.

"Thanks for the cigarette, John," You say, waving him off as you turn back towards your tent. "I'll see you at supper,"

John watches you smoke as you get yourself ready for the day, at the far end of the camp - adjusting something in his jeans. Damn you do something to him.

[nihongoseito]

today's random vocab

these vocab are built up from reading a bunch of stuff online last week, so buckle in!

nouns:

一人称（いちにんしょう） = (grammatical) first person

眼差し（まなざし） = a look, gaze

防寒（ぼうかん） = protection against cold

誹謗中傷（ひぼうちゅうしょう） = slander, calumny, libel

偏見（へんけん） = prejudice, bias

反芻（はんすう） = rumination, turning over in one's mind, pondering

その場（ば）しのぎ = stopgap, temporary measure

乗り気（のりき） = interest, enthusiasm, eagerness

手刀（てがたな） = hand used like a sword in striking

生（なま）返事（へんじ） = half-hearted reply, vague answer, reluctant answer

苦笑（くしょう） = bitter smile, sarcastic laugh

八つ当たり（やつあたり） = taking out one's anger on (note: not やっつ!)

意外性（いがいせい） = unpredictability, element of surprise

旦那（だんな） = master (of a house, shop, etc.); husband

不動産屋（ふどうさんや） = realtor

男前（おとこまえ） = handsome man

自動操縦（じどうそうじゅう） = autopilot, automatic control

うたた寝（ね） = doze, nap

侮辱（ぶじょく） = insult, affront, slight

根負け（こんまけ） = being beaten by one's opponent's persistence, being outlasted, giving in

困惑（こんわく） = bewilderment, embarrassment

verbs:

さざめく = to be boisterously noisy

覆い尽くす（おおいつくす） = to cover fully, wrap around

急かす（せかす） = to urge on, rush

泣き付く（なきつく） = to cling to in tears

なぐさめる = to comfort, console

つづる = to write, compose

すねる = to sulk, pout

こわばる = to stiffen

じゃれつく = to grab at, cling to (out of playfulness, affection)

切羽（せっぱ）詰まる（つまる） = to be at one's wits' end, be cornered

かすれる = to get hoarse

すがりつく = to cling to, embrace, hug

adjectives:

例（れい）の = said, aforementioned, in question

件（くだん）の = said, aforementioned, in question

きつい = tough, demanding, harsh; strong, intense; too tight

もどかしい = irritated, irritating; tantalizing, feeling impatient

特段（とくだん）の = exceptional, unusual, special

遠回し（とおまわし）な = roundabout, indirect, oblique

言葉少な（ことばずくな）な = of few words, reticent, quiet

不調（ふちょう）な = bad condition, not going to work out, out of form

adverbs/onomatopoeiae:

無理（むり）やり = forcibly, against one's will

時折（ときおり） = occasionally, from time to time

あっけらかんと = looking blank, looking as though one has nothing to do with what is going on

ひょいひょいと = nimbly, with agility

expressions:

だしにする = to use as a pretext, use for one's own advantage

無下（むげ）にする = to disregard, treat as useless (e.g., advice)

くぐもった声（こえ） = muffled voice

取り込み中（とりこみちゅう） = in the middle of something; in commotion as a result of something untoward happening

[rottenzombrainz]

Lawrence x Reader (Dangerous Fellows fluff)

Beginning Notes;

sfw (as in non-sexual), murder, blood, GN Reader, yandere behavior, Reader doesn't mind the yan behavior that much (compared to the canon mc)

this fic will contain spoilers for the otome game Dangerous Fellows by Storytaco. inc!!! if you've never played it- this is your sign too! especially since the most recent update makes grinding for currency much easier!

this is also an indirect sequel to my first Lawrence x Reader fic!!

It was supposed to be another normal supply run. Another normal scavenge. But you had a run in with a crazed man who was convinced you were one of the undead. He would have killed you if it wasn't for Lawrence. Just when you had accepted your fate, Lawrence swooped in like a guardian angel and bludgeoned the man to death before he could hurt you. The others who came with you were mortified at his actions- but you...you were grateful.

The walk back to the school was a tense and quiet one. Especially with Lawrence still covered in the blood of the man he killed. Once you all made it back to the place you call "home", he asked you to stay with him a moment after the others went back to their rooms. It was just the two of you in the meeting room...

"Are you sure you're okay? You're not hurt at all?"

Lawrence questioned, voice laced with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Really."

You flash him a reassuring smile. He smiles back, but it's clearly forced unlike his usual warm, alluring smile.

"I think the others are upset at you though... You should go and clear things up with them."

Lawrence's brow furrowed- looking almost offended at the mention of the others

"No. They just don't understand. I did what I had to do to protect you."

His voice was stern and serious. He looked terrifying with that expression whilst covered in blood. You sighed before walking closer towards him to wipe some of the blood off his face with your sleeve. He flinched slightly at your touch, but quickly relaxed.

"You should really clean up..."

You mumbled as you rubbed his cheek. Lawrence closed his eyes, blissfully enjoying the care you're giving him.

"I'm happy you're safe. That I protected you. I was scared."

"Scared?"

He opens his eyes and looks deep into yours.

"Yes, scared. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you..."

You pull away a bit, searching his face for answers.

"You're very important to me. It's because of you that I've managed to survive this long."

You awkwardly laugh, not really sure how to respond to that. Surely he doesn't really mean that? He's only known you for a few weeks... right?

Suddenly, Lawrence grabs your wrist and squeezes it tightly.

"Stay with me, okay? I'll protect you and take care of you. I can give you anything you'd ever want as long as you promise that."

He looks at you like his life depends on your answer. Like what you say could make or break his world.

"I'll stay with you. I promise."

You respond, albeit hesitantly. Lawrence smiles brightly and yanks you towards him, enveloping you in a hug. It's a sudden gesture, but not an entirely unwelcomed one. You just wish the putrid smell of blood wasn't invading your nostrils.

"Thank you... thank you..."

He mumbled with gratitude as he gently rubbed your back.

"You should really change into something else... you're soaked in blood"

Lawrence just holds you tighter and burrows his face into the crook of your neck as if to say "let me hold you a little longer" . He mutters something, just barely audible.

"I think it's time..."

"Time? For what?"

You feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck.

"You'll see. It's a surprise I've been preparing for you. I've been working on it for a really long time~"

Lawrence's vagueness sends you a little on-edge. Surprises aren't usually a good thing in a world like this. But it could be something totally pleasant! Maybe a bracelet he made just for you, or those cookies he promised on the first day you patrolled together. Either way, your excitement outweighed your anxiety.

Lawrence finally pulled away from the hug and ruffled your hair a bit, smiling brightly. You look down at yourself and notice you're covered in blood too now.

"Ahahaha! Sorry, I didn't mean to get you dirty too!"

Lawrence laughed loudly- as if it was dirt or water that was all over you.

"It's fine. I'm due for a wardrobe change anyway-"

"Stay like that, just a little longer, okay? I'll get you clean clothes after the surprise."

He looked you up and down as if proud of the mess he's gotten onto you.

"You should go to your room and get some rest. I have a few more preparations to make before your surprise is ready."

Before you can respond, he gently grabs your arm and chauffeurs you out of the meeting room. He walks you to your room with a cheery aura that's become quite rare nowadays.

After he dropped you off at your door, you couldn't help but feel a pit of worry in your stomach as he left. "It's probably nothing" you told yourself, flopping onto your mattress. It wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than the floor. Your eyelids felt a little heavy- unsurprising after all the action you've had today. Before you knew it, you were asleep.

You didn't dream, you usually don't, but you felt a soft touch against your cheek that woke you up. Lawrence was crouched down beside you, caressing your cheek with his signature smile. Your heart felt warm and fluttery at the attention. You blinked a few times, confused if this was a dream or if he really was here.

"Everything's ready. Come with me."

He whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. You begrudgingly sit yourself up and stretch.

"Mhh.... Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow to show me?"

Lawrence shook his head, smiling growing a little wider.

"No. I couldn't wait. I was too excited."

Lawrence helps you to your feet, gently holding your hands. He keeps his grasp on you as he guides you out of the room and into a familiar hallway. You've been here before- it was the way to the school basement. Lawrence told you and the others not to come down there- that it wasn't safe.

"Lawrence? What are-"

Suddenly, a thundering noise rings throughout the school. Lawrence pulls you close as you jump in fright.

"Lawrence?!? The school bell- it's gonna attract the zombies!! We need to get the other-"

"Shh... I'll keep you safe... and you'll stay here with me... you promised..."

"But the oth-"

"Don't worry about them. They're dead meat. I lead a few zombies towards the bedrooms."

You look up at him, completely baffled.

"What? You... lead zombies here?!"

Lawrence pulls you closer instead of answering. He gently runs his fingers through your hair as he rests his chin on your head. You begin to hear shrieks and screams from upstairs.

"Ahahaha... I finally have you all to myself. No more distractions. No more pests. It's just me and you now. The way it was supposed to be."

"Lawrence? Please... just tell me what's going on.... this isn't happening... this isn't real..."

You begin to feel tears welling up in your eyes as you tell yourself "this isn't real. this is a bad dream!"

"I have a confession to make..."

Lawrence begins as you tremble in his arms.

"I really like you. Alot. In fact, I love you. I want you to be happy. So please, stop crying. What'll make you feel better? Snacks? Clean clothes? Or maybe you want a kiss?"

You can't believe what you're hearing. You can't believe any of this.

"Oh, I think I understand! You're a little overwhelmed, aren't you? It'll be okay, I promise. I'll keep you safe. From the zombies, from other people, even from yourself. You don't have to worry about anything anymore!"

Lawrence brushes your hair out of your face and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. You try to speak - to say anything - but the words don't come out.

"I should go turn off the bell now. I really don't want to leave you though... I'm worried you'll try and leave me..."

"I-I won't... I'll stay.... p-please... don't hurt me..."

Lawrence scoffs.

"Hurt you? You think I want to hurt you? I'd rather die than hurt you. I told you I'll keep you safe."

He wipes a tear from your cheek and cusps the side of your face, looking deeply into your eyes with adoration. He leans in for a kiss but you can't bring yourself to pull back. His lips brush up against yours in a soothing manor. It's... nicer than you expected. Maybe it's because you've always had a bit of a crush on Lawrence? You should be happy, right? He feels the same....

"Ah... wow..."

He gazes at you lovingly before moving in for another. Your body begins to relax a bit, and your mind too, almost forgetting that he led a horde of zombies into the school to kill your friends. Maybe it's better if you forget? After all, he's absolutely perfect otherwise. Handsome, strong, smart, reliable, kind. He'll take good care of you if you let him. Before you know it, your trembling has stopped and your confiding in his embrace.

"I'm going to go deal with the bell now. I'll be back soon, I promise. I prepared a nice room for you- go rest up, okay?"

He spoke softly and affectionately, his love for you genuine and bountiful.

"O...okay"

Lawrence hesitantly lets you go and places a hand on your back, guiding you deeper into the basement. He stops at one of the doors and pulls out a key to unlock it. Behind the door is a neatly-kept makeshift bedroom. It has a real bed with cozy covers, cabinets and bookshelves, even a closet full of clothes.

"I hope you like it. It took a while to scavenge all this up. Originally, I was going to make this our bedroom, but I don't want you to feel overwhelmed. We can take things slow if, you want."

You step into the room and slowly spin around, taking in every detail. You look back at Lawrence, smiling. You're... smiling? And he's smiling back.

"I'll be back soon. Make yourself comfortable, my love."

You slowly nod as he closes the door. He locks it as well, but you don't mind. It's for your own safety, right? This is all for your safety...

Ending Notes;

woo hoo I'm finally done!!! I plan on making the next Lawrence fic a part of this timeline as well... so I guess it's a series? The next part is gonna be smut since that's what you freaks voted on!! (I was hoping it'd be the winner)

I hope I added enough warnings at the beginning... this is my first time writing a public yandere fic. And tbh I'm very proud of my work! This fic turned out super good! I can't believe that's what happens when you put time and effort into things!!!

I'll try and get the next part out soon for the rest of the Lawrence Lover Legion™ 😘

Thanks for reading!!! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

[funnycreatortimetravel]

It has to be said.

Discussing Chara's character on Twitter/Reddit is so fucking draining. A lot of people on there are so obsessed with them to the point where they'll get UPSET when people have different headcanons, which is weird because Chara's character and personality are meant to be purposefully vague (not necessarily for self insertion, but yes, Chara is supposed to be somewhat aligned with the player.)

Any discussion about Chara on Twitter automatically goes either 1 of 2 ways, Chara HAS to be portrayed as a reflection of the player without any nuance, or fuck that, here are some things about Chara's character that spawned into existence that have to be there because Chara is an innocent angel who did no wrong.

It's literally along the lines of:

Person on Twitter: "I hate how (insert fan creation of Undertale media) portrayed Chara!"

Other Person: "Really? Why do you say that?"

Og Person: "Because Chara was being mean to Asriel and that was never shown explicitly! Just because Asriel said they weren't the best person doesn't mean that Chara was ever mean or anything!"

Like...you realize there's this thing called nuance? It's literally gone from "I dislike that Chara is being portrayed as the one responsible for genocide when canonically the game calls out the player for what they did directly," to, "Ah man, you got this interpretation of a character who's supposed to be very vague wrong even though it's implied that it was the case in game."

I'm not saying that Chara was straight-up abusive toward Asriel or anything, I know for a fact that they loved him, but it's implied that Chara hurt him in a multitude of ways that affected him even after his death and his descent into madness. Their hatred of others rubbed off on Asriel indirectly, regardless of their true intentions.

It's almost concerning the level of just...defensiveness of Chara's character that people will be willing to go to, and I completely get loving a character to the point of obsession, but there's a difference between loving a character and wanting to talk about them to completely shutting down any conversation of said character because you believe it to "not be accurate," when all it was was just differing headcanons and nothing was too seriously different from the lore.

And I know this is because of the dreaded Undertale Reconciliation/Overcorrection that happened as of late where people got tired of everyone portraying Chara as this evil demon who killed everyone (and I did too), but holy shit, the pendulum swung to the other side entirely.

No, Chara is not solely responsible for the genocide route, no, Chara isn't an evil demon who deserves hell, no, Chara isn't to blame for the player's actions, yes Chara is a young child, and yes, it's implied they were mistreated/abused by humans, which also may be connected to Chara's inexplicit sui*ide attempt and yes, Chara did what they did because they believed it to be the right thing (or at least for revenge/justice), not because they're inherently evil.

However, Chara still got themselves and Asriel killed and Chara still wanted to kill the humans of the village while knowing that Asriel did not want to, which goes beyond being able to avoid accountability. Yes, Chara was aggressive toward Asriel and caused him indirect harm by instilling a negative viewpoint of the world due to their hurt. Chara has had hatred already embedded into them that was then acted upon by the player in the genocide route, and Chara knows this. Hurt people hurt people, and that's the case here.

"Kill or be killed," is the mentality that Chara instilled into Asriel before they both died. Chara could've walked away from the human village at any time and saved before themselves and Asriel, but because Chara wanted to hurt the villagers, it cost both of them their lives. Chara had no qualms about dying for the sake of their goal, but their biggest mistake was looping Asriel into it even when he was struggling against them.

Undertale's lesson, of course, is not Kill or be killed, it's way more nuanced and morally grey than that. The entire point of the game was to go against the mentality that Flowey believed, that Chara indirectly stood for. No matter how you spin it, Chara trying to use their full power against villagers was morally wrong and Asriel had to suffer due to his hesitation to hurt all of those people. If Frisk/Player is morally wrong for the genocide route, then Chara was morally wrong at that moment for trying to kill those villagers, regardless of their intentions to free the monsters. Of course, it is Asgore's fault for putting so much stress on such a young child as the singular hope for the monsters, and I know the humans were wrong for killing Asriel/Chara, but Chara was fully prepared to take seven lives once they reached the surface, therefore making the humans' reactions fully justified.

Asgore killed humans who ended up in his land and there's an argument for that, but then the same can be said for the villagers killing the Asriel/Chara alamgatation that undeniably was going to harm them. If anything, the humans were MORE justified in their reaction than Asgore killing those six children.

Chara's hatred for humanity was always stressed even more than their desire for monsters to be free. Whether or not Chara wants to "punish the player for what they've done to monsters" has always seemed very disingenuous to me because Chara (not the player) finishes off the remainder of the world at the end of the genocide routes. Yes, Chara is meant to be a sort of retribution for the player for their heinous actions, but specifically because they care about Monsterkind? Eh, I never really bought that.

Chara is heavily implied to be the narrator sure, but that alone doesn't make or break other people's headcanons. The game, while it is caused by Chara's actions for better or worse, doesn't have to be all about them. No, you can't blame Chara for the genocide route, but you also, by the same logic, have to give the player credit for the Pacifist route.

Screaming, "No, no, it's the PLAYER'S FAULT," for the 100th time shuts down any room to talk about Chara's moral greyness. Yes, we know it was the player, but that's...kind of the point. The player isn't an inherently evil entity, it depends entirely on the route and your actions. Almost like...Chara? (You picking up what I'm trying to put down?)

So here's everything we know about Chara in the most unbiased way I can put it. Chara was a child who was implied to have been abused or otherwise alienated from their village and for reasons that may be related to that, caused their hatred for humanity and their heavily implied suicide attempt. Instead of dying like they probably expected, they were founded by the Prince of the Monsters Asriel Dreemurr, and taken into the Dreemurr family where they became a part of the family at the beginning of 201x.

As depicted in Temmie Chang's concept art, Chara enjoyed their time with the family as evidenced by their depiction.

Chara is stated to have the ability to make a "creepy face," and is heavily implied to be a bit of a prankster toward Asriel. Chara and Asriel continued to bond and it's heavily noted that Asriel likes seeing Chara smile, and they smile quite easily around Asriel. Chara filled the Underground with a sense of hope during their stay, and it's stated that Asgore applied that expectation to them for better or worse. After Chara and Asriel tried making a pie using buttercup flowers not knowing it was poisonous, they unknowingly made Asgore incredibly sick to which Chara laughed it off. Whether or not it was a sadist laugh or a nervous laugh is up for debate, however, it's clear the buttercups making Asgore sick was a sort of revelation for Chara.

Chara developed a plan to obtain human souls, and it's implied they pressured Asriel into said plan. They had the sense enough to know that they didn't want the details of the plan on VHS as evident when they tell Asriel to stop recording. They purposely ingested buttercups knowing it would kill them, alluding again to their more suicidal/sacrificial nature, and then had Asriel absorb their soul. It's stated they wished to see the flowers of their village once again, but whether or not it was a ploy to make it seem as though Asriel killed them is, again, up for debate.

Chara wanted to attack the villagers and use their full power to obtain the souls. Whether or not they actually wanted to free the monsters or not, or it was moreso for revenge of how the village treated them isn't entirely clear, but regardless, their hatred of humanity has been heavily stressed up to this point. Asriel, of course, didn't want to kill the villagers which caused both of them to be killed, instilling the "kill or be killed," mentality that Flowey lives by.

It's clear that Flowey regrets his decision to not attack the humans as whenever Frisk aborts a genocide route, Flowey admonishes them by saying they "almost had it," clearly paralleled to the fact that he feels as though he aborted the original plan for massacre onto that village.

Flowey blames himself for what happened to him and Chara and it's clear his being soulless has ruined or at least changed his perception of morality as he no longer cares about what was right, but his sole survival. He also acknowledges that Chara was the reason behind his philosophical change even after death. After the Pacifist route in which Chara, if them being the narrator during all routes is true, has gone through philosophical changes themselves following the events of the game in which the "kill or be killed," mentality is uprooted by Frisk, the player and their friends.

After the pacifist route, Asriel acknowleges the fact that Chara wasn't the greatest person and says that Frisk is the type of friend he wished he had back then, showcasing that a lot his positive and negative feelings toward Chara were self projected. He also acknowledges that a lot of Chara's behavior came from a place of hatred and unhappiness before they fell, hinting at mistreatment. Chara's actions were what kick started a large portion of the story and in their wake, they left a lot of unresolved threads and hurt feelings and miscommunication. But they also left a large sense of hope that the monsters clearly still feel.

It's clear that Asriel did not want to kill anyone regardless of his desire to free the monsters. Chara is fine with, or at the very least, isn't all too conflicted about killing others for the "sake of the greater good," but whether or not they were doing it solely to free monsters is purposely left vague. Chara has no qualms about killing themselves for the sake of a plan, killing others while using their brother's body, or going against what their brother wants for the sake of their goal. Chara likely knew that Asriel was hesitant, but because they were too caught up, was willing to overlook it or was hoping that Asriel would do what he needed to once the time arose.

Chara and Asriel are both children. One had to go through indescribable pain and the other wanted to ease that pain, even if it meant they would have to take the lives of people when they didn't want to. Chara, more than their love for monsters, felt a burning hatred for humans and was willing to take said hatred out on an entire village rather than just killing the seven people and living. Asriel's hesitation to commit a massacre is understandable, especially given that he is a child and hasn't experienced the same mistreatment as Chara.

Following that, Asriel and them both die to which Asriel takes an interesting stance and blames himself rather than blaming Chara for trying to destroy the village when their original plan was just to get seven souls, even as Flowey. He almost has a kinship with Chara, calling themselves monsters of sorts, but in reality, he's just self-projecting his negative feelings.

During the events of the Pacifist route, Frisk and the Player essentially have to undo the mistakes of Chara and Asriel to save Asriel from the unfortunate circumstance that he was put into, both figuratively and literally saving his soul and putting Chara to rest.

However, during the genocide route, we instead reinforce the idea that killing is morally right to Chara. I know a lot of people say that Chara was only influenced by the player in the genocide route, but I believe that all the player did was simply reinforce the belief that was already instilled into Chara. Chara never had any qualms about killing even without the player influencing them, and now, without their soul, all the player has done is feed the fire of Chara's hatred and animosity for not only humanity but life itself. The hatred and leaning toward killing has always existed within Chara, it's just up to the player whether or not we want to follow and reinforce those beliefs or show the traumatized children that there's a different way.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 32: Oliver's New Life

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control

Oliver woke up slowly.

He was somewhere comfortable, extremely so, and he was deeply content to curl up on his side and wrap himself in silk sheets, dipping in and out of sleep. He spent a long time in that half-awake, dreamy state before finally waking up fully.

Oliver found himself in the middle of a huge, cloud-soft bed, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in fine sheets and blankets. Indirect sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the curtains, allowing him to see just enough of the room to remember where he was. 

Alexander's home. His bedroom, in Alexander's home.

The first day with his new Master.

Instinctively, his hand flew to his neck and felt around. There were no scars, no bandages, no soreness. Master hadn't taken his blood yet, and he felt an odd swirl of relief and disappointment. He had said that he would give Oliver time to settle, so it was still coming, no doubt. But the vague notion that perhaps his blood wasn't pleasing to Master... 

But no, that thought was quelled as soon as it troubled him. His Master wanted him. Oliver had felt it so clearly, and even now the thought filled him with comfort. He was wanted here.

With his mind calmed, he yawned and stretched, enjoying the comfortable bedding. He'd slept like a log, and from the ancient looking pendulum clock on the wall, he could see that it was now 3pm. He'd slept most of the night and day away, which he probably needed after all that upheaval in his life.

That upheaval was over now that he was finally in his Master's home. 

His stomach growled, an angry reminder that he hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast last night (he was still unsure what to call his meals now that he was mostly nocturnal, but that would have to do). Alexander did say he had free reign of the kitchen, so he'd best put that to good use. 

First, though, he stood up and went to the window, pushing the curtains open to reveal a sunny afternoon, the sun only just dipping below the buildings. He squinted and flinched away from the light, realizing that it was the first sun he'd seen since he'd been abducted. He hadn't even realize how he'd missed the warmth of sunlight.

His room overlooked an ordinary city street, with pedestrians milling by on the tree-lined sidewalks. He recognized it as the most wealthy part of downtown, an area where he didn't usually have much cause to visit. It wasn't all that far from his bookshop, a leisurely twenty minute walk at most.

How strange to think that he'd lived so close to a vampire lord's manor all those years. How strange to think that his former life was so close and yet separated by so much. How strange to think that just a few weeks ago, he had no idea any of this world existed.

His Master had apparently not erased his memories, just as he'd said, because Oliver was having no trouble recalling his bookshop or his former life. Who could say what other alterations Master had made while he was under? He felt so much calmer and more contented than he had the day before, so surely it was for his benefit.

He turned from the window and padded down the stairs. The house was deathly quiet, and he assumed that the other occupant was not yet awake. When he arrived in the kitchen, he opened the window there to get some more sunlight, hoping that it wouldn't disturb Master too much -- he didn't know how sunlight might affect him, but he guessed it wasn't pleasant. For now, it helped the kitchen to feel more cheerful and human while Oliver assessed the food situation.

There was the basket of fruit on the counter that he'd noticed yesterday, as well as a loaf of bread beside -- a good start. The pantry was sparse, but held a few ordinary staples, flour and sugar and salt and potatoes and carrots, as well as some canned vegetables and beans. The largest bounty was in the ice box: eggs, milk, cheese, butter, some paper packets from the butcher's that he'd have to open and identify later, perhaps when it was time to make dinner.

There were also a few glass bottles of what was unmistakably blood. He shuddered involuntarily at the sight. They were labeled "Moonlight Farm, Fancy Grade A". So there were places dedicated to farming what he could only assume was human blood. It made perfect sense -- how else would Alexander have kept himself alive without a thrall? --  but it was still repulsive. He didn't want to think about those humans in the blood farms, no doubt utterly mind wiped and treated like cattle.

Maybe Joe was there, maybe the waitress who had been in the cell next to Emily's. They'd had their minds erased, after all, and had been sold at auction. He felt guilty that he was safe and comfortable in a well-appointed kitchen deciding what to cook, while other innocent humans had probably been turned into little more than mindless dairy cows, tossed into pens and used for their blood for the rest of their miserable lives. It obviously wasn't his fault, and there wasn't anything he could have reasonably done about it, but it was upsetting all the same. The only thing that had stood between him and their fate was some intangible quality of his blood.

He'd feel better about everything once he ate, he was sure.

Since late afternoon was apparently now his breakfast time, he pulled out eggs and cheese, located a frying pan, and began to make an omelette. Starving as he was, he used four eggs, and once he was done making them, used the pan to toast some of the bread. He couldn't find any jam, but butter would do fine. An apple and a glass of milk completed his generous breakfast. Master said he'd have any groceries he needed, and the way he'd been treated in the auction house cells made it clear that vampires preferred their humans to be well fed, so there was no reason to hold back on eating his fill.

As he washed the dishes in the sink, he reflected that he wasn't just eating for himself now, but also eating to feed his new master. A strange thought.

He was still wearing the dress he'd arrived in from the auction house, and as eager as he was to return to the library, that luxurious bathroom was calling for him. Exiting the kitchen, he spared a look towards the front door.

Unlike the auction house, there were no vampire guards here to stop him. Alexander was likely still asleep upstairs. But the thought of even trying the door repulsed him, filling him with sick dread. As if he wanted to betray his new Master by leaving without permission!

Oliver turned and headed up the stairs to his bedroom, looking in the wardrobe. As promised, there was an assortment of outfits there -- more than he had previously owned. There were various frocks with wide necks, but also button-down shirts and slacks, a few casual suits, and an expensive-looking lined wool coat paired with a cheerful red scarf. This, at least, served as proof that Master intended to take him out of the confines of the manor sometimes. The nearby drawers held pajamas and soft cotton underthings. Satisfied at the selection of clothing, he took a cotton robe and headed for the bathroom.

He was clean enough, since he'd been allowed regular bathing at the auction house and in Miss Lily's care, but a nice hot bath was just what he needed to wash away any remnants of anxiety. He turned on the hot water and dumped in a generous helping of floral-scented soap flakes, making the bathroom smell heavenly.

Sinking in the warm water up to his shoulders was like a dream. And he had nowhere to be. He could relax in the bath as long as he felt like. And once he had his fill of that, he could head down to the library and read to his heart's content.

He realized that the foreign feeling washing over him was relief.

He'd spent so much of his life anxious and afraid, quietly terrified of not living up to a father who was long since dead. He used all of his time trying to keep his beloved bookstore afloat, fretting about money and maintenance and pleasing every patron who walked through the door. Second guessing every decision, watching from afar as others found love and excitement.

And now none of that mattered, because he'd found his place, hadn't he? Or rather, his place had found him, and it was bringing up a deep, buried longing to be cared for that he didn't even realize he had. His Master would take care of him and quiet his mind, and all he had to do was offer up his loyalty and his blood. A small price to pay, wasn't it?

He made sure his neck was extra clean, and used some of the sweet-smelling lotion that had been left in a basket for him. He wanted to please.

He could do this. He could be enticing to his master. And he'd be rewarded.

Returning to his bedroom, he slipped on a soft flannel frock, choosing a garment that would keep his neck exposed with no hesitation. He then padded downstairs to enter the library and await his Master waking.

He'd barely gotten a chance to look at the library yesterday, and Oliver was stunned all over again at the amount of books. He decided to occupy himself just browsing the shelves, not picking any one book to read yet. There would no doubt be plenty of time, and for now, he was fascinated by the many different subjects on display. 

There were shelves of ordinary fiction books, of course, albeit stocked with antique and rare editions of classics that would have filled Oliver with envy if he didn't have full access to them himself now. Near the shelves of books he recognized, there was another large section that he realized must consist of fiction written by vampires, the titles and authors all unknown to him. The preoccupation with blood above all other things was apparent just by reading the titles. Did the need for blood consume them so much? He supposed it must, if they were willing to pay such vast sums for thralls.

The section on vampire history that he had perused before was flanked by sections covering the histories of witches, werewolves, vampire hunters, faefolk, and a particularly extensive collection of books on merfolk. There was surprisingly little human history, and nothing more recent than the turn of the century. Vampires, perhaps, didn't concern themselves that much with human history.

He felt himself strangely drawn to a particular shelf further towards the back of the library. Half the books were bound in richly colored leather, embossed with gold and silver and embedded with jewels, and the other half were so tattered and worn that Oliver wouldn't dare try to pick them up. He flipped through one, and realized with surprise what they were. Spellbooks. Magic. And no reason to doubt now that it was real.

The sound of footsteps behind him startled him out of his reverie. "Hey. Evening."

He whipped around to see his Master there, hair and shirt disheveled, sleepy-eyed but looking at Oliver as though he were the only thing he had ever desired. A smile spread slowly across Alexander's face, and Oliver felt like his heart might stop.

Part 31 >> Masterlist >> Part 33

Role Reversal AU Part One

Next time, Oliver finally gets bitten.

Extras: Emily's Crayons || Fitz in the Snow || Fitz's Volunteer Part One

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity

[spork-supremacy]

Thunder bringer

Okay so I like Epic the Musical and when listening to the Thunder saga when it came out, and when listening to Thunder Bringer I thought "Hehe, this could so be a Ras convincing Jay thing," mind you this was pre-DRs2-Pt2 leaks so no actual spoiler just a kinda verbal animatic I made through ✨notation✨, less of an actual analysis.

“Pride is a damsel in distress

Hiding away where only I can undress her

Try all she can not to confess in the end

It's all the same once I

Apply all the pressure”

(in context this line is zeus mocking odysseus so of course he’s comparing pride to a ‘helpless woman’) 

In my context pretty much the same thing but it’s Ras mocking Jay in front of the other administration agents

Just imaging him circling Jay as he tries to intimidate him

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes her kingdom fall”

I’m thinking Ras sicks Jordana and Cinder, and the other wolf warriors on the agents and kinda forces Jay’s hand into revealing his power

Also the ‘her’ quickly changes from meaning pride to referring to both it and jay real quickly

“Lightning, wield her, use and yield her

Show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will be revealed”

Continuation of above thought

Tries to convince Jay to join through showing how he could gain by showing the respect/fear he could earn from others

“Tell me, Odysseus

If I were to make you choose

The lives of your men and crew or your own

Why do I think they'd lose?”

Jay doesn’t give two shits about his job and probably doesn’t like most of the agents, finding them annoying or incompetent, but they are all he has so he can’t admit it.

“Enlighten me, King of Ithaca

Since hunger was far too great

I wonder who'd take the weight of the damned

And suffer a gruesome fate to the

Thunder Bringer, here to ring your

Ears until your deaf with fear and

Spear you while your death is near

Lighting wielder, here to yield your

Time for you have passed your prime

Sublime you for your act of crime”

(these last lines are about eating divine cows and getting punished for it, consequences yay)

Once again more battle scenes as jay slowly losing control of his power as he had been repressing it before.

There could be a good chance the administration or just Jay, betrayed the wolf clan or cheated them in some deal so this could be punishment.

[ZEUS, spoken](Ras stand in)

Choose

[ODYSSEUS, spoken](Jay stand in)

Choose?

[ZEUS]

“Someone's got to die today

And you have got the final say

You?

Or your crew?”

[ODYSSEUS]

“Please don't make me do this

Don't make me do this”

-Jay still has a conscience and prefers most consequences of his actions being more of an indirect result.

[SOLDIERS, Penelope]

“When does a comet become a meteor?

When does a candle become a blaze?”

“ (I can take the suffering from you)”-Penelope bit

“When does a man become a monster?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

When does the reason become the blame?

 (Let me take the suffering from...)

When does a man become a monster?”

-Just imagining all the agents behind him are murmuring about the choice he will make, they slowly are starting to understand though, that they are not surviving this and they slowly start to compare him to a monster

- Also as he deliberates there is just a faceless voice (Nya, of course it’s Nya, granted a vague memory/ idea) calling out to him to chose the selfish option because it will lead to less personal suffering.

[EURYLOCHUS](literally can be any known agent, maybe Prentiss because he works directly under Jay)

“Captain?”

[ODYSSEUS]

“I have to see her”

[EURYLOCHUS]

“But we'll die”

[ODYSSEUS]

“I know”

Jay probably was found with his Yin pendant and later researched the meaning of it, or was told it by another person in the administration from Ninjago. So that plus not caring much for his coworkers, probably means he’d rather risk them for one person who may actually like/love him.

This I think is weirdly consistent with early show Jay at least, selfish mf 

He also just needs to know who he is engaged to.

also the guy touches Jay's shoulder and pretty much gets immediately electrocuted after he says "I know"

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer

Show I'm the judgement call

The one who makes her kingdom fall

Lightning, wield her, use and yield her”

Here Ras makes Jay kill his agents by himself to further prove that he has switched sides and because it could be a nicely emotional shot as he leaves everything he’s ever known behind.

“Show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will

 be revealed”

Maybe a good close up on Jay’s face as his regret and fear slowly turns into him enjoying the thrill and buzz he receives from electrocuting everyone and finally being free of his personal hell.

I also imaging an electromagnetic field growing around him and engulfing everyone into a kind of electrical storm it creates.

Bonus idea i thought of when we only had the first snippet of song:

“Lightning, wield her, use and yield her

Show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will be revealed”

This little section taken out of context

I just think it would be funny if over this showed a Jay vs Nya fight in the tournament and once she figures out who she’s fighting, and he kinda picks up that she is starting to hold back more. Dude probably thinks she’s into him and doesn’t want to wreck his ‘pretty face’, so he tries to seduce her. Like, mid-fight. It kinda works.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

In honor of my being welcomed by the horse people I ask you this question that lies at the center of our intersecting interests: does Elrond speak Rohanese/Rohirric, and if so how did he learn? (I do not think there is a canon answer? So your headcanon. I think he does not, a rare linguistic blind spot for this lore master)

Ooh, interesting question! I love to speculate! ♥️ But also, my Elrond lore isn’t super deep (though I am a devoted fan of your Dr. Peredhel, I am but a child in comparison to what people like you know about him!), so please correct me if you think I go astray anywhere.

I think you’re right that Elrond doesn’t know Rohirric as it’s spoken by the Rohirrim. Hardly anyone outside of Rohan seems to know it, and there obviously aren’t any books that he could have acquired for his famous library. There’s also no evidence that there was contact between Rivendell and Rohan in any of the years of Rohan’s existence that would have put a native Rohirric speaker in Elrond’s orbit. The only link there is would have been indirect, and that’s Aragorn. He knows Rohirric and he knows Elrond. But I strongly doubt Aragorn was using his precious time during visits back home to teach Elrond a language he didn’t really have a pressing need for — Elrond isn’t dealing with Rohan and, if he ever had to, the Rohirrim all know the Common Speech anyway (and some of their leaders even speak Sindarin!).

There IS a chance Elrond had heard an older, more archaic version of Rohirric based on contact with ancestors of the Rohirrim or related communities. That’s all speculation, of course, but Elrond did spend time in Rhovanion for the War of the Last Alliance, and that was the home of the Northmen who would become the Éothéod and eventually the Rohirrim. So it’s possible he heard some of their language then? Rohirric is also related in some respects to the languages of the Men of Dale and Esgaroth and the traditional tongue of the hobbits before they wholesale adopted the Common Speech. So if Elrond ever dealt with those communities over the ages, he might have picked up something that would have at least had some commonalities with Rohirric (just as Merry was surprised to discover that he could recognize some Rohirric words because they were related to old, archaic hobbit terms).

So, with that being said, I think my personal HC would be that Elrond knows some random words and phrases that he learned over the years in an older language that’s ancestrally related to Rohirric and might sound vaguely familiar/intelligible to a modern Rohirric speaker, but he couldn’t have a conversation in Rohirric with a Rohirrim without Aragorn to translate. And that was probably fine with him, because he had no practical need for it.

But, once he leaves Middle Earth at the start of the Fourth Age, now he’s got all the time in the world and no burdens of leadership to distract him. Now can pursue languages just for the pure joy of learning (he is that kind of nerd, said with all due affection). So maybe then he got Oromë to teach him some (Béma himself absolutely knows how to understand the language of his people!) once he got back to Valinor?

Plausible maybe? Certainly fun to think about! (I am also that kind of nerd!) And of course, anyone with the more substantive Elrond knowledge, please feel free to let me know where I’ve gone wrong!

[dhampling]

so.

as mentioned prior and for anyone who didn’t see, i am stepping back from this blog. dhampling is done and I’m no longer writing for astarion/partaking in this fandom space as prolifically as i have been at this time. i apologise for anyone who’s been holding out for more work as i had promised, and i want to emphasise how strongly i did want to pick up the mantel once more.

before i head off i wanted to offer forth a note to explain briefly why i’m stepping back. i’ve had a sour taste in my mouth for months and whilst i can’t absolve my own wrongs, nor will i get whatever vague notion of an apology i’ve wanted in the past, that doesn’t matter anymore. i can’t attribute this to anyone but myself.

i’ve been quick to jump the gun. i’ve opened my mouth and i’ve made indirects i shouldn’t have - if only in the name of keeping the peace - whilst here. i tried defending my friend against an onslaught of unjust hatred and did it aggressively - something i’m not claiming as wholly right or wholly wrong, but i absolutely did not choose the right way forward at times. i caused grief and i own that. it sits just under my skin and it’s NASTY.

i’m sorry to the people i’ve upset. genuinely, wholly; unreservedly sorry. there was a point in time where i was carried away in whatever was going on and while not something casual readers would’ve been privy to - hence why i understand the want to understand - there was a big internal conflict there as to how public certain elements should’ve been and how private others were.

i’ve been incredibly rash. i’ve been loud and sad and i stopped being able to differentiate between where this space stopped and real life began. taking a step back gave me the clarity to realise this isn’t deep. none of it is. the hurt caused all round has been, and i’ve been a catalyst in that; but there’s life past that. at risk of sounding terminally online - though i’m well past that point i suppose - i did need to touch some fucking grass.

i would ask that any questions are sent in good faith. i’m hoping this a turning point.

i’ll be finishing the kitchen with a part three at the end of june to celebrate my birthday, but until then; i’m signing off.

love once more, dal x