#to let me tell the story the way i wanted to tell it

[requiemforthepoets]

baby peanut! 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x wife!reader

SUMMARY: keeping your pregnancy from lando was proven to be very hard when all you want is tell him the amazing news that you both are expecting again. but since his birthday was coming up, you waited for his special day to tell him.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: reader is french-russian, multicultural household, established relationships, pregnancy, typos, and gramatical errors

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HAPPY LANDO DAY!!!!! was debating on posting a new fic for him, but decided to just make it a part of the norris family series, though this can be read as a stand alone. hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The soft morning light was just beginning to filter through the white curtains when you stirred awake, glancing over to see Lando fast asleep beside you. His peaceful face looked even more boyish, framed by the tousled strands of hair he hadn’t bothered to tame before collapsing into bed after last night’s stream. It had been hours before he joined you in bed, he and Max laughing and gaming into the early morning, and you knew he deserved this rest.

Just as you began to carefully sit up, you heard a soft rustling sound from the bedroom doorway. Peeking over, you spotted a small figure, a very familiar figure—a little silhouette with tousled hair, just like Lando’s, and sparkling eyes, trying best to tiptoe into the room. It was Thylane, with her tiny hands clutching her favorite blankie. You could see that she was struggling to hold back a giggle as she glanced over at her sleeping father.

Smiling, you brought a finger to your lips, silently shushing her. Thylane’s eyes widened, and she stopped mid-step, freezing in the doorway. You motioned gently for her to come closer to you, and she padded over quietly, looking up at you expectantly.

“Is Papa awake yet?” She whispered, voice barely more than a breath.

The eagerness in her tone made your heart swell, and you could not help but lean down, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“No, mon amour,” you whispered back, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Papa had a very late night with Uncle Max. He needs his sleep, let’s let him rest a little longer, hm?”

Thylane nodded, her expression brightening at the thought of what you had in mind. “But it’s Papa’s birthday! I want to say happy birthday to him!”

“I know, my love. But how about we go to the kitchen, just you and me, and make a special birthday breakfast for Papa? Then we can surprise him together when he wakes up, and…” you paused, heart fluttering as you thought about the special surprise you had planned, one that you had kept to yourself until today. “And there’s something very exciting we’ll be giving him. Something you’re going to help me with, too.”

Her eyes lit up, and she bounced on her toes, already whispering with excitement. “What is it, Mama?”

“You’ll see, mon petit trésor,” you murmured with a soft smile. “It’s a surprise just as much for you as it is for your Papa. Now, come on.”

You grabbed your silk robe by the vanity chair and put it on. Taking Thylane’s little hand in yours, you casted a quick glance back at Lando. You leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, lingering just a moment. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and for a heartbeat, you just admired the peaceful look on his face, hoping he would carry that warmth with him when he awoke to find you both by his side. Then you carefully lifted Thylane into your arms to keep her quiet and avoid the soft creaks of the floorboards as you slipped out of the room together.

You and Thylane moved quietly into the kitchen, both of you filled with anticipation. The kitchen was softly lit by the morning sun, casting a warm glow over the countertops as you gathered everything you needed for Lando’s birthday breakfast, with Thylane already clutching the whisk with her small hands, her tongue poking out in concentration as she tried her best to mix the batter for the pancakes.

“Like this, Mama?” She asked, glancing up at you, her face bright with determination.

“Oui, parfait, mon ange,” you replied, ruffling her hair lightly. “Now, tu peux ajouter les blueberries. Add the blueberries, like this.” You handed her a small bowl of plump blueberries, showing her how to fold them gently into the batter.

She followed your instructions very carefully, not wanting to ruin Lando’s surprise, her little fingers pushing each blueberry into the mix with care, her eyes darting to you every so often to check if she was doing it right.

“Is Papa going to love it?” She whispered.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Of course Papa’s going to love it because you made it for him,” you assured her, watching her face break into a wide grin. “Now, pass me the flour, please—la farine. Careful, don’t spill.”

With both hands, Thylane picked up the small bag of flour and brought it over, the look of focus never leaving her face. She had switched to a more serious demeanor, taking her role as your little sous-chef very seriously.

“Here, Mama!” She said proudly, handing it to you as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

“Merci, mon trésor,” you replied, taking the flour and measuring out the right amount for the batter. “Okay, now you can stir again, doucement, like this.” You demonstrated, letting her hands follow yours as you guided her through the gentle motions.

When the pancakes were stacked high on a plate, topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup, you and Thylane both stood back, admiring your creation.

“Look at what we made together,” you said softly, squeezing Thylane’s shoulder. “Papa will be very happy.”

Thylane clapped her hands excitedly, bouncing on her toes. “Can we give it to him now?”

“Not yet,” you shook your head, a smile forming on your lips. “There’s one more surprise we need to get ready.”

Walking over to the drawer, you retrieved the small acrylic box, some soft cloth, and your carefully wrapped pregnancy test. Thylane’s brows furrowed as she watched you, her head tilting with curiosity.

“What’s that, Mama?” She asked, peering closely at the box as you placed the soft cloth inside.

“This, my love, is a very special surprise for Papa,” you knelt down so that you were eye-level with her, placing the test in the box atop the folded cloth. “Do you remember how you told me you wanted to have a little brother or sister?”

Thylane’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes! Yes! Does this mean…”

“Yes, Tilly. This means you’re going to be a big sister.” You smiled warmly at her.

Her face lit up, her mouth forming a perfect little “O” of excitement. “Really, Mama? I get a baby brother or sister?”

“Yes, mon trésor,” you nodded, laughing softly at her reaction. “We don’t know yet if it’s a brother or sister, but the baby is here, right inside Mama’s tummy, just a little peanut for now.”

Thylane’s eyes went wide with wonder, and she pressed her small hands to your stomach as if she was trying to feel the baby herself.

“A baby peanut!” She giggled, delight shining in her face. “Can we call the baby that for now?”

“Of course,” you chuckled, brushing her hair back. “Until we know more, we can call your little sibling, baby peanut.” She grinned, clearly enamored with the idea, and watched carefully as you tied the ribbon around the box with care.

“Can I help with the ribbon?” She asked, her hand already reaching out eagerly.

“Of course, here.” You said, guiding her hand as she carefully looped the ribbon around, tightening it with a gentle tug and finishing it off in a neat bow.

“Where should we put it, Mama?” She asked, glancing around the room.

You took a quick look at the cozy space, then pointed to a spot on the kitchen counter, just out of Lando’s immediate line of sight.

“Right here,” you decided, setting the box down gently. “That way, Papa won’t see it right away.”

Thylane nodded, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to see Papa’s reaction!”

With breakfast prepared and the surprise box tucked safely out of sight, you and Thylane made your way back to the bedroom, eager to wake up the birthday boy. By now, the sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow across the room as you nudged the door open to your and Lando’s bedroom. You expected to see Lando still sleeping peacefully, but instead, he was already awake, propped up on pillows with his phone in his hand, scrolling with a sleepy smile on his face.

Before you could say anything, Thylane let out a squeal of excitement and sprinted towards the bed, practically launching herself onto him. Lando barely had time to react before she pounced, wrapping her arms around his neck and showering Lando’s face with small kisses.

“Happy birthday, Papa! Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” She chanted, each word punctuated with a giggling kiss to Lando’s cheeks, forehead, and nose. Lando can’t help but laugh, his eyes crinkling with joy as he pulled her close, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“Thank you, Tilly!” He replied, chuckling as he looked up at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a special wake-up call on my birthday before.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her face flushed with pride. “I made you a biiiiig birthday card last night! It’s pink, and has lots of hearts and sparkles on it, and I even drew a race car!”

“Woah, a race car? Just for me? Now that is one special card,” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear as he smiled up at her. “I can’t wait to see it. I bet it’s the best card in the whole world.”

Giggling, Thylane seated herself on top of his stomach, her little hands resting on his chest as she looked down at Lando with pure adoration. You leaned against the doorway, laughing at the sweet sight in front of you before walking over to the bed and settling down beside Lando.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, but laced with affection. “I’m so happy that I get to spend my birthday with my favorite girls.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “Good morning, birthday boy,” you whispered, smiling against his lips before pulling back just slightly. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Lando grinned, puckering his lips again, silently asking for another kiss. Laughing, you leaned down, giving him another soft kiss, feeling his hand come up to gently cup your cheek. In that moment, it was just the three of you, wrapped in warmth and love, as if nothing else in the world existed. As you pulled back, Thylane let out a little giggle, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

“Ew, Mama and Papa!” She teased, though her face betrayed nothing but happiness.

Lando laughed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Hey, I deserve a birthday kiss, don’t I?”

“Papa! Mama and I made you a special breakfast!” She announced, clapping her hands. “We worked really, really hard. I even put the blueberries in all by myself!”

“No way! You mean to tell me you were my chef this morning, too?” Lando ticked her side, making her dissolve into giggles.

Thylane laughed, wiggling under his tickling fingers. “Yes, I’m your chef today! Mama showed me how to make everything.”

“Well, now I definitely have to see what my two favorite girls cooked up,” he said, sitting up slowly.

Lando reached over, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you close, then lifted Thylane into his other arm. She squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling her head against Lando’s shoulder. As the three of you made your way to the kitchen, Lando kept his arm secure around your waist, pulling you close as Thylane chattered excitedly about breakfast.

“Mama taught me how to fold in the blueberries so they wouldn’t smush!” She said proudly. “And we made a big stack of pancakes with syrup and blueberries and…oh! And I even helped tie a bow for your present!”

Lando gave you a curious look over Thylane’s shoulder. “A present, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “I’m starting to think you two were up to a lot more than just breakfast this morning.”

“Hm, maybe we were,” you replied, smiling playfully as you reached up to brush a strand of his hair back. “But you’ll have to be patient to find out.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, I don’t know how much patience I have today. I mean, it is my birthday.”

Laughing, you reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Good things come to those who wait, birthday boy.”

The three of you entered the kitchen, where the table was set with the special breakfast you and Thylane had made. Lando’s eyes sparkled as he took it all in, and Thylane beamed with pride, practically bouncing in his arms.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” She exclaimed one last time, her voice full of love and excitement, her little arms squeezing him tightly.

With Lando’s arm around you, and Thylane hugging him with all her might, it was clear to you that this birthday morning could not have started off any sweeter.

Breakfast was a cozy, peaceful affair, the three of you wrapped in the simplicity of the morning. You and Lando chatted about plans for his birthday dinner later, throwing around ideas and laughing at each other’s jokes, while Thylane happily watched her favorite show on her iPad, humming along with the familiar theme song of Little Einsteins. It was a gentle scene, just the three of you? Sharing a quiet, joyful space as the morning sun spilled across the table.

Lando seemed perfectly content, caught up in the warmth of the moment. He had almost forgotten about the small gift waiting for him, tucked away in the kitchen—until you stood up, brushing a gentle hand across his shoulder.

“Wait here for a sec,” you said softly, a hint of excitement in your voice. “Tilly, come help me with something for Papa.”

Thylane’s face lit up as she hopped down from her chair, glancing at you with a secretive smile. She knew exactly what was coming next. Taking her hand, you led her back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see Lando watching you both with a look of fond curiosity. He seemed completely oblivious to what was coming.

You reached into the cozy corner of the counter, pulling out the small, acrylic box you had hidden away with so much care. Inside, carefully wrapped in a soft cloth, was the positive pregnancy test. You knelt down, handing the box to Thylane, who held it carefully with wide, shining eyes.

“Okay, mon ange,” you whispered, giving her a gentle smile. “Give this to Papa, and make sure he opens it.”

She nodded, taking the box in her hands as if it were a treasure. Together, you walked back to the dining area, where Lando was watching you both with growing curiosity.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful grin.

Thylane held out the box, her excitement barely contained. Lando took the acrylic box, glancing from her to you, a mixture of awe and confusion on his face.

You smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. “Go on,” you said, voice soft with anticipation. “Open it.”

“Open it, Papa! Open it!” She echoed, bouncing slightly on her toes, her face brimming with excitement.

Lando carefully untied the delicate ribbon that Thylane had helped you with that morning, his fingers moving slowly as if savoring the moment. The box felt light in his hands, and his expression shifted from curiosity to wonder as he lifted the lid, pulling away the cloth inside. The instant he saw the test, his eyes widened, and Lando looked up at you with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Is this…” he stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he was afraid he might shatter the moment. “Is this real? Is this for real?”

You nodded, unable to contain your own smile as you squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, love. It is real.” You watched his face light up as the reality of it washed over him.

“Happy birthday, my love.” You added softly, feeling your own heart swell with happiness.

Lando did not hesitate. He stood up, pulling you into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around you as he lifted you off of your feet, twirling you in a gentle circle. His laugh was warm and filled with immense happiness so pure that it brought tears to your eyes.

“After all this time,” he murmured, voice thick with emotions as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’re really going to have another baby?” You nodded, laughing through your tears.

“I found out a few weeks ago, when you were in Mexico. I wanted to wait until today to tell you.” You placed a hand on his cheeks, gazing up at him with all the love you had been holding back for weeks. “It took everything in me not to tell you the moment I found out.”

He kissed you softly, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered. “Thank you for waiting, love. This…this is literally the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.”

“Papa, did you see? It’s real!” She said, beaming and clapping her hand, while bouncing in happiness. “I’m going to have a baby brother or sister! I told Mama I want to call them baby peanut!”

“Baby peanut, huh?” Lando chuckled, bending down to lift Thylane into his arms, bringing her close to the two of you. Kissing her forehead, and looking at you with a grin. “I think that’s a perfect name, for now.”

“Papa, can we tell everyone? All our friends?” Thylane’s face lit up at the thought, and she looked back and forth between you and Lando.

“Soon, Tilly. But for now, let’s keep it our little secret, okay? Just between us.” He leaned down, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That way, we can keep baby peanut all to ourselves a little longer.”

“Our little secret!” She nodded seriously, her eyes wide as she held her finger to her lips. “I’m really good at secrets, Papa. I won’t tell anyone!”

You all just stood there, basking in the warmth and happiness of the quiet moment, Lando had never felt a new kind of peace settle over him. This was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of. A family, life filled with love and laughter, and now, another little one on the way.

Lando let Thylane down, letting her run towards the living room to play with her toys. He reached out, threading his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, and kissing it softly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little bit. “For this, for everything. You’ve given me the greatest gift of all.”

You squeezed his hand back, your own eyes shining with emotion. “I love you,” you murmured. “Happiest birthday, my love.”

As Lando held you closely, he realized that this was a happiness beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

[sirenedeslily]

it’s late—so late, almost 3 a.m., and you’re both wrapped up in the stillness of a room where candlelight flickers shadows onto the walls. the low, warm glow casts an amber haze over everything, painting you both in soft, melted hues. outside, the world sleeps, leaving only the soft, steady hum of the record player filling the room, the quiet strum of guitar notes tracing through the silence like a whisper. the song is slow, thick with longing, and you feel it sinking into your bones, the way music sometimes does when the night is soft, and time stretches out like it’ll last forever.

matt’s sitting close, so close that you can see the delicate lines of ink woven across his arms, intricate designs that tell a thousand quiet stories. his tattoos blend into the soft shadows of his skin, his arm resting around your shoulders, fingers tracing light patterns down your back, almost absentmindedly, as though he can’t help but touch you. his hair’s messy, soft like he’s been running his hands through it all night. those blue eyes catch yours, and he smiles, just a little crookedly, like he’s been waiting for this moment all his life.

“you know,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle, a kind of reverence in it that you’ve only ever heard him use with you, “i could stay like this forever. just—us, right here.”

you can feel his breath, warm against your cheek, and his lips brush yours in a way that’s barely there, so light that it feels like he’s memorizing every tiny moment. he cups your face, his thumb tracing slow circles along your cheek as if you’re something precious, something he’d never want to let go of.

“you’re so perfect, you know that? like, how is it possible that i get to have you like this?”

his words are soft, sincere, threaded with that slight rasp in his voice that you adore. he keeps kissing you, slow and unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world. each kiss feels like a promise—like he’s trying to tell you all the things he feels but can’t put into words. and you know him well enough to understand it; every kiss speaks volumes, a silent confession of all the love he holds in that heart of his.

between kisses, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded, the faintest smile on his lips. his fingers brush through your hair, and he chuckles, low and warm.

“god, i love this,” he whispers, voice barely audible, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “i love you.” his hand moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in, his lips finding yours again. it’s gentle, yet there’s something deep and unyielding behind it, a kind of desperation like he’s scared this might all be a dream.

the song shifts, the guitar fading into a soft, distant refrain, and for a second, you’re both quiet, breathing in sync as you hold each other. the world could be crumbling around you, but here, with matt, it feels like nothing else matters. the room’s filled with the scent of autumn—clove, cinnamon, a faint hint of something woody. he pulls you closer, his arm tight around your waist, his lips pressed against your temple.

“can i just…keep kissing you?” he whispers, almost like he’s asking permission, and you feel the smile pull at your lips.

“matt,” you say, and he leans back just enough to look at you, blue eyes catching the candlelight. “you don’t have to ask, honey.”

a smile breaks across his face, a bit bashful, and he shakes his head. “just—you don’t know what you do to me.” his fingers brush over your jaw, tracing every line, and he presses another lingering kiss to your lips, softer this time, more tender. you lose yourself in him, feeling his warmth, his steady heartbeat, and the way his touch seems to melt away everything else in the world.

as the song fades, the room slips into silence, and he just keeps holding you, keeps kissing you like you’re the only thing that matters. it’s simple, beautiful, and as you both sink into that quiet, you realize you don’t need anything else. just him, just this moment, and the way he makes you feel like forever might just be real.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ lil comfort blurb, i love slow dance by clairo :p

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe @ncm9696

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia @tastesousweet

© sirenedeslily

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 6

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

DEFINETLY NSFW! Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

For somebody that filled her romance novels with plenty of smut… Sky wasn’t exactly as experienced as one may expected. 

Actually…she was woefully inexperienced.

There had been Admon…and Admon it had been.

The rest of the stuff in her books…well, that was just her fantasy wildly spinning stories about how sex should feel. Informed by plenty of books she had read, other authors, and of course…there were the two people that got to read every book she wrote before it was published: Orla, her publisher, and her friend Ressina, who was nice enough to take the pen to every thing she wrote that was woefully inaccurate. 

Because nothing ever felt to her like she portrayed it in the books.

Maybe that was normal. Maybe it was because of course her books portrayed something…better than reality, an escape from it. But still…sometimes Sky had just wondered…

As Azriel carried her towards the bedroom, Sky couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this, she did, more than anything. But the truth was, she was…nervous.

She had written about this moment countless times, had described it in vivid detail in her novels. But now that it was actually happening, she felt…insecure. What if it wasn’t as good in real life as she made it out to be on paper? What if she did disappoint him?

(Sky knew that she had disappointed Admon numerous times…that she seemingly had never been enough for him…had been so bad at it in fact that he had instead slept with her sister…which was a whole other kettle of fish that she really didn’t want ot think to close about right now.)

Sky tried to push those thoughts aside, to focus on the here and now. 

Azriel was here with her, he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She could feel it in the way he held her, the way he looked at her. And yet, that nagging feeling of doubt still lingered.

And then there was the fact while he had admitted to sending his shadows to search for her… Sky was still keeping a rather big secret.

“Az…Azriel…” she said hesitantly.  “There…there is one thing you should know about me.”

Azriel paused, setting Sky down on the bed gently before turning to look at her. 

"Go on," he prompted her gently, taking her hand in his as he sat down next to her and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You can tell me anything, Sky." She believed him. he wouldn’t judge her. She was sure of that as well. 

“You…You k…know how…how I…I write… ro…romance no..novels?” Sky asked him, biting her lip.

Azriel nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I do," he said, leaning in closer to her. "You told me.”

“I…I am Sellyn Drake,” she blurted out.

She had never outright admitted it to another person. 

Ressina had been the one who had send off her first manuscript to be published…and Orla had met with her…these were the two people in existence that knew that Skylar Alden was also Sellyn Drake. And Skylar had always been comfortable with keeping it that way. 

There was no need to tell anybody else. 

Which was why it worked so well, that Ressina was an artist and could paint the bookcovers for her. No need whatsoever to let anybody else see the hesitant first drafts until she was sure this was where she wanted to go. Just Ressina. Just one of her very few friends. If not her only. 

Azriel stared at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "What?" he asked, completely taken aback. "You're...Sellyn Drake?" There was no…outright disbelief in his voice, just shock. 

*We know! We made Master read your books!* the shadows cooed. *Lady Death, The Priestess and The Shopkeeper love them too!*

She had no idea who any of these people were but…

Azriel's eyes widened even further as the shadows spoke up. "You...you knew about this?" he asked them, turning towards the shadows in disbelief. "You knew. That’s why you gave me her books to read!”

This was just getting better and better.

Sky, who had been watching Azriel and the shadows’ exchange with a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment, couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. 

“Do…Do they always…” she couldn’t even put it into words. 

Azriel sighed. “They like to meddle,” he said darkly. “And this time they were particularly persistent.” He shot a reproachful look at the shadows, who cowered a little under his gaze. "I won't lie, they did manipulate me into reading your books. And when my shadows do something they are rather...convincing."

She swallowed. 

“Did…did you…li…like them at…at least?” Sky asked hesitantly. 

Azriel hesitated for a moment before answering. 

"I...I did," he admitted earnestly. "Your writing...it's brilliant, Sky.” Her heart soared at his words. She treasured them, hoarding them away like a dragon. But he wasn’t done. “The characters, the emotions, the way you make the reader feel everything...it's incredible. I couldn't put them down."

Sky grinned at his words, feeling a swell of pride in her chest. "I…I'm glad you..you li…liked them," she said softly.

*Master especially liked the…*

“Shut. Up.” Azriel snapped, his ears reddening and Sky started laughing. She could just about imagine what the shadows wanted to tell her at that moment. 

Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm going to kill them," he muttered under his breath.

"They…they are ju…just try…trying to help you, aren't they?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand in hers. Only now she noticed the violent scars that marred them, the texture of raised and bumpy skin…but she didn’t care. Not one bit.  

*Of course, we are,* the shadows said, like any other idea was simply blasphemous. *We gave Master the best information we could. So that Master would know what you like.*

Sky probably shouldn't find it as adorable as she did. But the lengths they had gone to...the way they had made Azriel read her books so that he would know what she liked...nobody in her life had ever gone to these lengths just to find out what she liked.

"I swear I am not a total creep," Azriel told her with a grimace.

Sky laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "No…no, no, you're not," she assured him, squeezing his, hands gently. "I…I ac…actually think it's… quite… sweet. In a weird, sli…slightly invasive kind of way. But sweet nonetheless."

"I think you are the only female that could possible think that," Azriel muttered, glaring at the shadows that didn't seem apologetic in the slightest.

Sky grinned, leaning in closer to him. "It’s… endearing,” she finally settled on. “Maybe even a lit…little bit charming," she promised him earnestly.

Azriel looked at her incredulously, his expression softening a little. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" he asked her.

Sky shook her head. "No. No, I'm not," she said, her voice unwavering. "I…I mean it, Azriel. It iss actually really sweet that you would go to… such lengths just to try to un…understand me better. And you ad…admitted to it. And not just after the mating bond was accepted but within hours of meeting me." 

Azriel didn't keep it a secret, even when he could have, and she would have been none the wiser. 

"I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. But I'm not going to question it," he whispered. 

She swallowed. That's what she was thinking. The exact same words. 

Sky pulled him down, letting his forehead rest against hers.

"I know that...that I am supposed to cook you something...but how disappointed would you be if I gave you one of those caramel bonbons in my purse to accept the bond instead?" she asked him softly, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes widened and he stared at her in pure, undiluted wonder. 

"I could not possible be dissappointed by whatever you offered me," Azriel whispered. "But...are you...are you sure?"

"I am being utterly selfish," she whispered. "Yes. I want you." She didn't care that people would have thoughts about it...that she was rushing into this. 

They were probably right. 

But Sky really didn't care. Sky only wanted him. Sky was ready to throw caution overboard and rush into this headfirst without a thought about the consequences, if that meant that she would get her mate.

"Then let's be selfish together," Azriel whispered.

With shaky hands she reached into her purse, finding one of the caramel bonbon she kept in there...unwrapped it out of the paper and then...then she offered it to him, lifting it to his lips.

Azriel looked at the bonbon, then at her, and for a moment she thought he would say something. But then his mouth opened and he took it from her hand... He chewed it, swallowing carefully, his gaze never wavering from hers. For a moment, they stayed suspended in that moment of tension, the only sound their breathing. And then, he leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed her as if she was the most precious thing in his entire world.

A Mating Frenzy had always been protrayed as animalistic in every book she read. So of course, Sky had written the exact same thing.

But it wasn't...not really.

Not for them. 

And being with Azriel was also a far cry from being with Admon...mostly because then it had often been...embarrassing and painful. 

Admon had always found something to criticise on her body...foreplay had been nonexistent, even when she had tried...and while he had been more than willing to use her mouth to find his own pleasure he had never returned that favour.

With Azriel it was different. Every touch, every caress, every kiss made her feel things she had never felt before. It was like her body was coming alive for the first time.

All her senses were heightened, every nerve in her body singing with pleasure, and Sky couldn't get enough of him. She wanted more. No, she needed more. As Azriel trailed kisses down her throat, she arched her back, pressing herself against him, her hands roaming over his body, exploring every inch of him that she could reach.

"Can I...Can I touch your wings?" she asked breathlessly, not wanting to...cross some unsaid line.

"Please," Azriel breathed out. "Yes, Sky, please." He lifted his wings, extending them out behind him, giving her free rein to touch and explore to her heart's content. As Sky's fingers brushed against the contours of his wings, Azriel let out a low, guttural moan, his wings twitching and shuddering at the sensation. They were massive and pitch black.

"They are beautiful," she whispered, running her hands over the silky black skin, feeling the warmth radiating from them.

He shuddered at her touch, his wings arching and trembling beneath her gentle caress. he leaned his forehead against hers as he gently tipped her back against the bed and she went willingly, wrapping her hands over the gleaming talons at the tip of his wings as she kissed him.

Azriel growled softly in response, his hands sliding up beneath her dress, opening the lacing in one fluid motion. As the dress fell open, revealing her body beneath, Azriel pulled back for a moment, looking down at her with dark, hungry eyes. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, his gaze roaming over her body.

She didn't even have the time to feel self-conscious, not when she was drowning in the waves of desire that shot across their bond from him. Not when her whole body seemingly trembled against his and she kissed him again, opening her mouth to his tongue.

He slipped open the dress and she opened her mouth, halfway ready to tell him how he could get the corset she wore off, but he already opened the lacing. "Why?" he asked her softly, as he saw the red indents left on her body, and she grimaced.

"Claire," she whispered.

She wore corsets usually for support, because her breast could get heavy and painful without the proper support...but she never laced them as tightly as she did when she saw her family. Or her sister. Then she pulled them tight, trying to squash her body to be something…something her family could stomach, something they maybe wouldn't comment on...she always failed.

Azriel hissed softly, his fingers lightly tracing the red marks on her skin. She knew that they looked horrible, and yet he looked...angered? Almost furious. His expression softened as he looked back into her eyes, his fingers gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Why would you do something like that to yourself, Sky?" he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "You are beautiful. You don't need to change anything about your body." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to a particularly hard imprint the corset had left.

Sky swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in her throat as emotion welled up in her chest. No one had ever said something like that to her, had ever made her feel like she was good enough just the way she was. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she just nodded, feeling a single tear slip down her cheek. Azriel wiped it away with his thumb, his other hand coming up to cup her face tenderly.

"You are perfect," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Just the way you are. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. Not even your family." Sky leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and just focusing on the closeness, the warmth, the feeling of being cherished and protected.

With every word he spoke, she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders, her fears and insecurities melting away. She realized that maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who truly saw her, the real her. Who accepted her exactly as she was, flaws and all.

It was so easy to sink into that. So easy to trust him. So easy to just kiss him, as she pushed the shirt he wore over his shoulders...to feel acres of gold skin, dotted with scars and dark markings...to bare him for her view and see how utterly gorgeous her mate was.

He growled softy as she ran her hand down his chest, tracing the scars that marked his skin. His body was a tapestry of pain and survival, yet she wasn't deterred. She only found him more beautiful for it.

"Mine," she whispered, pressing her lips to his chest, to one particularly nasty scar. "All mine." She could feel his heart pounding beneath her lips, the steady beat matching the rhythm of her own heartbeat. Her hands trailed down his chest, his stomach, until she reached the waistband of his trousers.

It was so easy.

So easy, to shed clothing until they were bare...so easy to press against him and feel warm, perfect skin...so easy to relax underneath him as he stretched over her...so easy to simply cup his face as she kissed him...as her legs wrapped around his hips and he groaned and she whimpered as she felt him...hot and hard and huge, pressing against her...She was dripping wet without him even laying as single finger on her beneath the waist.

Azriel didn't look unaffected, his breath coming in ragged pants, his eyes fixed on hers as they were blown wide and dark with want. He didn't move, didn't kiss her, didn't pull her closer. He only waited. Waited for her. 

"I need you," she whimpered. "Please. Please, Az." He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, his hips rocking gently against her, teasing them both with the heat and friction between them.

Nothing hurt. Nothing ever even threatened to hurt...Even as she could feel him notch against her there...even when she could feel herself lewdly stretched open on his cock...

It was so soft and gentle and sweet and…

It was everything Sky had ever wanted. 

Not the rough kind of fucking...not the animalistic coupling she wrote half the time...but she had wanted this. She had wanted sweetness and adoration and...love...and to be wrapped up in her mate's arms like she was a precious, precious thing. She had wanted whispered praised against her skin and to be touched like she mattered...

"Sky," he whispered, his hands running up her side, his touch was soft and soothing, worshipping her body. He kissed her, slowly, deeply, and there was something...almost overwhelming about it.

About the way he made her feel. The way he made her feel loved and adored. The way he made her feel cherished. Her hands wandered up to his back, tracing the muscles shifting beneath scarred, scarred skin.

She could feel him trembling, feel the tension in his body as he held himself back, but still, he moved in slow and gentle thrusts, taking his time. He worshipped her - every little gasp and moan, every curve of her body. He traced her shape with his fingertips and lips, exploring her as though he was trying to memorize every inch of her body.

She didn't know how long they stayed that way, their bodies as one, but Sky didn't care. She was surrounded by him - the heat of his skin, the sound of his breath, the way he whispered her name like a prayer. Sky could feel the love and devotion pouring through the bond, washing over her in waves, and she knew that this was exactly where she was meant to be. With him, in his arms, completely and utterly whole.

It nearly came as a shock as she came.

A breathless moan fell from her lips as her orgasm rushed over her, her body arching as she called out his name. He kissed her through it, murmuring praise against her lips as he held her close, his own release following soon after.

They stayed there for a moment, tangled together, both of them breathless and sated. Azriel's wings slowly wrapped around them, cocooning them in a warm, protective embrace that made Sky feel safe and cherished in a way she had never experienced before.

***

There was not one inch of his mate's body that wasn't utterly beautiful. From the tips of her arched ears, to her beautiful eyes...to the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist and the soft flesh of her belly and the flare of her hips...she smelled so good too...especially now that their scents had started to mix, and he could breath in caramel and hazelnuts and cedars and the sweet, beautiful scent of happiness as she laid underneath him. His head was bedded on her stomach, as she drew short fingernails through his messy dark hair. He nearly wanted to start to purr as she scratched at his scalp.

Azriel felt...content.

More content than he ever remembered feeling. He was wrapped up in her, his mate, with her gentle hands in his hair, and he felt utterly and completely at peace. He didn't care if they never moved from that bed again. He didn't care if the world outside their little cocoon burned. So long as she was by his side, he was content. He had never felt like this before. He had never felt this...happy. This...whole.

"I need to go feed Hector," Sky told him softly, trailing her fingers through his hair.

"Can I just have the shadows kidnap him and bring him here?" he asked, not wanting to move.

"You can't go kidnapping my cat, Az," she chided him gently, but even as she said the words, she didn't stop drawing her fingers through his hair, and Azriel didn't move. He was far too comfortable.

"Why not?" he complained.

"You'll terrify him," she said with a laugh. "Besides, do you have cat food here?"

"I'll have the shadows find some Tuna," he mumbled.

"Do…Do they just ac…acquire whatever you tell them to?" she asked him with some amusement. 

And lots of things he didn't tell them to, as well. They thought he didn’t know. 

Azriel raised himself on his forearms, looking down at Sky with a glint in his eye. "You have no idea how many things I've acquired that way," he told her with a grin.

She lifted her hands, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down towards her, resting her forehead against his. "You're a menace," she murmured against his lips.

"Your menace," he replied, kissing her softly.

Sky smiled, a warm, slow curve of her lips that made his chest feel tight. "Mine," she agreed, her voice soft. "But no kidnap…kidnapping my cat. He's at home."

"We could make this our home," he protested softly. "Move in with me."

Azriel had no fucking clue what was even coming over him. They should have slowed down, stopped to think...but neither of them seemed to want to.

They just…they seemed utterly content to crash through what other people considered a normal timeline and just be together right now. 

He just wanted to be near her. He wanted to share a life with her, a home. He wanted to curl up with her in front of the fire on a cold winter's night, and spend lazy Sunday mornings in bed with her. He wanted to take her flying, and watch as she wrote and listened to her read the words she wrote. 

And he wanted - Gods, he wanted her to want that too. He held his breath as he waited for her response.

For a moment, she was silent, and Azriel wondered if he had stepped too far, asked too much too soon. 

But then, Sky smiled again, her eyes sparkling with emotions. 

"...Al…Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll…I’ll move in with you." 

Azriel couldn't help but grin as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Really? You mean it?" he asked, still unable to believe his ears.

"Really," she echoed with a laugh, before her expression turned serious. "But I…I have one co…condition." 

Azriel raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "What is it?"

"If I move in with you..." she began, wrapping her arms around his neck. "All my books need to come to," she told him seriously.

Azriel laughed, leaning back in to kiss her softly. "All your books can come, if that's what you want," he said. "As long as you're here, I don't care what else you bring."

And then the shadows unceremoniously dumped a screeching demon on the bed with them.

Sky let out a surprised yelp as Hector landed next to them with a thud, quickly scrambling away from the cat - and from under Azriel's weight. Azriel, for his part, sprang up, his wings flaring out in alarm. For several long moments, the three of them just stared at each other. Hector, his mismatched eyes glowing, his fur puffed up to twice it’s normal size, and Sky, her expression a mixture of surprise and affection as she looked at her pet. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Well, that's one way to introduce the two of you. Az, meet Hector."

...Gods, the shadows had really not been lying when they said that the cat was the ugliest thing they had ever seen.

Azriel slowly lowered his wings, eyeing the creature that was half-cat and half-demon. "He...looks like he wants to kill me," he said slowly.

Sky laughed, reaching out to scratch Hector's head. "He's just grumpy because he got teleported here so suddenly," she told him. "And he's not used to strangers." Hector's fur slowly flattened, and he began to purr, rubbing his head against Sky's hand. "Besides, he'd never hurt anyone," she added, looking up at Azriel with a smile.

Somehow Azriel highly doubted that.

Sky picked Hector up, cradling the cat in her arms as his purring grew louder. "See? He's not so bad," she told Azriel, moving towards him, and Azriel had to resist the urge to back away. "Hold out your hand, let him sniff you. He just needs to get used to you."

Azriel hesitantly held out his hand, trying his best to ignore the way Hector's eyes seemed to glow with an eerie light. After a moment, Hector moved forward, sniffing at Azriel's hand. Azriel felt the soft brush of whiskers against the palm of his hand, and Hector nudged his head against him, purring louder.

"See, he loves you!" Sky said enthusiastically

Azriel let out a laugh, slowly scratching the top of Hector's head. "I think he's just trying to lull me into a false sense of security before he scratches my eyes out, you know."

She rolled her eyes, "You are the most handsome cat I know," she cooed at him. "And you won't ever scratch out Azriel's eyes. No, you won't.”

Azriel would not quite go as far as describe the cat as handsome...but then...his own scarred hands weren't particularly beautiful either.

So Hector and him had that in common.

And the fact that they both wanted to cuddle with Sky. Actually, he was pretty sure that the cat hated him just for taking away his monopoly on that.

But Azriel would have shared a house with the King of Hybern if that meant that he got to have Sky in his bed.

She smiled at him, her eyes warm and adoring. "I knew you two would hit it off," she said, holding Hector in the crook of her arm. The cat stared at Azriel for a moment, as if sizing him up, before leaping off Sky's lap and disappearing under the bed with a soft patter of paws. "He'll warm up to you eventually," Sky assured him, but Azriel wasn't so sure about that.

He pulled Sky in closer to him, slipping back underneath the sheets with her, kissing her forehead. "I'll win him over, eventually," he promised her. At least, he hoped he would - he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of having to wake up with his throat being sliced open by an angry cat.

He would buy that damn cat all the Tuna in the world if that made Sky happy.

[writetheidea]

Too Much to Be Enough

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. In this one, I tried writing with an unnamed character after someone reached out to me suggesting that I shouldn't tag "x reader" even if the character had a short name. They were not this polite in their wording. Kindly let me know if you find this more enjoyable and if you have any advice or feedback.

Pairing:  Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: everyone thinks she's too much—too loud, too affectionate, too overwhelming—but as long as Franco loves her, she feels enough. When a painful betrayal forces her to question everything, she’s left wondering if even his love can truly be unconditional.

Tag: hurt/no comfort, angst.

Word count: 2077

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco Colapinto had become a rising star in Formula 1—his unexpected debut mid-season with Williams brought attention, intrigue, and the buzz of fans enamored by his unfiltered charm and skill on the track. To the world, he was a formidable talent, sharp in his focus and strategic in his every move. But to her, Franco was simply her Franco—the person she adored with every fiber of her being, the man who lit up her world with his easy laugh and grounded presence. She never tried to share him with the world; her joy was simply in being there. To Franco, she was a grounding force. To her, he was the brightest point of her life.

Their relationship had always been natural, filled with the kind of closeness that felt both unbreakable and safe. She loved to be near him, to catch the quiet smiles he reserved just for her or hold him close, her arms around him like a shield. She had a way of finding him when he was deep in conversation, slipping her arms around him or perching on the arm of a chair, just listening, watching him with eyes that spoke of adoration. She adored him openly and shamelessly, kissing his cheeks, bringing him little snacks between meetings, and laughing at his every story as if it was the first time she'd heard it. It was how she showed love—boldly, sincerely.

In public, her spirited affection sometimes drew raised brows. She was quick to laugh, unrestrained in her warmth, the kind of person who got excited over the little things. When she spoke, her voice had a way of filling the air, especially when she became passionate, her laughter rich and booming. Franco’s teammates would sometimes tease her for it, not unkindly, but she felt Franco’s protective arm settle around her back, his voice lowering to gently bring her back to the moment, a silent reminder that she was safe, that she didn’t need to hold back. She never felt like too much with him; she felt like enough.

When Franco got his F1 call-up, the world saw his potential, his brilliance. He went from a promising driver to a star almost overnight, and with that came the scrutiny, the endless, dissecting gaze of the world. There were new pressures, new challenges—he was praised and criticized in equal measure, and with him, she found herself swept up too. Fans adored him—his directness, his humor, his daring spirit. He was the next big thing, and with that title came every word spoken about him, every inch of him magnified. And suddenly, they wanted to know her, too. Who was Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend?

But their adoration of Franco didn’t extend to her.

She’d never been the kind of girl who worried about attention, but the way the public spoke about her… it was like a slow, smothering weight pressing down on her heart. They saw only a girl who seemed too clingy, too loud, and too unfitting of someone they had put on a pedestal. Her open affection was criticized as immature, her laughter labeled as attention-seeking. They dissected her every move and labeled her a distraction, tearing into her with the kind of brutality she’d never experienced. It felt like strangers were peeling her apart piece by piece, tearing away the person Franco had always loved.

She tried to ignore it at first, comforting herself with the knowledge that Franco didn’t seem to mind, that he even loved her as she was. Franco was all that mattered; his opinion was the one she trusted. He was the only reason she could keep her head up, brushing off the hate as long as she knew she had his love. And when Franco looked at her, his smile never wavered. She held onto that—the belief that he loved her as she was, even when the world made her question it.

But then came Brazil. She’d been watching from the paddock, her heart leaping every time he turned a corner, nerves twisting as he went head-to-head with some of the most seasoned drivers in the world. And then, the crash. It was terrifying, watching him collide and skid, helpless from a distance as her heart stopped, praying he was okay. Her relief was overwhelming when he emerged unharmed, but Franco’s face had been pale, his expression distant as he made his way off the track. She could see the weight of the moment pulling him under, the strain and pressure breaking through his usually calm demeanor. She wanted to reach for him, to pull him close, tell him she was there for him, that she would carry the weight if she could.

But he’d pulled away from her, muttering that he needed a minute to gather himself. Respecting his space, she’d wandered to the restroom, splashing water on her face, telling herself he’d come around, that he just needed time. She returned to his room, pausing outside, not wanting to intrude if he still needed space. And that’s when she heard it.

“…but don’t you think she’s a bit much?” The voice was that of his engineer, a man she’d thought liked her, someone she’d shared a few laughs with before. “She’s always there. Always talking, always needing to be… close. Must be a lot to deal with when you’re under this kind of pressure.”

She waited, her breath frozen, trusting that Franco’s response would ease her worry, that he’d brush it off as nonsense, defend her like he always had.

But his voice—the voice she trusted, the voice that had always assured her she was enough—spoke words she could barely stand to hear. Franco responded quieter than she’d ever heard it. “Yeah… I mean, sometimes. It’s a lot, too much, you know?”

She could hardly breathe, the words sinking in slowly, one by one, like sharp blades against her skin. He thought she was too much. A lot. The one person she thought she could be her fullest self with, the person who had always made her feel safe to love so openly, to be unapologetically herself—he was overwhelmed by her too. She was his burden, the weight that followed him. Tears began to blur her vision, but she stayed frozen, rooted in place as she listened to them continue, laughing and talking about her as though she were some trivial inconvenience, as though her love was suffocating him.

She backed away from the door, her heart breaking with every step. The tears came fast and hot, her whole body trembling with the force of them as she stumbled back into the restroom. Locking herself inside, she slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, feeling her heart shatter into a million pieces. She had fought so hard to believe in her own worth, to convince herself that she was lovable and that her affection wasn’t too much for him to bear. But he agreed. He agreed with them, with the strangers who hated her, who thought she was too loud, too affectionate, too clingy.

She had tried so hard to believe that Franco saw her the way she saw him—as irreplaceable, as the very air he breathed. But hearing his quiet agreement, the confirmation that the one person she thought she could trust didn’t love her as she was… it left her feeling hollow, like a fragile shell of herself.

---

When Franco found her, he looked at her with that familiar softness, his arms coming around her as he held her close. She clung to him, not because it made her feel better but because she didn’t know how else to act, didn’t know how to pretend it was all okay. He asked her why she was crying, and she forced herself to smile through the tears, saying it was because of his crash, that she’d been worried. He looked at her with relief, gently pulling her closer, and she let him, even though his touch felt like fire against her skin, burning with the memory of his words. For the first time in their relationship, being near him didn’t feel safe.

In the days that followed, she withdrew into herself, letting Franco slip away piece by piece. She stifled her laughter, kept her voice low, spoke only when necessary. She still brought him snacks, still sat beside him as he debriefed with his team, but now she was a shadow, a shell of the girl she once was. She didn’t touch him as freely, didn’t drape herself over his shoulders or pepper his face with kisses. She gave him what the world wanted, the perfect, silent partner, standing just behind him, looking at him only when he looked away.

Fans noticed the change, taking to social media to praise her for finally learning her place. They called her refined, mature, supportive. They praised her “new maturity,” applauded her for “knowing her place.” They liked her better this way, in the background, quiet, subdued. For the first time, she fit the image of the F1 girlfriend they wanted her to be. She was a supporting character, there for Franco when he needed her but silent, never in the spotlight, never drawing attention.

But Franco hated it. He missed her laugh, the way her hands would find his at every turn, the way she’d rest her head on his shoulder while he spoke. He missed the way she’d light up a room with her excitement, her laughter like music that chased away the shadows of his stress. He tried everything to bring her back, brushing his fingers along her cheek, whispering little jokes, pulling her close. But she stayed quiet, her smile polite but hollow, her laughter a pale echo of what it used to be.

She wasn’t his girl anymore. She was someone else, a stranger wearing her face.

---

One night, after a particularly grueling day, Franco found her alone in their hotel room. She was sitting by the window, staring into the dark night, her reflection in the glass a ghost of the girl he had fallen in love with. He crossed the room, kneeling beside her, his hand finding hers.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking with the weight of his worry. “Tell me what’s wrong. Where did you go?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of a pain he couldn’t understand, couldn’t reach. “I’m here, Franco,” she whispered, her voice soft and fragile.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re… you’re gone. The girl I love is gone.”

Her lips trembled, and she pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold herself together. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke, her words barely audible. “I heard you… that day in Brazil. I heard you tell your engineer that I was too much. That I was a lot.”

Franco’s heart dropped, a cold shock of realization rushing through him. He remembered the conversation, the way he’d laughed along, never thinking his words would reach her. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I never meant it like that.”

“But you said it,” she replied, her voice breaking. “You agreed with them. You agreed with everyone. You were the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t too much, like I was enough. But if even you… if you think I’m too much…”

Her voice trailed off, her shoulders shaking as she hugged herself tighter. Franco reached for her, his heart shattering as he saw the pain he’d caused, the light he’d extinguished. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love everything about you. You’re not too much. I need you, all of you.”

He reached for her, but she drew back, her body a closed door, her eyes filled with a sadness that cut deeper than anything. “I love you with everything I have,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I would have given anything to be enough for you.”

He could feel his own tears burning, the agony of realizing that his careless words had stripped away the light from the woman he adored. “You are enough,” he said desperately, his voice thick. “You’re everything to me. I love you just as you are.”

But she only shook her head, her hand lifting to his cheek, her fingers brushing his skin one last time. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

[nvtstvrns]

Prettied Up - Chris Sturniolo

Smut, dom!chris, sub!fem

Summary: you and Chris are getting ready to go to dinner with Nick and Matt when he sees you doing your makeup in the mirror, he decides to eat you out while you do your makeup.

Contains: smut, sub!fem, dom!chris, oral (fem!receiver), almost getting caught, pet names (ma, pretty girl, etc)

Authors note: I am so sorry I put this story off for so long, here it is 😭

Divider Credits: @bernardsbendystraws @adornedwithlight and @cafekitsune

Chris and I were getting ready for dinner with Nick, Matt, Mikayla and Nate, we were in Boston for a few weeks and we wanted to get together with our old friends. I was standing at the mirror starting my makeup, Chris was in the shower.

“Ma, can you hand me that towel, please?” He asks me his finger pointing through the shower curtain. I walk over to the towel and I hand it to him. I quickly go back to doing my makeup, we only had twenty minutes left before we had to leave.

Chris comes behind me and wraps his arms around my stomach and he lays his head on my shoulder.

“Chris, you’re getting my clothes all wet.” I say pushing him off my slightly.

“That’s not too bad though right-“ he says hugging me from behind again. This time his hands trail to my bare waist. “Clothes will dry…” he reaches up and cups my breast.

“Chris.” I warn as I watch him run his hands all over my body in the mirror. “I’m trying to do my makeup.” I say blending out my blush trying to shake off the goosebumps. I could feel myself throbbing in need and I took a deep breath.

“You gettin all prettied up f’me?” He says as he puts on his underwear and then his pants. I grin and turn around. “Chris stop making me-“

He gets closer to me and grabs my jaw. “Stop making you what?” He says in a husky voice. My knees buckled. His grip on my jaw was light and soft but it still put a huge effect on me.

I look up at him with puppy eyes and he lets me go.

“Can I make you feel good baby…give you a little reward…”

“For what?” I ask quietly.

“You deserve it…but keep gettin prettied up for me ma.”

He gets down on his knees in front of me. This was a new thing from him, it’s always me getting on my knees for him, was he really going to make me feel good with no returns at all? I feel his hands fiddle with my button on my pants and then he unzips them, pulling them down to my ankles and then pulling them all the way off. His eyes trail up to mine and he places a soft kiss to my lower abdomen.

“Keep doing your makeup don’t watch me.” He says pulling my underwear off and throwing them somewhere with my pants. He doesn’t even hesitate, his mouth quickly attaching to my clit, I let out a gasp and I hang my head back. He taps the back of my thighs telling me to continue doing my makeup, so I do, trying to line my lips with all of this pleasure is not working, so I move on to my mascara.

“Oh my-fuck Chris…” I say as my legs begin to shake, I can’t focus on just my makeup, the image of him pumping his fingers in and out of my wet pussy while his mouth abuses my clit was way too much. “I’m gonna cum, Chris! Oh my fucking god, Chris…” I say grinding my hips on his face.

“Mmm yeah grind my face ma, cum all over me.” I continue grinding my hips reaching closer and closer to my high, with a final cry my legs jerk and I cum all over his face…luckily my makeup was fully finished, it didn’t look exactly how I wanted it to, but I did my best.

“Chris! Y/n come on! We have to leave!” Matt yells, in a daze I put back on my pants and he puts on his shirt, and puts on deodorant and other things. He wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“Don’t let it affect you too much baby.” He says kissing my temple “we still have dinner to eat, and then you can have me.”

This was a lot of fun to write, and thank you sm for all of your support lately (I recently did a face reveal) so thank you for all of your compliments on that. Thank you for reading my fanfictions and if you ever have a request just send me a silly little message.

[connorsui]

“I trust you…I promise you that I trust you, and nothing will come in the way of that…but you can’t tell me this isn’t ridiculous, right?”

You stand in the middle of your snowy driveway, gazing with a mix of exasperation and amusement at Johnny and your twin sons as they create a battlefield out of the morning’s snowfall-- Instead of the simple snowmen you might have imagined, the boys are busy crafting a fortress, with underground paths, tall mounds as shields, and small stockpiles of snowballs for their so called ... “ammunition.”

You’d pictured the morning so differently: hot chocolate by the fire, maybe a bit of decorating? or Johnny sharing tame, kid-friendly stories from his time in the service—with the casual violence out of the way. But instead, here you are, cup of coffee warming one hand, the other resting on your hip as you watch Johnny instruct the boys in how to "properly" make a shield.

“Ohh, c’mon, lovie,” Johnny calls out, dusting the snow from his gloves with a playful shake of his head, “Let the lads enjoy themselves a bit, eh?” He straightens up, strides over to you, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The cold on his lips contrasts sharply with the warmth of his smile, and you feel yourself smiling back, twirling your coffee idly in the mug.

Johnny steps behind you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist, resting his chin atop your head. “I meant it when I said I wanted to spend every second with the boys,” he murmurs softly. “Been too long without ‘em, you know?”

“Oh, I know you said that,” you chuckle, a warm puff of air slipping into the crisp winter morning. “Don’t think I forgot so quickly... But taking on our boys in an early morning little war wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when you promised ‘quality time,’ Johnny.”

He laughs, his deep chuckle vibrating against you. But before he can reply, one of the twins rushes over, his cheeks flushed with excitement, snowflakes clinging to his coat.

“Mum! Mummy! Look! We did it!” He points eagerly to their snow fortress, an impressive structure for something built by two kids and their overly enthusiastic dad.

The other twin, standing guard behind a snowy barricade, grins mischievously before launching a snowball toward his brother. It narrowly misses, skimming past you, and you instinctively step back, laughing as you bump into Johnny’s chest.

“Oi! Careful with yer aim,” Johnny calls out, unable to hide the pride in his voice. He lets you go and grins at the boys. “Ye want to join me inside for a while, love?” he asks, lowering his voice, a playful warmth in his tone. “I’ll make you somethin’ nice, your favorite.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in mock consideration, pretending to think it over. Finally, you give a quick nod, and the two of you make your way back to the kitchen, where you begin preparing a warm breakfast for the boys. The house feels cozy, the warmth from the stove and the sound of laughter just outside filling it with a sense of peace that feels almost too perfect to be real.

As you look out the kitchen window, you see the twins giggling, a flurry of snowballs passing between them. One boy dives behind a mound, trying to evade the other’s shot, only to trip and collapse in a heap of laughter and snow. You watch, smiling to yourself, feeling that rare, unfiltered happiness that fills every corner of your heart.

“What’re ye thinkin’, hmm?” Johnny asks, catching the look on your face as he leans against the counter, his gaze soft.

You blink, as if just waking from a daydream. “What? Nothing… Just happy, is all.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Sure about that?”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“Oh, nothin’,” he teases, feigning innocence. “Just wonderin’.”

You lean back against the counter, eyes drifting again to the scene outside. “This is everything I could’ve ever wanted with you, Johnny. I remember imagining this life with you back then, maybe one little one in tow… but now, with two boys, and you… it almost feels ...dream-like,... you know?”

He slides closer to you, his hand resting over yours. “No, darlin’. I don’t know,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar, grounded warmth. “Because this here? It’s all real. Me, the house, our boys… us.” He gestures around as if to make his point clear. “This is it. All of it’s real.”

A smile spreads across your face as you meet his gaze, unable to hold back. Leaning up, you place a soft kiss on his lips, savoring the moment, the crisp air still lingering on his skin.

“And ye know what else could be real right about now?” he murmurs, a glint of mischief in his eye.

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“Leaving the kids with yer mum while we take apart that new lovely present you left out for me.”

You gasp, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Johnny! Don’t tell me you’ve already seen it?”

He smirks, tapping the side of his head. “Oh, don’t think I didn’t spot it, all prettily wrapped with a bow.”

Lowering your voice, you whisper, “That was for later!”

“How much later?” he teases, a mischievous sparkle in his eye that sends your pulse racing.

You glance away, hiding a grin, cheeks warm as you try to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

Johnny lets out a laugh, his deep voice filling the cozy kitchen. But before you can respond, the boys come bounding in, their noses red from the cold, eyes wide with excitement.

“Mum! Mum! Can you make our favorite breakfast?” they ask in unison, looking up at you with hopeful smiles.

You sigh playfully, shaking off the blush that had crept up your neck, and nod. “Alright, alright. I’ll call you back when it’s ready!”

With twin shouts of “mmkay!” they scamper back outside, their laughter echoing through the yard as they dive back into their snowball war.

Johnny watches you, a familiar, mischievous smile still on his face. “Well?”

You tilt your head, chuckling, “I'll call her.."

A laugh escapes him, and he pulls you close, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. As you continue with breakfast, he stays by your side, keeping an eye on the boys through the window. You realize that this—Johnny beside you, the kids laughing outside, the warmth of your home wrapping around you—is the happiest you’ve ever felt.

[randomsuggesteduseername]

—RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW

❝ MASTERLIST ❞

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

wc: 4.7k

best friends to lovers, making out, slight smut,

prompts: “Kiss me to prove we’re not in love”

Your mouth might’ve ran faster than your brain could process it. At least that’s how it feels when you watch the blush spread over Steve’s cheeks, paired with a frown meant to help keep his composure. “You want me to kiss you?” His voice wavers slightly, checking in to see that his own brain didn’t produce that thought out of thin air. It’s been long since Steve’s felt this nervous and unsure of himself around you, usually he’s all flirty smiles and cheeky words, yet now he’s been reduced to a deafening silence.

“Yes, kiss me so we can prove once and for all that nothing is going on between us.” Arms crossed over your chest after placing the bowl of caramel popcorn down. The most indignant look on your face as you stare at him expectantly from your side of the couch. The blue-ish hue the tv casts onto Steve’s side profile highlights the way his eyes stay wide when the words slip out of your mouth. “We are not Harry and Sally.” You argue with a crooked brow which seems to earn an amused huff from him.

This all started when he brought a new tape home, the hottest release of the year ‘When Harry met Sally…’ At first glance, nothing but a simple rom-com, little did you know it would put you and your best friend in a position you’ve never thought you’d ever end up.

Steve’s been adamant about the movie the whole night, calling it a heartwarming love story, while you, thinking clearly, stood your ground and told him that it ruined the vision of friendship between men and women. Of course he didn’t get it, his love-deprived brain worked in ways you’ll never understand.

“Admit it…” His eyes swiped over your face quickly as his head leaned back against the couch and to the side to face you. That grin of his couldn’t be more cocky. “You’ve thought about me like that at least once.” Almost stating it rather than asking, you shove a foot into his hip, thanks to your laying down position along the length of the couch which kept him in your reach as he occupied the place left on the couch next to your feet. The ‘humf’ sound he makes instinctively at your shove has you rolling your eyes and looking back at the TV screen.

“Kill me if I ever do.” You deadpan, the look on your face is nothing less than serious. His accusation is absurd, how can he think that you’ve ever viewed him as anything other than your best friend? His hands raise in faux defeat with a slightly amused look on his face, his gaze pulling away from you, at least momentarily until you open your mouth to speak again. “You don’t believe me, do you? Oh my god, Harrington, you’re so arrogant!” Huffing, you get up from the couch, padding over the soft, fluffy carpet the Harringtons recently bought for their living room.

Despite the coffee table topped to the brim with snacks and drinks you feel the need for a glass of water instead of a sugary and fizzy beverage. “It’s not a good look on you at all.” You let him know as you tuck some hair behind your ear, pouring yourself a glass of water, hearing his voice ring out from the living room. “So you think I have good looks, huh?”

You’d roll your eyes again at him if you could, but something tells you you’ll end up with a headache if you keep doing that. Taking the glass back with you, you claim your spot onto the couch, this time your legs curling up next to you. The movie long forgotten as it keeps playing on the TV, now only serving illumination purposes, you’re stuck on the disagreement tonight’s movie started.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You huff. He thinks it’s cute, he loves riling you up from time to time. “You’re crazy if you think I could ever be with you…” The words come out slightly harsher than intended, but he doesn’t seem to take it personal, only faking a gasp, his hand pressing over his heart to try to trick you into feeling guilty. You don’t, not even a little. “Oh honey, how can you be so mean to me?” He almost whines, pouty lips on display, his eyes almost glazing over with the puppy look he’s mastered at this point.

You know this is just ordinary messing around, he’s always poking and prodding you with his words, but something about his suggestion has shifted something inside you. Maybe it’s the thought that he thinks you’re in love with him which…quite frankly, is insane…right? Maybe it’s the way his rhetorics make you want to slap that grin off his face…or maybe, just maybe, instead of slapping you’d like to try a kiss first.

Instead of staring at his stupid brown eyes, you decide to busy yourself with the bowl of caramel popcorn, picking a handful. The taste melts on your tongue which brings you some sort of serenity for a few moments.

The idea which sparks into your head is not appropriate, far from it. What has got you thinking about kissing him again you think you’ll never know, but maybe that’s just the answer. A simple kiss to prove that whatever assumptions he has about your feelings are completely and utterly absurd.

So, you can blame him for pushing it, or you can blame yourself for being so stubborn about proving him wrong. Either way, it brings you back to his shocked face, the words already uttered and too late to be taken back without implying some sort of fear that his suggestion might be true after all. The long and awkward silence almost makes you jab him with a few teasing words, but the way he seems to be a bit shellshocked for the better part of a minute has you keeping it to yourself.

“Kiss you? As in, for real?” You smile, amused by his tone as you nod, the thought brings some butterflies into your stomach but you just assume it’s nerves from having to kiss your best friend. “I’m serious— right here, right now. To get that stupid idea out of your head.” You explain as if it’s the sanest and most logical explanation for this. “It’ll prove we’re not capable of being attracted to one another and that nothing will ever happen between us.”

Steve, after seemingly coming out of his momentarily catatonic state, has already masked his shocked expression and covered it up with that smile you know so well. Shifting to face you on the couch, one leg underneath himself, he seems to be contemplating this before he runs a hand through his hair. “Makes sense.” That’s the conclusion he seems to arrive at as he scoots closer to you on the couch.

The room is still mostly covered by darkness, which makes it harder to see his facial expressions and how his eyes dip to your lips briefly, as if already setting his target on them. His arm is laid over the back of the couch, coming to a stop in front of you once his knee bumps your ankles, making you change your position as you cross your legs and face him too. It doesn’t feel as intimate as the moments before a first kiss should feel, but once again, he’s your best friend…nothing more.

“Wait…” His voice comes out laced with concern, brows pulling together slightly. “Are you sure you won’t fall in love?” Steve asks and you can’t help but let out the breath you’ve been holding up until now, your hand smacking his bicep still settled on the back of the couch. “Oh I'll be fine, not so sure about you though.” Now it’s his time to roll his eyes though you notice the way his lips curl up and his bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a brief moment.

“Alright, Casanova, could you just get to it?” He nods and adjusts his position, not really sure how he needs to approach this. The hand settled in his lap skirts up over your arm, ultimately finding its place on your chin. The way he holds it so gingerly between his thumb and index makes you feel that there’s this sort of nervousness in him just the way it’s in you too. But this is just a kiss to prove him wrong, nothing else.

His eyes find yours and then he’s leaning in, waiting for your reaction, waiting to be shoved away or chided for actually trying to kiss you, but the closer he gets it dawns on him that you want— no, need this to prove him wrong. It bothers him slightly to know you’ll go as far as kissing him to prove that you’re not in love with him and never will be, but he can’t help the sudden thought which pops into his mind, uninvited.

Pulling back slightly to put some distance between your faces again, your eyes narrow curiously, a tinge of annoyance on your features too. “This won’t make it awkward between us, right?” His question makes you sigh, wondering if this whole thing is really a good idea or if it’s just going to make things worse. The last thing you need is to lose your best friend over some stupid rom-com.

“No, Steve, it won’t change anything between us because it doesn’t mean anything.” You assure him, finding it in you to be understanding of his worries. He nods, accepting that it’ll be done and you’ll never speak of it again.

He’s getting into position again, more shuffling and scruffing over the couch as you find a way to rest your legs against one another comfortably. Steve’s hand lifts to your chin again, keeping hold of it softly as he takes one last look at you, starting his approach again. You don’t feel the nerves anymore, truthfully you don’t feel anything, further proving your point that you don’t have any feelings towards him.

You let your eyes fall shut, expecting his kiss as you breach your hand on his knee, not feeling his breath hitch the slightest bit at your touch. It’s so brief that you almost miss it. A chaste peck which only meets your lips for a second. Your eyes open once his hand pulls away and clears his throat, not saying anything.

You should be happy that you felt absolutely nothing during the kiss, yet it still leaves you with a sort of empty, unsatisfied feeling in your chest. You dare to look at him again, a few beats passing before you notice the soft blush dusting his cheeks, though it might as well be the light from the TV.

“See? Nothing.” You press your hands to your thighs, subtly drying them against the material of your sweats as he seemingly agrees with you. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you gaze forwards before your mouth opens again. “You know, that wasn’t really a kiss. Like, a proper kiss.” You twitch your nose as you don’t dare look at him.

“Mhm, yeah…” His bottom lip is stuck between his teeth, the plush flesh catching your interest as it falls freely back into its place. “You’re totally right, we should probably try again.” The thinking process seems to be logical, as if the possibility of looking for another excuse to kiss each other is not even on the table right now. Just two friends making sure they’re not in love, right?

“Okay then, kiss me like you’d kiss Becky, Tina or Amy. Just pretend I’m one of them.” The words make him dizzy. How can he pretend to kiss you like you’re just some girl he wants to spend his night with? You’re so much more than that, though at the same time less. Your connection is too strong to one another, and as if reading his mind, you speak again. “Maybe not like that. But just kiss me like a girl you’re in love with.” His huff comes out with just the right amount of humour.

“I can do that…I think.” His tongue comes out to wet his lips, the way he’s looking at you feels a bit more intimate now. “Get to it then.” You try to joke as you take a deeper breath, his body already close to yours, making it easier for him to reach out.

The way his skin feels on yours when he cups the side of your face should be the first indicator that this kiss is going to be much different from the first. As if reading your thoughts, his thumb swipes over your cheekbone almost tenderly, eyes falling shut in time with one another, you’re left with the darkness of your eyelids, focusing solely on your other senses.

The musky smell of Steve’s slept in clothes and lingering wafts of toothpaste on his breath, the warm encompassing feeling of his palm on your cheek and the low hum of unintelligible voices since the movie is still playing. The tip of his sharp nose is now tracing over the contour of yours, whereas the first time it was merely just a clumsy bump. You refrain a shudder successfully and you let him go on, carrying a sort of curiosity about what King Steve does to these girls to have them in a chokehold.

And then it happens again, that chaste press of lips on lips, though you keep still and lightly press yourself closer. Just as fast as it comes it goes again, making you furrow your brows. “I th—“ The words get swallowed by him as Steve leans in again, more purposeful, carrying more intent.

Something trashes wildly in your stomach, dare you say butterflies as he parts his lips slightly, coaxing you into a slower open mouthed kiss. You don’t mind, letting him take the lead, following his pace, you’re pleasantly surprised when his tongue tries to enter the mix. You welcome it with your own, brushing wetly over one another while his lips seal over yours.

Without realising, you let your hands come up, one hooking against the back of his neck while the other pushes greedily into his hair. You’re not sure how long it goes on for, though you surely get lost in the way he’s treating you like you mean something more to him. The way his hands touch you, stroking your cheek and holding your hip, the position is still somewhat awkward and stiff, having to meet in the middle, but you don’t mind it that much.

Clearly he does, having to pull you closer, making you slip into his lap to get more comfortable. Settling on his thighs, your knees dig into the leather of his couch while his head tilts back to reach you better. You’re sure your lips will soon turn numb from his ministrations in which you both seem to get lost, clearly forgetting the whole reason you got into the argument in the first place.

Feeling him up, your hands drift over his shoulders and down to his chest, giving the briefest squeeze on it which has him taking a deeper breath in, making you smile against his lips. You’ve fallen into a rhythm, getting accustomed to one another, but everything freezes in place when you hear him.

Confusion etched into your features, your brows twitch together momentarily. “Did you…moan?” The question seems absurd since you’ve heard it clear as day, you couldn’t have missed the way it made your insides clench, your eyes searching his face as you watch the tips of his ears and his cheeks flush a deep red. “Well we’ve been shoving our tongues down each other’s throats, sorry for getting distracted.” He defends, trying to sound as if it’s your fault, looking away to hide the embarrassed look on his face.

Gazing down at him, you take a breath and shift, unintentionally brushing over his lap, his hands tighten on your hips if it’s any indicator to the torment he’s going through. Your lips out of reach, unsure if you’ll even kiss him again after his slip up, your body nothing but a teasing, heating pressure which would be embarrassing to let affect him. But oh how can he keep it together when you’re set on ruining him?

He thinks you know what you’re doing, not when you stare down at him for a brief moment, giving him the idea that you do want him, not when you shift over his lap, and not even when you breach your hands on his shoulders and push him to lay back again, but when your lips press against his for a third time which has his mind rebooting, trying to keep up with the pace you’re setting.

The idea that this was supposed to be just a kiss is now forgotten, the only thing that seems to matter now is kissing his best friend like she’s a girl he’s in love with. Surprisingly, he doesn’t even find it that hard to do, though he doesn’t have the faintest idea as to why.

You can’t help but grab hold of his locks again, so silky and soft through your fingers, giving them the slightest tug experimentally. This time when Steve feels it, he doesn’t moan, not even grunt, what he does though is shamelessly grind up against you. You’d stop the kiss to ask him if he’s hard, but it all feels so good, the way he’s encompassing you in his arms, how he shifts the slightest bit down towards your jaw, in search of sensitive skin. Nails digging lightly into the back of his neck, you gasp when his mouth leaves yours properly and latches onto your neck, lost in the bliss of it all, you grind down again which is enough to make Steve lose his mind.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” His breath sounds strained. “can’t take it—“ His murmur is a rumble against your skin, your whole body warming up at the idea that your best friend can’t contain himself after a simple kiss. Your thighs try to squeeze together at the sound of his voice, instead, squeezing his hips.

Heart drumming, you feel his lips finish up the work on your skin and it doesn’t hit you that it’ll leave a mark, you’re too preoccupied with the way his hands help you grind over his lap to notice. There’s a fire growing between both of you, low and slow, simmering dangerously close.

There’s sudden silence, the tape has no doubt ended, leaving you in a way too intimate silence, only filled by the grunts and gasps shared between you. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be letting a simple kiss get the better of you but Steve doesn’t seem to be bothered at all, letting his needs guide him into stealing another greedy kiss.

Getting light headed, unsure if from his passionate kiss or the lack of oxygen, you’re forced to part, a thin string of spit splitting between the two of you as you look at one another, realising just how wrecked and ravished you both look.

His strands are sticking up at odd angles, his lips flushed a deeper red from all the kissing, just enough to match his cheeks. The collar of his shirt is stretched out a bit, showing a part of his collarbone from where you’d fisted his shirt. The way he’s looking up at you makes it seem like he’s begging for more, his body certainly is with the way he’s still pressing between your thighs, feeling that he’s fighting to contain himself for the sake of the dignity he has left.

Forcing down the lump in your throat with a harsh swallow, you force yourself to move off of him, sliding next to him onto the couch. Settling your hands in your lap, you toy with your fingers, gazing up at the ceiling as he does the same, waiting in silence until your breathing slows down and your mind is a bit more clear.

“You’re a nice kisser,” You mumble the compliment. Calling it nice would be a gross understatement but that’s all you can manage at the moment. Two, Three beats pass before he conjures up a response. “Thanks, you too…nice,”

“Great, um…I guess we proved my point.” Only now remembering what got you in this mess in the first place, you blink and look for your glass of water before you take a sip, the room temperature liquid feeling cold as you drink.

Stubborn.

That’s exactly what you are. It’s been three days since you and Steve broke the dam and started a metaphorical flood of thoughts and feelings. You haven’t seen him since, not that you’re looking forward to the awkward silence and new weird dynamic. Some part of you wishes you’d just accepted the defeat without having to prove anything, while the other can’t help but think back to that kiss, maybe the best one of your life.

It’s on Saturday night that Robin calls and invites you over for a movie night. Just the mere thought of it has your blood warming up, but you can’t let him keep you away from your shared friend group. You’ll just have to…ignore him.

Easier said than done.

You rode with Eddie, he never has a problem with picking you up, but he does give you a strange look when you hop in his van as if to say ‘Where’s Harrington?’ Since the two of you always come together, wherever you go, he’s there and vice versa.

With a hammering heart, you let yourself in as you always do and greet Robin with a smile, subtly looking over her shoulder as she speaks, trying to see if he’s already here. Snapping back to the conversation, you follow her to the couch as she rambles off about whatever tape she ‘borrowed’ from Family Video, though it always ends up thrown somewhere in her room, gathering dust.

Settling in the middle of the couch, You watch as Robin takes a seat next to you, telling Eddie to prepare the tape and bring the bowls of snacks over. Finally settling into the familiar energy, you laugh, entertaining Robin’s absurd thoughts and jokes, but soon enough it’s interrupted as the door opens and closes again, Eddie’s still occupying his usual armchair so it can’t by anyone else than him…

Clammy hands drying on your thighs, you look back as his voice comes out, greeting the three of you as he apologises for being late. You know him, and you’d be inclined to say that you do it best, but looking at him right now, you can’t seem to be able to read him anymore. All you can see is those big hands that grabbed and squeezed at you, those walnut strands which you tugged at, pulling the prettiest of sounds from him, and those eyes…oh how you’re lost in them until Robin boops the tip of your nose, flushing in embarrassment as you pretend they didn’t catch you staring with heart eyes at your best friend.

“Okay, come on, let's watch this already.” You huff, as if you’re impatient to see the movie, but in reality, you’re only thinking about the lights being dimmed so the blush on your cheeks won’t be on full display anymore. You’re cursed with having to squeeze into Robin’s two person couch with her and Steve, each of them pressing closely into your sides, Steve’s arm laying over the back of the couch.

The movie isn’t great, not even close to what Robin’s promised it to be. Proof of that is Eddie drooling on himself as he sleeps peacefully in the armchair, and Robin’s head pressing against your shoulder as she rests with soft snores coming out of her. You wonder how you’re still awake yourself, but the heat radiating off Steve’s body is enough to keep you alert for almost an hour.

“Should we turn this off?” He asks as he gazes at the screen with a sort of bored confusion on his face. You nod and watch him as he gets up, using the opportunity to let Robin lay comfortably on the couch as you slip away from the living room and find yourself walking away, moving towards the bathroom but before you can lock yourself there, you hear his voice.

“Can we talk?” His question seems to slip out like he doesn’t want to go through the conversation either, but it’s eating him up, having to keep his distance from you. Telling yourself it’ll be okay, you turn on your heel and nod, heading to Robin’s room as he follows closely.

Once the door is closed, leaving the two of you alone, you dare to lift your gaze, swallowing thickly while he seems to be looking for the right words. “Did I make things awkward between us? You know, like after we uh— made out?”

“No…no, it’s just, It’s fine…really.” You rush to assure him, he doesn’t believe it one bit, your voice wavers as he steps closer and tilts his head with a concerned furrow in his brows. “Are you sure? It doesn’t seem like that, you can barely look at me and you haven’t called to spend the night in like………forever.” He argues, knowing you always have sleepovers, especially now in the summer.

“Steve, it’s been four days…” You smile lightly as you correct him, seemingly overestimating for how long you’ve been apart, though for him it surely feels like a drawn out eternity meant to make him suffer in your absence. “Exactly!” He huffs as if you can’t seem to understand just how much he’s missed you.

He’s got you, it’s a curse that he knows you this well. Maybe you can’t lie your way out of this, not when he’s watching you like a hawk, trying to find the source of the problem as always. He hates to see you upset, even more so when he knows it might be his fault.

“C’mon, when did you stop telling me what’s bothering you?” The way his tone seems to be a bit hurt makes you look at him, now he’s much closer, his hand reaching for yours as he tugs you gently towards him. You’re not sure you can say anything that will justify your actions, so you don’t. Gazing down at the way his hand swallows yours up completely, your chest swarms with butterflies as he toys with your fingers gently. Want takes over your mind, clouding your judgement as you gaze up at him, opening your mouth to speak.

Knowing no words will ever compare to what you want to do, you push yourself up on your tiptoes and grab hold of his shoulder, leaning in to connect your lips again just like you did three nights ago. Despite the sudden movement, he doesn’t seem to be too shocked, quick with returning the kiss as his hands settle instinctively on your waist to make sure you stay close.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, you cup the side of his face with your free hand and lean more into him. Letting him walk you back until you bump into the wall, you sigh into the kiss and pull his head down to reach him better. A fuzzy feeling takes over your brain as you let yourself enjoy the moment, feeling Steve’s wandering hands advance, you cling to him for support and arch, saying his name in a soft whisper.

Letting your hands slide up under his shirt, fingers tracing soft skin, gripping at his strong back as Steve occupies himself with pawing at your thighs and waist.

Your bodies pressing and tangling warmly, finally feeling the freedom to touch him like you’ve always known you wanted deep in your heart, humming softly as he lets a relaxed sigh slip from his lips. Minutes pass before a sudden thump, followed by a grumpy Robin cursing, travels through her small apartment.

You break apart with a groan and bite your lip, gazing at him as he seems to resent the interruption too. “We should get back out there before they realise we’re missing.” He knows you’re right, but the way you look like you hate the idea, carrying that soft pout on your lips which has his heart melting makes him dip his head to catch your lips in another kiss, this time softer. “Mhm, in a minute.”

And how can you turn him down when he’s so adamant about kissing you?

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (9) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

note: sorry this update took forever !!! enj <3

//

there are words can describe how incredibly awkward you feel when you wake up.

last night—after you and yoongi crossed that unspoken line and messed around—you two ended up tangled together.

it’s strange because in between soft touches and sleepy murmurs—you actually got to know him in ways you never expected.

you recall it all.

his quiet voice filling the spaces between the darkness and your hushed breathing so you could hear every tone, every word, and every breath of his crystal clear. 

yoongi told you stories and confessions that slipped out between shallow breaths. childish yet meaningful things he probably didn’t even realize he was saying.

you remember him murmuring about the way his mom used to hold his hand when he couldn’t fall asleep as a kid, or how he swore he’d never own a fish again because when he was 11 years old... he had 14 goldfishes and they all died one by one 2 weeks later.

he swears it wasn't his fault.

you tell him you believe him.

(you really do.)

he also talks about his quiet love for early mornings, how at peace he feels when he’s the only one awake in a still-sleeping world. in that half-dazed vulnerability, yoongi let you in. 

just enough for you to see a side of him you hadn’t expected, a part that was softer, quieter, more open.

then, you two talked about baby injeolmi.

how you two don't really care about the gender and just want a healthy baby. so much so that you both agreed to not know the gender and to just be surprised on the day of. oh, and how you do want a baby shower and think hye mi is already plotting that...

then, you two talked about the moving in thing again.

that's when you pretended to go to sleep and actually fell asleep. yoongi only laughed at you, fully knowing that you're just nervous. you're moving in one way or another.

he knows it.

you know it...

but aside from the way the talk ended; it went well.

no, the talk wasn’t everything…

but it was something. 

now, with the morning light filtering through the blinds, reality started to seep back in.

the familiar awkwardness of two people who shared more than they’d planned. you can feel his warmth beside you, his hand still loosely draped over your waist, and a twinge of nervousness fluttered in your stomach.

you glance at him, expecting him to be asleep. but then, his eyes blinked open, groggy but sharp enough to catch the slight flush in your cheeks. 

still half-asleep, his voice rough as he mumbles, “hi…”

for a second, neither of you move, as if lingering in that quiet, unguarded space between sleep and reality. suddenly aware of the intimacy, he clears his throat, his gaze softening but pulling back just a bit.

you offer him a shy smile, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“a-about last night…”

he chuckles softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “yeah… last night…”

then, he pauses to gather his words.

“wait, are you talking about me yapping or me sucking your tits?”

none. you’re talking about pretending to fall asleep regardless, your shy smile breaks as you burst into laughter. he joins your laughter and sighs. 

“i mean, are we gonna talk about any of it or is acknowledging it good enough for now? i don’t know if i’m awake enough for the conversation but i will be if you want to—”

“all good,” you assure him. “i don’t know where i was going with any of it. i guess i just wanted… to know if you—”

“i liked it,” he tells you, not digging any deeper. “you getting to know me, me sucking your tits—all of it.”

as promised, yoongi takes you to the baby store. 

your eyes light up the minute you step foot in it. it’s then that yoongi remembers exactly who he’s having this baby with. 

you and your fucking babyfever. 

the baby store is a mix of pastel colors, tiny clothes, and gentle lullabies playing over the speakers. yoongi trails behind you as you wander through the aisles. one hand resting on the cart as he pushes it along, his eyes constantly flicking to you with a quiet, thoughtful focus.

though you two are pretty good at communicating—the whole physical affection part? that’s still a little wonky. for instance, every time you pause to examine something, yoongi is right there, his hand slipping gently around your waist to guide you to the next aisle or just to linger beside you. it’s so subtle that, at first, you think it’s an accident, a reflex. 

but then it keeps happening.

at first, it throws you off—his casual closeness.

the way he stays so near, like a shadow. you’re not used to this kind of attention from him.. this quiet and steady affection. but strangely enough, you find that you don’t mind it. in fact, there’s something comforting about the way he stays close, attentive to your every move.

when you stop to touch a soft little onesie covered in tiny clouds, yoongi doesn’t even hesitate. he reaches over, gently taking it from your hands and adding it to the cart without a word. 

you shoot him a questioning look, but he only shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips as if to say, whatever you want.

“yoongi, you know you don’t have to buy everything i touch, right?” you remind him, glancing at the growing pile in the cart.

yoongi just chuckles, unbothered, and places his hand on your waist again as you reach the aisle full of toys. his touch is warm and grounding, making it hard to argue with him.

“you’re not carrying any of it home, so relax,” he says with a smile that’s both charming and final. “i like this shit too. they’re cute or whatever—”

then, your fingertips brush as you both reach for a soft, star-patterned onesie. he lets go first, letting you hold onto the onesie.

“this one’s cute,” you say softly, running your thumb along the fabric. then, you bite back a small smile when you realizes yoongi hasn’t moved his hand from your waist.

“yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. his voice is softer than usual, but before you can read into it, he takes the onesie and tosses it into the cart. then he grabs a few more items without asking you, each time ignoring your attempts to peek at the price tags.

“yoongi..."

"what?"

"are you serious?"

he looks at you blankly. "don't we need these things?"

you nod but give him a stern look. "yeah, but we can't buy out the whole store."

"why not?"

"first of all, that's insane... and second of all—a-are you just—"

you reach for a soft, stuffed rabbit, just curious to feel it, and—predictably—he plucks it right out of your hands, tossing it into the cart.

"you are."

"i'm what?"

"seriously?" you huff, barely holding back a grin. “you’re not even letting me decide if i want it. you're tossing it in just because i touched it.”

he remains unbothered by your protests. 

“what if i just think you have good taste?” he says, glancing at you with a hint of mischief. 

and with that, he gives you a gentle nudge, guiding you further down the aisle with that warm hand still resting at your side.

“are you saying that just to flatter yourself?”

“what do i have to do with this?”

“well, you’re my type and my babydaddy—”

“i’m your type?” yoongi tilts his head at you. "good to know..."

you blush, eyes wide from embarrassment. before you can make up some excuse to save face, he leans in and playfully pinches your waist.

“you're my type too, mama.”

you clear your throat and redirect the conversation.

"s-should we pick a crib?"

yoongi gestures his hand for you to lead the way.

as you begin to walk, you turn your head and send him a glare.

"... and be serious about this part, okay? this is the crib we're picking out. read the packaging and make your judgement. i'm gonna end up choosing the prettiest one that might not function as well as the ugly one... so, can i trust your taste on this?"

yoongi nods, pushing the cart with a steady, unhurried pace, his hand resting casually on the handle.

“you can trust me,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

... and so, you do.

you trust him.

when you reach the checkout, you step forward to pay but—

yoongi slips right past you.

casually handing over his card to the cashier before you even get a chance. you cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him, watching as he signs the receipt, completely unbothered.

the total is easily above $3,000. 

he meets your gaze with a look that’s almost playful, his expression all wide-eyed innocence, as if he hadn’t just ignored your efforts.

"yoongi," you begin, voice firm. “we’re both injeolmi's parents, and it’s not fair for you to pay for everything. at least let me pay half—”

he doesn’t respond right away, just nods patiently, his attention focused on gathering the bags the cashier hands him. his face is calm, listening but clearly not swayed. he loads a big box containing the crib into the cart, then places the bags filled with tiny clothes, blankets, and toys right beside it, adjusting them carefully.

you press on, leaning slightly forward, hoping to get through to him.

“we’re both responsible here... i know i'm not a nurse practitioner like you, but it's not like i can’t contribute, you know—"

“i know.”

yoongi glances over his shoulder at you, his mouth quirking in the faintest smile as he stacks the last bag. he seems unbothered by your scolding, more amused than anything.

“this is my baby too and i feel uncomfortable letting you do this much—”

finally, he turns to you, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair back from your cheek in a gesture so casual it nearly makes you forget your own irritation. 

“do what? provide?”

you're tongue tied.

“all done? feel better, mama?” he asks, his tone light, but his eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief. “if not, go ahead. say what you want. say what you need to say. i’m listening.”

you let out a small huff, crossing your arms more tightly, trying to stay serious.

“you’re not paying for everything, yoongi.”

he raises one eyebrow, his expression softening but still unwavering. 

“i am. i did.” he shrugs, nonchalantly. it feels like he’s teasing you even though he isn’t. “___, i’m all done with this topic now. are you?”

“no, actually, i—” you start, feeling your frustration build.

“great,” he interrupts, his smile spreading into a grin that makes your heart skip. 

he reaches down, taking your hand in his, his grip gentle yet firm, and begins to guide you toward the exit, leaving you no room to protest. 

his thumb rubs lightly over your knuckles as he holds your hand, a grounding gesture that calms you, even as he completely ignores your point. 

“let’s go home,” he says softly, his voice warm, as though it’s the simplest decision in the world.

home.

following yoongi inside his condo, the familiar sight of his place tugging at something inside you. 

it’s been a while since you’ve been here. the memories of that night still linger like a quiet hum in the back of your mind, but you push them aside. 

focus on the present. 

focus on the baby.

he leads you through the hallways, and you try to ignore the way your pulse quickens as you walk past his bedroom. you know it’s silly—nothing’s changed here. but still, the weight of the space feels different, heavier now. maybe it’s because this time, you’re here for something else. 

this time, it’s about the baby.

and the fact that you’ll be moving in soon… fuck, your mind begins to spin.

then, yoongi stops in front of a door, his hand resting lightly on the handle. he opens it slowly, stepping aside to let you in. 

“this is the guest room,” he says, but you can tell he’s hesitating, like he’s waiting for your reaction. “soon to be baby injeolmi’s room…”

you step inside, your gaze instantly drawn to the empty space. it’s clean, quiet, the pale walls untouched by time or use. the sunlight pours in from the window, making the room feel warmer, but it’s still just a room. 

there’s nothing personal about it. 

nothing that belongs to anyone yet.

but you can already picture it—nursery furniture, soft colors, the quiet hum of a baby’s lullaby filling the air. you glance back at him, noting the careful expression on his face. he’s watching you, waiting for your approval. waiting for your thoughts, even if you’re not sure what to say. you wonder if he’s nervous too, if this feels as strange to him as it does to you.

for a moment, your mind drifts to that night—the night everything changed. 

the night you slept together. 

the night you felt something more than just friendship between you two. the way his touch felt, the way his lips lingered on yours, and how quickly it all faded into the awkward silence the next morning.

"i also made space for your things in my room. i'm not finished clearing out my all shit but i will be by next week. does that sound okay?"

"huh?" you blink. "n-next week?"

yoongi nods.

"i think i gave you enough time to think things over... and don't act like this is a surprise. i brought it up last night. you pretended to sleep."

your eyes widen.

"i—"

"move in with me next week," yoongi says. "... you can pretend to sleep mid conversation in my bed from now on."

by an hour and half in, you and yoongi have filled the space with scattered remnants of baby gear—boxes, parts of cribs, and the disassembled pieces of a changing table. they all lay haphazardly across the floor. 

it’s oddly comforting.

the clutter somehow feels like a soft reminder of the chaos and excitement that’s about to come.

yoongi is kneeling on the floor, tools in hand, as he begins to assemble the crib, the sound of metal and wood clicking together filling the otherwise quiet room.

you lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him work with a careful, focused precision. his brow is furrowed, his jaw clenched as he concentrates on each piece. his sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms that make it hard to focus on anything else. you swallow, not bothering to hide the way your eyes drift to the muscle in his arms as he works.

and then, almost instinctively, he looks up at you, his gaze meeting yours as if he can feel your eyes on him.

“baby injeolmi’s clothes need to be washed,” he says, his voice low but firm, his hands already reaching for another tool. “you want to do this 50/50? fine. but i don’t want you getting hurt.”

you push off the doorframe, rolling your eyes as you walk toward him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

you’re not used to him treating you like you’re made of glass, but you get where he’s coming from. still, it doesn’t sit well with you.

“i’m pregnant but i’m not fragile,” you argue. “i can help you with the crib—“

he doesn’t budge, his jaw tightening as he focuses on the task at hand. 

“humor me then,” he says, his tone patient, but there’s an underlying edge of stubbornness that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.

you’re about to argue further, but the way he’s working—so effortlessly, so damn focused—has you momentarily silent. the way his arms flex as he screws the pieces together, the tension in his shoulders, the occasional glance up to check in on you—it all just feels so... domestic, and so right in this moment.

you step back a little, your breath catching as you take in the scene. yoongi, with his sleeves pushed up, lost in his work, looks so different from the guy you met—still him, but somehow more.

more... grounded. more steady.

your gaze lingers, unable to pull away.

your cheeks heat, a strange flutter in your chest as you realize you’ve been staring too long. When Yoongi catches your eye, his expression unreadable for a split second, you scramble to regain your composure.

“i’ll, uh…” you quickly clear your throat, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “i’ll get started on baby’s laundry. do you have clothes that need to be washed too? i can do a load—i mean… fuck—y-you know what? how about i make us some lunch first? yeah. i’ll do that.” you say, quickly backing away before your feelings get the best of you.

your steps are hurried as you leave the room, but you can still feel the heat in your face, the warmth of his gaze following you as you retreat.

yet, the image of him—focused, strong, and all yours—lingers, and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you step into the kitchen.

in the kitchen, you decide to keep it simple yet comforting. 

something easy to share, nothing too fancy. you settle on making caprese chicken sandwiches with a side of fresh fruit and chips. 

you finish grilling the chicken and layer it on the toasted ciabatta. you add slices of fresh mozzarella, letting it melt slightly, then pile on thick tomato slices and fresh basil leaves. a drizzle of balsamic glaze finishes it off before you top it with the other half of the bread, pressing it together gently when yoongi walks in. 

without a word, he leans against the counter beside you, his presence as familiar as the scent of the meal. he doesn’t wait for you to finish; instead, he picks up a melon slice and takes a bite.

“can’t you wait two seconds?” you laugh, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

yoongi just grins, completely unbothered. he takes another bite.

“fruit always taste better when moms cut them,” he says, his voice teasing but laced with that quiet sincerity of his. “oh, should i say milf? or is that jungkook’s line?”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

the way he stands there, so effortlessly himself, makes your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect. he’s always been like this—comfortable, confident, and somehow, when he’s this close, it feels like everything else fades away.

as he pulls away, you notice a small smudge of melon juice on the corner of his lips. without thinking, you reach up to wipe it away, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. the movement feels natural, almost automatic, but something about the intimacy of it makes your heart flutter. you don’t hesitate, bringing your thumb to your mouth to clean it off.

“mhmm,” you moan. “tastes sweet.”

then, the moment freezes.

yoongi stares at you, eyes wide, as if he’s seeing you for the first time, like the simple action has somehow shifted everything. the air between you thickens, and suddenly, it feels like there’s more than just the space in the kitchen separating you.

you stand still, unsure of what to do next. 

your eyes lock, and in that second, something unspoken passes between you. it’s not just the closeness or the warmth of the kitchen—it’s a pull, an undeniable magnetism that makes your chest tighten and your breath catch.

yoongi’s gaze drops to your lips, and you can feel the tension, the quiet yearning between you both. his hand twitches slightly at his side, like he wants to reach for you, but he’s holding back, waiting for you to make the first move.

and just as you’re about to lean in, your belly gives a sudden flutter.

you gasp, your eyes widening in surprise, and instinctively, you reach for his hand, pressing it gently to your belly. 

“oh my god.”

“what?”

“yoongi… i think… here—”

you hold your breath, waiting, and then—

there it is again. 

a small, unmistakable kick.

yoongi’s eyes light up with awe, his fingers curling slightly around your hand as he feels it, a slow smile spreading across his face. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his eyes fixed on your stomach, filled with wonder and something deeper that you can’t quite place.

you squeeze his hand, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you both.

“did you feel that?” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips. 

yoongi looks up at you, his eyes softer now, holding something deeper than the simple wonder of the moment. 

the air around you two has shifted into something more intimate. then, his gaze flickers to your face, his heart fluttering in his chest as he steps a little closer, his thumb gently brushing over your hand.

… and as he looks into your eyes, his pulse quickens. 

it’s not just the baby’s kick he feels—it’s this quiet, undeniable pull between you two. his chest tightens with the weight of it, and for a moment; this is everything to him. 

everything.

he gulps as he soaks in your presence and sinks into the idea feeling of love beginning. then, slowly and then all at once; he accepts it. 

“yeah,” yoongi says, tone warm and ever so sure. “i feel it.”

as you look up to meet his eyes, yoongi’s lips tug into a smile. dipping his head low, he kisses you.

[seewetter]

While I'm not totally on board with OPs presentation of the topic (I think there's a bit of connective tissue missing as to why the hostility of men specifically in blue collar jobs has relevance to a discussion of right-wing men in general), this post says things that I've been trying to articulate for a while.

To draw a somewhat absurd comparison, I think the people OP is criticizing seem to internalize a view of conservative ideas akin to sappy Hollywood films like "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", where the intolerant people simply "come around" and warm up to the idea of a intercultural wedding (or some other new state of affairs) because there was demand for them to change their minds. Nothing wrong with stories simplifying the world like that, but the realities of changing minds are more complex than "everyone clapped".

To me, one of the most under-discussed factors holding back feminist movements is that our society hasn't yet solved creating a financially safe environment for men leaving the workforce to enter traditionally feminine-coded domains like housework. This is true for blue-collar workers who if they try to re-enter the work force suddenly have big gaps on their resume and its true for white-collar workers: a lawyer would have to go to law school again for several years to re-enter the field (ditto for a doctor, etc.). This doesn't necessarily affect how society thinks about transgressive gender expression or sexual orientation or about trans people, for example, but in an economy where businesses try to cut corners and pay as few people as possible it is a factor that means that many men will view the destruction of the patriarchy as a huge risk of their personal, individual ability to financially survive. Some feminists might tell these men to suck it up and become house-husbands, but that position comes with far less prestige, far less voice in society, far less autonomy, far less social mobility and requires ingenuity (taking on smaller jobs) in order to survive. It generates a dependency on another individual: this is why women's magazines so often revolve around what men want, what men like, what pleases men and how to make men happy while men's magazines revolve around male hobbies.

What OP is criticizing has to be viewed in that context: not only is OP correct that male peer groups make personal status and respect conditional on edgyness at best and often on outright bigotry... but if our society doesn't figure out the financial escape route for male independence then they will continue to intuitively think of genders as naturally polar opposites, some subsets of men will automatically oppose women entering the workforce (or men leaving it), maintaining fragile masculinity and emasculation will continue to be (in a certain bounded rationality sense where we don't consider broader and more radical alternatives) valid concerns.

Like: are conservative parents who let their sons bring girls home but don't let their daughters bring boys home not effectively showing concern about the future prospects of their children in a proportionate way? Men who fool around and disappoint or challenge their partners with a broader pool of sexual or romantic encounters can continue to have a nice life if their financial subsistence comes not from their current main partner but from their job. If the wife is unhappy with her married husband, he can receive a pay raise from the boss tomorrow because the boss is probably not the wife and the wife's wants and needs are totally unrelated to the employers wants and needs. If the husband is unhappy with his married wife, he can dump her...and now she has to scramble to figure out if she can receive alimony, how to receive alimony or whether she can survive with her relatives for a while. I agree that most conservatives are probably not thinking this deep into it, but their value systems allow for a kind of bounded rationality where if society operates like this, placing an unfair double standard on your children gives those children the maximum autonomy that that society grants without getting those kids into risk of serious trouble.

If we can solve this problem then presumably convincing conservatives to raise their kids different will be significantly easier -- it will be comparable to the kind of progress women made in the 1920s when wearing pants and earning money from a "man's job" often went together and enabled women to pay their own bills and do what they wanted without social punishment. And if the kids are raised different, they will have different priorities. These male spaces where men prove themselves by socially reinforcing loyalty to the hierarchies of society and glorifying the power they have over others...they will stop making as much sense to a younger generation. There will be respected and well-known men in society who are not conforming in any way to male norms. The male chauvinism will become less important to those groups which previously seemed to be fueled by it. In such a world, patriarchal attitudes will just be opinions, not a form of bounded rationality. Nothing important will hinge on these opinions, people will be far more able to give up these opinions...especially future generations.

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[yinemw]

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: telling touya just how pretty he is

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Touya’s burnt skin 🤷🏽‍♀️, picking at his staples

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: Touya Todoroki from MHA

𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Pretty” Touya hears the mumble out of the blue, looking up from his phone to see what you were calling pretty, but your eyes were on him. Thinking he heard wrong, he went back to his phone, as if nothing happened.

“So pretty” you say once again, inching closer to him on the sofa. Palms resting on his thigh to try and get his attention.

“What?”

You only smile at his confused stare, taking the phone out of his hands and laying it on the coffee table. “You. You’re so unbelievably gorgeous Touya”

He wasn’t good with compliments, especially not with ones that made no sense to him and he didn’t believe. Him? Pretty? In his head those two didn’t go together, and even if the one person he trusted most in the world uttered the words, he still wouldn’t believe it. Perhaps it was pity? No, he knew you like the back of his scarred hand, and you never pitied him. You understood him.

“Don’t start again” he leaned over to get his phone, but you had plans of your own. Swinging one leg over his thighs, you seat yourself in his lap and prevent him from going anywhere or reaching for his phone to distract himself. “I’m serious, I don’t want to hear it” he repeated himself, but nothing seemed to stop your train of thought.

“I’m serious too, I mean it. I think you’re beautiful. Your scars, the staples holding your skin together. They hold a story, how you’ve gotten this far and what you’ve been though. They make you, you. I love the version of you that is sitting in front of me right now, and you wouldn’t be that version if it wasn’t for your past and these scars”

“Wow thank you sweetheart, that wasn’t cheesy at all” He rolled his eyes, voice sarcastic and not believing a word. “Say whatever you want, doesn’t change the fact I look like this”

“Oh come on, you know I like the color purple” you tease. Wrapping your fingers around his chin and rolling your thumb over his lower lip. “Especially rusty purple like your skin”

“Shut up, my skin is literally decaying and rotting away, and you find that beautiful?” He scoffs, flicking one of the staples on his arm. “Literal metal is holding my skin together, skin that isn’t alive anymore. I can barely feel you touching me, it’s nothing beautiful. It’s disgusting and ugly”

“Touya—”

“When we kiss, do you know why I only let you kiss my upper lip?” He interrupted you, asking a question of his own before you could back up your argument.

Hesitantly, you answer as your eyes travel down do his lips. “You don’t want me to feel the skin on your lower lip…” the words come past your own lips as low as a whisper. Your thumb still rubbing gently at his bottom lip, the texture rough to the touch, just like the rest of his scarred skin. “Touya, I still feel it whenever we kiss…or whenever you kiss my skin, I feel it. You think I mind?”

Touya stayed quiet, picking at the staples on his arm. He did this whenever he was nervous or uncomfortable…or in your case, flustered.

Beautiful. Gorgeous. Tsk. What a load of bull—

“Stop that! Last time you pulled out one of your staples I needed to use one of my earrings to fix it! And now it’s missing and you still haven’t bought me a new pair!” Your whining pulls him out of his thoughts, a snicker leaving his lips as he stopped pulling at the silver staple on his arm.

Your rambling went on about the missing earring, but he couldn’t care less. Nodding his head as he pretended to be interested, Touya couldn’t stop admiring your face, your hair, your body, the way you talked so passionately about something so small, your voice, the soft glimmer in your eyes whenever you looked at him. He would never consider himself anything close to beautiful, but if you believed it…who was he to disagree?

𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑏𝑦: ★

[aboutcustardcreams]

Wake up call

pt. 1

a/n: I'm not going to follow the series episode by episode, as I already mentioned. This story will focus primarily on the three witches' story, so I'll probably jump forward and back in time at my own discretion from now on. If you're curious about something in particular, feel free to tell me in the comments. Would you prefer that I go back or forward from now on? (also, sorry for eventual typos or mistakes).

pt. 2

Agatha looked as surprised as you for a moment. The boy was on his knees, squirming uncomfortably at the rope around his wrists and ankles. He said something, his voice sounded muffled through the duct tape.

“Oh, uhm.. well, I may have accidentally kidnapped him.” 

You blinked in disbelief, “How can you accidentally kidnap someone?”

The kid muttered something else you couldn’t quite comprehend. You thought it was his way to agree with you, so you grinned, whereas Agatha groaned in annoyance. As the boy persisted, you realized what he really wanted from you. 

“Oh–”, you mouthed a quick apology, lips stretching in an awkward smile as you took the tape off his mouth with a quick puck. He winced, but then muttered a ‘thanks’ to you. Had he been locked in there the whole night? Instead of that, you asked a different question, “you alright?”, twirling your finger, you made him turn around to untie the rope around his wrists and ankles. 

He sighed and gave you a grateful smile once free, “much better.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, not really sure about what else was to say, despite having tons of questions. There couldn’t be a moment worse than this to have to deal with a kid. 

“Agatha, love, care to explain?” 

Your lover paid no attention, or rather she feigned to be distracted doing practically nothing more than walking up and down the house, as she mentally freaked out due to the last events. 

“There’s nothing to explain–”, she waved dismissively, “For all I care he can keep the house.” 

The boy frowned and quite frankly so did you. You walked up to her, confusion written all over your features, “Agatha, what in heaven are you talking about?” 

The boy followed behind in silence.

When she suddenly spun around, Agatha was so close, you almost stumbled backwards. “Did you listen to Rio’s words or not?” There was a hint of frustration in her tone, quite relatable in fact, and yet...

Your head lolled to the side, “so your plan is to leave?”

“Glad you’re catching up," she grinned cheekily. 

With no magic at her disposal, she had no intention of facing the Salem Seven, and even less letting you anywhere near them to save her life. So running was the best and only option she could think of at the moment; that hopefully would give her enough time to figure out a way to restore her magic and be a witch again.

You ran a hand through your hair, eyes glancing only briefly over the boy, who gave you a tight smile in return. A part of you wondered what he was doing still there. Didn't he have places to be, like school or whatever? 

Before Agatha could walk from you again, you reached out to grab her wrist, “So, this is what we will do,” you started, silently enjoying the whiny sound slipping from her lips, “we sit down, talk it out like mature adults, and you–” pointing a finger at the boy, “you’re gonna tell me why you broke into our house in the first place.”

“Uhm.. yeah, I..”

“We don’t have time for this!” Agatha exclaimed, “Need I remind you there’s a price on our heads?” 

A playful smirk tugged at your lips and unable to resist teasing her, you quipped, “technically it’s on yours. I only happen to be in your shit as per usual.” 

The boy let out a quiet chuckle, that you were about to reciprocate hadn't it been for Agatha’s hand flapping at the nape of your neck, “Oof!" you whined. 

Amusement glimmered in her eyes, “You had it coming,” she retorted. Then she glanced over the boy, with a grimace. “Not to be rude or anything, but we’ve got a lot on our plate so if you could just–” She pointed to where the front door used to be, her confidence dimming slightly, “this house is a complete disaster.”

She looked so annoyed right now, tired and scared even, but the latter she would never admit. Completely forgetting about the boy, you focused on Agatha and placed a hand over the small of her back, “it’s not so bad…” you trailed off, resting your chin on her shoulder. She knew you weren't only referring to the conditions of the house. Her eyes fell shut for a moment, her features relaxed when you started stroking her skin, lips barely brushing against a soft spot behind her ear, “we have an excuse to redecorate now.”

Despite everything, Agatha let out a small chuckle. She turned around and draped an arm around your waist. With everything that happened in such a short time, she hadn’t given herself a moment to truly cherish the fact that you were back—the real you. Sure, even without your memories, you stood by Agatha’s side all those years, but having you here now, like in the old days, felt different. It was different. Her eyes darted from your face to your collarbone, nose scrunching up at the sight of the nasty bluish bruise— a reminder of Rio’s hands on you. Her hand glided up to your face, tracing your jawline before slowly moving down to your collarbone, fingers barely grazing your skin, mindful that it was still tender and possibly sore. 

“Are you–?” 

Your eyes softened at the hesitation in her voice, “you shouldn’t worry about that.”

“I always worry about what matters," she argued back. 

"Sappy," you teased.

With an eye roll, she smirked, "brat."

When her eyes darted towards the boy once again, she let out an incredulous scoff, “you better have a darn good reason to still be dangling here.” 

Color drained from his face. Quite frankly, Agatha could be intimidating when she tried. Even when she didn't. “I-I do!” He cleared his throat. “I want to walk the Witches' Road. It’s the only reason why I broke in here really and–” he was talking so fast, for a moment you thought your mind had tricked you. There was no way he said the words ‘witches’ and ‘road’ in the same sentence. 

Agatha's eyes snapped wide open, “what’s that you say?”

“The Witches’ Road,” he repeated, slower and firmly. It hit you hard. You couldn't help it. “I want you to take me there,” his eyes softened and so did his voice as he added, “please.”

Agatha tried to meet your eyes then, but you had your gaze dropped to the floor. 

“The Witches’ Road doesn’t exist.”

“You’re lying,” he argued. 

Agatha scoffed bitterly, “am I?”, voice rising in exasperation. 

When you slowly lifted your chin towards the boy, you squint your eyes so much as if you were troubled by a sudden headache, “You’re asking for a death wish here.” 

Agatha agreed, “quite literally.” 

The boy looked crestfallen, but he didn’t back down, “You only say that because you think I’m inexperienced, which is fair. I am. But I can make it to the end-” 

Your lips pursed in a grimace as you tried to make sense of everything that was happening. First Rio, then the Salem Seven on your heels, and now this boy who had no idea what he was asking for.

“Look, I love your confidence– but the Road is no place for a kid.”

Agatha sank into the couch in the lounge, curling a finger at you in invitation. Smiling, you obliged, perching yourself on the armrest beside her. You were close enough that her hand could slip to rest on your thigh, her fingers tracing soft, lazy patterns over the fabric of your pants. The gentle rhythm of her touch soothed you, and you allowed yourself to calm your nerves, focusing on her proximity and nothing else. 

“I’m sixteen,” he objected, taking a seat onto the chair across from you. 

“Oh, why didn’t you say that before? That changes… nothing.”

You had to stifle a laugh at her sarcastic remark. 

He gave a dramatic eye roll. “Come on! You walked it before and survived!” 

Your brows knit in a frown. Just how much did that boy actually understand about you and Agatha? Or rather, how much did he think he understood? No one truly knew what it had been like for the two of you back in the eighteenth century. People clung to their own assumptions, and you let them—after all, the real truth was far too painful to share. Not a single soul knew the true story behind the reputation Agatha had built, nor the reasons why so many had to die in the first place. 

Agatha’s hand stilled on your thigh, “I had a very good reason to stay alive, plus I’m exceptional.”

It wasn’t a lie, not completely at least. 

The boy’s eyes shifted from Agatha’s to yours. You felt as if he knew what Agatha was talking about you. You saw something, a glimpse of understanding in those eyes that somehow unsettled you. If Agatha was known as ‘witch killer’ for all the wrong reasons, your reputation also preceded you, but you struggled to say the words. 

“I read an egregious amount about you two. I’ve been obsessed since I first came up with your Salem days… the way you two met, and oh my God- don’t get me started on your magic skills.”

So you and Agatha had a little fan. 

Agatha’s interest rose considerably. She grinned, “cute. Isn't he a cute pet?” 

“Honestly, I’m not sure whether to be flattered or freaked out by all this interest,” you mused.

The boy completely ignored the fact that Agatha just called him pet. “Sorry, I just– you’re a necromancer witch!” He was now struggling to keep a posed tone of voice, and you found yourself scratching the back of your head, not really used to being praised by your gift/curse. Quite the opposite in fact. “Guilty as charged,” you quipped.

Agatha’s hand moved towards your knee, thumb brushing in a soothing circle there. You smiled inwardly at the gesture.

“Books say witches your kind is so rare, powerful and–”

“harrowed, banished, burned at the stake?” You cut him off in a sing-song tone. 

Agatha snorted, “you name it.”

She knew better than anyone what it felt like to be brushed aside. It was one of the reasons why she could bond with you so easily and so quickly. You understood her before she could even attempt to comprehend the complexity about herself and her power. 

Teen blinked confusedly, “I was gonna say interesting.”

You clasped your hands together and took a deep breath. “Look, we appreciate your enthusiasm. You seem like a really smart boy, and I’m sure you’re destined for great things, but we can’t help you, not with that-” 

“But I saved Agatha from the spell…” his smile turned into a frown and his features dimmed  as a consequence, “I’d have come to you too if she hadn’t locked me up in the closet. But w-wait,” he suddenly came to a halt, eyebrows knitting in a frown as a new question popped up in his mind. “How did you wake up from the hex?”

Agatha knew, but said nothing, leaving the explanations to you.

“It’s hard to explain–” Being a necromancer allowed you to have all sorts of… vibes. Plus your soul was connected to Agatha’s and her life being threatened by something– or rather someone you knew quite well worked as a wake up bell for you, “it’s like a sixth sense, but better. I can always feel when Agatha needs me. I got a pull into reality the moment Rio broke into the house with the purpose of harming her. I felt her aura. She and I– let’s just say our magic works like opposite poles of a magnet.”

Agatha’s features hardened a bit, as she nibbled on the inside of her cheek out of nervousness. Your magic being complementary to Rio’s had caused you more problems than anything else. She almost lost you to her, and that’s something she would probably never forget. 

The boy hummed in thought. He was clearly intrigued by your magic and took a mental note to ask you more questions at the first next opportunity, considering he left his notebook in the car.

“And who’s Rio? I didn’t hear much but– there seemed to be a history–”

“Trouble.”

“A bitch.”

Both you and Agatha said in unison. 

“We don’t really need to talk about her now…” you kept vague, hoping he would catch the silent message passing through your eyes. Talking about her was never easy, not when your feelings for her were so tangled and conflicting. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love her anymore, cause you still did. And Agatha... well, she probably did too, however, she would never admit it, not to you and even less to herself. The past clung like a shadow, and neither of you could ever truly forget. The ache of Rio's choices lingered, buried deep, a silent reminder of what your bond once was and could never be again. 

He pressed his lips together and gave you a slow nod of his head in return. 

“I’m curious,” she smacked her lips, your head turned towards her, as she continued, “If you’ve got the goods to break a spell cast by the Scarlet Witch, why do you need the Road?”

Your eyes widened in shock. Was she really considering this?

“The Road promises that what you’re looking for awaits at its end. I need to walk the road so I can figure out the extent of my power..” he explained and she hummed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Don’t you need power yourself?”

Agatha’s back stiffened, “I most certainly do, yes.”

“She doesn’t need to walk the Witches' Road for that,” you pointed out, glancing at the purple witch with the corner of your eyes. 

The boy was confused. Without giving him too much information, you simply told him that you could share your magic. And, in a way, it was true. A more accurate version would have been explaining that Agatha could kill a witch by absorbing all her power, leaving nothing behind but dust. But that was far too dramatic, plus you were still one hundred percent sure she couldn’t and wouldn’t harm you in any way.

She let out a long, exhausted sigh at your insistence, “For the umpteenth time, I’m not taking your magic–” 

“Ugh!" You groaned. "Aggs, Rio warned us–”

“She mentioned the Salem Seven, didn’t she?” The boy cut you off. “I’m sorry but y-you’ve got zero chances against them without magic, Agatha.” 

She shot him an icy glare, “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Your lips trembled a bit, as you struggled to hold back an amused grin.

“I’m just trying to understand which alternatives you have,” he muttered defensively. 

Agatha opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Nothing that she could use to hush both you and the kid. 

“He’s got a point, you know. You need my magic, like right now.” 

Once again, she ignored you. “Or maybe, we need to walk the Witches' Road one last time.”

The boy’s mouth parted ajar, “Really?”

“Really?” You echoed in a squeak. 

She simply nodded her head, giving you an innocent smile that only fueled your incredulity. You let out a quiet, bitter chuckle right after, at the same time shaking your head in disbelief. 

“Agatha, sweetheart, a word?” 

You held out your hand for her to take, and just like she did a moment ago, you forced a serene, tranquil smile—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes but would have fooled anyone who didn’t know you better. She took your hand, her fingers curling around yours as she let you lead her toward the kitchen. Once you were far enough from the boy to speak more privately, you locked eyes with Agatha. Your face was practically shouting, ‘What the hell?!’ —a silent message that she heard loud and clear, without a single word spoken.

“The Road doesn’t exist! What’s your plan?” 

“We are the only ones aware of that,” she stated matter of factly as if that could be used as a great advantage. “Teen is right, without my magic, I can’t defend myself against the Salem Seven, I can’t protect myself or you.” 

If this wasn’t handled carefully, it could spiral into something much worse. You knew, better than anyone, how deeply it hurt Agatha to feel powerless, especially when it came to protecting those she loved. She had faced this agony with Nicky, and now, here she was again, reliving the same fear, this time, for you. Her own life, in that moment, felt like nothing compared to yours. Because without you in it, there was no existence worth living for her. 

“You could,” you insisted, in a low, almost pleading tone. “if only you took my power–” It was so easy.

“I’m not willing to take any risks with you,” she stepped into your bubble, her hands tightening around your shoulders, in a possessive and yet still attentive way. She wanted you to understand. She needed you to be on her side on this. “I need to make sure I've got control over my thirst first. It's been so long since the last time I did that so I'm sorry but you’ll not be the lab rat for it.”

“Are you really thinking of using the boy?” 

Agatha’s mouth dropped open, “Oh no, my God- no! I’m not talking about Teen, you idiot!” 

You crossed your arms over your chest and gave her a defiant look.

She gave in after a bunch of seconds, “Okay, maybe I did think of him for a minute. He did break the Scarlet Witch’s hex, though." 

You pinched the bridge of your nose at that.

“But we still need to ‘walk’ the Witches Road, except that this time, we aren’t killing anyone,” you’re ready to argue back again, but she didn’t let you, so you bit your bottom lip instead, trying really trying to find the silver lining at the end of this plan. “Here’s what we will do: we gather a coven, make some female friends, sing the Ballad, it doesn’t work, wowie-!, I call them names, they get angry and blast me. I take their magic and stop right before they turn into dust.”

She paused and took into your eyes, letting you assimilate her words, hopeful you’d find her idea good enough, because there was really no time for anything else. 

“So, to recap—,” you cleared your throat, “you’re willing to lie to that kid, to the poor witches we’ll meet along the way, witches who’ll eventually turn against us once they learn our intentions, but you’re not willing to take my magic that’s literally within arm’s length because you’re scared you’ll kill me.” 

She hummed, feeling quite satisfied with your summary, “yep.”

A slow smirk spread across your lips, “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe," she conceded. "But this plan’s gonna work.” Agatha shifted closer, her hands sliding to your hips, her fingers pressing into your skin with a slight possessive touch. 

Your gaze fell to where her hands rested and for a moment, there was silence. 

Time ticked. She waited. 

“Fine. Oh my God- fine–” 

Before you could say anything else, she pulled you into a crashing hug. Your pout quickly turned into an amused smile, and finally into a fit of giggles when her lips began peppering kisses all over your face. 

“Atta girl!” She said with a proud grin, to which you responded with a snort. 

You’d be pissed, though, if by the end of the day, you’d be forced to resurrect a bunch of witches. But you kept quiet about that.

[sky4cherry]

alright so now that we've heard from the wonderful ms towel, my beloved, let me attempt to word this a little more eloquently:

the whole point of media is that it affects people in different ways. we may have very different opinions on an adaptation, but that is because we are different people who find ourselves better reflected in different ways.

as i've said before, it's downright inaccurate to assume that everyone must agree with your take, or that your take is superior to another human being's.

berating someone for their personal opinion, whether it be on a character, a scene, a song, a ship, or anything else is really disappointing. personally my closest friend and i disagree on a ship that's very important to them, but it's actually quite easy to not tell her she's a fake fan just because we have differing opinions.

'the outsiders' is a story about found family, and about teens failing to cope with their differences. maybe sit and think about that for a second before you start threatening and harassing people.

again, i'm aware that this is aimed at a minority of the community. thank you to everyone who has reblogged any of the psas that i have posted, it means a lot to me that there are other people who agree that this negativity is not welcome or encouraged here.

that's all i have to say on the matter, and if anyone has anything they want to dispute with me about anything i've said here, i'm more than happy to discuss it in dms because i think i've made it quite clear that my blog is not a place for you

[sandwitchstories]

Do you want to build a snow man?

Welcome back to more adventures in Mouse's Mini-verse! I just can't get enough of these two together!

For more adventures with Mouse, check out my Dad!Sukuna Series on my AO3 - Here! )

If you prefer to read this story on AO3 click here !

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Dad!Sukuna Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 2 year old daughter with reader.

Summary: Sukuna harbors a tiny pink haired fugitive and then becomes his daughter's accomplice.

WC: 900+

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' but not described, toddler dad Sukuna, girl dad!sukuna, true form Sukuna (4 arms), it's pretty much just plain Dilf Sukuna fluff and crack, SFW in every way, just family fluff, father and daughter fluff, I love them together, Uraume makes an appearance, with a meat cleaver

Sukuna sat on the tatami mat in the main room, letting the early morning sun warm him through the open shoji doors while he worked on paperwork, his writing elegant and formal. Sukuna took great pride in everything he did right down to his handwriting. Sloppy chicken scratch was unbecoming. 

The sound of little feet slapping on the floor hit his ears long before Mouse’s little frame slid in through the shoji doors leading into the main room from the hall. She booked it over to him and ran behind him. He looked over his head in confusion as she lifted the edge of his haori and put herself directly under it.

Mouse popped her head out quickly and looked up at him. She pressed a finger to her lips and shushed at him. “A secret, Papa. A secret!” 

And with that she completely disappeared under his haori. He shook his head but said nothing. Between your genetics and Mouse being only 2 years old… He did not even try to make sense of what was going on.

That was, until he heard louder footsteps rushing towards them. He set down his brush and looked up, wondering what on Earth the issue could be. He had been enjoying a quiet morning for a change… He raised an eyebrow as an unusually disheveled looking Uraume appeared at the door with a hand behind their back.

Uraume took a knee in respect before asking, “Forgive me for interrupting. Have you seen Mouse anywhere, Master Sukuna?”

“Is there a reason you are trying to locate the brat?” He cocked his head. 

“None. None at all… I was just looking for her to give her some… cooking lessons,” Uraume said with a smile. “I’ll take my leave.”

Sukuna watched as the winter haired warrior stood and turned to make their way back into the hallway, but not before Sukuna noted they were hiding a damn meat cleaver behind their back. Once the door was closed Sukuna spoke.

“Come out, Mouse. I think the coast is cl-”

The door opened again and this time it was you, flustered and almost sputtering. “Have you seen our precious little daughter anywhere?”

“What is going on? Uraume was just in here looking for her too.”

“Well, you better hope I find her before Uraume makes her into toddler tenderloin!”

Well, that explained the meat cleaver. “And this is all because…”

“Mouse got into the flour and made the biggest mess you have ever seen.”

“That’s what the big issue is?”

“Uraume slipped on it when they were in pursuit of Mouse…”

Sukuna blinked all 4 of his eyes slowly, digesting this information. But then… then he began to imagine the scene in his head… and he threw his head back laughing.

“You’ve finally lost your mind, haven’t you?” you asked with hands on your hips.

“Mouse, come out,” Sukuna chuckled.

You hurried to shut the shoji door behind you, hissing out, “I had a feeling you were harboring a fugitive!”

Mouse moved to his side and lifted his haori to rest on top of her head. “Hi Mama…”

“Hi Mouse,” you said, moving to stand in front of the two of them looking down at her. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“No, please and thank you,” she said, going back under Sukuna’s haori.

Sukuna’s lips twitched in amusement at her answer. “Mouse. Why did you make a mess in the kitchen?”

Her head popped out to look up at her father. She regarded him for a moment as if trying to decide what route she was going to go. She opted to give him a big toothy grin and wrap herself around his arm. “Hi Papa.”

“We’re past that now,” he said, grabbing a hold of her and putting her in his lap. “Answer the question.”

“I not trying to make a mess,” she said, looking up at you both with big doe eyes. 

“What were you trying to do?” he asked. 

“I want to do snow angels,” she answered.

“Huh?” you guys asked in unison.

She looked at the two of you like you were slow. She proceeded to climb out of his lap, lay down on the floor between you and say, “Snow angels.” Followed immediately by a demonstration.

“Mouse… flour isn’t snow… it’s not even cold…” you stared at her in disbelief.

“It white and it soft,” she replied, as if explaining herself, still laying on the floor.

“Brat…” Sukuna looked down at her, pondering her lack of common sense. Then again, she was only two. “You know Uraume can make ice. They can also make snow.”

Sukuna immediately questioned his words as he watched Mouse’s eyes get even bigger before she leapt off the ground like an expert martial artist and bolted out of the room yelling for Uraume. You looked at him like you wanted to ring his neck before you took off after the toddler who was unknowingly now on a suicide mission to make snow angels in the middle of August.  

Sukuna glanced down at the paperwork he had been working on. It no longer held his interest. He stood and fixed his robes as he headed towards the kitchen where he could hear a commotion. You were absolutely going to tell him he was part of this problem… Sukuna grinned at that thought. Well, if he was going to be on your shit list either way… why be part of the problem when he could be the whole damn problem?

He called out to the three of you as he came down the hall. “Mouse! Forget snow angels! Let's make a snowman!”

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 13

Ship: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader

Plot: It's all for his Sweet one.

Word count: 2.5k

Tags: vomiting, manipulation, alludes to executions, sauron is a weird dude

Notes: this isn't super heavily edited bc im lazy. I wanted to write this part because ofc angst but I wanted to do the reveal before I fucked around with annatar and s2 stuff. I'll go back and forth now between before reveal and after.

Leave a tip if you want.

Halbrand sat on the bed you shared, water dripping from his hair and picking at the skin of his palms. It was a habit he had picked up from you. The moment you walked into the room, you could tell there was something on his mind. You waited for him to speak first, knowing that he would tell you his thoughts without you bothering him with questions. You didn't want to overwhelm him, after all. You simply waited for a few moments before he spoke.

“Have you seen Galadriel?” He asked, his voice was different than usual. Deeper. Almost darker. He didn't look at you, his eyes focused intently on a place on the floor.

“I have not.” You shook your head and approached him. “My love, what is bothering you so?”

Halbrand wet his lips, “Galadrel has discovered my secret.” He must have suspected your confusion, for he continued. “I am not who she thinks. I am not who you think. I am no King of the Southlands.”

You sat next to him on the bed, your brow furrowed in confusion, but you took his hand and held it in yours, lacing your fingers with his. His thumb fidgeted with the ring on your finger, a subtle way of showing you he was there.

“You do not have to be anything you do not wish to be. You know I will be by your side, whatever path you travel.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head, “Sweet one, you misunderstand.”

It seemed that he was trying to find words, but they would not come. You waited for him to speak, but a gnawing had begun in your stomach, an anxiety that started to become overwhelming. You squeezed his hand to remind him you were there, to remind him you cared but also to release the tension that was building inside of you.

“I am not the descendant of a king. I am not a man called Halbrand. I am not even a man.”

You furrowed your brow further as your mind swarmed with the possibilities of what he was saying. Unfortunately, none of your most outlandish thoughts could even scratch the surface of the revelation that was to come.

“Who are you then?”

“I've had many names,” He still could not bring himself to look at you. His palm was red at where he had been picking his skin. His voice changed again, to the most vulnerable you'd ever heard from him.

“My first was Mairon. The Admirable. But the one you know me by, that all know me by, is Sauron.”

The world stopped for you in that instance. Your ears started to ring, and you felt sick. Everything your father had told you, every story you'd heard from the elves, or read in the books filled your mind all at once. Sauron the Deceiver, your father had called him the Deliverer as he would bring swift and violent justice to the elves and bring peace. The stories talked of his face changing. Of his ability to be whatever the person he was deceiving needed most. You could still see the handiwork of him and his master scared into the landscape of your home. You'd read of scores of elves and men and all forms of life that he had willfully murdered in pursuit of power.

That wasn't Halbrand.

Not your Halbrand.

You shook your head and scoffed, letting go of his hand. “This isn't funny, Halbrand.”

He finally looked towards you, reaching for your hand once more and frowning when you pulled it away. “That is not my name. You know it to be true. Search your soul.”

“No, you're Halbrand. You are not him. You're not the great deciver. You are my Halbrand.” You rubbed your hands against your knees, trying to rationalize what he was saying.

Perhaps he was sick. Perhaps the fumes of the forge were affecting him. Or his wound wasn't fully healed, and the enemy poison was altering his mind.

“You are not entirely wrong, my dear. I am yours and I have never decived you. Not like I have others. I have never lied to you, not about more than my name. I just omitted certain truths.”

You felt bile rise from your stomach to your throat, “No. No, you said your father was a blacksmith.”

“Aule, yes. Though he wasn't a father in the way that you think of a father.”

You swallowed thickly as your mind reeled with all the things he'd said of his family and past. His falling out with his ‘father’ and his uncle. If he was Sauron, truly, there was only one being that could be.

“Then your uncle….are saying your uncle was…” the name wasn't able to pass your lips.

“Morgoth. Again, not exactly the truth but as close as you could understand,” He spoke for you, and you're startled up and off the bed, pacing and shaking your head.

This was not possible. You could not believe this.This was your Halbrand. The man you loved. The man who had just a week prior made his intentions of marrying you known. You were to be married. You were absentmindedly fidgeting with the ring he had given you, spining it around your finger as you paced.

“You cannot be he, he is dead. The uruk, Adar, said he killed him. There have been no signs of him for an age.”

He sighed, watching your pacing form. He seemed distraught almost. He could not feel anything like that if he was truly who he said he was. Sauron would not despair at the thought of your turmoil. Sauron would have no purpose in manipulating you. You could bring him nothing of gain.

Unless this was a reward for your fathers deeds. That small voice crept into your mind, and you did your best to push it the back. He was ill, that's why he was making this claim.

“He left me for dead, and I stayed in that place for many lifetimes. I was neither dead nor alive, simply there. As dead as a being such as I can be. I wasted and waited, and suddenly, I felt solid. I could sense my surroundings. I could move, if only barely. It was a mystery. By all accounts, I should have remained in that purgatory forever.”

His fingers grasped yours, and the room around you disappeared, changing until it was a village. Or what was left of a village. Homes were burning, and the sounds or screams filled the air.

“No.” You shook your head, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. You clamped them shut and clasped your hands over your ears to drown the sound of the screams, but the smell of smoke and burning flesh filled your senses. You shook your head over and over. You wished the sight and sounds to be gone. You could not deny it now. No man could cause travel such as this.

He'd transported you to the night your family slaughtered the elves.

The night he'd regained just a semblance of his power.

Suddenly, you could sense light behind your eyes, and you were back on the raft at sea. Upon opening your eyes, his appearance had changed to the dirty rags he'd worn when you were stranded.

“It felt like days, compared to the millenia I spent as nothing, but I have recently found out it was years. Years of gathering my strength to take on this form. 15 years, to be exact.”

Your lip tremebed, shaking your head. “No. No, that's not true. That's not…no.” You were despretatley looking for an answer. “My father did not…no…”

“He did. I am indebted to him and his sacrifice. Not just for bringing me back but for you.” He approached you, the raft shaking under you with his movements.

You backed away from him, the bile rising in your stomach, and suddenly, you were retching. Your body bent in half as you vomited into the sea. You could feel him inside you. His love felt like sludge, weighing down your soul and moving through your veins. This could not be real, but you knew it was. He was too good to be true. He was exactly what you needed when he landed in your life. You were not worthy of the love of a king.

But it all made sense now.

There was nothing special about you. Not truly. He wanted his domination and control and power. You were inconsequential to that. He simply chose you because he knew who you were. This was some reward for your father. Tears pricked at your eyes.

You thought you were special. You thought this was love..

“Is it really so bad?” He spoke, placing a hand on your back. You hated how it felt. It was heavy and hot, and you wanted it off. You felt violated.

“I guess it is.” He answered his own question, his fingers wrapped around your chin and forced you to look at him.

“I did not deceive you. I love you. You are the only thing I have ever loved. I told the elf I would place a crown on her head, and that is true, but only because it would assist my true goal. To give the peoples of Middle Earth peace. To give you peace and safety, and stability. Your safety is more precious than any crown or title. All I do is for you. You are precious to me.” his fingers caressed your cheeks, and he smiled softly.

His smile made you sick.

“You mean to enslave my people.”

“Enslave? No. I will free them from the binds of poverty and war and famine.”

“By what means will you free them? It is not freedom if it is force.”

“Are you not listening?!” He boomed, lightning crashed behind him, and thunder boomed. The waves crashed over the raft. You yelped and flinched, closing your eyes tight again.

Once again, the world around you shifted. You were back in your room. Your lip trembled as you looked at him, tears falling from your eyes.

“Sweet one, I'm sorry. Please. You need not fear me, sweet one. The world should fear but not you. Never you.”

You kept backing away from him. You did not know what to think. He was the villain of your history, og all the free people's history. He was evil. He was darkness. He was plauge and death and deciet. He could only destroy.

“It was all fake.”

“No! No. Don't you see, the only good in me is you.” He followed you until you were backed into a corner, your fingers splayed over the cold material of the wall. This is a reminder that this room was real.

You watched him for a moment, your mind replaying through every memory, but they were distorted now, as if you were watching a play. Your mind was reeling. Just hours early, you'd been in this room with him, talking of your wedding and cuddled into his chest.

“You do this all for me, but you must now I can never be by your side as long as you intend to destroy.” You spoke with a sense of courage you had only just began to develop. Your heart was breaking, but you would not break in front of him. If he were to kill you…..

“Kill you? Do you think I mean to kill you? I could never kill you. In fact, I seek the opposite. I need you. If you can't be by my side, I must know you exist in this world, or I will be driven into madness!”

“How do you read my thoughts?” Your voice was quiet, terrified.

“Because you trust me. I trust you. I respect you. I never look into your mind unless I must. It is not so much reading your thoughts as it is being able to feel it.”

You shook your head, eyes closed tight.

“Do you truly insist on staying with the elves? Do you truly think they will not suspect you to have a hand in all this? That they won't do to you what they did to your family."

As he spoke, the room changed once more.

You were in an elven courtyard. Three men stood at the center. You could see where a little girl stood and watched confused and alone. You could hear Elronds pleas that this was abhorrent to make you watch, that he could not stay silent.

The memory froze. Your eyes looked upon your father for the first time in years. Tears dripped down your cheeks.

“You never saw it. Elrond, ever the soft hearted, took you away, but you could hear it. The sound of your brother screaming. The crunch of their bones as they fell. How they had to take a sword to your uncle because he wouldn't die. Do you think you will be saved from their fate?”

You stayed silent, your jaw tight as you looked ahead and away from him.

“Look at me! Do not ignore me! I am trying to save you!” Lighting cracked again. His voice took a terrible tone as if he spoke from the depths of the abyss.

You shook your head, tears pouring from your eyes now. “We were supposed to have a family.”

~

Your words were soft, quiet, and broken. It was enough that the fire inside of him calmed. The scene around you changed once more, and he simply looked at you.

His sweet one.

You were beautiful. He always had loved beauty and perfection, and you were both. And now you were scared, and he was the cause. He was never to be the cause, only to protect. It had frustrated him at first, infuriated that he could not seem to wish you harm, and if he ever did hurt you, he would apologize and feel guilt. He had hated it, but now, it was part of him.

He had two parts now, it seemed. The darkness and what little light he had left. The light was dying. He knew it. He could not stop the pursuit of these rings of control and power to bring peace and prosperity. He had to remake the world for you as well for his own selfish ambition. But the pursuit of these rings would make him truly unredeemable. It would destroy that last thread of good.

It was worth it. To protect you,anything was worth it. He would keep you safe, no matter the cost, no matter the loss of life. But that small part of him that was still a semblance of good, the part of him that you had resurrected, told him he could not force you with him. He could not clip your wings and force you in a cage. You had to come because you wanted to, you had to join him of your own will.

And you would, after the prosperity and peace, you would see it all to be worth it.

“I will never force you with me. I have never forced anything upon you. You will make that choice when you see the results.” He pressed a kiss to your head. “And when that happens, we will have our family.”

“I will fight against you.”

“You will lose, but you wouldn't be the woman I love if you didnt fight at first” Another kiss, and then he looked over your features as if committing every one of them to memory.

“This is all for you, sweet one. Do not forget it.”

[comikbook]

Im unable to go to school for art, bc my parents cant afford it and my family in general wouldnt be too supportive of it (I live with them)

I dont mind that, I still do art as a hobby, but it kind of hurts. I like what I am in college for actually, but I just love art

Is there a way to better my art while not having the tools art students have? I dont care if its harder, I would just like hope :/

hi !! so i can totally relate to this

i did not grow up with a wealthy family, i got into my highschool (which was a specialty art highschool) thru application. After that, i was kind of lost with art education. I had no money to go to a big art school, so i did community college.

here is what my art looked like in highschool

However, that was kind of a waste. It was pretty much a repeat of what i learned in highschool and to be honest the entire time i was in highschool i didnt improve at ALL. not one bit. This continued into college. In fact i didnt improve at all in college either except for the times i took a gap.

as of this point in the timeline my art looked like this

now i havent been in college now for a couple years, and let me tell you my art has gotten the biggest improvement ive ever seen. Hell i didnt even finish school, I owe money and cant return until i pay it. But honestly ? its hard to find the motivation.

What im getting at is all of my improvement has been done thru my own means. School did not help me improve. And everything you learn in art school can easily be found online via videos and tutorials.

So what made me improve so much out of school ? Honestly ? Passion. I hated being told what to do, I always have. I do not like cookie cutter assignments, boring studies, all of the subjects that are rinsed and repeated every semester. I stopped caring, and during the last bit of time i was in school, I went to my professor. I said I didn’t care, I hated the assignments, I had no desire. You know what she told me ? To ignore them then. She pushed me to make what i WANTED to make, she made assignments specifically for me, she gave me full creative freedom. THATS WHEN I IMMEDIATELY IMPROVED. School isnt what helped me, what helped me is being given an environment where i could be passionate and raw and make art i wanted to make. And you dont need thousands of dollars and a studio to make that happen.

You don’t need those tools. And remember, when it comes to art school, its never the students who are naturally talented or only have technical skill that succeed, its the ones that give a shit. the ones who love art, who love to create, and have a story to tell.

one you realize that it gets so much better.

Anyways, as a last update, heres my art now that im out of school and doing my own thing

[teeldaa]

I wanted to rant a little about Wyll , Mizora and Raphael,their prewrite versions and my issue with how Larian wrote devils and cambions in general and some theories :p This has been sitting in my drafts for a while, I got sick and completely forgot about it ...I think i got carried away with my Raphael theories, because of that i wasn't even sure if I wanted to post this or not(warning:a lot of yapping) And sorry in advance for my bad English :p

Wyll and Mizora first thing that bothers me is i see a lot of people saying Larian rewrote Wyll because EA players didn't like him, but that's not true?!I was looking through Larian's interviews, they either said they’ve redone Wyll because it wasn't working for them, they lost a little bit of narrative room for telling all these stories that he had(x) or they weren’t telling his story as well as they could have done(x)so it was Larian's decision and not players feedback. Pre rewrite Wyll: He wasn't related to Ulder Ravengard, he was a descendant of Grand Duke Eltan,the founder and leader of the Flaming Fist.these are the lines that were datamined during ea(source)

Although Duke Eltan founded the flaming fists, his family had to sell their interest to pay off debt... in the release version if Wyll doesn't sign the contract with Mizora and Florrick is still in jail Cordula Eltan confronts him about Ulder(might be an Easter egg)

after getting caught for thieving, Wyll was sent to flaming fists by his father.he pointed out that he wasn't a good fighter and didn't fit in well there and then one day Spike and his fellow goblins attacked the village

this is the part that a lot of people miss,you could only get these lines if you modded the ea to play as origin Wyll(x) when confronting Fezzerk the narrator said these

Your belly crash into memory, Spike was the one who slashed out your eye this one held your head while he did it

The bile rises in your throat, you hate this cockroach, you hate his chief ,You hate…yourself you'd been selfish,lazy,lustful. you'd all but invited goblins to a slaughter

and If you made Wyll torture the prisoner, Spike would say"The Blade always knew how to throw a party!" So I guess Goblins used throwing a party as an excuse to trick Wyll into letting them in!

I think what they were going for with Wyll was... A nobleman who had to meet high expectations put on him by his status and his dad, went through a very traumatic experience(humiliated, injured, witnessed the slaughter of an entire village)and had no way of fighting back! he was in need of rescue and had no one to help him, so he took Mizora's deal and became the blade of frontiers to prevent that from happening to other people?!

I often see it being said EA Wyll was a "fake hero" or a "glory hound" or … which are not true, He was the only companion who prioritized saving the tiefling refugees over finding a cure, was ready to die for them and would have left the party if you sided with Minthara. He wasn't "evil" he just had more flaws... Wyll decided to break his pact after Mizora asked him to pay "a price he wasn't willing to pay", they were arguing then got kidnapped by mind flayers. these lines are from modded Wyll origin(x) said by the narrator:

one moment you'd been bartering with Mizora for freedom. the next whisked away by tentacle monsters

what was it Mizora had said?oh yes- 'over your rotting corpse'

Spike found Mizora's pod and put a collar around her neck that neutralized all her powers, She communicated with Wyll through his eye and promised to free him if he saved her. Before the party got to the goblin camp, drow came and took Mizora to Moonrise tower and apparently they had"big plans"for her I think this version of Mizora was working for her father based on these dialogues(x)

Mizora: Get .Me .Out of here Wyll: and if i don't? Mizora: then my father will. and your eternal soul will be his.

maybe that "big plans"had to do something with her dad?! The lines that implied she and Wyll might had been romantically involved at some point were these:

Wyll: Don't tell me - someone came to you, an object of desire. made you better. More than better Wyll: Same happened to me. Tav: Someone, yes. who was it you saw? Wyll: An old lover. tempting as a trail of rose petals, and just as fragrant.

and for anyone wondering what does she smell like...

Tav: Tell me more about this old flame of yours. Wyll: A giver and taker. without her, id hardly be who i am, for both better and worse

I kinda get why they decided to change their dynamic, but they made it so much worse... what Wyll and Mizora had was a toxic codependent relationship with a power imbalance but the game was taking it more seriously...in his act1 romance scene You could hug him and make him feel safe. the only datamined Wyll/Mizora interaction we had was this! and this version Mizora is way better! She didn't treat Wyll like a "dog" or use weird degrading pet names. i wish they kept her straightforward and no-nonsense attitude, she had so much personality, probably more content and plot relevancy too She was already lawful evil and the game made that very clear, making Mizora treat Wyll in a super dehumanizing way was just unnecessary in my opinion and it didn't do neither of them any favors. the release version Mizora supposed to be a cambion but she's not really written like one. the most important part of cambions lore is that they are outcasts! They grow up very lonely because they are never accepted by either society, Even in the bg3 artbook it is mentioned that they have to be resourceful to survive "as the forsaken of two races"

They're not always evil, they can be neutral or even rarely good(depending on their mother's alignment). I feel like they were doing a way better job with datamined version of Mizora, You could actually see her half human side more. Tying Wyll to Karlach's story was a bad idea… Zariel's characterization feels kinda off(Karlach called her the biggest liar in all the realms??)and Mizora doesn't exactly seem like the type of person who works for her...Zariel is a warmonger obsessed with stopping the Blood War because if the demons win they will conquer the Material Plane and start destroying things, she's more of a“the ends justify the means” type of evil. Zariel is not into politics of hell, i feel like Wyll should have been forced to fight in the blood war just like Karlach because that's the only thing Zariel cares about. and...if Zariel doesn't own Karlach's soul then why does she want her dead?!Shouldn't Mizora order Wyll to capture her alive?so she can take her back to Avernus? i find it kinda odd there's not an option to ask Mizora to remove your tadpole. I think she should be able to that, In that datamined interaction she had this dialogue:

That's an illithid tadpole in your brain, let it fester for long and you'll be birthing a squid from your head hole. You want that thing out? Brush the dust out of your eye and get over here.

And bg3 has a prequel comic called "Mindbreaker"and a devil(an erinyes who served Bel) did remove an absolute tadpole...

Wyll's transformation into a devil confuses me! The dialogues makes it look much more significant than it actually is...it's just horns, i wonder if Larian was originally going for a more drastic change, bg3 concept art Devils have very distinct features... and btw Mizora turning Wyll into a devil should have cure him, ceremorphosis doesn't affect fiends...

I feel like if they didn't tie Wyll's story to Karlach and didn't change his father, they could have kept most of Wyll's previous content like his ea romance scene which was great And it could still work for the current Wyll. Was all that changes really necessary? And they didn't even give Wyll a unique starting outfit when his Keyart Armor was already in the game files and it looks perfect on him.

Mizora's father Just for fun, there was this Harbs Narbs theory(x) that Mizora's father was Levistus(Archdevil of Stygia) Levistus is the Infernal patron of vengeance and betrayal,His followers are called bladereavers.he is an honorable duelist and his favored weapon is a rapier in that video he said that blade of frontiers tag gave Wyll an automatic rapier proficiency and armor of agathys(Levistus tieflings have that spell) ...and the spell" Tomb of Levistus" was datamined Levistus is described as a tall humanoid male with dark hair, a neat goatee and an extremely pale complexion but would be able pass for a human if not for his pointed teeth and coal-black eyes that practically radiated darkness. Mizora concept art also happen to have "extremely pale complexion" "coal-black eyes"and looks more human compared to other devil and cambion designs...

(I really like this design, specially those small blades that are hanging from her dress. I think the outfit she's wearing now in the game was supposed to be for her human disguise and this was for her devil form) I couldn't find anything else about Wyll, But i think he suffered the most from the upper city getting cut. I am very curious about his EA version's father and his role in the main plot...He probably was the main focus of Wyll's quest in act 3(because Mizora was supposed to end Wyll's contract if he freed her from Moonrise) I imagine this version of Mizora could also become a camp follower, She was tortured badly by goblins so it makes sense that she would help us defeat The Absolute...

Probably not a hot take, but I don't think they should have completely rewritten his entire character that late in development(Just to be clear, I like release Wyll and i think Theo Solomon did an incredible job voicing him.I just wish the narrative treated him better) I completely understand why someone would prefer the current version he's a sweet, loyal and brave folk hero but in my opinion he would have been more popular and resonated with more people if they kept his old self. EA Wyll was more charismatic, chaotic and extroverted, He had A LOT of struggles and flaws but he was trying his best to overcome them and that made him more relatable. The difference between EA Wyll and release Wyll to me is like the difference between Batman and Superman, Batman has a way bigger fandom and more films, games, cartoons and...even though Superman is this uncorruptible and aspirational symbol of hope with so many cool super powers. Another thing I like more was how they were doing the warlock/patron dynamic. The relationship was much more personal and complicated and original version of Mizora was superior in every way (I could be wrong, but I always assumed from the way Wyll talked about the powers Mizora was giving him that the whole thing was some kind of allegory for addiction) that's all i had to say about Wyll and Mizora...

Raphael first the stuff they cut

the most important thing that got cut was his deal that he could solve your tadpole issue in exchange of your soul

in this interview Senior Writer Adam Smith said this:

In one situation, for instance, a devil will approach players with a bargain for their soul. That might seem like an offer to immediately reject, but that deal might also help players understand and control the change happening to their character as the result of a magical parasitic infection.

and in this one Swen Vincke said he is a potential solution for the tadpole problem:

even in the first encounter he says "Oh, A mere trifle. How dear is one's soul, Really?" when you ask him what he wants. ...so i guess that means you could have had Raphael as your patron?!

it was datamined that he wanted the artefact (x) not the crown

the person that supposed to be inside the artefact, helping you and not letting you turn was Orpheus, so Raphael wanted him...for some reason!

there is also this List of All Cut Content!apparently Raphael supposed to be a Merchant and soul coins were there for trading with him...

Raphael the Merchant - Originally Raphael was meant to be a fully viable option to remove your tadpole, in fact the "Soul Coin" items that you collect in game where originally meant to be a powerful alternative currency accepted only by Raphael in exchange for possibly retrieving your soul as well as a long list of incredibly powerful artifacts from the House of Hope that would be sold by Raphael himself.

originally Karlach didn't have her Infernal Engine(x)so that's probably true!

in early access If you didn't give Gale magical any artifact, he would make a deal with Raphael(x) Gale would inform you that he no longer needed anything from you, he didn't exactly tell you why but if you passed the wisdom check the narrator would said this :

You flutter through his mind like a bat through the night and you see… fire. You hear laughter. You smell brimstone. mocking words drift back to you.'This is the House of Hope.'

Origin Karlach could have made another deal with Raphael! she had unique datamined dialogues with him and Korilla

there's 4 unused Raphael models(with different hair style)in the game i see people calling them earlier iterations but they are not, they were datamined all together later in the early access along with companions dream lovers in one room(it was called AA room) They could be for some sort of cut content/quest lines?!

Concept art Raphael doesn't have hair so idk maybe these were supposed to be his different human disguises?! Even in this early live stream he had the same devil model with black hair while his human disguise looked like Lord Farquaad...

this was also on that list of cut content

Mol and Raphael - Isn't it odd how Mol will just escape from Raphael on her own and say it was "easy?" Well it turns out that's because they cut whatever the final leg of that quest was meant to be, instead they allow Mol to escape on her own which more or less skips to the end and around the cut content.

there's one Yurgir line!(you can hear his datamined voice lines here)

now, Leave me. I must prepare for my return to hell, Triumphant.

(thanks @doomsbutt for looking that up) apparently it was supposed to trigger as a fallback for when Raphael can't appear! The tag checked for that dialogue says "Sets if the Last Justiciar contract was completed, but Raphael didn't show up" Currently this is not an option in the game, but we could have just tell Yurgir he can be freed by killing the rats!so maybe there was supposed to be an option that got cut ?!

Astarion and Kith'rak Voss asking Raphael for help were added after rewrite

in early access the game locked you in a cutscene when Raphael visited the camp, you couldn't switch character, pickpocket him or see his health bar!also in ea Korilla wasn't spying on the party

in conclusion Astarion quest, Raphael's dialogues with Karlach and Dark Urge + everything in act3 should be new. Raphael probably originaly had A MUCH BIGGER role, He was mentioned in all the larian's earlier interviews and was on all of the promotional stuff... I think they changed him really late in development as well *take with a grain of salt*larian beta tested the game in july 2022 I heard about that version twice, What they both mentioned that had changed was the House of Hope. one of them said even Hope and Haarlep didn't exist in that version*again take with a huge grain of salt, I heard from someone who had heard it from a beta tester in both cases*

the release version (@tellmeallaboutit sorry it took so long...I changed my mind several times while writing this, then forgot about it for a while...) I know it's because of that late rewrite but in my opinion Raphael's writing in Act 3 is not great!(like everything else in act3) He has a really good set up but it just goes nowhere,his deal just sucks...after Yurgir quest i was excepting the contract to be a song or poem, option to negotiate the terms, and consequences...but nope!nothing! And then you can just go and steal your contract?!(pretty sure that's not a thing, since contracts are magic that bonds your soul to a devil not a actual piece of paper)and even if you break the contract, he won't kill/punish you for some reason. First i wanna rant a little about Hope…i think after they decided to cut all of Raphael's original content, they wanted to give the player a reason to kill him so they made her! she is a prisoner who is being tortured to accept Raphael's deal and...that's not how Infernal Contract works, terms become binding when both parties willingly sign the contract, the contract is void if the devil uses force or even threats. this is from Fiendish Codex II :

The same goes for buying slaves...there's a reason why devils go out of their way to corrupt mortals and offer services, why bother making contract if they could just buy people?! that aside my biggest gripe with Hope is she's not representing hope as a concept , she's very brave and strong-willed but kinda pessimistic. literally the first thing she say to you is"you came. such a shame. curiosity killed all the cats it won't be so kind to you"like??!Isn't that the opposite of inspiring hope? i was re watching her cutscenes and majority of her dialogues are quite cynical...i feel like whoever wrote her and HOH quest straight up confused hope with persistence, strong will and determination! IMO Isobel is a MUCH better character to represent the concept! for anyone who says "Why can't Wyll and Karlach stay in the House of Hope"they cant! Hell is very lawful hierarchical place. You can't just stay there, other more powerful devil will absolutely attack and take over HOH right away after Raphael's death. Another thing that really bothered me about Hope's situation is that it doesn't really line up with what Raphael was saying earlier... To make it easier to explain what I mean, i tried to analyze pre-rewrite stuff separately first: *Disclaimer:I'm not talking about current canon of the game This is mostly just my thoughts and speculations as to what his character and story might have been before the rewrite, i know I'm most likely totally wrong* Destroying people's hope was not exactly Raphael's goal, He even gets upset if you agree to take his deal in the first encounter"Oh. That's disappointing.I prefer it when my clients put up a fight…" and"i really am at my magnanimous best when people make an effort" That's why IMO it just doesn't make any sense for him to torture and imprison a person who didn't take his deal right away, Since he explicitly wanted his clients to have hope and go explore all the options they have, because for some reason he was sure they can't find anything and going to fail every single attempt"only to realize victory was never an option" then they themselves come to him and ask/beg him for help and he gets to be their"savior" The thing I find interesting about pre rewrite Raphael that is completely gone in act 3 is his savior complex and how he tried to portray himself as someone who helps people in need. "House of Hope" is a VERY common name for nonprofit organizations that provide treatment, shelter, financial assistance and...(if you google it and pass through bg3 stuff you can find many of them)I don't think the name's a coincidence because of this line"This is the House of Hope, Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed lavishly"he was supposed to be an option to heal your party from the parasite. He also talking about having"boundless compassion" and "infinite mercy" and his the gathering card is called "Fiendish Savior"These are not things I associate with the devils or the hells. He is named after an archangel. Raphael is known in various religions as an angel who does acts of healing. The name Raphael means "It is God who heals", "God Heals", "God, Please Heal" in Christianity "he is the patron saint of travelers, young people, happy meetings, nurses, physicians, sick people and medical workers. He can cure blindness, eye afflictions, nightmares and..." in Islam "he is a beautiful angel who is a master of music, he sings praises to God in a thousand different languages, the breath of which is used to inject life into hosts of angels who add to the songs themselves."

In the final release the name Raphael seems very random for a cambion but if we look at his cut content it makes a lot of sense,He was supposed to be the party's patron who would cure their "eye afflictions" This could be remnants of Mol's original quest, but notice how even her blind eye healed after she took on Raphael's deal. He could also fix Gale's orb and Karlach's "condition", Maybe that's why he was named after the archangel of healing. another thing I've noticed is in his boss fight when you try to hit him with radiant damage he says this:

I don't think a cambion should be able to that, because "Radiant damage doesn't do anything special to demons/devils but they aren't particularly resistant to it either" No creature is immune but aasimar and celestial do have resistance to radiant damage. and there's also angel/devil aesthetic in the HOH decor...

Both of these are definitely Raphael, The devil one is sticking his tongue out, There's a lot of tongue imagery in Raphael's clothing concept art as well. The angel one(?)has some kind of plants around his head same as that one Ascended Fiend design on the HOH floor(The actual design has antlers instead of those)

Speaking of Ascended Fiend, I find it really hard to believe that they made a uniquely detailed model just for a phase of his boss fight that could be missed. There is no cutscene or explanation why he has a third form(i know about that cut"Mephistopheles, hear your son!..."line but I don't think it's canon anymore, and it's definitely not the original reason why this form exists, The design is already on the HOH floor and on his clothing concept art so it was supposed to be something that he already had) It doesn't look like a devil to me...It is designed in a way to draw all your attention to its head...it has 3 animal skulls smashed together(?)and Stag Antlers. Correct me if i'm wrong but i don't think that skull is for a real animal right?! And those stag/deer antlers are the most in you face part of this design, They are also seen in one of Raphael's concept art design and even in Korrilla's outfit on her chest.

This made me wonder what exactly that Ascended Fiend design was even supposed to be(I saw some say it's a pit fiend But it does not look like a pit fiend at all, pit fiend are heavy, have big muscles and gargoylish appearance)And what's with the antlers? Okay, here's my delulu theory: I think the Ascended Fiend's design and Raphael as a character were both inspired by a Wendigo.

"Wendigos are described as having long limbs, long, sharp claws, and teeth, and their eyes are said to be sunken in and glowing red. They are also said to have a long tongue that they use to lick their victim's flesh and can shapeshift into other animal and human forms." "The Wendigo was gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled tightly over its bones. With its bones pushing out against its skin, and its eyes pushed back deep into their sockets, the wendigo looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave.What lips it had were tattered and bloody … Unclean and suffering from suppuration of the flesh, the Wendigo gave off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption" "The wendigo craves human flesh and is constantly starving for it. The wendigo is known to have its preferences: the sweet fat of children, the soft skin of women, the course muscles of men (especially warriors and hunters) Wendigos are embodiment of gluttony, greed, and excess; never satisfied after killing and consuming one person, they are constantly searching for new victims."They also stalk their preys for a long time and prefer to terrify them before moving in for the kill. the description kinda fits the design right? Notice how Raphael's eyes are sunken into their sockets in his human form. this also explains why there is so many tongue symbolism in his house and concept art...and looking back at Raphael's dialogues again, there's a lot of Food-related proverbs/idioms/phrases (they definitely toned it down in Act 3), some even could possibly indicate that he might have been based on a wendigo"through a nice juicy brain""My last contract here fed me for decades" He also called greed his"favorite virtue" and Shadowheart said this about him"there were no right answer with that devil. He was toying with his food-us""A devil sought us out, Teased us with his help…But he also stared as if we were the banquet, Rather the one on the table."(this is a cut line from ea)

There's this line in act2"I have this picture in my head of you tossing and turning in the middle of the night, thinking strange things, dreaming strange dreams..." In Cree mythology, wendigo can possesses people through their dreams and cause its victims a feeling of insatiable hunger, the desire to eat other humans, and the propensity to commit murder. And these were "urges" from early access:

Nausea twists your stomach, But it's hunger not revulsion, Something inside you clammers for blood, For death and only the the tear of flesh will do.

Amid this flurry of questions you feel something else deep inside you, A hunger, A lust for blood.

Durge is the last addition to the origin characters so ea urges should have been for something else so...idk. i looked up to see if wendigos are a thing in 5e but I could not find a solid answer...(put pin on this, I'll have more to say about Raphael and dreams) Another big thing I feel was really missing and should have been explained in act 3 is Why was Raphael so sure that his clients wouldn’t find anything and always come back to him to matter what...first two act was setting up Raphael as someone who likes to play games that he is sure his clients cant win but there was no such game in act3. I believe the current narrative wants me to think it's all an act or it's just him being overconfident but that doesn't make much sense, He acts as if he has never failed before and has the upper hand and lots of advantages in these situations, He shows his true form right away and never hides the fact that he's evil and even denies you If you accept his offer in the first encounter. To me this is someone who is looking for a challenge. You can see this in the way he dealt with Mol and Yurgir(their act2 voice lines were dataminded in patch 8 of EA, So their deals with Raphael were written before that late rewrite...) In act2 Raphael trapped Yurgir in the Gauntlet of Shar by offering help to Lyrthindor...so Raphael did put Yurgir in a situation where he had no other choice but to accept his deal. I'm having a bit of a issue with this quest... i know they tied Astarion to this quest after the rewrite(this is why there is no deal when Astarion is not in your party) and It was supposed to be an option to free Yurgir(because of that unused line i mentioned earlier, I wonder if we were going to see free Yurgir again in Avernus cut content...)So they have changed this quest at least a little. I feel like Yurgir's soul was not Raphael's number 1 priority, He made a deal with Yurgir. There was always a loophole in that deal, He could have sent someone else to kill Yurgir all this time but he didn't. it seems to me that he's just messing with him? And there's this line "My last contract here fed me for decades"as if he keeps getting profit out of that contract?!i don't think he's getting those dark justiciars souls?So what or who was he feeding on all this time? This should have been the quest that basically established what type of person Raphael is and how he makes deal, But the difference between this deal and what he offered the player is so big that it doesn't seem like they were made by the same person. In Yurgir's case the contract was a song, there was a loophole in it, and Raphael didn't play fair, The "perfumed trickster" in act 3 suddenly is an honest and fair devil who doesn't backstab his clients?

Yurgir himself was soften up a little too much in act3, I liked that he was this evil, ruthless devil who could easily kill you and enjoy it, But had a sense of honor. he was reduced to "uwu little rabbit" in act 3 As if we did not see his bed and this is not the same person who said "I made him watch as i ate his concubines and young, Then i fashioned a codpiece from his skull.""Owe you? Every breath you take from this moment now on is my reward to you. Few walk away from me intact."idk it's just a bit inconsistent for me... And there's Mol! She was presented with a deal from Raphael and then suddenly She got kidnapped after right after that...I don't think it was ever confirmed that Raphael was involved in her kidnapping but "It's only a matter of time before the apple is plucked."and"she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left"kinda makes me think he may have known this was going to happen?!He had no way of knowing this was going to happen and I don't think it's even possible for him to be responsible for her kidnapping, But he spoke as if he knew... And then in act 3 you can just find Mol and give her back her contract and that's it... which was pretty anticlimactic. It just feels unfinished and rushed, Probably because they cut off Raphael's content and Mol's original story was connected to that said content?! Maybe I'm just being nitpicky but i feel like Mol should have known Raphael's a devil?! He offered her a deal and smelled like sulfur?Like what kind of deal did he offer her that didn't require revealing his identity? (*take with a grain of salt* It wasn't just Mol, If what i heard from that version that they play tested is true, There were supposed to be more children npcs in HOH and i have a feeling the devil with the silver tongue in Wyll's story who took the farmer's daughter away is also Raphael. This could be a cut storyline?maybe?) There are also these lines that do not make much sense to me"You're the best thing for business since the Second Sundering. Countless sorry souls came running to my door after your work in the grove." "To repay you for the souls sent my way, I offer a taste of the truth."Which souls is he talking about here?Why would "Countless sorry souls"go to Raphael specifically after the grove incident?

after rewrite Those were all the pre-rewrite stuff... Kith'rak Voss scene with Raphael must be new, He was a very different character and was involved on that big "The Creche vs The Cult of the Absolute" fight in Rosymorn Monastery that got cut. Raphael originally wanted the artefact not the the The Crown of Karsus so him want to be ruler of nine hell is probably new?! which is ridiculous If you know anything about hell hierarchy and power scaling(the reason is to enforce law and order(?) as if hell isn't already like that and Asmodeus isn't a primal embodiment of lawful evil) Maybe that's just me but Raphael's writing in general feels very different in act 3, My guess is that they gave him to another writer after rewrite, he seems to have been written by a more skilled and talented writer before that...like if you compare the first meeting with him to his monologue before fighting him, the difference in quality is very much noticeable. Raphael himself went from being very smart, snarky and manipulative to straightforward, blunt and comically unselfaware. I guess the current narrative wants me to just ignore all the earlier stuff?! And i have other nitpicky issues, "Down comes the claw" is supposed to be a reference to Raphael's lullaby in Act 1 but that doesn't make sense,This was what happened between the cat and the mouse, and Raphael was supposed to be the fox watching them. if they player was the mouse, who is this cat that they were brightly smiling at? And why "claws coming down" was a form of "love"? My guess is that the original meaning of that rhyme is something that has been cut. In my opinion, the House Of Hope quest itself was pretty underwhelming with lot of questionable writing decisions and basically was a weaker and less interesting version of hag's lair in act 1. I feel like the writer was much more interested in shocking people or getting a reaction than writing a good story. The last thing that bothers me in act 3, Raphael suddenly out of nowhere became really obsessed with law and order...I mean that's what he says but he never really does anything to show that he cares about those things? His house is a chaotic mess and Neither Hope nor those "Eternal Debtors" should be there. Devils can take someone and torture them without owing their soul ONLY IF those people to come to hell themselves(which wasn't the case with Hope) and I couldn't find anything about those "Debtors" in dnd lore. What is even the purpose of their existence beside shock value? Those who sell their souls to a devil become divine energy for the hells, Lemures or soul coins after they die, All of which are relatively worse outcomes and i think he should have served an archdevil in Avernus(but he doesn't)...All that talk about hell's laws but he lowkey not following any of them... IDK maybe he wasn't originally meant to be lawful evil? In act2 he said this about Mol "She cheated, of course, but that's half her charm"i don't understand how can you find cheating charming if you love law and order so much? and he also said this"After all, if there is one rule I hold dear, it's that one must always give the devil his due." Doesn't this contradict what he's saying in act3? He basically said he doesn't care about any rule beside "giving the devil his due" here... And there's Raphael's magic the gathering card "Fiendish Savior"

MTG cards have 5 colors, each of them has their own meaning and mechanic(you can read about them x,x) Raphael's card is half black half red. Black is color of lack of ethical restraint, Power at any cost , self-interest and ... which still kinda fits his character. Red is "impulsive and emotional. The color of passion, frivolity, and chaos"."Red values freedom above all else. It wants to do what it wants when it wants, and to whom it wants, and nobody can tell it otherwise.""Red believes that life is an adventure and that it would be much more fun if everyone stopped caring about rules, laws, and personal appearances and just spent their time indulging their desires through experience." I think this was made before that late rewrite, because it doesn't really fit him any more.(Wyll card is also red and that's definitely for his EA version) Red doesn't always mean chaotic alignment but character with half red half black card are very often chaotic evil. Unlike devils, Cambions can be other alignments beside lawful evil so maybe they were doing something different?!or maybe he wasn't even a cambion?

(Just a warning, I'm about to over analyze a lot of details in bg3 artbook, early access and prequel comic to guess what they might have planned for Raphael before the rewrite, if that's something you don't really care about you should stop reading...A lot of this is just my theories and speculation about the og storyline) Raphael's design I think just like Wyll and Gale, they didn't give Raphael his actual design and he stuck with his ea placeholder model. His final design is really bland and it looks nothing like his concept art. (i can't post more photo because tumblr's limit but you can see them here) I prefer all of them to what's in the final game right now, all of these designs are very bold, detailed and fancy, which I think fits Raphael's over the top personality better. They all have a black and red color scheme with lots of gold jewelry. There's a lot of nature symbolism(vines,roses, thorns and...), Eyes, Tongues and dragons in there as well. I also really like how Raphael's devil form has unique features and isn't just basic tiefling with wings like the release version. I don't know what this is but apparently it was important enough that has its own section on his page...

Another thing I noticed, Gortash's final outfit is very similar to some of Raphael concept art. Specially that early sketchy design (even that dragon tattoo was originally meant for Raphael) similar symbolism: Eyes, Tongues, skulls and dragons, None of these can be found in other Gortash concepts So idk maybe this is just an unused earlier design for Raphael? (Is it just me or the dragon on Gortash's collar looks a lot like Tiamat? it's literally a dragon with several heads. I don't see how she could be related to either to Gortash or Raphael so i didn't look more into it)

Another thing all of these designs have in common is that they are clearly inspired by Jareth the Goblin King and different customs he wore in 1986 Labyrinth. It reminded me of this tweet from back in ea where one of the dev even compared Raphael to Jareth.

that kinda explains why there were children npcs in HOH in that beta version of the game... I was thinking about this comparison then something suddenly clicked for me, Jareth was a manifestation of Sarah's desires(at the beginning movie in her room you can see a picture of David Bowie with her mother). He was offering Sarah her dreams and was trying to get her to submit to a fantasy...And that's EXACTLY what the original dream visitor from early access was...Which is interesting because when i was reading about Wendigo, That also reminded me a lot of EA dreams and urges(They can shapeshift into different human forms and posses people through their dreams and...) I knew Raphael's original role was to be a solution to our tadpole problem in exchange of our soul and be a Merchant. So I thought he would be an ally against the Absolute, but probably had his own evil agenda and dealing with him had its own consequences(kinda like an evil equivalent of Malady from DOS2)...It never actually occurred to me that the reason he wanted Orpheus and our souls was because he was with the cult...This sent me down a rabbit hole. If you haven't played early access you can watch all the dream sequences here. just by these alone it's obvious that the dream person isn't the tadpole specially in the last dream Where their mask fell off... And I think the Absolute and the Dream Visitor were supposed to be the same person...There was this conversation with Lae'zel:

Tav: Those dreams linger in my memory. Do you think that strange figure will come back? Lae'zel: It is a certainty. I had assumed our parasites served a ghaik Elder. But i believe they serve a greater master still. Tav: The Absolute is this 'master'. I'm sure of it. Lae'zel: Perhaps. 'Absolute' may be a mere pseudonym behind which this master hides. Whatever this voice, Whoever this master, It dominates dreams and unites minds.

Minthara also had this line in EA"The Absolute has spoken to you already, in whispers and dreams, but at Moonrise you will be in her presence." and Absolute's pronounce changed depend on the person you're talking to. EA dream visitor was referred to by two names in the game files: Daisy and Desire. This was datamined about multiplayer(x)

Daisy: can have up to four "Daisy" character in game , one for each avatar, The "default" Daisy is the host. Desire : only one "Desire" in the game.based on the Daisy made by the host.

Some NPCs in game files also were referred to as desire, So they were probably Daisy in disguise. for example one of them was Counsellor Florrick.

I recently watch this(x)Remember i mentioned those 4 unused Raphael models that were in the same room with origin character's dream visitors. Now i know what they are, They aren't for cut content 4 naked models are customizable dream visitors for each 4 avatars and there are 4 Raphael for each of them because Now there are 4 extra Emperor with those customizable Dream guardians in there instead ...(They aren't in the separate room like EA and Origin don't have their own Daisy now so they aren't there)

Looking back at EA footage now, I think the original visit to HOH probably was a dream sequence...unlike the release version Raphael would only come to camp at night after a long rest and when the scene ended the whole party was knocked down (Basically you would wake up from it)

I think that's why he said a "lullaby" would suit the occasion? And if you talked to Shadowheart after the first dream, There was an actual option to tell her that our dream visitor could be "that devil, Raphael"

I didn't even remember this because i usually didn't use the tadpole powers(They were to have severe consequences) and i think you only get this if you met Raphael before you get the first dream...Does anyone know what Shadowheart would say if you pick this option?

There's also this Raphael's cut line:

I have a thousand mistresses, Karlach. Fear and pleasure blend quite well.

(I think it could be a reference to “Just fear me, love me, do as I say…”?! ) "thousand mistresses" is something that is not really physically possible BUT if was the dream visitor, this explains who these people could be. I think every person that was tadpoled had their own Daisy.

The Cult of the Absolute itself has changed quite a bit after rewrite, There was this theme of "Power at a Cost"that is gone. The Absolute was going to offer you "powers" but indulging in those corrupting powers would send you down a dark path and had long-term consequences. "Cultist of the Absolute"MTG card had this in the description "you embrace power at any cost, and if it consumes you, so be it." Now the Emperor is the one who insists that you should use this powers, but consuming tadpoles has no real impact, it just a for a powerup system.

I was re-reading bg3 prequel comic Mindbreaker, I noticed something really interesting. At the end of the first chapter a group of true souls teleported to a library to perform a ritual. Then suddenly they started speaking Infernal while they were standing on something that looks a lot like the marks on Astarion's back...

And then a tadpoled priest of Kelemvor "father Alby" killed the true soul lady that was standing in the middle, using a dagger that looked like Rhapsody(it wasn't a 1 to 1 copy but the design were pretty similar) and after that a portal opened and he was like"now it is revealed to us, my fellow true souls…the glory of the Absolute has no limits!" Okay so who's this ritual is for? (It's definitely not for neither The Dead Three, their chosen nor The Netherbrain), And why is this "ritual" look so similar to devil worshiping?! At the start of chapter 2 the comic described whatever happened there as this:

Divine magic is power imparted by a god upon one of their worshipers, a reward for prayer and good service in the deity's name. But there are other paths to power as well…Dark pacts with strange beings whose magic and influence rival the glory of the divine, even if they are not called gods by those who define such things. woe to any who fall under their sway or drink deep from their corruption.

It implies the Absolute is not a real God, and the description doesn't really fit the Netherbrain neither. The use of those "powers" that the Absolute offered were described as "Dark pacts"

After all that, I looked into whether or not devils even could have dream powers and turns out yeah a certain type of fiend do! There's 3 type of incubus/succubus, EA dream visitor was really similar to the fiendish type who are neither devil nor demon : "Fiendish succubi commonly used their ethereal form to slip through walls to reach a mortal's bedside, and linger there as they slept. Here, they filled their victim's dreams with debauched scenes and whispered of forbidden pleasures, tempting them to indulge in dark desires, appetites, and taboos. The more the succubus did this in their dreams, the more vulnerable their victim became to temptation in the waking world. Eventually, the succubus entered the mortal realm directly, in a pleasing form previously seen only in the dreams, and befriended or seduced their victim, so they could influence them directly and indulge all their desires so they would perform evil deeds of their own free will. When the victim was utterly corrupted, such as by committing three betrayals of thought, word, and deed, their soul was in the grip of the succubus, without need of contract or pledge. For a more virtuous victim, this corruption might take longer, but their downfall was all the more rewarding for the succubus. Finally, the succubus slew their victim with a kiss, and the corrupted soul went down to the Lower Planes as their prize." "Fiendish succubi could become ethereal by slipping into the Ethereal Plane. They could also magically charm a humanoid, in sight up to 30 feet (9.1 meters) away, and make them obey any command they gave them. The victim might resist, especially if made to perform a harmful or suicidal action." It's all very similar to EA dream visitor and that also explains why EA dreams were so seductive but the only thing that doesn't line up is succubus could only have one charmed victim at a time...so i'm not really sure.

Looking back on it now, I think the character who replaced Daisy wasn't the Emperor, It was The Dark Urge(or more precisely Bhaal) What we were resisting in EA dreams was the dream visitor themself, not the urge to kill them. This would happen if you failed that charisma check(I find it weird that some people still insist that original Tav was Durge/a Bhaalspawn even when the writer straight up confirmed that's not true.) My theory is those "urges" were the consequences of using the tadpole powers and not resisting the dream visitor. The character that the emperor replaced was actually Orpheus(Emperor existed even before the rewrite. I'm not sure what his original role was, But his name was datamined back in ea) Orpheus was the person in the artefact that help the party and prevented them from becoming mind flayers, Based on this datamined conversation with Halsin (x)

Halsin: You're aware of the monster inside you. You don't bow to the Absolute, like the true souls do. How is this possible…? Tav: A being called Orpheus is protecting me; Shielding me from the worst of parasite's magic. Halsin: That sounds…novel. But alright, Who is this Orpheus? I'd like to bend the ear of anyone who knows about these things. Tav: I don't know the truth bout him. I'm not sure he even has an ear to bend. Halsin: Hmm. There's so much stock you can place in mysterious friends with unknown agendas...

These were also datamined about Orpheus (x)

in the game files " the cube contains the long imprisoned spirit of a gith general, who wants to fall into our party's hand in effort to eventually break free."

He's forcing Shadowheart to either join the party or get killed by the party - either way the cube will be where it wants to be.

A mysterious character who is trying to survive and break free, who prevents the party from turning into illithid and Shielding them from the Absolute's influence...That's just the Emperor now. Raphael originally wanted the artifact, so there should have been some sort of connection between him and Orpheus. Orpheus from Greek mythology was a poet and musician who descended into the underworld/hells to bring her wife back, So maybe there was something going on that got cut? .............. Small rant about Mephistopheles I feel like they just slapped him in the game last minute... The fact that Mephistopheles had the Crown of Karsus but did not use it does not make any sense. Mephistopheles is a wizard, ruler of Cania and second most powerful devil next to Asmodeus. he was desperately looking for divinity so he could beat Asmodeus and take his place.(Especially considering what happened between him and his cambion son Magadon just for a portion of the god Mask's divinity. he managed to get only a fraction of that )He could have use the crown, Steal Asmodeus' divinity and easily defeat him. "frigid archivist who made a miracle into a museum piece" is not really who Mephistopheles is ,he's very power hungry and his "most damaging issues" are his "rampantly unchecked megalomania and recklessness in the pursuit of power" The chosen stealing the crown from him is weird on itself(IMO None of them were smart or strong enough to pull that off)And then Mephistopheles did not go after them and let them carry out their plan?why?! I even think Raphael being the son of Mephistopheles was something they added later for several reason: Everything that connects Raphael to him was added after the rewrite(Him wanting The Crown of Karsus, Astarion asking about his scars and Haarlep). This makes him way too similar to EA Mizora, She was supposed to have a powerful devil father. Raphael's concept art looks a lot like Yurgir and other devil concepts from Avernus cut content and shouldn't he be blue?!Because I read somewhere that Mephistopheles's red skin is the result of the experiments he did on himself and he was blue before all that?!

Mephistopheles's deal with Cazador and him wanting 7007 random souls is also kinda ooc for him. He is the one archdevil who prefers quality over quantity("He has the advantage of having the lowest quotas of the archdevils but with the limitation of the highest standards")that's why he's in debt to some of the other archdevils like Dispater and Levistus. He also only makes deal with skilled wizards and cunning sages(Cazador doesn't really fit the bill) My theory is Astarion's back scars originally might had something to do with Raphael himself. Cazador's lair in bg3 art book looks different, Notice how the set up for the ascension ritual isn't there(Instead there is a pool of blood?)

if you look at Astarion page on BG3 artbook, it is mentioned that whatever is carved on his back is part of a poem.

Mephistopheles doesn't make contract in poem form. When the set of the MTG cards that included bg3 characters was released, They published this video explaining each card, Brandy camel (community manager at d&d i think)said this about about Raphael:

Later in the same video she said this when discussing Astarion's card:

He's an individual who's kind of been operating in that place between being rising to nobility but hasn't quite made it there yet, So he's kind of under the thumb of Raphael and he's not super happy about it.

So originally i thought this could be a mistake but if Raphael was EA dream visitor, I can see how he could be involved with Astarion. Here's a little summary of Astarion's og storyline(source of datamined stuff here) So there was this chosen of the Absolute "the Butcher",He and Cazador had a rivalry over who get to control the Baldur's Gate graveyard.(You could have sided with either of them) Cazador sent some of his spawns to investigate the cult, We were supposed to meet them in act2. Astarion wanted to ally with a monster hunter named "Spencer" against them, But if we talked to spawns we would learn that "the Butcher" send his apprentice "Ohler" to the graveyard(he was putting tadpole inside the skeleton's head and that made them hostile toward the vampires ) then an ancient and powerful vampire called"the Alluring" killed him. They also mentioned how they were happy with their situation and that Cazador is an okay boss"It is good. You don't age and everyone is afraid of you. Cazador is a bit strict but he makes sure we are fed" So about how Raphael might have been involved, "the Alluring" was called "Desire/Alluring" in the game files so he(?) was EA dream visitor in disguise... That explains why Astarion was the only one who had nightmare about Cazador instead of tempting dreams like the rest of the party. also in ea if you speak on dead on gur and asked him who sent him he would say this :

Astarion : Who sent you… Was it Cazador? Gandrel: No… Maiden Fel… Astarion : Who is Maiden Fel? Gandrel: Reason… Even monsters… Have nightmares…

If hypothetically Raphael was Daisy, this "Maiden Fel"was also probably him too? ................ so here's another delulu theory: (I know it's not very likely, I wasn't even sure to include it) Raphael's name still bothered me, I couldn't help but think there must be a reason why they name a devil after an archangel. So I checked to see if I could find some sort of connection between Raphael and any of d&d deities(since angels associated with gods) i have two guesses. the first one is Beshaba. Beshaba is "chaotic evil deity of accidents, bad luck, misfortune, and random mischief" and her holy symbol is the horns of a stag. She is the twin sister and sworn enemy of Tymora, the goddess of good luck(they are kinda like Shar and Selune) Raphael has this line in act1"They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don't they?" "Tymora was the most famous deity around the country of Cormyr, after she protected their capital, Suzail, during the Time of Troubles. Her efforts prompted a resurgence of her faith throughout the nation." and there's this one fallen temple of Tymora in the city of Tantras literally called the unlucky"House Of Hope"(x) Raphael has these dialogues "One might say you're a paragon of luck. I'll be there when it runs out" "You're out of luck." which didn't happen This is less likely guess because dnd evil deities don't really have angels... my second guess is Lathander. He's the deity with most similarities to Archangel Raphael "Lathander was a deity of creativity, dawn, renewal, birth, athletics, spring, self-perfection, vitality, and youth. He favoured those who dispelled the undead and blessed those who planted new life. Lathander was also the god called upon to bless birth and fertility related ceremonies.""A common symbol associated with Raphael is the color green. This color is often used to represent healing and renewal, which are two of Raphael's primary areas of expertise. The use of green in depictions of Raphael can also be seen as a nod to the natural world, which is often associated with healing and growth.Finally, Raphael is sometimes depicted holding a fish, which is a symbol of abundance and fertility. This symbol is particularly relevant to Raphael's role as a healer, as it represents the idea of restoring balance and vitality to the body." And both Archangel Raphael and Lathander are commonly associated with the Sun. Lathander is also a god of "hope and beginnings", He and his followers"Strive to bring hope to others" that one statue in the House of Hope with a sun behind his head and plants around his neck looks pretty similar to Lathander's statues in the game...

There's more to this if Raphael was the Original dream visitor. Daisy also spoke of "change", "growth" and a "beautiful and glorious renewal" If you look at the art of "Cultist of the Absolute" MTG card, You can see a window on the background that looks a lot like Symbol of Lathander. In the prequel comic there was this panel where one of the protagonist asked the tadpoled true soul"father Alby"what happened to him and why is he doing all of this, he replied"A simple answer to both questions, I have been Awakened" Novices in the Lathanderian faith are also called the Awakened. In original storyline that supposed to happen in Rosymorn Monastery(x) Kith'rak Voss got some kinda information from there that he wanted to tell Vlaakith about! He had this cut dialogue "I will make for the plane-gate. Vlaakith must hear of this!".The Absolutists REALLY didn't want this information to reach Vlaakith. Even Daisy was going to make an appearance because of it, this was datamined:

We need a system for showing daisy and making them talk to the player in the world// Daisy insists that the player shouldn't let Kith'rak Voss escape.

Why is this information obtained from a temple of Lathander be so important to the cult of the Absolute? Avernus was supposed to be playable and Zariel was also an angel under the command of Lathander before her fall. so maybe there was something going on between Raphael and Lathander ?! like i said I know it's not very likely... ............. So that's all i had to say, I tried to look into it more specially stuff that was datamined from patch5 and 8 of Early access(there was A LOT)but i couldn't find much, Most of the stuff from those patches were deleted or unlisted on YouTube... Just remember I’m literally just sharing my opinion, it is not a personal attack on you or your taste :P ok bye.