#what hindered love epilogue

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 2):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

Part one here.

—> SMUT!!! and copious amounts of yearning and fluff, and like maybe some angst??? I wasn’t originally going to do a part 2 because it worked pretty well as a one shot, but I really liked their dynamic (and hyper fixated on it for HOURS), so here we are— it details the build up to their relationship, and then provides an epilogue to the end of part 1.

Warnings: sub spencer, corruption kink still present (but Spencer plays into it this time, what? who keeps writing that??? they need help???), greek mythology references and endless space facts (nerds), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader always (except she still for the life of her can’t be mean to Spencer, it’s those fucking brown eyes), begging, crying (pussy remains that good), praise kink, degrading names (slut, whore, because hello??? Spencer Reid breathes and he’s a slut to me), them being total losers for each other, they’re both still geniuses and they’re both still too domestic for my sanity, alcohol but no inebriated sex (a lot happens OKAY??), aftercare always!!

— brief brief mentions of rape in correlation to Greek Mythology (male Gods are disgusting)

w.c: 8k (im not mentally okay)

a/n: i wrote the smut and then had to take a cold shower (i cry for my digital footprint). i wanted to put this out on Spencer’s birthday, but I got distracted— i think he would be happy I dedicated all of my shots to him (and then had to explain that no he’s not actually a real person but rather a fictional character)

───────────────

Prequel, the build up, (pre ‘part I’):

Spencer is barely conscious, drifting in that half-way state, all tousled hair and messy clothes. He’s dishevelled, at best, cradling a coffee (too much sugar, limited caffeine). Early start, the sun has only begun to burn by the time he reaches his desk. Torture, it’s torture the way you linger, it makes his brain distort, fracture into a tangled mess of nothing. How is it scientifically possible that one’s presence alone can reduce his mind to static? He’s not sure whether he loves or hates the abrupt decline in his IQ.

7AM. There’s bags pooling beneath his eyes, crimson distressed shadows, insufficient sleep can hinder the brains ability to regulate emotion, attention. It’s fine. He’s fine.

To put it simply, you’re terrifying. A carefully crafted figment of intelligence. He wonders if you’ve ever pressed a knife to someone’s skin before, it’s more intimate than a bullet. Hands on. It’s not a morbid thought, he doesn’t consider himself that hedonistic. Jobs in the BAU are coveted, and yet, in despite of your age, you were offered to join. No strings attached, no extensive training— nearly a year of working alongside you has proven that you’re more qualified for this than anyone could’ve anticipated. Is it cruel to say you were made to analyse, to deceive and coerce the most callous minds?

It’s demeaning, sure. But there is nothing more to you than the job. You clock in, and your personality becomes bound, restrained, kept away from him.

He’s trying. They’re all trying; to accommodate you, to ease you into the team. Drinks after hours, even intoxicated, you’re meticulous at keeping yourself away from anything inherently personal.

But right now, you’re here, and you’re so pretty. “Early,” he groans, letting his face drop to the desk. He likes that you’re shifting closer to him, that out of everyone, the rare, celestial phenomenon, moments of vulnerability are reserved for him. They’re brief, and admittedly a little sharp around the edges, but Spencer is selfish in admitting that he wants them all to himself. To hoard them and gloat, because no one has ever chosen him first before.

And you, you justify this ‘friendship’ because you’re indisputably human, because you do need someone (even if you’re too proud to ever accept that), and of course it would be Spencer. You’re both too young to be here, skipping a multitude of stages in the rise to an FBI agent, trauma bonding over the weight of your scathed experiences. Plus, you share an element of difference; your brains are abnormal, wired in unique, distinctive ways in contrast to the average human. It makes sense. It’s logical.

“Too early.” you agree, shifting to lean against his desk. “Did you read that article I sent you? The one about astrophysics and how it can shape human experiences?”

“Of course I read it,” He looks up, bleary-eyed behind his glasses, half-lidded gaze flickering across you. Maybe there should be an element of competition to your dynamic; you’re both geniuses, working alongside each other in close close (oh— close) proximity, but there’s not. For all of your sharpness, you’ve never once seen him as anything but your equal.

He turns his head, hair falling, obstructing his sight, a mess of brown, tousled and out of place. His brain is already working overtime, absorbing every detail about your appearance: your heavy, maddening eyes, your shirt (wrinkled, untucked), your watch (gold), the pen stuck behind your ear. Analytical, analytical, analytical.

“Don’t ask me about it.” he continues, “I’m halfway through an essay on my thoughts about it, expect a message tonight.”

That’s a new progression. Whenever he can’t sleep, whenever his thoughts are fervid and incessant, his mind caught on obscure facts, he’ll text you. Let you wake to paragraphs upon paragraphs of information on miscellaneous subjects. He’s never really understood ‘texting etiquette’, abbreviations and short responses.

“Can’t wait.” you hum. Oh, and you mean it.

“Can’t wait? First time i’ve heard that one,” he laughs.

He glances down at your shoes— combat boots, of course. Practical, sturdy, thick leather worn down with use. He can’t look at your face right now, not when you’re soul-crushingly beautiful, and you’re taking an interest in his quirks. But, oh your face— using the golden ratio as a foundation, you’re… well, perfect. Sure, the dark shadows pooling beneath your eyes reduce points, but he likes them, it’s a subtle, yet impaling, reminder that you’re real, that despite everything, you’re undeniably human.

It’s a mess, he’s aware that it’s an unnecessarily disjointed mess; the universe decided to torture him (painfully so), by placing the personification of perfection in front of him. Reachable distance, and yet, you still feel light years away. So far, because god he loves you— he loves you in ways he can’t even speak about. But what is love, and how does he comprehend it when he’s never been in its orbit? Not until now.

“And yeah,” he continues, adjusting his glasses. “I’m drafting a response, of course I am. You think I’d not send you an in-depth message? That would be a disservice to your knowledge.”

────────────

Detroit, 8hr flight, mid-morning, coffee and case files, an endless haze of intentions, behavioural patterns regarding the most recent unsub. Spencer always chooses to sit beside you, it’s non-negotiable, assigned. He spends half of his time curled up in the corner, catching a few minimal hours of sleep, and the other half rambling. At this point, you know a lot about him. Months and months of knowledge, some he’s told you, some you’ve profiled: he always carries a satchel (dog-eared novels and notebooks consisting of half-finished thoughts), his favourite season is halloween (when he first came to your apartment and saw various autumnal decor, despite it being mid-July, he smiled so much you thought you were going to die), and he’s afraid of the dark. Trivial pieces of information. Unnecessary, and yet you still store them for safe keeping.

“So,” he mumbles after briefing, “It’s nearly Halloween…”

Those words. The simple declaration of a date that you were already aware of sentences your fate. Of course you’ve noticed the rest of the team deftly turning down his invites at any occasion possible, but to receive one? You’ve never been a people pleaser, in fact, if anything you’re the polar opposite. Blunt like a knife, intransigent, unwilling to spare feelings for the sake of etiquette.

But you do agree when he offers to make plans.

────────────

Pumpkin patches, seasonal harvest. The leaves beneath your heavy platforms are ochre. It’s late- afternoon when you get to the festival, even later when you manage to coerce Spencer into humouring one of the ghost-walks.

But, you got distracted, tangled up in some tangent about Roman philosophy, Plato’s symposium, different accounts of eros. Socrates and his belief in stoicism, unwavering to the pretence of beauty, turning down Alcibiades— the most desirable.

You can only laugh. You laugh, and no, you’ve never laughed like that before. It shuts down Spencer’s body, renders him incapable for a good few moments. And now, suddenly he’s gone dumb, because he wants to get lost every weekend, just to hear it over and over again until it’s firmly imprinted into his brain for good. You breathe, and he’s brain-dead.

“This isn’t funny—“ he tries.

“No you’re right. It’s not funny at all.” you lie. Straight. Through. Your. Teeth. All things considered, you’ve had fun today— which is admittedly a feat in itself.

“Don’t worry,” you continue, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll protect you.“

“You do that enough anyways,” he states; it’s true, you’re a little too assertive on the field, unwilling to let him stumble inadvertently into danger. Maybe it’s just because you’re now acquainted with the knowledge of his previous missteps. Or maybe it’s because you care — not in the way he cares about you, obviously. But he’s willing to take what he can get. Anything, as long as it from you.

Spencer hates the dark (it’s common knowledge, the absence of light is unsettling) and with his flashlight wavering, stuttering in and out of use, he’s forced to stray close to you, to share your working one. It feels like the start of some budgeted horror movie he’d possibly take you to see, speaking through the entirety, pointing out the obvious scientific flaws.

“Why do you have so many layers on?” He asks, watching your face. The flashlight in your hand illuminates the small clearing around them, casting your face in a starker light. Every contour, every blemish, every freckle is more pronounced in the cold.

“You look like a burrito,” he adds, unable to stop himself.

You scoff, “I run cold.”

Pine-oak and cold, the air is sharp, plainly glacial at this time of night. It’s an amusing way to spend halloween; even though you’re currently missing out on the tour you paid for. “And, I don’t look like a burrito, thank you. Very astute evaluation, Reid. Your words are clearly so intellectual.”

“Yes, well— I am a doctor, remember? Astute observation skills are a priority on the requirements list. And actually,—“ you huff out a breath, and his forthcoming tangent dissolves before it can escape his lips. Usually, you humour the onslaught, the mess of facts— but, considering they’re directly aimed at you tonight, it’s clear that circumstances are in fact different.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, knuckles blemished red from the cold, rose shadows that match the flush to his face. “I’m glad you said yes, to this. Most of the team,” he laughs awkwardly, “Well, they usually ignore my invites. So yeah, it’s nice not to be alone for halloween.“

He’s quick to move on, to shift shift the subject. “And— as for the,” he continues, glancing down at your attire. “The excessive layers— I just meant that you look comfortable. If you’re running cold, then you need all those layers. It’s not a critique.” Another huff, and he glances awkwardly around the clearing.

“I’m just rambling.” He murmurs, “As per usual. I need to, uh— to stop doing that.” A pause. Silence.

You’re not really digesting his words anymore, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts— it’s a few moments before you speak again. You turn your gaze towards him, observing the sight of him in the perpetual darkness, profile only illuminated by faint trances of your flash-light. Swollen lips, half-bitten, brown eyes blown out of proportion, irises wide and unabated.

You know a lot about him, that’s already been established. Albeit, there’s still fragments you haven’t quite discovered yet. And sure, you shouldn’t want to find out, to unravel him completely. You shouldn’t— because that’s a direct transgression to the rules you’ve always set for yourself. But you do.

“Are you..” your face softens, “Uh, are you alone a lot?”

You’ve never been the type to ask about personal life, about the complexities behind closed doors. Sure, you can deduce his home-life through months of experience and mannerisms, but you’ve never asked specifically about his own relationships. The question catches him off-guard.

He blinks, a few too many times, and then finds his eyes are very very interested in staring at his shoes.

“Yeah.” he finally answers, “But it’s okay! I’m used to it. I don’t mind,”

“I have lots of time for my own pursuits,” he adds. “Reading and-— um, chess and stuff. And the team, of course. But— they’re not- they don’t want to, like, hang out. Outside, I mean. They have their own lives, partners. Families, so it makes sense.”

It’s not okay, and you’re uncertain why it pains you so much. Maybe because he makes the effort to arrange plans, to connect, and it goes undervalued, wasted. In contrast, you’re content in loneliness. People are overbearing, insufferable at best. You’ve never had much of an interest in an abundant social life, you’re content in your small, reserved circle. But he has no one.

And yet he has the audacity to pretend it’s okay?

“Well, if you want to like, be lonely together sometime. That would be fine with me.” you say after a moment of strained silence.

His whole life he’s struggled to fit in, to meet, to conform to the expected societal norms. Acceptance, community, humans are wired to want integration, and yet he’s always fallen short. It’s why he throws himself into facts, into research, into studies and books.

His shoulders have slackened. For a slender frame he’s remarkably tense, like he’s waiting for an eventual downfall. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’d uh, also be fine with that. More than fine actually..”

No one has ever wanted him, they’ve just needed him and he wonders if there’s really even a difference.

────────────

That’s how it starts. Inevitable, in the grand scheme of life and work and you. Spencer watches as you soften, slowly unfold protected layers over countless evenings of chess and movies, and suddenly you’re not so untouchable, so beyond conventional existence, and yeah, berate him for loving you even more because of it.

You’re restless, completely. A night in his apartment is always fated to end with you tugging him through cobbled streets, desperate to catch some air. Tonight, it’s raining. Protected beneath a ledge of a closed shop, you’re approximately 12 minutes away from his place. Spencer should hate you for bulldozing his routine, he really really should. But it’s never that simple, not when it comes to the intricacies of you, and the exhausting effect you prove to have on his sanity.

He leans back against the soaked brick, watching the rain pour over the road, greyed streets, washed out by water. Just passing 10PM, like most nights, his mind seems to be insistent on you you you. And sure, he’s longing (if that even encapsulates his want), longing for something, to connect the invisible line between you two.

“Why am I not surprised,” he mutters, “Always a disaster with you.”

The cold will undoubtedly lead to you being sick, but the sight of you under the glow of streetlights, water-stricken and frustrated— he can’t bring himself to complain. For a moment, he simply stares. At your profile, the sharpness of your features, the exasperation in your blinding gaze. You’re beautiful, in ways he can’t comprehend.

“Hey,” he backtracks, “Not in a bad way, but like, in a you-cause-so-much-unexpected-stuff-to-happen kind of way. You’re always bringing me into messy situations.”

The space between you is so minimal, but so stretching. There’s an invisible wall, one that he won’t ever tear down, can’t ever tear down, in case he loses you. He wants to reach out, to grasp at your hand, your wrist, or even your shoulder. Anything, to feel the barest touch of your skin. Something.

Touch. To feel. He’s never allowed himself to sink into the warmth of someone else before, he’s never been able to. But for all your terror, he knows you’d hold him. Or maybe that’s just what he hopes for. Maybe it’s a delusional hypothetical.

When you do return to his apartment, you’re laughing. A common sight these days, as mind-bending as that might seem. The journey back was discombobulated, rushed movements, jackets spilling over heads, drenched thoroughly, attempting to outrun the inevitable storm that now seems to consume the area.

There’s not a part of you that regrets your offer to be ‘lonely together’ because whilst you despise most humans, Spencer doesn’t seem to be on that list. No, you could spend hours doing nothing with him, and still find it more gratifying than the best laid plans.

Plus, these days he seems happier. You both do.

“You look like a wet dog,” you say as you attempt to sort your way through his soaked hair. You’re sitting on the floor of his kitchen, cold skin pressed against tile.

He grins. You’re both laughing, and it’s so good. “Thanks for the compliment. You know, you’re not much better—“

He finds himself subconsciously, instinctively, leaning into the touch, as if his body has been searching for this, as if his skin is merely wired to only ever respond to your hands. Head tilted backwards, allowing access to the tangled strands, his neck arched slightly so he can still see your face, every expression that passes by.

He has a brief internal war with himself, wondering which part of the situation exactly he’s freaking out over. Maybe it’s the cold, which will undoubtedly leave him sick for the next week? Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve initiated a touch of some variety, your hands in his hair, a moment of human connection. Whatever it is, he can’t help but sit in silence, staring at you like you’ve just hung the stars.

────────────

Both of you are incontrovertibly devoted to work, married in some key aspects. You stay late, ceaseless over-time, covering offices with evidence and reports, rehashing cases until you’re too exhausted to function. So naturally, it’s no surprise that you’re coerced into taking time off, mandatory leave— if only to appease the rest of the team, and their wilting sanity.

Road trip. That’s the ‘logical’ solution, considering you’d both end up exasperated at your respective apartments, overthinking the cases you’ve been shut out of. The Appalachian trail. Neither of you have any interest in the hike, albeit the skyline yurt, overlooking the area, endless planes of landscape, certainly seems like a selling point. If only to keep you countless miles away from work.

November. The days are hazy, mostly due to your shared fatigue, interminable exhaustion. Spencer has abandoned his glasses now, and you try not to mourn the loss.

The drive felt eternal. Hours stuck listening to the radio, only interrupted by Spencer’s endless rambling and your sporadic requests for coffee. There’s something intimate to travelling together. Being trapped in a car, in close proximity, sharing a space.

Now, the two of you are situated in the middle of nowhere, nature, something he’s never really sought out in his life. He’s an intellectual not a lover of the outdoors. Sure, the science of it fascinates him, the endless cycle of life and death, but actually being here — in the midst of it all, amongst the trees and fog — is a foreign concept.

You’re standing beside him, eyes observing the landscape, sharp gaze tracing the outline of the horizon. He wonders if you’re thinking of the city, of work, of anything else besides the freezing air. He just wants to get inside, to feel warm, to stop shivering.

But no, you’re too busy looking at the stars.

“That’s Cetus,” he says, pointing out a constellation, “Sometimes referred to as ‘The Whale’. Cetus, uh.. he was a sea monster in Greek Mythology, sent by Neptune to devour Andromeda. Perseus saved her by turning him to stone using the head of Medusa. Medusa, who he beheaded using a mirrored shield whilst she slept.”

You hum, “It also represents the whale that swallowed Jonah when he disobeyed the Christian’s God.”

“Yeah! Yeah, because Jonah went to Nineveh instead of Tarshish.” he looks back at you, “You know, Cetus covers over 1200 square degrees of sky. But personally, personally, my favourite is Ursa Major.”

“The great bear? Cmon, that’s so basic.”

“No it’s not! What? Don’t judge my taste,” he protests, “It’s named after Arcas. Zeus fell in love with Andromeda—“

“Mhm, and Hera, his wife, turned Callisto into a bear. Zeus raped her, the Gods were fucked up.”

“The Gods were fucked up, yeah.” he agrees, before knocking his shoulder into yours. “But Ares wasn’t, you know he counts as a pseudo god for feminism.”

“Shame he was brutal in every other aspect.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “You’re paying more attention to the stars than me.”

Later, much later, you end up on the floor. Laying back against cold wood, you both stare at the domed ceiling. Distorted vision, clouded by alcohol; there’s not much to do around here, and you had incautiously thought a bottle of whiskey would be a good idea— no, actually, you just wanted to see Spencer intoxicated. Beyond messy nights at the bar in D.C, when the team was desperate for a break from work, he’s never really been in this state before.

The area is vast, too big, but you were hardly going to plummet yourself into the middle of nowhere without a few prominent luxuries— you’ve always been devoted to the city, the endless drama, sleepless nights and constant futile noise.

This is… different.

Alcohol has made everything more intense, magnified, in every aspect. The yurt is dark now, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning, slicing through the sky and illuminating the area in fragmented beats. The room is cold, but he’s over-warm. Not accustomed to the alcohol, to the buzz it leaves him feeling, the pleasant numbness in his limbs. As if nothing matters.

He’s laying next to you, mid-tangent about space. “Did you know that Jupiter has 95 moons. That’s more moons than the average solar system. And that most of them are named after Greek or Roman mythology. There’s— there’s Ganymede, that’s the largest natural satellite in the solar system. It’s nearly the size of Mars..”

He turns on his side to face you, watching as you mirror his movements, “And, and,” his words fail him, “You are so pretty, — you have amazing, amazing eyes, you know that? And this laugh….” that makes me burn, “You should laugh more. I’m going to make you laugh more.”

He’s staring at you, half-lidded gaze following every line, contour, every feature. He wants to trace his hand along the curve of your cheek, your jaw, down your throat, your shoulder. He wants to touch, to feel you. He can’t tell if you’re aware of his suffering. The torment that comes with being this close to you, yet not able to touch you. How painful it is. To love you.

“Spence..” you mutter, and oh, you’ve never called him that before.

“Mhm, yeah,” he says, bringing himself back to the point; the topic of space. Ignorant to his words. “The planet Jupiter, it’s a gas giant. You knew that, right? It’s got the shortest day of any planet. And on top of all that, it has a redspot! Like, this huge, massive vortex, bigger than the Earth, and it’s just roaming the atmosphere.”

A loud peal of thunder interrupts his speech, followed by the incessant, incessant rain, pounding against the walls. “I love when you listen to me. No one’s ever really listened to me before.”

It’s not fair, not fair that you’re about to plunge yourself into the centre of the storm. That Spencer Reid laying next to you, in the middle of nowhere, would be your fatal flaw. Hamartia. The downfall of the walls you’ve kept resolute for so long. You could blame the alcohol, curse yourself for encouraging this when you’ve both always balanced on a thin, trembling line.

But perhaps it was always inexorable.

You cup his face, running your hand over his pretty profile. Pupils blown out of proportion, so beautiful it scalds. You can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, from pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against his lips.

“I’ll always listen to you.” you promise. Because if no one else has the decency to acknowledge him in full capacity, you will.

And Spencer? Oh, he’s frozen, caught in some location of suspended space. Every thought, every coherent piece of logic in his head has come to an abrupt hilt, silenced by your mere touch.

Your words sink into his skin, seeping into his bones like fire. He’s burning, burning hot and feverous under your hands. The kiss is brief, and he whines involuntarily when you pull away. “Don’t stop. Please— not yet.”

You want him, repeats like a mantra. In all universes, in the grand scheme of time, he never considered this alternative.

Suddenly he’s glad he resides in this reality.

So you kiss him again. You’re aware that you’re both a tangled mess on the floor, limbs interwoven, lips pressed against lips. You’re aware that you’re both drunk beyond comprehension, and that you’ve used alcohol to cheat, to skip time, to fast-forward to the good. Because if you were sober right now, you’d be too calculated, too rational to allow this.

And it hurts— kissing him. Because he touches you like he’s never felt anything before, like he’s been impossibly starved for the entirety of his life. Neglected, in so many ways. You’ve never been interested in caring for someone before, but somewhere along the way, he buried his way into your chest, and now, you’re hopeless to the consequences.

Right now, that doesn’t even feel half as terrifying as it truly is.

His hands are everywhere, everywhere they can reach, grasping at anything they can find, trying to bring you closer, closer, to keep the heat burning against his skin. He needs it, needs the feeling of your lips. He’s overwhelmed, overwhelmed as his tongue slides against your own, as his hands press at the curve of your waist, tracing over skin he’s only been dreaming of touching. He feels alive, incandescent with pure bliss.

“I’ve wanted this,” he mumbles against your skin, between breaths. Between the fire. “For so long, so long,” he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours when you both become reacquainted with the concept of oxygen. “Don’t regret this tomorrow, please?”

“I won’t.” you say, drawing his lips back to your own.

And you do stay true to your word.

────────────

Epilogue (—post ‘part I’):

You’re not entirely sure how to approach the situation of sex, considering you’ve just defiled Spencer Reid on various surfaces of his apartment. So, naturally, you untangle yourself from his body, and take him to see some mundane documentary on sealife. Mostly because you know he’ll enjoy it (and you’ll certainly enjoy him leaning over your seat to comment on omitted pieces of information and technical inaccuracies). Then, when it’s over, you muffle his protests on crime as you coerce him into sneaking into another screen.

Now you’re not the most inconspicuous pair, sitting in the back row, practically hidden by shadows. He has one arm wrapped around your shoulder, thumb tracing over the bone there, lost to your proximity, the warmth of your leg, thighs pressed together.

“You are so pretty,” you mutter, transfixed by the sight of him, illuminated by flashing lights. Some excessive slasher playing in the background, discarded.

“Shh,” he sighs, “Be quiet, there’s— you’re distracting me.”

You’re difficult, you know; your head is leant against his shoulder, lips dragging along his jaw, then his neck, just under his ear. He can’t focus on the screen, the movie barely registers, not when all he can feel is you, your lips against skin, leaving remnants of heat wherever they touch.

You’re aware that you’re a few meticulous touches away from giving him a heart attack, albeit it’s not like you have any interest in stifling your attraction. Not when he’s sitting right next to you.

“What was that? Oh? You want me to be quiet. Maybe you should do something about it then, because personally I have no interest in—“

His lips are quick to silence you. Ruinous, you kiss like you talk, with a sense of assertiveness, all encompassing and dizzying. He’s leaning forward to deepen the contact, to chase chase chase your mouth with little regard for etiquette.

“It’s—“ he mutters, stumbling into his apartment when you predictably get kicked out of the cinema. “All your—“ his hands are tangled deep in your hair as he silences your protests with his lips. “Fault.”

He’s lovesick, pressing his thumb against your bottom lip to stifle the contact. He feels light, like everything will be okay, all of the ache will dismantle, disintegrate if he keeps kissing you. But comfortability breeds defiance, so when you try to close the distance again, he’s laughing breathlessly.

“There’s paperwork we need to do—“ he says, and you blink. “It’s stacking up, and uh.. it’s very very important.”

You both stare at each other for a moment. Then, he’s grinning, leaning forward to press an apologetic kiss against your lips. “Sorry, sorry. Had to.”

“You’re a dick.” you confirm, hands slipping beneath his sweater to trace warm flesh. His reaction is scarring, body clattering back against the wall, torso arched forward as every part of him follows your touch mindlessly. He’s not sure if he’ll ever grow tolerant to you, or if it will forever feel this devastating— his swollen lips are parted and a soft oh escapes.

“But a pretty one, so maybe it cancels itself out.” you laugh, adorning his neck in soft kisses that trail, growing sharper, more biting as they begin to puncture skin, leaving behind mauve blemishes. The process is delirious, and you’re coaxing the most destroyed, whiney noises from him now.

Spencer sighs, “I don’t think that’s how it works—“ his sentence is destroyed by a whimper, something pained, when you run your tongue along a forming mark, when you deepen the burn. “I’m uh— yeah.”

You laugh at his mindless sentence, “I thought we needed to do paperwork, hm?”

“What’s paperwork?” Spencer responds, gripping your hips, guiding you back, back, back until you both meet his couch. “I’ve never heard of that— stop making things up.”

“Are you going to behave?” you ask, straddling his hips, pressing against his clothed dick, working in slow movements to intensify the stifled stimulation between you.

“No.” he answers simply, plainly. As if the answer is self-evident. Which, considering the state of him, debauched beyond reason is. His needs are conspicuous, from the scattered bruising that lines his neck to the indecent noises spilling from his throat. He grips your hips, whines when you refuse to push harder against him.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you can reduce him to this state, diminished to nothing but want the moment your touching becomes calculated.

And god, he wants— he wants to trace every part of you. The shape of your collarbone, the dip of your throat. He wants to mark himself on every part of you. The curve of your wrist, the inside of your hip. Every part available. He feels like an open wound, vulnerable in ways he never anticipated he could be, desperate for you to thread the skin back together, to ease him from this repetitive cycle of desperation.

“Going to punish me?” he teases, watching the myriad of emotions that cross your features. The way you’re so intently focused on him, on his skin, the need he emanates. Fuck— he loves it, he loves how he’s the object of your attention, every thought, every sense devoted to him. No one else, just him.

He knows he’s begging, that he’s all but pleading with you to fix him, to make him whole again, because for some reason, he can’t remember what he was like before you.

“Maybe,” you answer, moving off his lap to destroy the friction, and he wants to protest, but before he can even cohesively think of words, he’s clattering off the couch to sink to his knees.

He’s looking at you now with this distinctive gaze, big, innocent eyes, pupils dilated beyond necessary reason, and you’re disorientated, undone just by the sight of him. It’s fervent, this thing that burns between you, and neither of you are sure when you got so tangled in each others orbit, but you’re not complaining, not when you’ve got him sitting pretty on his knees for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you state, drawing your hand across his jaw, tilting his head up so he can meet your gaze entirely. You let out an exasperated breath of air, “Don’t look at me like you’re innocent here,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” he says, and of course he’s playing naive, utilising his lack of experience in this moment, exploiting it to spite you.

Your palm meets his cheek, and he’s gone, just staring up at you, too distracted to formulate a coherent response. He never considered himself to be a particularly ‘dirty’ person until you kissed him, and then he crumbled, evanescence of logic, sanity.

He pushes his thighs together, moaning whorishly at the friction.

And oh, that has you gripping his hair hard, earning an assortment of obscene sounds. With your thighs parted, you hike your skirt up further, allowing him to slot himself in place. He’s quick, needy with his actions, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, trailing them up up up until he meets your panties. Wet, soaked through, a prominent indication that you’re feeling this as much as he is.

He drags them down your legs with little regard, fabric discarded, forgotten about for greater priorities. His tongue, tentative at first, runs along your clit, and you’re responding, hips canting against his face– yeah, suffocate him. He could die very happily right here in this demeaning position.

Tug, he buries his face entirely into you, moaning at the taste, at the sheer concept that he’s being throughly used. It’s messy (in more ways than one), but he knows that it’s good based on your reaction, the way your thighs are wrapped around his head, digging into his shoulder, the way your hand is threaded through his hair, controlling, instructing until he’s just a mindless instrument to your desires.

“Oh— fuck, Spence, that’s it— that’s it. So good, so good f’me.”

“Taste so good, needed this so bad.” he all but whines, pussy-drunk, a little too gone for anyone’s good. He’s straining against his pants, creating damp spots that he really can’t justify, and it hurts. He pushes his thighs harder together, trying to relieve the ache with some pressure, even if he’d love nothing more than to shamelessly grind against your leg right now, to rut in the most indecent way possible. He’s squirming, and don’t come untouched don’t come untouched, focus.

You’re tight, and when the first finger slips inside of you, there’s a visceral reaction from both of you. His hands are deft, slender and long, and with a subtle curve to his movements, he finds that spot before he’s even added a second digit. He would be fairly content with staying here forever, at service to you, watching as you fuck yourself against his face, body bucking and squirming, and yeah– there you go, that’s it. Right there. When you tense, he looks up to meet your debauched gaze, noises spilling from your swollen mouth as you fall apart. Clenching to unclench, perfect.

He’s still dizzy when he comes up, tongue and fingers and mouth and chin all obscenely coated in the aftermath. Oh god, he can’t even stand it, he looks way too satisfied with himself, and he is. He is. He is. He is.

You say how amazing it was (which is sweet, very very sweet) and then you say you’ve used him like a whore. And um. Yeah. Okay. That’s good— great even. He loves being useful!

There’s his bruised knees and then there’s the couch. Stumbling movements, the way he collapses, the way you follow after, shifting to straddle his body.

“Need you. Just you— please. I’ve waited for this, want it so bad.” he mutters.

He’s painfully hard, and he’s been so good, which means he’s prone to acting out now. As you work on staining his neck with remnants of this night, he slips his hand into his pants, and yeah, much better. He could cum just like this, with his palm wrapped around his dick and your lips all over his neck, polluting skin. He should be patient, he knows but he’s so hard and the need is too overwhelming. And oh oh oh. He squirms, releases a pitiful noise that has you reacting, noticing.

After that, his hands get bound behind his back.

He probably deserves that.

He can only watch the depraved actions, the formulated process of you removing his trousers, then his ruined boxers. By the time, he’s bare, undone to your eyes, he’s a disjointed mess. Every time you touch him, the sensory nerves that formulate inside his body burn, agonisingly so, to the point where he can only melt, capitulate to you alone. You, only ever you. He’s fairly certain he was created for you exclusively.

You roll your thumb across his tip, watching as he squirms, grasping your hip, and your free hand, discernibly breaking orders to keep them tethered behind his back. You just lace your fingers together, press a soft kiss against his knuckles, before you return to the simple task of tearing him to pieces.

No. Big. Deal.

“You like that, hm?” you ask, letting out a dissatisfied hum when Spencer only nods, flushed and breathless, debasing little whimpers escaping his mouth with every stroke. “Use your words, — use them or i’ll stop. You don’t want that, do you? Because I don’t think you want that at all.”

“No—no, please, god please don’t stop. I like it— I like it a little too much. Feels, oh.. feels so good.”

Your hand is wrapped entirely around him now, and he can only shift closer, bury his face into the crook of your neck, shelter his gaze from your sight because if he looks at your pretty eyes again, he’ll finish immediately.

God, he’s loud, he’s so loud, a litany of whimpers escaping him with every cataclysmic stroke. It gets to a point where you have to untangle your hands, push your thumb into his mouth, and thankyou, something to do with himself— he just moans around the digit.

“That’s it— taking it so well.”

“I’m trying! Oh, oh… m’trying. Just wanna be good for you— please, please it’s so much.”

He’s so sensitive, too sensitive, it’s good and bad, and it’s a complete onslaught to his deprived body. He’s not sure he’ll ever comprehend how you touch him, the way every movement seems to be perfect in derailing his mind until he’s too blissed out to know anything beyond you.

He’s really trying to form words with your finger in his mouth, but it’s just a mess of saliva and he wants to tell you that he’s a germaphobe, that hands carry so much bacteria, but he’s more than willing to trade germs with you anyway, to offer himself up on a sliver platter, lamb to the slaughter. Sacrifice, he can’t even articulate how much he would renounce for you.

You push your thumb deeper into his mouth, watching as it hits the back of his throat, as he gags around it. There’s blind, unwavering obedience to his actions now, taking it all willingly, passive in a way that counteracts his previous behaviour.

So naturally, you ask if he feels like a slut right now, and yup yup yup. But, as morbid as it may appear, he has no qualms in being your slut, because it’s just you, and the thought that you’re here, that you’re with him, taking care of him in ways he was never convinced he would receive, is intoxicating. Dismantling. Self-destruction, he supposes.

You draw your thumb from his mouth, push it into your own to show him that yeah, sharing germs is not an issue. “Such a good boy for me, Spence. So proud of you.”

“Oh..” now he’s just crying. It’s formidable.

“That’s it— you’re safe. I’ve got you, gonna make a pretty mess for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Mhm. Wanna cum so bad, need it— pleasepleaseplease.”

You hum, “Just a little longer for me. You can do it. Be a good boy and hold it.”

“Cant—“

“Spencer.” you say, actively silencing his protests, and he can only nod, following your command mindlessly.

It’s a form of art, he believes, the way you dismantle him piece by piece, the way you destroy his cognitive function, strip him raw until he’s just a tangible mess of everything he was always deprived of. Until it’s just him, just him who you still stare at starry-eyed.

When you finally grant him permission, the bliss has him unable to form anything beyond stuttered oh oh oh’s, his back arching, his nerves ignited, and maybe he’s falling, falling fast because it’s all just a labyrinth of transient pleasure that his body struggles to keep up with.

But afterward, when he’s satiated, you’re still there, and you’re still so painfully warm and real.

There’s something gratifying about the sight of you, taking unprecedented care to clean his skin, to coax him out of his stupor when you’re supposed to be the incarnation of sharpness. It’s a hard concept to grasp, that the blade will never penetrate him, that he’s always going to be your exception.

When you’re tangled in sheets, foreheads pressed together, when it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters, he does consider luck again. And how so much sacrifice was worthy of enduring, if only for a fleeting second of this.

“I love you,” he mutters, “I have for a long time.”

And you sigh, cup his face, it feels like a solar eclipse, like something astral. “I’m not sure when it happened, but yeah. I love you too, Spence. Love you enough to deal with the insane amount of paperwork HR are going to give us for this shit.”

“Worth it.” he mutters, kisses trailing along your jaw, dipping to meet your neck. “So so worth it.”

[accioscarheadthings]

ULTRAMINE ~ EPILOGUE

kenji sato x reader

summary: all's well now that the kdf and the gigantron were handled and you all go about your lives, together.

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

masterlist !

a couple of days later, the commotion had slumbered down a notch. kenji, being a man of his word, took you on the date he had promised.

kenji was standing under the streetlamp, leaning against the pole with his injured arm in a sling. he was dressed in black formal shirt and dress pants. in his right hand, he clutched a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

he did a double take when you arrived in front of him, his jaw dropping and eyes admiring the way your dress hugged you body, tempting him to no limit, "you are breathtaking,"

after a week filled with unexpected events, you both deserved the break. you owed it to yourselves. and to your longing hearts.

despite the broken arm, kenji's determination and desire to be close to you were stronger than any injury.

as you both got ready to call it a night, he followed you into your bedroom, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and longing.

the broken limb was not going to hinder his plans for the night, and his desire to make love to you was evident in the way he looked at you.

after a night of intense passion and exploration, both of you finally succumbed to exhaustion. the fatigue from the previous activities overcame you, and you slowly drifted into a deep, and well-deserved rest.

morning arrived, casting its glow through the partially parted curtains.

as Kenji slowly came to, his sleep-filled mind lazily reached out for the comfort of your presence, only to find the bed empty.

alarm coursed through his veins as he sat up and spotted you sitting at the foot of the bed, intently scrolling through a set of holographic images in the air in front of you.

curiosity piqued, he quietly approached you, noticing the pictures you were looking at.

as realization dawned upon him, he understood that they were pictures of your parents.

you were too consumed by your own thoughts that you hadn't noticed your lover crawl over to you, peppering kisses on your shoulder, "morning babe,"

you reached a hand back, fingers burying in his raven locks, "hi,"

he trailed his lips across your skin, hooking his good arm around your middle, and pulled you onto his lap. he pressed his lips against a hickey below your ear, "kiss for your thoughts?"

you smiled lightly, adjusting yourself to sit properly on him in such a way that your side was to his front. you hugged his neck, "my parents. i never really got to know what happened to them,"

kenji pressed his lips against your cheek, humming for you to continue.

"all my life, i thought the kdf killed them halfway through interrogation. that's what they told the media. there were bodies. but-" you swiped a few folders until you reached the ones of your mom and dad. each of them had a red stamp of the kdf that read : 'status: unknown' "

kenji frowned while you carried on, "strange, right? i mean i was told they were dead. i saw their bodies. i was at the mortuary and i identified them-" your voice cracked, exposing your vulnerable thoughts.

kenji pressed his lips to your temple in comfort, shushing you gently, "it's okay, baby. we'll figure it out," he felt your body going taut and let you curl into him, "I'm right here,"

one week went by after your big face-off with the kdf. you were expecting them to come after you, but surprisingly they hadn't.

maybe you were paranoid, but it never hurt to watch your back.

now, you were seated on the balcony of kenji's mansion, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

kenji was lying on your lap, head resting comfortably on your thick thighs.

you played with his hair, letting your nails scratch his scalp. he moved his hand up and down your calf, his touch light and teasing as he brushed over your knees.

kenji watched the evening sun cast a soft, golden light on you, bathing in a warm, radiant glow. the small hairs on your neck caught in the light, making it look like a halo around you. you looked angelic.

kenji pressed a kiss to the bare skin of your thigh that was exposed by your shorts. you hummed in acknowledgment, and he opened his mouth to bite down on your skin gently to get your attention.

you jerked, looking down at him with that frown he loved, "hey! that was that for?"

"nothing," kenji said cheekily, one hand reaching up the back of your neck and pulling you down to his lips.

you laughed against his lips, kissing him deeply. you slowly straightened as kenji got up without parting from you.

he spun you around as you screamed in fright, making you straddle his lap, "there," his lips pressed against yours again, "much better,"

the sound of water splashing made you both turn towards it.

emi was squealing in delight, her wings beating at her sides as she stayed in the air.

"there’s my girl!"

"hi, baby!"

you and kenji rushed to her, pleased to see her after a long while.

emi whimpered softly, pointing down at the rocks below the mansion.

you and kenji peaked down in the direction she indicated.

emi's mother was washed up against the rocks, curled up in misery. her eyes were crinkled in strain. some metal parts of the 'project:surrogate' still clung to her body.

you tapped your watch twice; metal plates shifted at your foot, crawling up your body and back. once your warbird mask snapped over your face, you activated your turbo boosters, lowering yourself to the kaiju mother.

when emi's mother noticed you, she snarled threateningly, baring her beak.

emi was in front of you in an instant protectively, communicating to her mother that you were only going to help.

"everything alright, there?" kenji hollered from the balcony.

"yeah, i got this," you got closer to the kaiju to get a better view, “it’s emi’s mom. She seems to be hurt,”

it seemed that the metal plates were hindering her motion; a metal plate had embedded itself under the kaiju's wing, nudging its shoulders at an awkward angle.

"you poor thing," you tutted, hovering closer to get a look.

but the kaiju backed away, clawing at the rocks behind.

"it's okay, you can trust me," you hesitantly held out a hand.

the kaiju glanced at your hand, at emi (who nodded whilst cooing at her mother to ease her tension), and back at you.

the kaiju rested its beak against your outstretched palm, closing its eyes.

you exhaled in relief, exchanging a smile with emi over your back.

you leaned against the side of the boat with emi, your lifejacket bunching up in front of you. emi's mother was keeping up with you, swimming through the water.

a hand crept to your waist. you closed your eyes when you felt kenji stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his body warmth.

professor sato was on the other side of emi, smiling over at you and kenji bundled up together. he knew something was eventually gonna pull you both together. you both were that obvious.

he smiled in adoration, seeing himself and his late wife in you and kenji.

mist parted in the distance, revealing the legendary kaiju island.

you leaned back into kenji, letting him hold you as emi trilled in awe pointing in awe and excitement.

kenji felt complete at the moment, with both his girls at his side, having amended things with his father; he had everything he want.

kenji pressed his lips to your hair, "we're here,"

'incoming'

the sudden beeping from his watch jerked kenji awake.

you stirred lightly next to him, snuggling closer in your sleep. carefully, kenji slipped out of your hold, reaching for the device groggily.

he answered the call, the unexpected time of the communication immediately confusing him.

the location on the watch displayed: nebula m78

his confusion turned to surprise when he heard his mother's voice on the line, his eyes widening.

"kenji, can you hear me? it's mom. I'm still alive here with the l/ns'. help us get back home,"

ヽ（the end）ノ

TAGLIST !

@earth-to-mee @sassy-cat-in-town @breaddippedinorangejuice @nuhteyam @gameboigyu @byunpum @jennypenny-19 @doublebunv @moonjellyfishie @m00nd0v3 @despacito-uwu16 @reivelmin @seyoran @warlike-morning @crimson-mage-02 @b3e-sat0 @miffysoo @t4naiis @lovingyeet  @imsimping4life @mmeerraa @btszn @jusmango-shak @yobriisstuff @goldenpoison @bat-h-tic @fruchtgeschmack @iateurdad16 @bandolls @lovingyee @reivelmin @f-ergj @arrozyfrijoles23 @aise-30 @simp-hub @armycaratlover @taleiak @ellie-x0xo @femmefqtqle @mp-buezo @bakugouswaif @berryjuicyy @f-ergj @aise-30 @marshhbs @star-flecked-soul @bontensbabygirl @vynwan-cbq @scarasw1f3 @bakugouswaif @deimmortales99 @burnthecheshirewitch

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

ahh!! i can't believe this is the last chapter. i loved writing this series sm. let me know your thoughts below...

the last bit, i followed it up with the post credit scene of the movie, to add to the plot. let's hope we get another movie.

i'll be writing drabbles because i can't get enough of kenji sato, so keep an eye out for them.

if you guys have any requests, don't hesitate to send them

lots of love<33

[lamemaster]

In Search of an Epilogue

Request: Finrod or any of the Fëanorians would match up very well with a faeries au, especially considering how the first men must have felt when meeting finrod. And one can't forget how beor liked finrod so much that he went with him as his vassal, or how they have to keep their oaths. To make it not too much like cannon though and more like an au keeping cannon in mind, it may fit best with modern s/o, or eldaritch elves, those are always fun.

Pairing: Finrod x Reader

Genre: Faerie/canon divergent au

Summary: He can sense your growing agitation, the building tempest of your mind. So close to snapping it. But he will be patient. He was no brute. 

AN: Thanks for requesting! I love dark Faerie core. Idk how this turned out to be this apocalyptic but I hope you like it anon.

Next up- Ritual gone wrong for Amaras. Fall trope event list

You struggled against the chains that held you to the unlit room with blooming black mold that did not hold back from any chance of entering your mind. 

Yet, all this could not erase the sound of his laughter from your memories. The silence of your cell could not hinder your fingers, which mimicked his as he wove the blooms of his forest into crowns. 

Fey touched they called you or the mad one which the much less eloquent ones preferred. For none of your kind had ever escaped the encounter of the firstborn with a mind that held onto its sanity. 

Legends say- just a fleeting sight of the Faeries can drive a man into oblivion. Some have reported women who were left dancing until their feet bled themselves into the ground while others spoke of fools who laughed their guts out.

It is impossible not to love such a noble sight. To not obey the distant kin who held the beauty greater than any in Arda.

Such fear had driven humans away from the forests of the fair folk. Mountains, forests, wonders of the old world were abandoned for the safety of seas and deserts which the firstborn did not frequent. 

Wandering few who ventured into the lands of the past were cursed. For them to never return in most instances and in some the returning being was not human anymore. What returned was the spoil of the firstborn’s sport. 

Such was the case for you. But your mother held her hope. Perhaps this cell was a mercy. A last ditch effort to hold you from the curse that clung to you. But you could no longer care for it. 

You had to get to him. You could hear him calling your name. Why couldn’t anyone else hear it, the loud echo of his calls reverberated through your bones. Please…Please wait for me, you beg him in the splintering thoughts of your mind.

Your wrists strained against the ungiving manacles until the metal gave under the strange magic of your obsession. A subtle scent of pine filled the room. The scent of his magic.

To your mother, you leave crumpled words in hopes of a reunion in a better future. A farewell good enough to live without the grief of loss.

They had been the unmarred firstborn of Illuvatar once. Untouched by the sins that ran rampant in the veins of Middle Earth. But that was now ancient history, lost even to them. 

The tales of Silmaril, love, valor, and honor washed away by the never ending eternity of their world. Valinor had long melted into the void, the Ainur blended into their elements. The Illuvatar called for all but for his priced first born, who were for eternity bound to the wretched lands of their birth. 

They changed too. The stubborn unflinching elves had bowed to the passage of time and paid their price by losing themselves. 

They had allowed the sins of their past to invade their present. This fall was a response to their absent creator. They did not need him, his Timeless Halls that he offered to all but them, or his salvation. 

A bitter rejection of Illuvatar was all his kind possessed. The only vehement revenge they could extract. To marr what he once gloated in his music.

Toying with the pulsing call that Finrod tugs you with, he knows that you will come to him. You too, are unable to resist him. 

He can sense your growing agitation, the building tempest of your mind. So close to snapping it. But he will be patient. He is no brute. 

Nothing like his cousins, who sought humans for their lust. Both blood and carnal. The Sons of Feanor were a mess no matter what age.

No, Finrod was better. He was a friend. That’s what the men of his past called him. The gentle Nom. Their God. He quite enjoyed the worshiping look in their eyes. No different from the ones ages ago. 

And now that the Valar were no longer, he was perhaps the closest to God that humans could ever get. He held no such expectations from Illuvatar, much less for the unfortunate secondborn. It was a mercy to fleeting lives of the secondborn to witness him. To be given a chance to love him. 

It had been a spontaneous plan. You were too alike his Beor. Too trusting, too loyal, and too much in love with him. Finrod snickered, in a past life, he would have been struck by the integrity of love. Of wanting to honor your feelings and loyalty. 

He could still remember his righteous debates with the human woman his brother once pined for. How taken by Illuvatar he had been. Promising to meet her in life beyond Arda ha...

The ages spent on this rock had taught him something else. The past he had weathered long ago.

He had urged your wandering feet into his flower ring. You, who in stupid naivety stepped into his forest. He led you astray, hunting for fawns that plopped you right into his palm. 

And for the old times sakes he had put on quite a show. Seated in the valley of blossoms, he had let you observe him. Let you marvel at his innocent facade of beauty and awe that held the most potent of his glamor.

The marred remnants of the Lay of Leithian were now your story and his. In his woods, he was the Maia and you, a lost prey.

Soon you will be here with him. He will have snatched you from the Illuvatar’s world for a second time or perhaps more.

His mind wonders what web would he ensnare you in this time? Something alluring enough to bring Aegnor back into the play his brother detested so much. 

Bodies are fickle. Yours was at its limit. If the constant droughts of madness had not already corroded your brain, the captivity of weeks certainly had affected your muscles which strained after long hours of crouching in the tiny cell. 

Running through the woods was nowhere as dramatic as the tales of old times made it to be. You were not chased by a band of orcs (those were long gone anyway), nor did you stumble upon the crazy naked woman from the tale you could not remember, or witness the dance of half Maia. 

You did however, after countless falls and scratches from the grouchy trees, ran into a sight worth more than any of the past stories. The sight of your lover, who in the dark of the forest glowed brighter than any star put in the skies by the ancient gods. 

Transfixed by the sight you stood watching his delicate fingers strum the strings of an instrument you had never seen. It’s tune stripping you of all that you carried with you. 

All your yearning spun into his song.

Your steps fall onto the uneven ground without a care. Unnumbered falls had failed to stop you for so long. I am here, you wanted to reassure him. Whisper to him because your heart could not handle scaring him away. I have come so, do not be so lonesome, I am here, your heart thundered a declaration. 

This scene felt like home. As if lifetimes of your existence blended into this. You knew what would happen next, discarding any resistance your hands would cup his cheek. Caress away the burden of countless eternities. 

In that moment, he- Finrod would break away from his trance. He would look at you with a pained expression. His brows would furrow at your sight. He would fuss over your scarred wrists, your bleeding feet, and the scratches on your body.

This was the dance, you were born with the knowledge of. And this was the revelation of that murky, buried beneath the layers of past fate. 

As a Beor, as Pali, as Yjor, and as infinite other yous. You find him in every lifetime. I am here. The words that bring him back. 

Finrod perhaps was one of the abandoned children of Eru. A cruel fae who wrecked your life in every reincarnation. 

But at the gentlest touch, he became your Ingoldo. The elf of Aman. The great king of Nargothrond. 

So without a will to be away from him any longer, you run to him. Your heart- full of fondness from your crooked yet wretched elf.

In your arms, Finrod blinks in a daze, his mind muddled after the tackling hug you engulfed him in. “I am here, Ingoldo,” you whisper, smiling above him. Thank you for finding me.” You caress his hair with an aching familiarity. 

Within mere seconds the scheming fae crumbles. His eyes- clearing into the recognition of the past. An understanding of himself. In all the chapters of Arda, your story and his continued to write itself in different fonts. 

Like the old tome dusted open to encounter it's crisp pages and subtle scent of its origin.

Under the stream of his tears he kisses you, this angst is afterall, the only remaining part of him. The heartbreak of numerous trials that Middle Earth has failed to devour. 

With your mercy, Findarato is himself for those pleasant hours. Unabandoned by the fire of his creator. It is his curse afterall, to seek the end until forever. You are that end. The pleasant pause that relieves him of his darkness. 

And when the worlds do end, he will beg for your forgiveness, the hundreds of you he has wronged. He will repent and grovel for the pain he has caused you. Because then, he will not be this. 

That won’t be a chapter but an epilogue written with the promise of everlasting peace. An end of the Finrod of Middle Earth.

[just-a-fragment]

I feel like we don't praise SS enough for how they handled YSA's character.

Sure her role kinda falls off in the later chapters but her character arcs are *chefs kiss*

She was initially introduced as a potential love interest like in most action/fantasy novels but then she was just a friend, a co-worker that turned into a friend and their dynamics as a co-worker is something unique to both of them, and for a while it's what kept both of them sane and in that moment they knew each other the best. And honestly the whole library scene could've been a perfect set up for sangah getting a tragic ending, ik it was probably always meant to be that kdj got such a "tragic ending" (only talking abt the inital ending cuz i believe he comes back in the epilogue but anyways) due to the amount of foreshadowing the novel has, but like in another novel both of them couldve met a tragic demise or sangah honestly could've sacrificed herself for him if it was written by any other author where orv has a romance as a subgenre.

But because SS wrote ORV the way they did, she doesn't get a tragic ending, her tragedies weren't just for the sake of being tragic that most writers usually give to characters that were introduced as "a nice person". Her tragedies were more due to how her potential is constantly hindered, her tragedies isn't just for the sake of tragedy but because the system itself is inherently gruesome.

It was never about how she had to toughen up or admonish all her morals, it was never about her, her femininity, her talents. It was about how she was constantly undermined by the people around her and how it's incredibly harder to maintain that sense of self under a cruel system. But she did anyways because SS wrote her with such nuance. They easily could've gone the typical nice girl to girlboss route and it would've been fine with how they write female characters. But subversing a subversion makes her so much moreee complex. I love her

[blubbly-pizza]

I read - Dungeon Meshi - 2014/2023

"To eat is to be alive."

I saw it was completed and thought, "hey I read like half of that a couple years ago and really liked it!" So I promptly didn't read it. Instead I waited until I saw too many spoiler images on my dashboard! Which didn't really hinder me, so I started at the beginning and devoured the whole thing in two sittings. Very apt for the material. Also that I got around halfway through before starting over and making my way all to the bottom. No sister death for me though. The rest of my thoughts below the line.

So many elements of this manga weave together to create the best atmosphere. Like good ingredients making a good meal. OK, I'll stop with the food comparisons.

I think the most stand out piece for me is the story's pacing. I just appreciate a goal that, initially, should be a quick adventure, twisting and turning into something more complicated, while staying relatively short. Every goal, Defeat dragon and revive Falin, defeat Falin, defeat Mad Mage, become dungeon lord, defeat demon, and finally resurrect Falin? Fit. On some occasions, writers would use these extended and adjusted goals to artificially increase length. Here it not only feels natural, but even the inciting incident is justified by the twists. They only encountered the red dragon right at the beginning because the Mad Mage was sending it to look for the king.

Characters are absolutely stunning. From design, to motivation, to their growth. Every one has realistic growth. Laios never becomes a perfect leader. Sure he becomes king, but even in the epilogue he's still a goof. He is absolutely not good with people, honestly I don't think any of the main crew really are. But they are good with the people in their party (mostly). It even touches on how a new member fits in, and the realities of your adventuring buddies kind of just being work friends. Izutsumi is baby and I love her. Falin is adorable and I want to hug her.

The art is so fun and good and excellent at setting tone. The amount of times all things in a box will be shaded with one method, even the same density, but still clearly delineated between fore and background is amazing. Ryoko Kui also did designs of the characters as various races, which works so well for identifying the key features of a design. I wouldn't know what to say about page layouts, it's just not something that registers to my brain. I will spare another sentence to commend character design. How they look just makes my brain happy. I think it's the noses.

I could not in good conscience release my thoughts on this work into the aether without touching on the titular aspect of the work.

Food

The most interesting part to the food, is that the monsters all mimic real creatures. Nightmares are the ones that come to mind; aside from a fantasy element, they are mollusks. It makes it easy to connect to the reader and show food that they would also find appetizing. I'm a vegan but don't know the morality of eating monsters. Like, do the walking mushrooms count? I don't know enough to say. More importantly, food as a thing. To live is to need to eat. Of the base level of needs to survive eating is the one we have the most leeway over. You can choose what to eat and prepare. It can be done as an act of love toward others. There is a time where Laios brings up that at times when the worries and anxieties of what needed to be done were getting to him; that food grounded him, allowed him to calm down.

I should get some friends together for a meal.

[wegog]

boruto spoiler alert!

in the new boruto ch. inojin said to hima 'don't worry, himawari. i''m right here with you'

and some people think that's cute. but for me it's kind of cringe. and i'm afraid their possibly romantic relationship can harm hima's development. like it was when inojin saved her. what do you think?

I know a lot of Himawari's fans don't want her to be a part of all these 'famous shipping wars'. And I understand them. Therefore, I will try to be careful and not try draw final conclusion. Because the story is not over yet, and I believe that many things can change. Including my attitude to this question. Inojin x Himawari is not my cup of tea at this point. But I love Hima a lot. And I can be not a fan of a particular ship. But I will always be a fan of a good story.

So, I won’t pretend there isn’t an elephant in the room. I clearly see Kishimoto wants to show us that Inojin has some feelings for her or even has a crush on her. And Himawari’s relationship with him is as important as relationship with other people in her life. Because anyway it’ll influence her own development as the character in this manga. What I care a lot.

At this moment it seems to me like Inojin’s words are irrelevant. Why do I think so?

The first reason, personally, I haven’t found it cute or romantic.

I prefer another type of support in Kishimoto's works

Or something like that

When a guy admits and brings to light the power of his beloved

to support her in difficult situation

or to encourage her,

to make her believe in herself…

Why does Himawari need it in this case? Now in her life is not the easiest period, which is obvious. Her parents are missing (and everyone believes they are dead), her 'big brother 'neglects her, they want to kill her other brother, etc. In addition (which is important here) she does not believe in herself so much

and does not fully understand what she is capable of.

Maybe, she is even afraid of her own power (the feeling that her grandma and her dad had experienced before). And if Inojin said something like:

Don’t worry!

You can do this.

You’re so strong.

You train a lot.

I believe in you

and so on.

So then his support would be about Himawari herself, and not about how he feels about her. Because they will most likely enter into a tough battle. And the whole team must give their best. And Himawari is a wonderful kunoichi. She is not ballast. And despite the fact that we always strive to protect those who are dear to us. It is also very important to believe in their own strength! And if Himawari's role is only to be under Inojin's protection, then that's bad.

It's bad for their development as characters and for their relationship development too! I think it’s clear.

The second thing that not a lot of people pay attention to... Is Himawari's own attitude to Inojin's 'care'. Actually, there isn’t attitude…

She can be neutral

(what reminds me of this reaction of her)

Or they just don’t show her real emotions towards Inojin (like it’s in the last chapter). And we are not able to interpret them. What is hilarious, to be honest...

Of course, Kishimoto can reveal it very soon, and we will see how she adores all his attentions... But right now, it seems like she doesn’t care (in a romantic way) about him.

Maybe because there’s another guy or there isn't a guy at all. Or it can be a situation where there won’t be many interactions between them. It’s just demonstrated Inojin has a thing for Hima. And they’ll just be together in the future or it’ll be shown in the epilogue or something like that.

My main point here is simple… We don’t know.

But for me Himawari deserves a good story. There’s a point of view that having a love interest may hinder her character development. But I don't agree. However, having a love interest in the context of a cheap love story will hinder her character development.

[tojiscumdumpster]

𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝙗𝙮 𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝘼𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙧

𝗕𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 2023

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲. 𝗙𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴.

𝗚𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗽𝘆 𝘅 𝗦𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲. 𝗔𝗴𝗲 𝗚𝗮𝗽 (𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀)

I devoured this book in a day. BookTok has been raving about Terms and Conditions for ages, and I never gave in until now. I've been reading nothing but billionaire romances lately, so I wanted to try this one out. This was my first time reading from Lauren Asher, and honestly, I think I'm going to check out her other work. I really like how she writes.

The author isn't black, but I do appreciate her for writing a Black FMC. She did it well. No stereotypes. No microaggression. You know, things I worry about when a nonblack author writes black characters. She added important things like Iris getting braids, making it know that she's a black woman by making her skin color known, wearing a bonnet, etc.

Speaking of Iris...

I absolutely love her. I think she's super fun and adorable. Like her personality is addicting. No one Declan fell for her hard. I do feel she was a little too hard on herself at times due to her learning differences, which is normal since so many talked bad about her because of it--including her own father. But she didn't allow that to hinder her career. I love how she's her own person outside of Declan. That's important to me in a romance story. It's like yeah the MMC and FMC are supposed to fall in love, but I wanna see who they without each other around. Iris's friendship with Cal was sweet, too. Very enjoyable and clearly they are two peas in pod if they get a kick out of getting on Declan's nerves, LOL. I giggled at times.

Now for Declan Kane...

Yeah, he's added to my book boyfriend list. I see of the bad reviews saying they didn't love Declan, and that's he's insufferable. See, me? I LOVE Declan. He's such a grump. A billionaire asshole who softens up for his girl. I really like how Lauren wrote Declan. He has daddy issues, struggled at times, but overall, he didn't allow that to cost him the future he desperately wanted with Iris. Great development from his character. When he's an ass. He's an ass. But when he softens up for Iris? Gosh, he was so damn sweet to her. I was definitely swinging my feet while reading. His family is... complicating, to say the least. Declan's father is horrible. My bad. Seth is horrible. Declan's relationship with his problems are oddly heartwarming, despite how much they argue. I mean, that's inevitable for siblings. But I still love seeing them interact.

I really love Iris and Declan's chemistry. It didn't feel forced or robotic regardless of their arrangement. It was built very well. The spice scenes were written nicely, too. I didn't really care for the lack of obscenity because it was replaced with intimacy, which I loved. Especially from Declan's POV. You knew from the beginning he always had a soft spot for Iris. Third act break up was good too. Thank goodness it didn't stem from miscommunication. I would've cursed myself if that happened. But Declan I wanted to hit you with car for what you did. Still love you tho. And honestly, I think he didn’t grovel more is because the author probably didn’t want to make the book longer than what it was. Lauren was probably trying to wrap it up, LOL. Still, maybe she couldn’t written in a time frame within those three chapters. The two epilogues were very sweet, too. I love how they blossomed, and enjoy seeing Declan that way and Iris so happy. They deserved that happily ever after.

I highly recommend this book and I would definitely reread this book. I honestly can't find one thing I dislike about this book. Maybe the only I thing I can say I wished happened was flashback chapters for both Declan and Iris's past. I think that would've made the story a bit more angsty. Other than that, an easy five star.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Nothing and Everything - Part 9

Nothing and Everything - Part 9 

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, PTSD, mentions of hospitalization.

Word Count: 2422

Part Nine: Epilogue - The first steps are never easy, but perhaps they can lead somewhere better than this.

Previous Chapter HERE

It was hard not to resort to old measures. 

It was so unimposing, but it was the fear of what was inside that made him want to run the most. Or, if he was being honest with himself, the fear of what he imagined to be there. 

As a child, the fear was of those who did not understand. Who tried to kill him with so called ‘science’ and ‘medicine’. 

When they were already in pain and suffering, those that claimed to help only caused further trauma and pain. 

Now, a deep seated mistrust existed and a memory that woke him up time and time again. 

The fear had spread and worries, rational or otherwise, trickled down through the system like a toxic fog that hindered their ability to function. 

I will do this. I need to do this. 

Jake set the expectation that he would not run. He would be the one to walk in and he would be the one to sit through the meeting. 

But if you would not mind waiting with me…

He made space for Steven and Marc. He was realistic. If he tried to run, he fully expected them to stop him. If he dissociated into space and beyond, they would take over and guide him back down later. 

They would not force it. Steven had made that very clear when the decision was made. If it became too hard and too painful, he would take them home. 

Layla waited at home for them with a large comforter on the couch to snuggle into when they were done. She called it ‘after care’. Something Marc had rolled his eyes at, but that had been very important to her. 

She had insisted that she make them a good cup of spiced tea, curl up with them in the blanket, and that they would sit in the quiet of the evening when they got home. 

A hand found his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Are you ready, Jake?” 

Jake looked to Jean-Paul then sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Why is it always in a basement? Marc grumbled as they walked into the old creaky building that looked like it had seen better days. And why is there always that smell? 

It smelled of old cigarette smoke and mildew, though no one had smoked in that building for decades now and it seemed relatively dry. There was a folding table with bad burnt coffee, stale donuts, and fliers with dates to other events. 

Jake passed by the refreshments but stuffed a flier in his pocket. If this went well enough, perhaps he could convince himself to come back. 

The people around him were not what he expected. 

Old faces, with wrinkles and thin skin hiding the bones of young soldiers that could no longer carry the weight of unspoken memories. Young faces of men and women that had done and seen too much for their short time on this earth. A few were his age, wearing patches and tattoos that spoke of the world they had traveled. 

All had tired eyes with deep circles under them. Some had scars that were visible. Others were missing parts of them that had been left behind on blood soaked fields. 

Jean-Paul filled a paper cup with the terrible coffee and guided them over to a plastic folding chair that was deeply uncomfortable. 

It was too hot in the windowless room and it felt cramped and dirty. 

Jake picked out the patches and hats that advertised veteran status. They were proud of the time they had served. A reminder to those around them that they were heroes. Or, perhaps a reminder to be gentle. They had been through a never ending war and one must speak softly to be heard over the memory of gunfire. 

Marines. Marc pointed out a man near the front of the room. I know that unit. Might even have served with him once or twice. Ask him if he lost the leg in Pakistan. I knew a guy that lost a leg.

You will do no such thing! Steven hushed Marc and gave him a scandalized bit of British muttering. 

Jake’s leg started to jiggle as he struggled not to give into his basic nature. “I’m fine.” He muttered to himself. “I’m safe. We’re safe.” 

“First meeting?” A man next to him spoke up. The man had a white beard and thick glasses. He could be anyone’s grandpa. Soft in the cheeks and heavy in the gut. 

Jake looked him over quickly. 

The man waited for Jake to decide he wasn’t a threat. “I’ve been out for over fifty years. I still wake up at least three times a week thinking I’m somewhere else. Vigilance and caution saved my life. It’s hard to put that bit away, isn’t it?” 

Jake frowned then nodded. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to be here.” 

“You serve?” The man gave him a sideways look. 

“Yeah.” Jake felt Marc start to slip in as his accent thickened. It was Marc who felt ashamed to be there. To be in the room with those who had served properly and done good. Marc who felt his time as a mercenary left him with a dark mark that meant he should be shunned from being around others. 

“Then you belong.” The man sipped his coffee. 

“You don’t know what I did.” Marc muttered. “Trust me. I don’t belong.” 

“You ever held a flame thrower?” The man looked at him seriously. 

Marc hesitated. “No. It’s-” 

“It’s banned by the Geneva convention now.” He looked down and a far away look that Marc instantly recognized drifted across his face. “You belong just as much as the rest of us. Only one exception.” 

Marc gave the man a hard look. “What’s that?” 

“You a Nazi?” 

“Of course not! I’m-” Steven was appalled by the very notion. 

The man laughed and patted him on the back. “Welcome to the meeting.” 

They settled in, listening to the opening speech by the lead therapist. They spoke about the difficulties of quiet and peace. 

Jake sat with his arms crossed, attentive but also doing his best not to draw any attention or let the others do anything to make those around him think they were crazy. He knew what happened when others saw them as such. 

Jean-Paul raised his hand and Jake’s attention dialed in as his friend shared a piece of himself. 

“Last night I woke up weeping. No bad dreams or stress. No anxiety or even anything that triggered any memories. I could not stop the tears for at least an hour. It was not the first time.” He sat forward, arms on his knees as he looked down at the ground. 

The ground had never garnered so much attention as it did in this small basement with ghost ridden eyes seeking something solid that had always been there for them. 

“This is where the quiet slips in.” One of the organizers spoke up. “You have spent so much time in a state of constant hypervigilance that it’s hard to let anything else through. Stay alert and you stay alive. When the threat is gone, you are still alert. You still keep your guard up and all other emotions sit on the sidelines. When you are finally able to accept that there is nothing hidden in the quiet that poses a threat, it can get quite loud, can’t it?” 

“Deafening.” Jean-Paul sighed. 

“Same with peace. We don’t yet know how to live with peace. We expect violence every second of every day. Threats everywhere. Hidden IEDs with every step, rigged trucks and cars on the side of the road, people with guns and knives waiting to jump out at us any time we walk into an unfamiliar area. When the threats go away and we accept that we are safe, that is when you can finally experience all the other things that you have been avoiding or unable to feel. Grief, loss, anger, fear. They can finally be released from that vice grip and overwhelm you.” The guide looked to all the faces, many of which were nodding. 

Jake put his hand up before he realized he wanted to. The speaker nodded to him and Jake took a moment, shrinking back in his seat a little. “What about… Trauma? Past trauma. Before the military. Why would that come out now?” 

“Most of us joined because of trauma.” A young man in the front snapped then looked sheepish. “Didn’t have anything else to do. Join or get fuck, you know?” 

“Running from trauma and into more trauma.” A woman behind him agreed. “Stay at home and die or go over there and die. What difference did it make? Only this way I got to make the call and fight back.” 

Jake relaxed just a little. 

“I hope none of you are still in those situations. I hope you are all in a safe place now and know that this is a safe place.” The therapist spoke up again. “But now you are in a difficult spot. Fight or flight has kept you going. You fled those situations and learned to fight. Now you no longer have to fight or run. As you and the body realize you are safe, it can now start to unwrap and deal with your past traumas. Your mind is trying to process at long last. Your current situation is over, so now it feels like old scars and old traumas are being dug up out of the blue. I promise you, it’s not out of the ordinary. It feels random, but trauma is trauma. Trauma can mask other trauma.”

It’s because we’re safe. Steven agreed. For the first time, all three of us are safe. All three of us… And we all hold our own trauma. Now that we’re talking… We’re sharing memories and sharing our trauma. 

“Great. How do we stop it?” Jake muttered. 

“You don’t.” The therapist looked at Jake and Jake looked away, embarrassed to have been heard. “The more you try to suppress it, the harder it will be to deal with. I’m not saying to face it all head on, either. Processing in a healthy way is not easy and difficult to do. Some of you are going to need outside help. I can recommend trauma specialists if you see me after the meeting.” 

The room was quiet, each one lost in their own thoughts. 

“Every one of you has trauma. You didn’t come here because you’re coping well back in civilian life and are looking for a good time. You’re here because of difficulties returning to normal life, grief, loss, anger, or looking for someone to relate to. Loneliness can be very damaging. I would encourage you all to make connections here if you can. Find someone to talk to. Someone to share your experiences. It isn’t everyone in the world that can speak the lingo and understand what it means when you say you lost a brother in arms.” 

Jake glanced over at Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul crying alone in the dark of the night and not knowing why. A man years sober and still seeking help while also offering to help them. 

He reached out and lay a hand on his arm gently, giving him a soft squeeze. 

Jean-Paul looked over at him and smiled. He patted his hand on his and squeezed back. Maybe they could face and deal with some of their issues together. 

–

“And then we talked about tips for dealing with flashbacks and triggering events.” Steven prattled excitedly to Layla, curled in the blanket nest she had built on the couch. “They even talked about dissociation a little! I mean, different from our type, but not by a lot. The kind used to escape stress or dealing with real world problems. Apparently the sense of smell can be a huge help! Jake’s going to get one of those car tree things that make everything smell like pine.” 

Layla smiled and sipped her tea. “It sounds like it was a good meeting. Do you think it will help?” 

“It can’t hurt, right?” Steven pulled a blanket closer. “I think Jake wants to go again. Marc said he was open to it. I think Marc wants to talk to some of the older guys. We met one that chatted to us a bit.” 

Steven was quiet for a moment as he settled down at last and thought about the things they had learned. “I think it will get worse before it gets better. We have to accept that and prepare for it. The more we learn about one another and our past, the more things are going to come up. Jake has agreed to stop hiding things from us. Within reason, of course. He said he’ll still keep the real nasty things away. There’s only so many nightmares we can handle at a time, right?” 

Layla nodded, deep in thought. “It will take time. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Steven looked at her, feeling sorry for the future her that would have to wake to their nightmares in the middle of the night. To the her that would find them crying without reason. To the her that may have to travel to strange towns to collect them again and again. He felt sorry that she would have to witness their pain as it unraveled before her. 

“Be you.” He moved to lean into her, resting his head against her shoulder. “Don’t let yourself get lost in our pain. Push us to remember that you are a person too. That you have your own trauma and sorrow.” He felt Marc’s guilt and Jake’s fear. “Make space for yourself too. Don’t let me take up the life. You deserve to live as much as the rest of us.” 

“Steven…” She kissed his forehead gently and nestled into him under the blanket fort. “Whatever comes next, I’ll be there.” 

Steven didn’t know what would be next. If it would be enough to heal or if they were even capable of healing. They had to try, though. They had gone too long floating in the nothing. It was time to place the nothing behind them. 

They all squeezed Layla’s hand gently. Maybe this was what waited for them beyond the nothing. Maybe moments like this, filled with tea and blankets and soft and quiet and gentleness… Maybe this was everything. 

Steven hoped so. Maybe everything wasn’t so bad after all. 

[alectricblue]

do you think that mettaton doesn't get as much attention as other characters? if so, why?

I think he gets a fair amount of attention compared to other characters (even if it isn't always good attention), but definitely not as much and not as good as he deserves. It has gotten way better with time, but still.

The main reason being that he was overshadowed by other characters and reduced to stereotypes very early on due to his past being hidden and easy to miss if you don't look for it (and a touch of bigotry too, ofc). Meanwhile, the rest of the main characters had their backstories/struggles intertwined with the main story, making people connect with and relate to Sans, Toriel or Undyne for example faster than Mettaton. All his struggles and everything that completes his character is either hidden (pacifist), an epilogue (neutral) or played as a joke (geno) in game. Him hiding his past and his struggles is very in character for him, but it kinda hindered his possibilities to get more of the fandom's attention.

And I say faster because the Undertale fandom grew scary fast and people were already passionate fans before the game was even released. So the first impression was the one that stuck with people before dissecting the game became the main pastime of the fandom. For example, it took a good while for people to realize that Mettaton wasn't actually a robot (or well, not fully, but you know what I mean). You can see that in early fics. People fell for the pretty mask and didn't care (or know) to dig (at first).

Of course, a bunch other people Did connect with and relate to Mettaton and love him A LOT and have made great and profound art about him in every form all these years, but maybe not as much as if his full story had been more at the front and center of the story. Who knows.

He's a very deep and interesting character that deserves to get way more attention and love and focus. He's not just a pretty face with a murderous personality, and thankfully there's a lot of people that see that too.

[omgkalyppso]

For Étoile/Astarion please:

🍰 What is 'their song'? Officially or unofficially.

🩷 What is the sweetest thing they've done for one another?

🤎 How do they comfort each other?

💋 What is their favorite place to kiss their partner? Do either enjoy 'leaving a mark'?

For Étoile/Halsin please:

🩷 What is the sweetest thing they've done for one another?

🤎 How do they comfort each other?

♪(^∇^*) Thank you for the ask!

Étoile and Astarion

🍰 I'm not sure what officially and unofficially might mean in this context.

A song from their playlist which I wouldn't give them awareness of even in modern fic is Hot Tea by half-alive. Sharing a lyric video because the official video of the song is weird and I am not a fan of the interpretative dance in it fdhtdfghgdf :

A song I'd be willing to give them awareness of in a modern setting is Wicked Game by Chris Isaak which I'm inspired to take off of Neil's Astarion playlist. It has very strong vibes of one of the last songs played at an event where people are inebriated and tired, swaying slowly; or could just be something that Astarion turns off on a radio for being a little too on the nose; or fits the mood of an intimate scene like the love scene in Dirty Dancing to me. Anyway:

🩷 <- I can copy and paste this but I can't see this emoji, whatever it is.

I suppose it depends on your definition of sweet, because I imagine I could think up some gifts and surprises, recollections and whatever else. Instead, I'll pick pivotal moments of "sweetness," which I think if I remember right I told some various friends on discord but aren't exactly me repeating myself here.

Raphael's pronouncement of victory is something I hope to one day explore in fic for Étoile. Initially I'd speculated that it could have happened even the very same night as the long rest after the netherbrain, with Astarion's last scene before the credits. But now there's the epilogue and to honour something like it, that means it's at least six months later — I'll probably place it nearer 2 years post-canon, with Raphael's intended return 10 years post-canon.

Étoile's anxiety loses some of it's bite this way, but to re-iterate. They (are and) feel so responsible, and they feel that as a result of this that they are and will be so alone in having to sound out a solution and / or battle plan to face Raphael. They expect that if a solution can be found that this time stopping the person who wields the Crown will demand their life. They won't be able to picture the vampire spawn's recent, precarious alliance, living situation, lifestyle, can handle both their and Astarion's sudden departure. They imagine themself hindered in travel and resources trying to come up with an answer, and Astarion being unable to follow, whether across the Material Plane or at least into Baator, where they don't even know if there's a night-day cycle or whether the fires that burn are ones that a vampire could stand in the presence of. If it's hard for them to admit to all this other shame, it's easy for them to be vulnerable in conversation with Astarion about how they wanted this life with him, with his their people, and how after a few hundred years if it hadn't come up that they would have asked if he'd wanted to turn them, which is as much as a commitment as either of them could make.

Anyway, it's sweet of Astarion to hold back an "I told you so" for more than a week, to reassure Étoile that their people will be fine with the pair of them coming and going because they will have to be, among any other number of reassurances he makes. It is sweet of him to recognize that he could take this as a cue to step away from "an adventurer's" problems (with all the problems of community, politics, lifestyle and "inheritance" that he has had to deal with since the end of the Gate's last disaster) and away from all semblance of "commitment" that had been so alien and chafing and frightful and difficult in this relationship; and instead decide that even this impossible challenge and all the other problems were perhaps just as rewarding (if not moreso) than the domestic rewards — never as an elf nor as a vampire had he ever wanted an unremarkable life.

For Étoile's moment of sweetness, I may have spoken before about how I have dialogue for a "mirror scene" blocked out. I waffle on whether it'll get written not just because I have so many wips, but also because I worry Everyone who writes Astarion has written a mirror scene and so I worry I bring little new to the table. Even so, my mirror scene has Astarion's final moment of "Just tell me I'm beautiful and we can call it a day" result in anger. Astarion whining, exasperated, "It doesn't feel good. Why doesn't it feel good? Is it because I asked?" And this resulting in an extra conversation in the shadow-cursed lands before the hug scene, where part of my blocked dialogue includes the following; they are laying spooned together:

Astarion: [after a breath] When you called me beautiful … it was the first time in two hundred years that it wasn't said by a victim or someone … looking to take advantage. Whose words meant nothing and were … an expectation. Part of a process. An undignified one. It was the first time in two hundred years the word wasn't Cazador's. To call me beautiful while I was flayed open, or bleeding from the mouth, or— [he tenses, not quite ready to cry. Étoile squeezes and slowly takes his hand] Étoile: Your body is your own. [They bring his fingers to their lips for a kiss, Astarion chooses to follow the movement to face them] My words are mine. I don't want to make you feel like that. Astarion: I know. Étoile: [Releases Astarion's hand to put their hand on his chest] I'm glad you know. I want to say these things anyway. [Astarion strokes back some of their hair] I want you to hear them.

And how this scene would fucking fly to the forefront of Étoile's mind in addition to their moments of sexual intimacy during the hug scene. They would have the knee-jerk reaction of those moments having been all lies, of themself and their body being revolting to Astarion for an unknown how-long, until it's more obvious to them that Astarion's point is that these moments weren't as repulsive as they should've been, and far more sincere than he could have stomached without coming forward. It is these moments of communication and respect which endear Astarion to Étoile and earn his shaky trust.

Also shout out to Astarion for being "sweet" enough to travel across four countries with Étoile for them to see their home (and their mother?) one last time with living eyes before vampirism. (Even knowing this was going to be difficult as all hell if Aranea's still living on her mountain.)

🤎 While this is kind of answered in the last emoji, I feel like this is extremely conditional. Étoile needing to be comforted in grief is not the same as them needing to be comforted after being slighted publicly. Astarion needing to be comforted because of the oppressive weight of days of earth overhead in the Underdark is not the same as needing to be comforted because one of his siblings (Violet) trying to kill one another (Yousen). Sometimes it's an embrace and conversation, sometimes it's threatening to eviscerate one's enemies (sometimes it's following through). A lot of the time for them it's space and an invitation of their presence, whether that's a cup of tea or distraction like paperwork / letters / a reminder of life outside of what ails them.

💋 Étoile far prefers to be marked than doing the marking, but that doesn't mean their lovers don't end up with the occasional fading signs of intimacy. Their own most obvious such marks are more permanent even before vampirism anyway, and all from Astarion; scars of bites, technically sources of feeding but also signs of play, on the right side of their neck, on their left breast up close to their breast plate / center of their chest, on the inside of their left thigh. Indicative of Astarion enjoying where he can, or could once pre-vampirism, feel the pulse under their skin loudest. Other such bites didn't scar, and others still were not for feeding and healed even more swiftly. Étoile would say their favorite place to kiss Astarion is his mouth, both for the pleasure of his lips and the danger of his teeth; if needing to select somewhere "more interesting" then in public they'd say at the center of his brow, and in private they'd still flush in embarrassment about how they think it's somehow rude to choose his ass.

Étoile and Halsin

🩷 The sweetest thing Halsin does for Étoile (and Astarion), besides keep them in his heart, is construct an underground shelter (the first of many) in his Moonrise Village to alleviate the burden of the far more numerous population in their care, even by a few bodies, even temporarily.

I repeat myself a lot, but I think Étoile's sweetest gesture to Halsin is near the end of his long life, counselling on what an unlife could be, offering to turn him either within the laws and context of their vampire community or secretly otherwise, with reassurance that they would happily accept him into their home if all beasts and men turned from him as a decree from his Oakfather for the abberation of vampirism, and the sentiment "if I meet you in hell then it's not hell."

Prior to that I think a visit from Étoile (and Astarion) to Halsin's Moonrise Village: an appointment kept despite how others in the Village might be absent on their own adventures or lost to time, would be the sweetest thing in Halsin's biased opinion. Six days travel (twelve both ways) just to see him? Not for healing, nor counsel, nor to take on more people or projects of druidic magic or infrastructure. Not a plight of adventure, not a disappointment for it being just him. Just a visit, to share his company and whatever that entails; when they could have just stayed home, rescheduled until others returned and the visit felt of greater worth.

🤎 I stand by comfort being highly conditional, but I do think Halsin is far more susceptible to words of comfort. Étoile talks to Halsin in the context of faith, while theirs is for Auril and his is for Silvanus. It helps. Étoile is comforted by how earnest Halsin is; he was very critical when they first met, and remains just as free with his criticisms when people lose his respect. There are oceans of time between the moments of Halsin's impatience with Étoile, and there were times where he was more forgiving than he should've been because scenarios were simply beyond his ability to distinguish the kindest path (like with the Crown and Raphael). But even so, Étoile is reassured when Halsin offers comfort or advice, trusting that he would still be straightforward if their grief or embarrassment or frustration was otherwise unworthy of them.

[morphogenetic]

Mediaposting 2023, #35: Banana Fish (anime)

[said while vibrating very quickly and typing out like 20 different bullet points] i like this series a normal amount

okay so. non-spoiler thoughts:

step 1 YOU SHOULD READ/WATCH THIS. it does have content warnings for literally everything you can possibly think of as needing a common content warning (drug abuse, sexual assault, racism, and thats absolutely just the tip of the iceberg) but my fucking god. no wonder it's been such an influential piece of media on literally every jp anime/manga crime story (especially the BL ones) written since

for a series that is literally one of the early genesis points of BL as a genre i was ABSOLUTELY expecting more actual BL than was in this LOL. not that i'm really upset, bc honestly i really like the way that ash and eiji's relationship is written in a shoujo-y "they obviously care about each other a lot but it's not going to be outright romance" kind of way. bc like, honestly? that makes it way more emotionally satisfying (and devastating). i think it would actually make less sense if anything more happened In the story (though more happening in the epilogue wouldnt hurt LOL)

how the FUCK was this published in a shoujo magazine

the time period change to modern day from the mid-80's has both helped and hindered this series bc like. on one hand. much easier to do everything with a phone. also the update to shorter's character design was excellent,10/10 no notes. on the other hand. the Everything About It makes it so obvious that it was written to be a product of its time.

speaking of ^ ash turning from A Guy Who Knows How To Use A Computer into a hacking genius is so. why. i mean you can update it for sure but Why Like This

god i wish this had more room to breathe sometimes bc the exposition goes WILDLY fast sometimes. why did they try and do 19 volumes in 24 episodes. the 39 episodes that the director wanted would have been so nice to have

that said: the emotional moments that i actually give a shit about and that make up the core of the weight of the story are given what they deserve. at least up to volume 5 they are. gestures at ep 9? and 22 with a pained smile

i literally could write an essay about why it works so well as a spin on the american-style gangster story even while it definitely has flaws. and how its influenced so many fucking things. my god.

it has flaws for SURE but the rest is so good that i don't care. which is rare for me (gestures at nirvanai/neo twewy being other examples)

spoiler thoughts under the cut (like full-very-ending-of-series spoilers) but YEAH UH I LIKE THIS THING CAN YOU TELL BY HOW MUCH I WROTE ABOUT IT.

it does kind of annoy me that literally all of the canon-MLM (probably gay but you know) guys are horrible people lol. like wow love how the gay predator stereotype is on full display here. feeeeels baaaaad. i know i know asheiji homoeroticism i am ON THAT TRAIN

however yut-lung being feminine out of a wish to carry on his dead mom's legacy is kind of a slay. ive seen people go "ugh it sucks that one of the villains is a feminine man' but while he is definitely not a good person hes one of the less terrible villains, just like. as a person. hes also a teenager in shitty circumstances just with way more power and sway

here's the part where I admit that I was spoiled on the ending so it didn't hit as hard for me OOPS. however. the anime DOES leave it open-ended and it fucking irritates me that anime-only people are like "boo i hate the ending bc ash dies!!!" when it is LITERALLY AMBIGUOUS. i have heard that the manga is less ambiguous about it but :') oh well. anime-onlys what are you doing

speaking of ^ i actually like the ending. like i think a lot of people who absolutely hate it must not have a lot of familiarity with gangster movies as a genre bc it is a genre convention that the Main Gangster dies in the end. granted this was a hayes code thing which the manga definitely did not have to do LOL but its definitely supposed to feel unfair bc ash's damn LIFE is unfair.

however i'm glad the anime makes the ending ambiguous bc that feels like a more fitting end. like ash's life was always in limbo, considering what he was doing, so making his life in limbo at the end too? Good. Yes. Do That

the fucking. everything with shorter and the sa-yo-na-ra bit. i die. that shit is so emotionally painful

i know this sounds weird but i kind of wish they dragged out the "what the hell does banana fish mean" thing a LIIIITTLE longer but by that i mean like, halfway point of the series. like they could have used a little more time to figure out what it is. also that would have let shorter live a little longer ay lmao that said this criticism also almost definitely applies to the manga soooo. you know

[spikeinthepunch]

i gotta deal w people's shitty comments on my lisa video so you also have to deal with my (not actually shitty) thoughts on joyful again just bc i want to vent after seeing those comments lmao

there was one especially that was stating the new end dialog at Buzzo defeats to purpose of why he is biting himself during battle in order to avoid fighting Buddy. like. Buddy may have absolutely beat him near death with her words but like. so much of his problems arent about Buddy and how he reacted to her, him attacking himself has to do with how he blames himself so hard for so much of what happened too. I don't think he's necessarily avoiding attacking Buddy (to some level i would say yes) he is just literally breaking down and hates himself so much.

Which also is where my thought goes towards why the dialog exists and why she talks that way at him. i want to wholly say i dont love the dialog even if i think some parts are good... overall i probably wouldnt have wanted all that? much like all of Joyful, its poorly paced, and i think that just added to the bad pacing, its very sudden and also very long. but in the original buzzo completely blames himself for everything and with little else happening it kinda comes out like it is supposed to be his fault. they dont say much else. and i was less of a fan of that because it didnt feel right to brush off all of everyone's actions (esp brad's) because apparently it was buzzo's fault for starting a lot of it. you could assume again that its just him blaming himself and to not take it seriously, but there just isnt much done at the end to make that the intent.

this dialog does that... to the extreme i guess. when i think about it being some kind of outlet for the dev, i say that in the sense that it kinda feels like backtracking to give a proper verbal beat down on how you shouldnt have taken it that way. and dare i say it feels like commentary to how fans took it too. not in the way that its insulting fans for not liking the game. but going through old topics forums etc i noticed a ton of people after this game took lisa as being horrible. which was a shock to me. sure, buzzo's secret showed how their relationship was, and the epilogue showed some awful stuff buzzo had to do. to me the new dialog feels like an attempt add what couldnt be said, and to say 'no actually you shouldnt assume this about lisa--' to buzzo as a character and also projecting out to fans reacting the same.

its a shame this game is still hindered by its pacing because if it was slowed down to tackle all these ideas, i think itd be a good game. bc i dont mind the ideas, plot, and even characterization.

[searchingwardrobes]

This past week has been a busy one for my original published novel. A lot of exciting things have happened, including starting my writer’s blog: melanietillman.com . I have had extra unpublished content for What Hindered Love for a long time, but I wanted to get my blog up and running first. Now that I have, I will now be releasing that content both on my blog and here on tumblr. Up first is this: the unpublished epilogue to What Hindered Love full of steamy moments, hot dad Micah, and loads of family fluff. Spoilers ahead, naturally, so the entire thing is under the cut.

Tagging those who may be interested: @xhookswenchx @branlovestowrite @sherlockianwhovian @thislassishooked @ekr032-blog-blog @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells (Marta, I know you haven’t finished it yet, but you can mark it for later) @kday426  @onceuponaprincessworld - I’m forgetting who else has read it! I apologize if I got any of these wrong or forgot anyone. 

And if you haven’t read What Hindered Love yet, you can always get it on Amazon. After all, what better time of year for a romance novel?

October, Two Years Later

Chloe was surprised when she woke up to see that her clock radio read only a little after 6 am. She wasn’t a morning person at all, and usually it was either her alarm or her children who roused her. She was also surprised that she was completely naked beneath the sheets. She had evidently slept more soundly than she had in a long time.

She wasn’t surprised, however, when Micah’s arm circled her waist, and he drew her close against his bare chest. He never needed an alarm to waken, and Chloe had yet to rise before he did. He nuzzled into her neck and mumbled a good morning against her skin. She turned in his arms to better gaze into his bright blue eyes, which were slightly bleary from sleep.

“I told you last night I would fall asleep. You should have let me get dressed,” she scolded him.

Micah’s hands began to roam and his lips caressed the pulse point behind her right ear, “What’s wrong with falling asleep naked in your husband’s arms?”

Chloe couldn’t help giggling, “Nothing,” she pulled his head from the track he was making down her collar bone to make sure he was really listening to her, “but when said husband and wife have three children, they have to be prepared and fully clothed for interruptions.”

“Good point,” Micah chuckled, but he then proceeded to continue the path she had interrupted, mumbling the rest of the words against her skin, “but isn’t this a glorious way to wake up in the morning?”

Chloe attempted to squirm out of his embrace even as he elicited a moan from deep in her throat. “Micah,” she panted, pushing him away, “I have to get up. Today’s a big day.”

After Micah’s confession almost two years ago, Chloe had yanked him inside her apartment, their kisses frantic and passionate. She had pushed him into the kitchen table, both of their hands roaming until she had slid hers down to the button of Micah’s jeans. With a groan, he had closed his hand over hers and shook his head.

“No, Chloe,” he had said gently. “I want you. You have no idea how badly I want you. But this time, we’re doing this the right way.”

She was tempted at first to be frustrated, but when she had seen the tender love shining in his eyes, she had felt so cherished. So instead, they had surprised Luke by picking him up to decorate the tree early and tell him that Mommy and Daddy had gotten back together. The joy on their son’s face had been indescribable.

They had fallen in love hard and fast as teenagers, then became best friends over the course of a year as adults, so there really was no need to drag things out. Three months later, on Valentine’s Day, Micah and Chloe were wed. She had said at first that a small ceremony with their closest family and friends was okay with her, but he would have none of it. Chloe had never had a wedding, and she deserved her dream one. Besides, Micah had joked with a wink, she was marrying into the perfect family to pull it off. And pull it off they did. It was the wedding she had always dreamed of and thought she would never have.

On their wedding night, when they had finally become one again after 6 ½ years, Chloe literally wept at the intensity of it. Their love had always been so deep and consuming. Now it was also sacred. Micah Barrett was now not only her lover, not only her best friend, but her soul mate.

Chloe rose from the bed now with a giggle on her lips at her husband’s pouty face. She quickly stepped into a pair of underwear, then grabbed Micah’s discarded t-shirt from the night before and slipped it over her head. She walked around the end of the bed and headed for the door, but Micah reached out and grabbed her, pulling her back into bed. She laughed and straddled his waist, resting her hands on his chest.

He smiled up at her, “This is one of my favorite looks on you. On top. In my shirt.”

Chloe shook her head and grinned down at him. She lowered her head, her hair falling like a curtain over his face. Their lips met, chaste at first, but then the kiss grew hungrier. Her hair kept getting in the way, so she pulled him up to a sitting position, wrapping her legs around his torso. Chloe pulled back, suddenly overcome with a familiar feeling.

“What?” Micah asked with a tender smile.

Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck and shook her head, “I just dreamed of this for so long, that sometimes I still can hardly believe it really happened.”

Micah cupped her cheek, “Me too, sweetheart.”

They resumed their kissing, lips and tongue giving and taking hungrily, but then sounds from the baby monitor pulled both of them from the passion of the moment. Chloe tilted her head back in frustration while Micah gave an irritated sigh. He grabbed the video monitor and looked at the tiny screen. He grinned and turned it so she could see. She couldn’t help the grin that filled her face, either. Their daughter wasn’t crying, but squealing loudly and shaking the side of her crib as if it were a cage she wished to break free from. They could clearly hear her ten month old babbling through the monitor:

“Ma ma ma ma ma ma!”

“Our little princess is demanding attention,” Micah quipped.

Chloe glanced at the clock: 6:30 am. “It is time for her breakfast,” she admitted, giving her husband a pout.

He leaned forward to give her a quick peck on the lips. “We can resume these activities any time,” he told her with a wink.

Chloe crawled off his lap and headed for the nursery. Clara was eager to see her mama, and reached chubby hands towards her. Chloe scooped her up, blowing raspberry kisses against her cheeks. Clara squealed with glee. This was the way she always greeted the day, with smiles and laughter. Clara had by far been the easiest baby for Chloe. She slept through the night by the time she was two weeks old, took to nursing like a champ while also taking bottles of formula with ease, and was generally content to sit and watch the world go by with a smile on her face. Chloe changed her diaper now, chatting to her as Clara babbled back. Chloe smiled down at the amber eyes that matched her own. After two boys who were each the spitting image of their fathers, Chloe was beyond delighted to have a mini-me of her very own, right down to the dimple in Clara’s chin and the golden locks just beginning to curl at the nape of Clara’s neck. Once the baby had a fresh diaper, Chloe settled into the rocking chair to nurse her. She knew that as soon as Clara finished eating, the boys would be awake.

Sure enough, Chloe heard thunderous feet pounding down the hallway as she burped Clara, followed by squeals of “Daddy!” She didn’t have to witness it herself to know that a tickling/wrestling match was now occurring in her and Micah’s bed.

Chloe came out into the hallway with Clara on her hip just as Micah exited their bedroom with Luke daggling from his back and Lincoln wrapped around his leg. Even though he was already hauling the weight of both boys, he reached out and took Clara.

“I’ll get the kids breakfast,” he told her, “so you can take your time getting ready for church. Today’s a big day for both my girls!”

Chloe’s heart constricted as Micah bounced Clara on his hip. “You look so hot right now,” she told him, and he did. Fatherhood looked good on him. She missed this with Luke, and she didn’t take it for granted now.

Micah wriggled his eyebrows, “That’s me. A hot dad.”

Chloe laughed and smacked him in the chest as she rolled her eyes. She couldn’t deny the truth of the statement, however, and couldn’t wipe the smile from her face as she headed for the shower.

She stepped out of the bathroom, tying her bathrobe around her waist, to the sound of loud knocking on the bedroom door. “Mommy!” Luke shouted. “Are you dressed?”

Chloe shook her head and chuckled, “Yes, sweetie, come on in.”

But it wasn’t just Luke, but all three children plus Micah, who walked through her bedroom door. Luke carefully carried a tray containing a plate of pancakes and a side of sausage. Lincoln carried a fistful of yellow daisies, and Micah carried a glass of orange juice in his free hand while balancing Clara on his hip. Her boys were also all singing “Happy Birthday” as Clara clapped her hands gleefully. Chloe shook her head as tears stubbornly welled in her eyes at the sight. She didn’t think she would ever get used to how blessed she was.

There was a birthday candle stuck in the pancakes, and Luke and Lincoln begged for her to make a wish, bouncing up and down with excitement. She bent over and blew out the candle, only realizing later that she never did make a wish.

*********************************************************

Chloe bounced Clara on her knee as she watched Micah and the praise band warm up. Luke sat on the steps leading up to the stage fiddling with his baby Taylor which he insisted on bringing with him every Sunday morning. Lincoln ran around the sanctuary with his cousins, Haley and Noah Barrett. Every once in a while, one of the adults had to admonish them to behave. Tom Barrett sat next to Chloe just like he had every Sunday since she and Micah started dating and driving to church together. She still remembered the first Sunday he sat down beside her, clearing his throat nervously . . .

“Chloe,” he had begun, seeming somewhat nervous, “I’ve never seen Micah so happy in my life.”

She had smiled back, “I’m pretty da-darn happy myself, to be honest with you.” Chloe had blushed furiously at her near slip-up, but Tom had just laughed.

His laughter turned to a frown as she had fidgeted nervously in her seat. “I owe you both an apology and a thank you.”

Chloe shook her head in confusion, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I owe you an apology for the way you were treated at Community Fellowship all those years ago.”

She had dropped her head, suddenly studying her nails with intense scrutiny, “Some would say I should apologize for destroying your church.”

Tom’s face had softened at that, “Oh, Chloe, no! On the contrary, I have you to thank for saving it. When I saw how my congregation treated a hurting young woman, not to mention how they treated my own son, it was a wakeup call. I knew that wasn’t what the church was meant to be. I lost members yes, but I regained truth, compassion, and the true gospel of Christ.”

“But you’re not in that beautiful building anymore.”

“No, but a church is more than a building. It’s people. And yes, we had very few of those too when we first moved to this warehouse. But look at us now! We’re full every Sunday, but more importantly, we’re a group of people who have learned to truly love others. This is now a church that practices grace. And I don’t know if that ever would have happened if not for that little boy right there.”

He was gesturing to Luke, who was patiently showing Lincoln how to wave one of the worship flags. The smile on Tom’s face was so full of love, not that it surprised her in the least. Luke’s grandparents had always adored him. But then Tom turned towards her, his face still filled with love and acceptance. Chloe never would have believed it possible, but in Tom Barrett she found the father figure she never even knew she wanted or needed.

Now, Tom eagerly took little Clara from Chloe’s arms and bounced her on his lap. Clara rewarded him by grabbing his cheeks with her pudgy little hands.

“She isn’t wearing the christening gown Elizabeth bought,” Tom pointed out, eyeing Clara’s cotton dress covered in pink butterflies.

Chloe laughed, “I’m not putting that on her until the last possible moment. I’ve seen that episode of The Office.”

Tom nodded in understanding as he smiled and cooed at his granddaughter. Chloe thought back to when she used to be afraid of mentioning TV shows and other entertainment around Tom and Elizabeth. But eventually she had stopped trying to censor everything she said when she came to the realization that Tom and Elizabeth were normal people just like anyone else. Whatever normal was, anyway.

“Well,” Tom said, eyes focused on the baby girl in his arms, “Clara is beautiful no matter what she’s wearing.”

A few hours later, after the worship set, Chloe Barrett stood at the front of Community Fellowship, Micah at her side, holding a precious bundle of white in her arms. And they were surrounded by family. Yes, Chloe Barrett, surrounded by family. More family and friends than she would have ever thought possible, two years almost from the day that she had made the bravest decision of her life. Here, on her 28th birthday, they were dedicating to the church their precious baby girl.

Chloe wiped the tears from her eyes as Micah draped his arm around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up into his eyes and thought of the long and winding road they had to travel to get here. But if that broken road was what it took to get them here, she would gladly walk it all over again.

Tom said a few words to the congregation about how dedicating a child to the church meant that they all had a responsibility to love that child, teach her, and guide her. He had Chloe and Micah repeat a few words after him, and then asked the congregation to respond “yes” as he asked them to assist the parents in raising the child up in the way she should go.

“Now I invite Clara’s immediate family to come up and pray blessings over her,” Tom announced.

Lincoln walked forward and leaned over his baby sister. He was five now and in kindergarten. He had grown into an extremely precocious child who was already reading well. He also loved to tell stories, and Micah and Chloe were always amazed at his imagination. Micah’s mother called Lincoln an old soul, and Chloe had to agree.

“I prayed for a baby brother,” Lincoln said now, as the congregation chuckled, “but I guess you’re okay. And even though you smell bad sometimes, you’re pretty cute once Mommy and Daddy change your diaper.”

The congregation laughed again, but Chloe glanced at Micah, who was swallowing hard. Lincoln had started calling him “Daddy” not long after their wedding, but it still moved them both. Scott at first became “my other daddy,” and now Lincoln had taken to calling him just plain “Dad” while Micah exclusively was “Daddy.”

“So,” Lincoln finished, heaving a small sigh, “thanks for making me a big brother.”

Luke came forward then, eight years old now, the top of his head now hitting the bottom of Chloe’s chin. But he still liked to kick the soccer ball in the backyard with Micah. (The backyard of their split-level, brick ranch. Chloe had watched enough House Hunters to know that most couples would turn their noses up at the dated 1980s style, but Chloe still pinched herself sometimes to remind herself that it was actually their home.) He still loved Star Wars and pirates, and he still wrestled his little brother on the living room rug. But Chloe knew how fast the years would fly, so she was determined to cherish every little boy moment.

Luke cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “When I was a little kid, I told Gramma that I wanted my Mommy and Daddy to get married so I could have a real family.”

Chloe stepped closer to Micah and threaded her fingers with his.

“So Gramma told me to pray and ask Jesus. Well, he did it, and it’s so awesome. You’re gonna love this family, little sister.”

Then Chloe thought she might die of sheer joy as Luke bent his dark head over his sister’s blonde one and kissed her gently. Once Luke stepped back, Micah relinquished Chloe’s hand so he could gather his baby daughter in his arms.

“Clara, the first time I held your brother Luke, fear gripped my heart. I knew I wasn’t ready to be a father,” Micah cleared his throat, and Chloe lay a comforting hand on his arm. It still wasn’t an easy time for him to talk about. “God used that moment to change my life, and I will never forget it. But my sweet little girl, the first time I held you, it was like I was holding hope itself in my arms.” Micah was choking on tears now, but he swallowed and continued, “I pray for you, my daughter, that you never lose hope, no matter what darkness may surround you. And never doubt my love. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, you can never make me stop loving you. And God’s love? It’s even stronger than mine. Never forget that.”

Tears were streaming down his face now as he handed Clara back to Chloe. Most of the congregation was sniffling, too. Chloe was surprised to find that she was calm, maybe because she was nervous about talking in front of everyone, but that didn’t mean Micah’s words hadn’t moved her deeply. She’d never been more proud of him than she was in that moment. She smiled at him, and then gazed down into her daughter’s smiling face.

“Clara, when your big brother Luke was born, your daddy and I were all alone with a storm raging around us, in more ways than one. But when you were born, we were surrounded by friends and family, and joy just filled the room. The moment you arrived, I laughed with joy – literally laughed. The doctor laughed, too. She said she’d delivered hundreds of babies over the years and not once had she laughed like that. We named you Clara, sweet girl, because it means light. After so many years of darkness, our family is finally bathed in light.”

Chloe placed her hand tenderly on her daughter’s head, “I pray you would be brave, sweet Clara. Brave enough to love freely, without walls. Brave enough to cling to hope no matter what difficult times may come. Brave enough to be a light in the midst of darkness.”

Chloe lifted her head to see her entire family watching her with eyes full of love and pride. It was then she could no longer hold back her tears.

**********************************************************************

“Micah,” Chloe sighed, shifting a sleeping Clara in her arms, “is this really necessary? Can’t it wait until Monday morning?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I hate to do this on your birthday, but if I don’t get those cupcakes into the refrigerator, they’ll go stale.”

Chloe regarded him with a quizzical expression as he unlocked the event center door. A smile was flirting with the corners of his mouth. What was he up to?

He grinned wider at her as he flung the double doors wide to reveal a room packed with people shouting “surprise!” Chloe startled, and so did little Clara, who started to fuss. Micah took the baby from her arms as she took in the people filling the place. All of Community Fellowship seemed to be there, as well as her co-workers from Dr. Carter’s office, Adam Murray, and even Ally and Pete from the diner. Chloe bit her lower lip, overwhelmed at the community that surrounded her. Hannah bounced up to her with a cupcake on a plate. It was decorated not only with a birthday candle, but with a small spun sugar bird’s nest with a tiny chocolate heart resting inside.

“The Wren?” Chloe asked her husband.

He winked at her, “Of course!”

“Make a wish!” shouted Kate from the corner where she held little Noah in her arms. Soon, a chorus of voices were demanding the same thing.

Chloe looked around the room at all of these people who loved her, her gaze finally settling on her husband and three children who were standing close by, grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ll blow out the candle,” she finally said, “but I don’t need to make a wish. I already have everything I could ever want.”

With a prayer of thanks on her lips, Chloe leaned over and blew out her birthday candle.

[aresmarked]

I wonder if Silence could ever figure out Saria holds actual genuine esteem and care for her, Independent of forgiving her. Like given her self-depracative tendencies the opposite is way more likely, but I'm kinda obsessed with the gas tank detonation of their current dynamic being hit with 'yeah no Saria's been mooning over you these whole 3+ years Silence.'

...I apologise ahead of time if this turns into 'unedited essay' ahead of time because I'm going to stream of consciousness this.

In the Rhine manhua, there's A Lot going on that frankly, you could write multiple analytical essays on, but for this the most relevant is probably the theme of perception, both of the self and others, and how that affects one's relationships. For example, how Ifrit perceives Saria and Silence still as the people who will protect her pushes the narrative of her being the factor that reconciles them, even if only in stages, currently.

With regards to Saria and Silence... in my opinion, Silence understanding and believing in Saria's regard for her? At the very least openness on the truths Saria is still keeping to herself would be needed, and the conditions for that.... Consider how Parvis talks to Silence here:

Here we see how Parvis perceives Silence, a researcher still growing, hard-working... and 'blinkered' by things like, oh, caring about the suffering Ifrit and others experience now, for the sake of scientific progress.

This is the doubt that besets Silence now. How far does Saria's care for her and Ifrit (honestly, mainly Ifrit) go? What does Saria see her as? Silence knows, from the referenced chapter, how Parvis and Control see her and Ifrit... and she has very little reason to think Saria thinks that differently. After all, while Saria stated there were powerful people to be wary of, when warning Silence she couldn't speak of what happened, she never made it explicit it was Control. Had Saria at any point expressed anything about the divide between her and Kirsten... I think it's safe to say the relationship outcomes would be very different.

Saria, in trying to keep Silence and Ifrit safe, damns herself in Silence's eyes because how she acts makes Silence fear that Saria condones/approves Control and Parvis' actions. Proper recognition's also hindered by how Saria tends not to be highly expressive with her care—or in other words, how difficult it can be for people to perceive her caring. She carries devotion, deep and true, but it's not loud, for it's in every step of hers... and it's easy to glance over what is always present.

Saria also never divorces herself from Kirsten's actions, and Rhine's as a whole. Because she perceives those failings to be hers, or at least to have her hand on them, because she swore to protect and watch over Rhine, and she still claims it as her own. Consider how she tells the Tin Man she will handle the situation at Rhine, rather than 'ask' the Maylander Foundation to do it. She wants Rhine to be better, to do what she can to guide it back on the correct path, because she refuses to wash her hands of what has been done in its name—because if she did, she would lose the chances she had to restore it.

All that said! I discussed this with @thecatwriter once, but in the manhua's last chapter (non-epilogue stuff), Silence chooses to come to Saria, to express her determination. And to give her half a candy but if I think too long on how that gesture has carried forward I won't be semi-focused anymore so, re-centring: her choosing to come to Saria shows she still cares about Saria's perception. Which may be strange to call a relief, given she said she still couldn't forgive Saria, Control, and Rhine, but as they say, the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference.

Saria expressing her belief in her, that she can be the one to help Joyce and Ifrit and the other Infected of Terra, does matter to Silence. So in a sense the belief in Saria is there, but only to a point. It will take time and a few important reveals for Silence to see all that Saria has done to try and keep all she cares about safe/salvageable... but I do think when that happens, I think that yes, Silence would properly appreciate everything Saria's done... even the things that Saria undervalues, or dismisses as just, what had to be done.

[heliianth]

alright. followup on my post about an httyd3 rewrite ^-^

there are a few things from the original that i’m keeping

the idea of “belonging”

the idea of “love is loss”

that “save him” moment when Hiccup is willing to die for Toothless

bittersweet ending

a reunion epilogue

here’s the, admittedly messy & kinda plotless gist (my reasoning for these changes is under the cut):

the villain can still be Grimmel (in fact, I would like Grimmel as a villain in this new story), but it doesnt really matter for what i’ve got jotted down so i’ve left it vague

the Light Fury is replaced by Toothless’ family, a group of night furies

the Hidden World is a refuge the night furies and their mix-matched flock of other scared dragons found, NOT some magical ancestral home of all dragons in the world

Toothless would run into the same dilemma as Hiccup did with Valka from HTTYD2; the night furies are unwilling to work with and are distrustful of humans, which puts Toothless at odds with his new place in the world

Hiccup’s new arc is, instead of also being focused on romance, about rediscovering his roots

Hiccup struggles with the weight of his new responsibilities (being chief and feeling like he’s leaving his father’s shoes unfilled, as well as the new conflict caused by the villain) and over the course of the movie he finds himself changing as a person in order to live up to them: “becoming his dad”

the night furies and Toothless come to a brief compromise, that they’ll help in some conflict with the villain for Toothless’ sake, but tensions break and the entire thing goes awry. maybe Berk gets destroyed, maybe there’s another death, maybe there are simply a lot of injuries on both sides. it leaves Hiccup’s chance with Toothless’ family seemingly squandered

the emotional climax comes when Astrid (paralleling the first movie) tells Hiccup, after he starts doubting his dreams as an extension of doubting himself and becomes willing to let Toothless go entirely for his own good, that Stoick is dead. Hiccup needs to stop letting his dad rule his life, needs to respect him as a fallible human being, needs to mature. he needs to grow on his own.

there’s a climactic final battle a-la the original movie where Hiccup tries sacrificing himself for Toothless, who can’t fly for plot reasons, and one of the new night furies saves him

the cliff-at-sunset scene still ends with a huge sacrifice: with Toothless’ family so unwilling to be around people in general even if they’re warming up to Hiccup specifically and the villain not totally gone…

Hiccup gives up his chiefdom, his future with Berk, and his future with Astrid to go with Toothless and his family to the Hidden World, and work on peace between dragons and human

the bittersweet ending is a goodbye between Hiccup, his human friends, and Valka, who promises to work on peace “from the other side”

the reunion epilogue comes about 10 years later, like in canon, but it takes place at a “negotiations” meeting between all the tribes about progress with the dragons, where Hiccup and Astrid finally see each other again

tl;dr before the cut:

introduces a theme of biological vs. chosen family by replacing the Light Fury with Toothless’ night fury family — altering the original’s commentary on “belonging” by removing the romantic aspect

Hiccup has a cyclical character arc that reinforces the theme of family where he loses and rediscovers himself and his values by drawing deliberate attention to his grief over Stoick

introduces the “love is loss” theme more organically by making Hiccup’s motivations center around this idealization of Stoick and how hanging onto it posthumously is actively hindering his goals and his growth as a person

Hiccup chooses to sacrifice his own future on Berk to bring about the peace he wants, letting go of Stoick’s legacy, to cap off the “love is loss” theme with a more symbolic ending

carries over messages from the other movies about the work for justice and change being grueling but entirely worth it

just a warning before you click: this is indeed SUPER LONG. like over 3000 words on google docs long. you are fully liable for scrolling past all of this if you open it. this is not my fault anymore.

The reason why I’m so relaxed about actual plot is because most of my complaints pertaining to the original HTTYD3 is thematic, and changing it’s themes changes most of the plot. Thinking up a majority of the plot for a Dreamworks movie with no glaring holes is a job I’m not super qualified nor have the time for and I’d prefer to offer up things that could happen within a hypothetical skeleton. Expect that, I guess. 

I’m going to go over my reasoning for these changes or shifts in order:

1:

I’d find Grimmel a good villain for this reimagined HTTYD3 because bullet point 2 remedies the ridiculous notion that he killed every night fury in the world, which is the only big issue that plagues him in concept because he wouldn’t have the same effect as being Plot Conveniences: The Character that he did in the original. He would be put in different scenarios, so there’s less contention on how the story molds around him to look cool, because the story has changed fundamentally.

Why I’m interested in him specifically for this reimagining is his night fury obsession. Him hunting Toothless’ family might be why they’re driven out of wherever they are towards Toothless, and it also makes the conflict between him and Hiccup intensely and uniquely personal. Grimmel doesn’t want world domination, he wants the night furies and specifically Toothless dead, and he’s willing to cause Berk a whole lot of hurt to achieve that goal.

2:

My understanding of the Light Fury is that she’s essentially a plot device meant to represent a “call to the wild” and simultaneously be a figurehead for all other dragons hurt by humans. The thing is… there’s not much much more emotional weight behind her other than her looking somewhat like another night fury. She doesn’t even have a name, most of her significance is placed on her species.

I think her purpose would be better fulfilled if she was replaced by a small group of night furies—specifically Toothless’ family. The audience has been waiting since Riders of Berk to see more night furies, which would make their overdue introduction extremely satisfying for fans; “Holy shit! More night furies! And they’re Toothless’ family?”

This change would also excuse the conflict between Hiccup and Toothless being as dire as the movie requires, maybe even resulting in the same temporary separation present in the original after that first “devastating loss” which makes Hiccup falter so hard.* By making the night furies so intrinsically connected to Toothless as a character, we add a truckload of emotional weight; they’re tied so directly to our main dragon, whose history is a huge question mark, that we can forgive him for being so torn between them and Hiccup. They would both have the same historical significance to him (as opposed to the Light Fury, who was a complete stranger).

3:

This is simply because there are too many logistical errors in the idea that the Hidden World is the single origin point of all dragons and that its perfectly suited to housing all of them in harmony. My suspension of disbelief can’t stretch to accommodate the idea the original movie posits. Maybe this is different for other people, but it’s a concession I personally can’t make.

It also fixes the issue of “literally every dragon in the world leaves,” which is another huge thing that destroys my suspension of disbelief. Changing it from it’s original idea into a smaller, more personal sanctuary for dragons who don’t like humans lowers its significance on a worldbuilding scale but heightens it on an interpersonal level.

4:

Hiccup and Toothless have always had a deliberate parallelism about their arcs and stories. Highlighting this by creating a direct reference to Valka in Toothless’ family, maybe even his mom as well to really drive it home, IMO, fixes the issue that the original movie has with dumbing him down—showing him trying to negotiate with his family makes him proactive. Putting Toothless in a position where he’s arguing with his family, advocating for his own ideals and showing his growth from the first movie, makes the audience more interested in the dynamics between the two and raises tension; if Toothless’ own family is so resistant to humans that they’re unwilling to lighten up even for his sake, how will they ever live together? This gives the other night furies a chance to display some personality depending on how they react and speak with their body language too.

It also softens the blow that the threat of Hiccup and Toothless separating throws at the audience—Toothless wants to live in both worlds. He feels he has purpose and fulfillment in both, as a part of a life with a family and other night furies he never thought he’d get to have and as the Alpha of Berk: a mixed human-dragon nest with his human soulmate. He wants his two families, chosen and biological, to live together. In turn, the audience comes to want this too. The message shouldn’t be “biological family is more important than chosen family and this is why Toothless leaves,” it should be “both types fulfill different emotional needs and it’s neither inconsiderate or childish to want both”—something which effects both leads in this rewrite.

5+6:

Dealing with Hiccup’s mountainous new responsibilities is just a natural step forward in both his arc from the second movie and in his stage of life—he’s 21, this is the same age many people start struggling with work or university. He’s also only a year out from dealing with his dad’s death, which was The turning point for him in the previous movie.

Even though Hiccup is determined to do as he said in HTTYD2 and try his hardest to be a good chief, to live up to the man his dad was, he’s also having to confront the harsh reality that this isn’t him. Hiccup, as a character, didn’t want nor is skilled for chiefdom and accepted it partially under duress. He says something like “all that, all those speeches and running the village” isn’t what he’s good at in together we map the world, and he’s struggling hard because he was right about himself.

The connection between his new responsibilities and Stoick’s death (and thus his legacy) challenges his character in a way that hasn’t really happened before. Hiccup has always been very self-assured; in the first movie he refuses to conform and makes the world change around him, in the second he remains steadfast on peace throughout the entire thing and the conflict only makes him more determined to continue changing the world. He’s always known who he is, just not what that means (I know he says that quote in the same together we map the world scene, but the disconnect between the former and the latter is why he’s question marking about it. To him, “who” is the same thing as “what”). Having him need to ask hard questions about what he’s chosen to make his meaning out of and whether he’s capable of it turns him from an internally stable character into an internally unstable character. He loses sight of himself and starts trying to carve himself down so he can continue to fit a square peg in a round hole—literally trying to become his dad.

Introducing this type of conflict could also give our side characters like Fishlegs, Snotlout, and the twins to have some relevancy or even some poignant emotional moments as Hiccup continually tries to change himself as a person and slowly alienates himself from his friends, who start to miss him. Astrid could act as a bridge between them, trying to steer Hiccup down a path she thinks is more healthy, but Hiccup’s stubbornness is the reason why they have disagreements about maturity (instead of him not being ready to move their relationship along because he has too much of an attachment to Toothless, or whatever). It also establishes Astrid as a character with more agency—she warmed up to Hiccup romantically for specific reasons in the first movie and in past Dragons episodes (ROB “Thawfest” is specifically what I’m thinking of) and she’s commented on some of Hiccup’s more unsavory behavior to let him know when he’s straying away from who he is. She’s an outspoken person! Let her speak and be the support the third movie wanted her to be.

7:

Like I mentioned before, Toothless and his family having disagreements on humans could characterize them a lot if done well. Them coming to some sort of compromise with him would also lend to this feeling. It would happen after some inciting incident (not in the narrative structure sense, I just can’t find another phrase for it), showing one thing I felt was sorely lacking in the original movie: the consistent idea that dragons have never been inherently aggressive. The night furies can consciously choose who to and who not to associate with, and are okay with setting aside some differences temporarily for the sake of defeating the big villain. It tells the audience, briefly, after Toothless has been trying to win them over, that peace might actually be possible.

Then the plot twist rug pulls that. The shoved aside animosity the night furies have for humans comes to a head and ruins their alliance, sending the whole thing spiraling (assumedly in the middle of a coordinated attack or battle). Again, this raises the stakes and makes the conflict dire enough to genuinely think of separating Toothless and Hiccup after they’ve been glued at the hip for the rest of the franchise. The night furies gave it a shot, the humans reached out, and it all went to shit anyways. It got everyone hurt.

I’m not sure exactly what kind of consequence there would be for this. I’m trying hard to lean into what Dreamworks would actually put on a big screen, so I don’t think anyone would die, but there needs to be some escalation of stakes to make the villain half as impactful as Drago, who again, literally killed Stoick. I’m actually leaning towards Toothless and one of the night furies (maybe Toothless’ aforementioned mom) getting captured, causing the night furies to turn on Berk. Maybe Cloudjumper or Stormfly get injured pretty badly as well (non-graphically, of course). Grimmel, if the villain is Grimmel, doesn’t care whether the dragons on Berk are furies or not, he’s going to keep coming after all of them as long as they’re in his way. It’s not only Hiccup and Toothless’ issue anymore.

Having this olive branch between the humans and Toothless’ family be ruined does to the audience what it does to the characters: makes them ask “Is what we’re fighting for really possible? Can we actually help all dragons and humans work together?”

8:

*Yeah, this is where the asterisk comes in.

Hiccup’s instability relating to his self-image comes to a head. Maybe he encourages Toothless to leave, makes him a new tail (or maybe has one already for emergencies or made it during a moment of doubt earlier on) and tells him to go—this is the reason why I emphasize there being consequences comparable to Stoick dying. Something bad enough needs to happen that Hiccup’s vision internally crumbles.

Now comes the “this is who you are, son” moment. The previous moment encouraged Hiccup to continue fighting against Drago, and this one needs to do something similar. I actually like the idea of Valka encouraging Astrid to say something, but I also like the idea of Valka having no idea what to say (she’s always been idealistic, this would be a big blow to her as well) and Astrid surging forward instead.

I said in the bullet points that Hiccup needs to accept that his father is dead, that he was a human who made mistakes, and that he needs to let his legacy go. This isn’t me saying the correct course of action is to forget about Stoick and do the opposite of everything he once did—its to give Hiccup a dose of reality. He spent his entire life chasing acceptance from Stoick, even in the second movie he was avoiding having difficult conversations about the future with him. Doing what he’s been doing so far (destroying himself, changing his personality, trying to carry the responsibilities of chiefdom and live up to the type of leader Stoick was) has just become another desperate bid for belonging to a group of people who are the next best thing to his father. He’s losing who he is. He isn’t being Hiccup, he’s being Hiccup’s impression of his dead dad.

It coming from Astrid sets up a callback to the first movie—“what are you going to do about it?” The original HTTYD3 does this as well, but I think this would be more apt a comparison. Hiccup doesn’t have Toothless at this point in the story (captured), he doesn’t have a plan, he’s lost hope. By all means, he’s a scared 15 year old who just got disowned again. But Astrid reminds him who that scared 15 year old was and what he did to fix it.

Hiccup needs to respect Stoick enough to know he wouldn’t have wanted him to live in his shadow forever, and he needs to respect himself, as his own person, enough to let go of the comfort that chasing the idea of someone gives. By not giving up, he rediscovers his roots.

I think maturing enough to realize you aren’t the same as your parents and never can be is a more interesting, relevant, and impactful message about growing up than what the original movie says.

9:

This is where the lack of focus on actual plot points kind of makes this post suffer. I mentioned earlier that Toothless and one of the night furies get captured—imagine the rest of the family go after the villain themselves and the riders going to help their losing battle is what prompts growth and the climactic battle. I don’t know. Make up a scenario.

I liked this (the “save him” scene) in the original movie. Toothless is always getting into shit for Hiccup, so Hiccup returning the favor is very full-circle. One of the things I didn’t like, IIRC, was Toothless being unconscious.

Struggling to get free of his bonds and surrounded by enemies, Toothless is unable to move much. His attention snaps to Hiccup’s screams and he watches helplessly as he can’t do anything, visibly agonized. One of the night furies, realizing just how important this human is to Toothless, saves him instead.

The immediate battle resolves with Hiccup and Toothless reunited, the villain’s forces begin fleeing. I want to emphasize that Grimmel (or, once again, whoever the villain is) does not die in this movie, just suffers a heavy blow.

There’s initial celebration but Grimmel surviving and a line sets the mood as somber near immediately, something like “They’ll be back.” The riders and Berk stand on the cliff and watch the villain regroup with their army/armada or whatever and start to retreat, sailing off. Maybe there’s a moment of lingering eye contact between the villain and Hiccup. There’s knowledge that the night furies, and thus all the dragons on Berk, still aren’t going to be safe. And the night furies understand too, as they shy away from other humans despite letting Hiccup closer. Their beef with Berk as a whole still isn’t resolved. One of them goes so far as to growl at even Valka, who tries reaching out.

10+11:

This is where the sacrifice comes in, introducing the idea of love being loss. Hiccup looks between the two parties—night furies still distrustful of Berk and Berk hurting from the battle that wasn’t even fully victorious. Hiccup decides that they’ll never change anything by staying where they are, by demanding dragons come to them for refuge instead of making places safe for them elsewhere. What they’re fighting for is bigger than him and Berk. It’s going to be an endless struggle, but by bringing his arc full-circle back to the Hiccup we love, he refuses to give up on his dreams of peace.

It’s a huge decision to make, but he softly says he needs to go and explains why: that he’s willing to give up what he has on Berk, that he’s willing to give up his biological family’s legacy for the one he believes in. He’s found his “belonging,” and it’s making a difference where his presence won’t draw the line of fire. It’s not like Grimmel could touch him with a group of night furies anyways.

I’d also argue that what Hiccup gives up in this rewrite—chiefdom, life on Berk, a future with Astrid and his friends—is a much greater sacrifice for Toothless than letting him go. He actually ensures Toothless and his family a future by leaving to make progress with them instead of staying and hoping humanity will achieve the fruitless task of forever-unity before they and their flock of other human-fearing dragons can safely return from the Hidden World.

12:

Of course something like this needs big goodbyes, so there’s feels.

Hiccup gives Astrid the chiefdom, saying he’s never met someone as qualified as her. Toothless, possibly still feeling guilty over getting him injured, requests Cloudjumper keep the Berk flock safe. It’s a little piece of them to remember.

As mentioned before, Valka promises to continue work on peace from Berk’s angle, to make the world safe for all dragons as she promised in HTTYD2 (which also contrasts with her attitude in that movie, showing her emotional growth as a character. Whereas before she was unwilling to acknowledge people capable of change, now she believes in the betterment of humans and is willing to dedicate herself to working with them for their shared dream).

The Haddock line ends.

There’s a heavy, long shot of Hiccup looking back at Berk and their dragons as they get smaller and eventually the cliff disappears over the horizon, his head laying on top of Toothless as they fly towards unknown territory (on reflection… the Hidden World doesn’t even matter that much in this rewrite. huh!) The scene ends with the sunset giving way into the blackness of nighttime, and then a few bursts of light as stars blink awake.

13:

The epilogue in the original movie was quite literally an add-on. That’s the reason why it feels so out of place and contradictory to the “all dragons leave” ending. This epilogue, due to it being in context of progress actually being made towards peace and who the reunion is between, actually serves to reinforce the movie’s ending. Also it makes the audience happy seeing Hiccstrid again. That’s all I’ll say because the bullet point is otherwise self-explanatory.

if you read this far down, i love you and hopefully this was fun or interesting :)

[jananakookie]

Beauty | kth - Chapter 14 (m)

Pairing: Taehyung x OC (Reader) , slight Jimin x OC

Genre/Tags: Strangers to Lovers, Idiots to lovers (kinda), single dad; humor (-ish?), slow burn, angst, fluff, smut

Chapter Warnings: mild sexual content (lazy, cuddly morning sex), protected sex, one or two swear words

Word count: 6.8k

Series summary: Taehyung knows what beauty is. He sees it every day.

You feel like you haven’t seen real beauty in a while but you think you remember what it looked like.

Or maybe you both have no idea?

Previous Chapter / Chapter List / Next Chapter

A/N: according to my calculations, only two more chapters and an epilogue will follow this one and then we‘re done 🥲

Chapter 14 (m)

With his deep and rhythmic puffs of breaths in your ear, his hand caresses your body. He lets his fingers slide tenderly over the skin of your exposed thigh, runs them over your hips and sides, up to your shoulder, and finally down your arm until he comes to a halt at your breasts.

Gently running his thumb over the curve of your perfect, naked breasts, he lets it slide back down to your stomach, where he then rests his flat hand against your tummy, pushing you a little closer into him.

You sigh, sinking more into your pillow, enjoying his hands on you. His delicate touch, his breathy moans inside your ear, mixing with your own with every slow and tender thrust of his hips against your backside, letting his thick member push through your walls in the most perfect way.

His movements are slow and soft, different from last night, and more intimate than your first time together. And it is probably the most pleasure he has ever given you.

Not that those past times were any less satisfying or perfect, but you just feel so close to him right now, so cherished, so different from everything you ever felt.

Not a single word has been said yet. Everything simply has been confirmed through warm and tender touches, playful kisses, and soft moans.

One of your arms reaches behind you and wraps around the back of his neck, grabbing the roots of his hair and tugging on them as he lightly sucks on the skin behind your ear. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but just enough to turn you on even more and make a pleasurable moan escape your lips.

You have your eyes closed, solely enjoying how he makes you feel, loving the position you're both in, even if it hinders you from looking into his beautiful face, and watching it contort in pleasure from the way your walls clench around him with every thrust of his hard and thick member.

You can feel his muscled chest press tightly against your back, tensing every now and then whenever he draws back, only to push back in after. And even if you cannot see him, you can still hear how much he enjoys it as well, his raspy moans and the short gasps every once in a while being a clear giveaway.

How he can have any energy at all after last night is beyond you. And yet this morning, after far too few hours of sleep, you were awakened with his certain type of kisses. The ones that usually indicate that he is not in a cuddly mood but wants to do something else.

As usual, they started as innocent little pecks on your neck and shoulder but very quickly became more targeted and soon colonized your neck instead. Right on that particular spot that makes you crazy.

It really is incredible how fast he came to know your body. No more than two nights together, and he already knows all the spots to make you swoon immediately. And well, everything about him makes you crazy, but he doesn’t need to know that. That would be an ego-boost he wouldn’t let you forget so easily.

His grip on your waist tightens, and you know that he’s getting closer. But to your surprise, he suddenly pulls out altogether and lets his cock sensually glide between your soaked folds, giving you all the more pleasure and letting your whole body shake whenever his tip reaches your clit. Trying to increase the pleasure even more, you grind your ass against him, making him moan softly into your ear.

You turn your head a little to the side and quickly capture his lips in a much-needed and anticipated kiss, letting it swallow your moans.

You have enjoyed every single intimate moment with him so far, but you have to admit that slow, lazy morning sex definitely holds the crown for now (especially when it takes place after a night of mindless fucking).

“Mhh, Tae,” you sigh out his name, instantly feeling him twitch against your wetness. Not long after, he grabs your leg and hooks it over his own to give himself better access to your aching front.

You feel him push past your folds again, entering you slowly. And once again, he’s back to kissing you gently while he steadily thrust in and out of your pussy.

His hand cups your lower region as his fingers start to rub your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts while he nips at your earlobe, nestling his face in your hair. You noticed before how he likes to be as close to you as possible when he’s about to come, probably wanting to feel all of you as best as he can, and it excites you.

“Coming,” you whisper, wanting to inform him just in case he still needs time.

But you hear him groan instead, “fucking finally, I can’t hold it anymore.“ His voice sounds even deeper than usual and a little rugged from the lack of sleep, but it makes him all the sexier.

A breathless laugh escapes you, but it quickly falls silent when Taehyung picks up his pace. It’s not by much, but it’s enough to take your breath away as you just lay there, gasping for air with your mouth falling open at the sensation.

His breaths grow hotter and heavier as time goes by, and you can only assume yours do as well as you’re approaching your high now quickly. Feeling him pulse inside you brings you even closer, and it only takes a few more strokes with his dick against your g-spot until you’re coming undone right there in his tight hold, feeling your whole body shake from the intensity of your high.

Taehyung follows right after, releasing a low, dragged-out grunt against the back of your neck, with one of his hands groping your tits tightly while the other has a tight hold on your thigh.

You both take a couple of moments to calm yourselves, heavy breathing being the only sound that fills the small room.

“… And now that this has been made clear, have a wonderful morning, beautiful,” he rasps into your ear, kissing the spot right behind it where he knows you love to be kissed.

He just takes a moment to dispose of the condom before he slowly kisses a trail down to your jaw, where he lightly bites into the soft flesh there, making you giggle.

“And a wonderful morning it is,” you mumble with a smirk, craning your neck a little to give him a quick kiss. “Better not spoil me too much. I might get used to it.”

“I could say the same to you,” he roughly chuckles, ”definitely wouldn’t have a problem with waking up like this every morning, though.” He still has his lips on you, covering every little spot of your skin with his sweet sweet kisses you love so much.

You finally turn around to look at him, and you’re pleased to see a look of pure bliss in his tired eyes. His hair is standing out in all directions which, no doubt, is partly your fault, and he looks so adorable you feel the need to squish his cheeks.

And to think that this is the exact same man that provided you with orgasm after orgasm in the span of only a couple of hours... oof.

The way he looks at you is one of pure adoration, if you may say so. And it almost makes your heart burst inside your chest.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy as you turn your gaze away from his, and stare at his chest where your hand is drawing patterns on his smooth skin, fingers playing with the small trail of hair splattered on it.

“Because I enjoy looking at you.” He grins, placing his own fingers in-between yours. “You surely are quite the sight.”

You cannot help but scoff and roll your eyes at his cheesy statement. “If you’re hoping for another round, I’ll have to disappoint you. I’m completely exhausted,” you say, rubbing your sleepy eyes before they find him again.

He’s still smiling down at you, kissing the crown of your head tenderly. “Nah, I think I’m good… for the next couple of hours at least,“ he smirks.

You smack his chest lightly before you cuddle further against him, feeling incredibly tired again. Well, no wonder.

“What do you want to do today?“ You hear him murmur against your hair before you feel the tip of his nose explore the expanse of your neck. It doesn’t come off as sexual this time around. He’s obviously just really in a cuddly mood as well.

You don’t have to think about his question at all, already having one thing in the back of your mind since yesterday morning. “Honestly?” You turn your head a little to look into his awaiting eyes as he nods slightly. “I really really miss my little girl,” you tell him, “can we please just go to yours and spend the day with her? Cook one of our favorite meals and watch a movie or something?”

Taehyung is sure you don’t have the slightest clue of what your words mean to him, but as soon as he hears you say that, a whole new wave of realization hits him. A realization, that will surely keep his mind occupied for a little while.

Instead of giving you an answer that consists of words, he leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss that leaves you absolutely breathless as soon as he breaks it again after a couple of minutes. And then he just stares at you with an unreadable expression on his face that starts to make you uncomfortable after a while.

“Did I say something wrong?” You ask him, voice coming out in a breathless whisper. He doesn’t look angry, and you’re sure he wouldn’t have kissed you like that if he was, but the drastic mood change, going from giggly and cheeky to quiet and thoughtful, cannot be a coincidence, can it?

You watch his face break out in a smile as he shakes his head, his hair brushing over your face in the process and tickling you. “I just realized something. That’s all,” he then says quietly, not elaborating whatsoever.

You break out in a chuckle, placing a quick peck on his lips as you do. “Realized what? That you still have a daughter?” You laugh, “well, I’m glad I could be of help.”

Taehyung bites his lip, grinning down at your happy state with a content smile on his face. “Yea,” he breathes against your lips, cheekily stealing another kiss from you, “you really are.” His voice suddenly holds a fondness you have never heard from him before.

Clearing your throat, you try to distract yourself from his intense stare by simply playing with the tiny strands of hair falling in his face. “I’m actually quite surprised you’re so chill about Jungkook watching her for so long.”

Taehyung purses his lips, thinking for a moment. “To be fair, they are not allowed to leave the house until I’m back,” he confesses, making you laugh. “I’m slowly building my trust back up. It doesn’t just happen overnight, okay?” He grabs your hand and places soft little pecks on your knuckles. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, by the way,“ he suddenly confesses.

You glimpse at him while trying not to look too nervous, but when did those words ever bring anything good with them?

“Okay? Is everything alright?“ You nervously chuckle, intertwining your fingers with his as you look at him expectantly.

He smiles, nodding his head approvingly, which calms you down just a little.

“Last night, I promised you I'd be more open with you and talk about my feelings, right?” He sheepishly looks into your eyes and waits for you to nod your head before he continues. “Okay, well… there is something I wanna ask of you before we go over to my place.”

“Tae, stop beating around the bush, please,” you say, trying to rest your weight on your arms in order to hoist yourself up a little and look at him better, “you’re making me nervous.”

“Right, sorry. You don't have to be on edge, it's nothing bad, I promise. It's just... well, it has to do with Hyejin,” he starts. You watch his hand nervously fumble with your sheets as he tries to form his words. “I know you are quite… apprehensive when it comes to telling her, you know... about us.”

You sigh, thinking you have an idea of what this is about. “I hurt your feelings last time,” you state, remembering the night you slept over at his. “I noticed.” You intently watch his expression change as he seems to think about the way you behaved that night.

“Yea, I mean… I know why you think that way. I get it. I’m honestly so happy you care so much about Hyejin. And I’m glad you’re concerned about what could be best for her,” he sighs, concentrating his gaze on his hands that are still groping the sheets. “In a way, you and me... we only just started, and she’s only five and obviously already incredibly attached to you. There’s always a slight chance that things won't turn out the way we want them to, and it would complicate things, but—” he halts for a moment, shaking his head before he turns more towards you again and looks you deeply in the eyes.

"I just don't want to get into this," he points between himself and you to show you that he's talking about your relationship, "with the thought that it might not last anyway." He finally confesses, watching your expression intently, almost as if he’s trying to read your mind.

You start biting on your inner cheek, pursing your lips at the movement as you think about his words.

“Not telling Hyejin about us because we’re afraid of hurting her feels like we don't really have trust in this relationship. And honestly, that really hurts me,” he admits, making your heart clench in your chest at his words.

It has never been your intention to hurt him but hearing what your words made him feel like really hurts you as well.

You only meant well, yes, but you were only thinking about Hyejin without even taking his own feelings about all of that into consideration. You should have thought about what your words might mean to him. And he’s right. When you say it like he just did, one could assume that you don't expect your relationship to last.

“I can only speak for myself, but I really like you, and if you ask me, I’m sure this can actually work. At least, I genuinely want it to. And I am more than willing to make it work,” his voice suddenly appears again, pulling you out of your thoughts. “So, how do you feel about all this?” He sounds a little nervous, waiting for your answer. And it’s honestly so endearing to see him like this. This boy’s diversity really is no joke. That much is clear.

Instead of giving him an answer right away, you lean a little forward and place a soft but solid kiss on his lips. It’s over as soon as it has started, and you enjoy watching the little smile form on his lips while his eyes are still closed.

“I’m really sorry I made you feel like I might not be as much into this as you are, but I promise you that’s not true,” you finally reply. “I was just overwhelmed because everything was suddenly happening, and we hadn’t talked about anything yet. I was worried for her. I always am, to be honest. Yes, I think it’s a little risky with Hyejin and everything, but I absolutely agree with you. We definitely shouldn’t go about this with the mindset of not lasting anyway.” You feel his hand cupping your jaw as you smile up at him. “If you’re fine with telling her, I’m more than happy to do it as well.”

Taehyung grins brightly, nodding his head before he leans down and kisses you once again. “I’m so relieved we’re on the same page, ___. I was struggling to think of a way to tell you.”

“I’m proud of us, actually. Something was bothering you, and we talked about it and figured it out. See? We are making progress already.“ You say, holding your hand up for a high five, hearing how he laughs at that but complies anyway.

You both spend a couple more minutes just cuddling in bed before you decide to get ready, wanting to go home and see Hyejin.

It took some convincing, but after a long discussion, you did manage to convince Taehyung and make him understand that it will be faster and... well, more effective to shower individually instead of together. After all, you want to get cleaned up, not get even dirtier.

It left him to be a little moody, but in the end, he complied.

The moment Taehyung turns his keys inside the lock and opens the door, you’re both met with complete silence. You look at each other, wearing the same expression on your faces as you slowly walk inside the apartment and take a look around.

“Doesn’t sound, nor look like anybody’s here,” you note, seeing Taehyung already grit his teeth as he has to admit that you're probably right.

“It’s settled then,“ he then mutters under his breath, “I’m going to kill him.”

You grin, shaking your head at his typical overreacting self while you take off your jacket and hang it on the wardrobe.

“I’m sure everything is fine. Did he text you or anything?” You ask, checking your own phone, but aren’t surprised when you don’t see any new notifications from Jungkook.

Taehyung shakes his head, sighing loudly. “I explicitly told him not to leave the house, and he promised—”

“Why don’t we just calm down a little and wait until they come home, huh?” you suggest. Placing both your hands on Taehyung's shoulders and taking off his jacket for him in the process, noticing how he seems too occupied with angry-texting to get comfortable.

“How can you be so calm?” He asks you, still furiously tapping away on his phone. “The last time he went out with her in tow, he lost her.”

“Tae, you need to have a little faith in him. He’s not a child. He took care of her for years before that incident happened. I’m sure he can manage just fine.” Honestly, you aren’t that bothered because you really do trust Jungkook, and Taehyung should too. What happened back then was an accident that won’t repeat itself.

He sighs deeply after obviously not getting a reply straight away and places his phone on the table.

“How about I cook us something, and when I’m done, they’re hopefully back and haven’t eaten yet?” You offer him your best smile, trying to cheer him up a little, but the only thing you can tickle out of him is a little half-smile and a quick nod as he only glances at you.

You turn around and go to the kitchen thinking about what you could make that would please everybody and is possible to make with the available ingredients — which once again, aren’t many.

It kind of reminds you of the first time you came over to look after Hyejin and cooked for everybody that evening because Taehyung came home later than he intended to. It brings a smile to your face thinking back to those days.

Who would have thought that these four people would enrich your life so much one day?

After you search around cluelessly for a few minutes, you finally settle on simple pasta since that seems to be almost everything there is.

Right when you’re about to start cooking, the sound of the door being unlocked, as well as voices, fills your ear. Doesn’t take a genius to guess who came home, but you’d know anyway since you can already hear Taehyung’s deep voice scolding Jungkook. With a roll of your eyes and a smile on your lips, you decide to join the scene.

The voices suddenly turn into hushed whispers, and when you reach them, you see that Hyejin seems to have fallen asleep in Jungkook’s arms as he holds her tight with her little legs wrapped around his torso and her head resting on his shoulder.

He wears a scowl on his face, but it quickly vanishes as soon as he sees you standing there with a content smile, and it looks like he’s about to yell something before he’s reminded of the sleeping girl in his arms and ends up swallowing whatever it was that he wanted to say.

He gives you a quick sign that’s probably supposed to tell you to wait before he quietly walks along the floor and upstairs, probably to bring Hyejin to her room so she can sleep a little more.

You share a look with Taehyung, who still looks annoyed and rolls his eyes. “Why can’t this boy follow my simple instructions?”

You don’t get the chance to answer when loud and fast footsteps appear right behind you. And before you can realize what's going on, it feels like you're being embraced in the tight hug of a hyperactive kangaroo.

“Ouch, Kook, you’re breaking my spine,” you groan loudly at the impact but can’t really hide your laugh as you slung your arms around him as well.

“I don’t care, I have so much love to give to you!” His voice gets muffled by your hair, and you fall into a fit of laughter when he picks you up for a quick second. Even Taehyung loses his serious expression for a short while as he watches the two of you.

“Why on earth are you acting like I was gone for two years?” You giggle after he finally lets you go again and beams down at you.

“Because I was sure we would never see you again around here. You can’t believe how relieved I am.” He confesses and ruffles your hair.

“Wait, but yesterday you said I was overreacting and that she would never just leave like that.” Taehyung suddenly buts in, coming to stand beside you as he looks at Jungkook.

The younger one chuckles a little awkwardly, eyes flickering from Taehyung to you. “I was trying to be a good friend and cheer you up,” he shrugs, grinning.

A loud gasp can be heard from next to you as Taehyung smacks his best friend's chest. “You didn’t actually believe in me?!”

“I did! I just didn’t have as much faith in you as I made out to have.” Jungkook tries to defend himself, earning yet another blow from Taehyung, which only makes him laugh cutely. “Why are you mad? Everything turned out well, didn’t it?”

Once again, his eyes scan you and Taehyung, the latter wrapping his arm around your waist to bring you closer as he looks at you. “Yep,” he says, kissing the top of your head, “everything turned out quite perfect,” he confirms while you smile up at him, matching the expression on his face.

“Yes! I’m such a good wingman, oh my god!” Jungkook cheers, raising his fist into the air.

Taehyung scoffs loudly, “you didn’t even do anything.”

“Excuse me?!” Jungkook’s former enthusiasm suddenly changes into an annoyed expression as he glares at his best friend.

“I was the one who introduced you to her in the first place. Not to mention that I was the one who kept telling you for months to make a move—” you watch with an amused smirk on your lips while Taehyung nervously looks at you from the corner of his eyes, “and I was the one who watched your daughter the whole day yesterday including last night, while you two probably did the dirty over and over again while you were “making up”. Am I right, or am I right?“ Crossing his arms, he gives you both a knowing look.

“Uh… we did not… we didn't do that.“ You stutter, scratching your arm awkwardly as you try to look anywhere but him. “We—we… talked. A lot.”

“You cannot fool me, ___,” Jungkook states, sporting a smirk on his face before he points at Taehyung, “that little fuckers smug-looking grin tells me everything I need to know.”

Turning your head to the side, you immediately see what he’s getting at. Even if Taehyung obviously tries to hide it, he is remarkably failing at it.

“W—what we did and didn’t do, is none of your business, okay?” Your voice comes out almost pathetically high. And it results in not only Jungkook’s but also Taehyung’s laughs.

“Okay, don’t deflect from our earlier topic now, Kook,” Taehyung suddenly says, subconsciously saving you from your own awkwardness. ���I have expressly forbidden you to leave the house with Hyejin. Where were you and why?”

“Calm down. I brought Hyejin home without any difficulties, did I not? You need to learn how to not stress over everything,” Jungkook says, sounding annoyed already.

“The point is that you didn’t listen to me—”

“Look, I really didn’t want to disobey you, alright? I got a call pretty early this morning from my boss telling me I had to take over for a little more than an hour because my colleague got sick. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t possibly leave her here alone, nor could I lose my job because that would make you mad as well,” he explains. “So I took her with me,“ he shrugs, big Bambi eyes staring at his Hyung.

You purse your lips, looking confused from Jungkook to Taehyung, who looks absolutely baffled.

“Wait—“ you gape at him, trying to sort out all of the information he just disclosed for you. “You—you took her… with… you?“

“Yes,“ Jungkook shrugs, obviously not seeing anything wrong. “I tried calling Joon, but he didn’t pick up, so I had no other choice.“

You once again divert your gaze to Taehyung, but he still doesn’t look at you. Instead, he looks like he’s about to faint or something.

“Just to get the facts straight,“ he clears his throat, “you took my daughter, who’s only five years old… to a bar?“

Unlike Jungkook, you can literally feel his irritation, even if it isn't otherwise apparent yet.

“I mean… yes.“ Jungkook shrugs again. “I didn’t give her any alcohol if that’s what you’re worried about,“ he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I took her behind the counter, right next to me, where I had an eye on her the whole time. I’m not an idiot.“

Taehyung licks his lips, taking in a deep breath before he kicks his head back and stares at the ceiling for a while. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,“ he then sighs, sounding absolutely done.

Jungkook and you both look after him until he’s out of sight, not saying a word.

You're the first to break the silence, biting your lip as you look at Jungkook. “I think you really did it this time, Kook,” you say, trying to hide a smile as he looks at you absolutely dumbfounded. “You actually made him go cry in the bathroom.“ Your last words blend in with a laugh you just couldn't hold back any longer as you pat Jungkook’s chest lightly before going back into the kitchen to finish the pasta you started cooking earlier.

You can still hear him muster quietly to himself, “what did I do wrong this time?” leaving you silently laughing to yourself.

After trying to calm down for a while, Taehyung finally comes out of the bathroom and immediately catches yours and Jungkook’s voices as you seem to laugh about something he just told you. He can’t help but smile upon hearing your laughter, but he decides to not join the two of you just yet because there’s a slight urge growing inside him to look after his little angel.

The door to Hyejin’s room is slightly ajar, and he can already hear her little snores as he gets closer to her room. He calmly walks inside, seeing her fast asleep. It's still relatively early, and Taehyung is worried that she'll probably be up all night if she sleeps too long, but at the same time, he cannot bring himself to wake her either.

She just looks way too peaceful and cute for him to ruin it right now, so he simply takes a seat at the edge of her bed and brushes a strand of hair from her face with a loving smile on his face.

Unfortunately, her eyes start to flutter open right after withdrawing his hand. She looks around for a couple of seconds, and Taehyung inwardly curses at himself for waking her up. But her eyes then fall on him, and a bright smile starts growing on her lips.

“Daddy, you’re home!“ She croaks with her voice still raspy from her slumber. She starts to sit up and rubs the sleep from her eyes before she crawls over to him and wraps her little arms around his neck.

“Here I am, darling,“ with a low chuckle, he rubs her back a few times until she unwraps herself from him again and giggles as a result of him sneakily tickling her sides, where he knows she’s the most ticklish.

“Uncle Jungkook said you were with ___, is that true?” She then asks with the most innocent glint in her eyes.

Taehyung bites back a smile as he looks at her big, awaiting stares, seeing how she obviously wishes for one specific answer. “Yes, we had to talk about something.”

“About what?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

With a chuckle, Taehyung pokes her belly and makes her giggle once again, “adult stuff you’re too small to understand, young, noisy lady.”

Still giggling, Hyejin tries to fight her Daddy’s hand to make him stop tickling her, which she eventually manages. But her little laughter suddenly dies down again, and her expression turns more serious as she’s obviously about to ask him something else.

“Daddy?” She murmurs, fiddling with her little hands while she doesn’t dare to look at her father.

Taehyung hums, quietly waiting for her to ask the question that’s so obviously burning on her tongue already.

“Is ___ your girlfriend?” Her question comes out in a barely-audible whisper, and Taehyung would’ve missed it if he hadn't already expected it.

He smiles at her, admiring the way her cheeks have gained color after she just asked him that specific question.

“I saw you kiss her, and you bought her flowers… and since none of you wanted to tell me anything, I asked Jihoon about it, and he said that it means she is your girlfriend.”

Taehyung cannot help but roll his eyes while still sporting that grin on his lips, “Jihoon really is Mr. know-it-all, isn’t he?” He watches how Hyejin nods her head in agreement and nervously starts to nibble on her lip.

“But Daddy,” she whines, getting impatient with his lack of answer, “was he right? Is ___ your girlfriend?”

“Hmm,” Taehyung purses his lips, acting as if he has to think, “would you like her to be my girlfriend?” he watches with a teasing smile how she once again nods her head immediately while hugging her knees. “Then I guess it is a good thing I asked her yesterday if she wants to be my girlfriend.”

Hyejin gasps loudly, eyes almost bulging out of her head in excitement while she looks at her Dad with anticipation. “And what did she say, Daddy?! Did she say yes?!”

Taehyung laughs, ruffling her hair a little, “she said that it would be an honor for her to be my girlfriend and that she never wanted anything more inner life—“

“Didn’t exactly happen like that, but if it helps you sleep better at night, then sure.“ A third voice, that undoubtedly belongs to none other than you, interrupts him.

You’re leaning against Hyejin’s door frame, wearing a loving smile on your lips as you look at the two.

Originally, you just wanted to check where Taehyung was and if Hyejin was already awake to call her for dinner. But by the time you reached the top of the stairs, their voices were already coming towards you. Shortly after, you noticed that they were talking about you. And being your curious self, you decided to check it out, resulting in the current situation.

Smirking at Taehyung, you’re just about to scold him for over-exaggerating again in front of Hyejin when the little Mochi already comes running towards you, calling your name in absolute joy.

She looks up at you with bright, glistening eyes while hugging your legs as if her life depended on it. “___, Daddy is your boyfriend!” She screeches while jumping up and down in excitement.

You laugh, trying to hug her back as best as you can, but the position you’re currently in isn’t really ideal. “Let’s see if he behaves, and then we’ll talk again,” you joke, seeing how Taehyung locks his mouth shut with an imaginary key and throws it somewhere behind him.

It makes Hyejin giggle, and you as well, amused by his silliness.

“I can't believe the birthday-fairy really granted me my wish!” She beams, looking between you and Taehyung.

“The birthday-fairy?” You ask, seeing Taehyung peek at you sheepishly. Never before have you heard anything about a particular “birthday-fairy” but to be honest, after the baby-making story, nothing can surprise you anymore.

“Ah, you know, last year Hyejin really wanted the Barbie camper, but she didn't get it on her birthday.” Taehyung starts to explain right before Hyejin takes over.

“And then uncle Joon told me about how everybody has a wish on their birthday when they blow out the candles on their cake. And then the birthday-fairy will hear about it and maybe even make the wish come true,” she says.

“Believe it or not, the next day, uncle Joon actually came around with the Barbie camper!” Taehyung feigns excitement, letting you see how much he actually did not approve of it.

“The silly fairy accidentally took it to his house instead of ours,” Hyejin giggles.

You bite your lip, trying to hide a giggle as you watch the little angel be so excited about a non-existent fairy.

“What did you wish for this year? I totally forgot to ask,” Taehyung's voice brings her attention back to him.

“I wished for ___ to be your girlfriend,” she simply smiles. “And she made my wish come true.”

You only gape at her, feeling your heart clench at her words. Taehyung seems to have a similar reaction, seeing how he doesn't say anything as well for a short while.

“Baby, you wasted your only wish on that?” You breathe, stroking her hair delicately while you try to keep it together and not start to cry with how much love you have for her.

“It wasn't a waste,” she furiously shakes her head, ”it came true!”

Biting your lip, you look at Taehyung, seeing how he's already looking at you as well, winking when his gaze meets yours.

“This means, Daddy, you, me, uncle Jungkook, and uncle Joon can finally be a real family!“ Hyejin then says, once again squealing in excitement as she looks between you and Taehyung, who’s about to come closer to you as well.

“We were a real family before, too, Hyejin,” Taehyung chuckles, thankfully not taking her words to heart. “And even before ___ joined us, we were a real family,” he informs her, stroking her hair lovingly.

You nod in agreement, stroking her chubby cheek that has gained color since she started her conversation with her Dad. “He’s right, baby. Families come in different shapes and forms. That’s what I tried to tell you before. There’s no right or wrong.”

You don’t necessarily expect her to understand the meaning of what you told her just yet, but in a way, you feel like Taehyung should hear it as well.

You remember how in the past, he always seemed to struggle with the thought that Hyejin might be missing something. However, that’s far from the truth. You are sure that she has never really lacked anything and never will. She has far too many people in her life who care about her for that to ever happen.

“Alright, go into the kitchen, honey. Jungkook is waiting for us. He says he’s about to die from starvation any minute.” Ruffling her hair and making her giggle, you usher her out of her room so you can finally eat, but just when you’re about to follow her, you feel Taehyung holding you back.

Holding your arm, he suddenly turns you around, and you’re instantly met with a bright smile on his lips.

“What is it?” You chuckle, slinging your arms around his shoulder right when his own are going around your waist.

“That went more than well, didn’t it?” He grins, already leaning forward.

“Did you expect that it would not go smoothly?” You raise a brow in question and watch how he shakes his head instead.

“No, I knew it would. It’s just… just thank you.” He places a kiss on your lips, but it only lasts as a peck because you gently push him back with one hand on his chest, looking at him questionably.

“What are you thanking me for?”

“Just for agreeing to tell her right away. That really means a lot to me, and I know it does to her as well. She already had a hunch anyway. Apparently, Jihoon is an expert when it comes to relationships,” he rolls his eyes while talking about his daughter’s best male friend. And you cannot help but laugh at that, seeing how easily annoyed he gets when it comes to the little boy. Talk about overprotective…

“First of all, you don't have to thank me for that. We discussed this together, and both felt it would make the most sense. Not to forget that it was definitely the right decision. And secondly,” you quickly lean up to kiss his pouty lips, “what did I tell you regarding Jihoon?”

With a playful frown on your face, you give Taehyung a testing look, which makes him let out a big, defeated sigh. “I will still keep an eye on him. You can’t stop me from doing that.”

“Hey, if that’s what really makes you happy, I’m not going to stand in your way.”

“You are what really makes me happy.” He breathes against your lips, already smirking because he knows your reaction to it before you even have the chance to react.

“Eww,” just as expected, you contort your face before you start laughing, and Taehyung joins in almost immediately.

“Don’t act as if you don’t like it when I’m being a giant cheese ball,” he says before sealing your lips with his.

The both of you kiss for a while until Taehyung suddenly breaks your kiss. Cocking a brow to ask him what’s up, you see how he abruptly frowns. “He took her to a bar, ___. I—”

You immediately fall into a fit of laughter as soon as those words leave his lips, feeling Taehyung bury his face in your neck with a deep groan as to try and flee from reality.

“He didn’t even know what he did wrong. He kept asking me about it after you went to the bathroom.” Even if you cannot see his face right now, you can feel him also letting out a couple of laughs because of the movements of his chest against yours.

“And you’re sure this is the life you want to live?” He nervously asks, lifting his head to look at you again.

“Wouldn’t wanna live another,” you nod, offering him your biggest smile.

Satisfied with your answer, Taehyung leans forward once more. But unfortunately, you don't get any further before Jungkook's voice can be heard from downstairs, impatiently demanding that you both finally come down to eat.

Sighing in disappointment, you already move away from him, but he's quick to place a last kiss onto your lips, savoring the moment the best he can. And when he pulls back again, he simply offers you a wink before he takes your hand and leads you down the stairs to the two waiting children.

tag list: @nandananda | @blackswan18 | @travelleratheart101 | @likeshatteredrainbowglass | @lilianm3 | @jenotation | @so-da-1 | @soeur-de-ame | @theclawofaraven | @ppeachyttae | @taeandpuppies | @namecannotbblank