#when he's terrified of his future and potential security

[not-poignant]

The latest UtR update on AO3 got me hooked and I could no longer constrain myself and had to read the other chapters on Patreon. Now I need to know: does Lucien have any redeeming character traits in the series or can I add him straight to the list of characters that deserve the worst? That attitude of his towards Faber made me so mad lmao

Hi anon!

This actually reminds me of the ask I got recently about how awful Augus is as a character and how it's impossible to consider him through a positive light after reading Falling Falling Stars. Because that's how he seems if you've never read him in anything else of mine!

My narrators are unreliable, anon. We only ever see Lucien very briefly through the jealous eyes of an insecure man.

(Spoilers for a future brief verbal encounter between Lucien and Faber in Underline the Red).

Lucien is an extremely vulnerable omega who is in an institution that has temporary custody of him. They control what he eats, what he does, whether he leaves or not (i.e. he's functionally imprisoned), who fucks him, if he gets to see anyone else, if he can talk to his partner and family back home and how often. He has significant psychiatric issues around his own insecurities re: jealously and his partner, and he clocks Faber as being in love with Caleb, and he's right.

And that's incredibly unethical of Faber, honestly, to not have disclosed any of this to Dr Gary (like Dr Gary will be right to consider firing him over this in the future). It puts Lucien's mental health in direct and severe jeopardy, and is ironically likely what causes his relapse that causes Caleb to suggest domestic discipline in the first place (oh, Faber, the irony).

Because Lucien's there to learn that actually a lot of his jealousy and insecurity is unfounded. Instead, he learns the opposite, that no matter who he bonds with, someone else is there loving his potential partner while he perceives himself as having very little control (and in the case of Hillview - this is true, all he has are his words).

He's a chronically disabled omega who needs a disability aid (walking stick) to get around, he's a second class citizen, he's agreed with his partner to stay at Hillview because they both recognise how sick he's getting.

Faber is not a mental health patient/omega like Lucien is. He's a staff member who is nursing unrequited loved to an alpha companion, that he's refused to disclose, while still interacting with Caleb and his omegas. Imho, while Lucien is very good at lashing out, he's not wrong to, and that's why Faber fully acknowledges what Lucien is saying and listens to him, and basically never interacts with him again, and avoids Caleb where possible.

Lucien's mean about it, but Lucien is right re: Faber trying to hide his feelings because he knows what will happen if people find out, and that it's also wrong/unfair to put Lucien in that position.

And Faber knows that.

So yeah. The reader is meant to hate Lucien on a surface level, in the same way that Faber does.

But consider that Faber also sometimes seems to hate all omegas. He finds the smell of their heats disgusting. It's actually pretty normal for people to go through a phase of rejecting the thing that they are, if that's something hated in society. Faber's oscillating mixed feelings of bitterness, resentment and cutting attitude is actually mirrored in Lucien.

Faber has thought extremely savage, scathing and unforgiving things himself to the people around him (and himself). Lucien responds to Faber like Faber is an omega (something Faber doesn't recognise yet), because Faber...kind of acts like one in moments like that. (Efnisien also picks up on this, Faber is not great to him in the beginning of Underline the Black, in a very specific way designed for Efnisien to pick up on, and for Gary to miss. Faber behaves jealously, and constantly suggests to Gary that he should get rid of Efnisien, before he finally adjusts to the absence of Gary in his life. Faber is possessive and manipulative!)

Lucien ultimately doesn't need any redeeming characteristics because he's a victim who is at Hillview to heal and Faber is jeopardising that. We can hate him, but that's just the fact. He didn't try to kill Kadek when he arrived at Hillview, he hasn't tried to destroy memories of James, things Efnisien has done even though we love him all the same (ideally). Lucien felt understandably jealous/insecure (literally the thing he's at Hillview to be treated for, safe from people who will be in love with his lover until Faber) and he lashed out meanly.

If a staff member of Hillview can't handle some rude words, they shouldn't work there.

But yeah, I like the Lucien and Faber encounter because they are both extremely similar people in some ways. They are both bitter, jealous, resentful people capable of very scathing thoughts (and words). The only difference is that in that moment, Faber is the recipient and we feel bad for him. I mean, I do feel bad for him. Faber is in a bad place psychologically, it's a horrible thing for him to experience.

If we were getting Lucien's story from his perspective, and saw the panic attacks he had afterwards, and the regression he went through, etc. it might be different. But it doesn't have to be! Lucien in that moment functions as a reality check for Faber, and a very effective one at that. We're meant to hate him, but also meant to understand that Faber's love for Caleb is not as subtle as he thinks it is in the sense that - omegas can see it for what it is.

I personally like the one moment where we see that Lucien might have a heart when Faber admits his parents are dead, and we can see that he doesn't react with savage satisfaction, but like Faber broke the narrative he'd built for himself in his own insecure, jealous, scared mind.

[hoeforhao]

Chipmunk Cheeks 🍥🧁🍡🍧|| Joshua Oneshot ||

ꔫ pairing: husband!joshua × wife!reader

ꔫ summary: your arranged husband takes care of you in your period pain.

ꔫ genre: pure fluff,mentions of blood and pain, reader sort of has body dysmorphia

ꔫ series: svt as boyfriends

ꔫ author's note: walking into the traffic if i don't find myself a joshua hong cuz am dying from period cramps atm!!

Masterlist

Marriage was never on your book of life and wouldn't ever be your cup of ale. Did your parents know this since the very beginning? Yes! Yet they absolutely went out of their capacity to defy your choices and arrange your betrothal to none other than the Hong Joshua.

Mrs Hong was your mother's colleague, more specifically her best gossip buddy. They were literally known as the gadgets of their office. And when both the women saw that their little ones are getting old with no potential chance of finding their partners by themselves, they settled upon the dreaded agreement.

All your pleas about not wanting to get married to someone you have barely had three to four conversations with, someone whose entire personality, preferences literally everything was unknown to you, were completely left unheard by your parents. Apparently they wanted their daughter to have a "secured future". Literal BULLSHIT.

The most terrifying day of your life was just two weeks ago and here you lay whimpering in pain on the bed of someone you've barely spoken to or looked at since the wedding.

"What a nice time for you to pay your visit, you bastard" you internally curse at your periods.

Yes you're basically dying from period cramps. You didn't know where the nearby medical shop was around here neither did you've the energy to go downstairs and get yourself a hot pack. You were quite literally awaiting your death from organ crumbling pain in your ''husband's room". Too dramatic for just period cramps? Yes! But why react to anything normally when you've the option to absolutely lose your mind over it.

You were so damn lost in your nonsense rantings to the walls of your room, that you failed to register joshua being back from work already.

Finding the house engulfed in absolute silence made his nerves falter for a moment. Usually it would either be filled with loud tv noises of you watching cinnamoroll on the couch or clanking of the utensils as you baked yourself another new dessert recipe.

He quickly throws his coat over the armrest and hops towards your room with those little bunny legs of his ; only to find you completely curled up like a boba ball under the blankets as small painful moans echoed through the walls.

"Y/n, w-what's wrong?" you jolt up from your little coocon as Joshua's warm hands grazes against your forehead.

"Are you okay? You don't seem to have a fever. Did you've a bad day? Did anyone make you cry? Are you missing your parents? If so let's go to their place right now" he grabs your arm gently to pull you out of the bed.

"Would you let me answer or just assume things by yourself Josh!" you unwrap your hands from his while literally burning holes into his face.

"Y-yeah sorry. I was just wo- umm worried." his face hangs low from embarrassment or maybe even a bit of hurt? Not being able to understand what's bothering his wife.

"It's okay. I was j-just having really bad p-period cramps" your face now starts turning crimson, not because talking about periods with a man makes you uncomfortable but because it was h-him...your 'arranged husband'.

"Oh my god Y/n why didn't you call me!!!! I would've run back home from office immediately and brought you treats. Did you eat anything? Where is your hotbag!! Goddamn girl why aren't you taking care of yourself" you wonder if joshua participated in speed talking competitions earlier judging his ability to blurt out sentences without a single pause.

"Calm down Mr Bunny Teeth!!! It's nothing special. I've these every month. The pain will ease out gradually." you nod at him trying to reassure the man that you're infact, not dying.

"No no no way you can talk this so lightly!!! What if you burst from the pain huh! I can't clean up a bloody mess. Hell No" Joshua's last remarks ends up earning him a hard smack from you, making both you chuckle lightly. Dang your husband was even more dramatic than you!

"No seriously tho, you need to take care and pamper yourself during these days. Wait I'll get you some treats" he stands up from the end of your bed to leave towards the kitchen when your arms grabs his from the back.

"I-i don't e-eat sweets or rather I umm can't" your face droops low trying to fight the stray tear making its way onto your lap.

Joshua turns towards you in a swish and bends down to the floor, not caring about bruising his knees on the cold marble; both of his palms reaching to cup your cheeks.

"Why y/n?" a two word sentence was enough to make you break down into a crying mess.

"I - i was a-always told that I'm f-fat and s-so i stopped e-eating my favorite food w-which was s-sweets" you were talking like a five year old, words mixed up with your sobbing and face stained with snot and tears at the same time.

Joshua's firm hands gently grazed over your face as he wiped the mess off of it with his satin white shirt, while the other refused to leave your cheeks.

"You will eat as many sweets as you want love, as you buckets of ice cream you wanna feast on. And I'll be sitting right here infront of you so that each time you think about stopping yourself because of what the world thinks, your face will be planted with a kiss." you've turned completely red by the choice of his last word, the pain in your belly now mixed with a tingling sensation.

"You are perfect the way you're y/n! I can't even imagine a single milligram of you leaving this world. Like omg just think what a great loss will this universe face then!!! I want to see you eat to your heart's content, enjoy each and every meal. Do you even know how bright that smile of your glares when you munch on your food like a happy raccoon, cheeks stuffed up like a smol little chipmunk."

"S-shua you-"

"Sshh! No more words love. Sit here 'til I bring all the food from downstairs and then we'll sit together and watch sanrio, okay chipmunk?" Joshua's slender fingers draw against your lips, sending a flutter of butterflies all over your bones.

Sitting on the bed like an obedient wife you wait for him to arrange a literal feast of sweet treats infront of you, alongside tucking you into the duvet with the hot bag on your belly, making a literal cinnamon roll out of you ; wrapping his arms around your shoulders as your head now rests on his, taking in the sweet scent of his lilac cologne as you two draw yourselves into solace while watching tv together.

"Marriage isn't that scary afterall"

[quotergirl19]

My imagined Bridgerton season 3 episode 4 cliffhanger:

After seeing Colin & Penelope together at the season’s first few balls and events, Lady Danbury is convinced that there’s an attachment between the two “friends,” and since she has taken a liking to Penelope and she’s fond of all the Bridgertons, she decides to test her theory by sending a few handsome gentlemen Penelope’s way to see Colin’s reaction.

First the dimwitted but very handsome Mr. Harry Dankworth and then the charming and mature Mr. Marcus Anderson were encouraged to entertain the lovely but shy Miss and maybe even dance with her. Penelope naturally charms these men and Colin notices the way they are looking at her from across the room. Suddenly, a jealous Colin has swooped in to drag Penelope away, escorting her most scandalously behind closed doors alone to tell her those are not the sort of men she should be flirting with.

Penelope is livid because she was not flirting with them yet, she’d barely even spoken to them. But more importantly she needs a husband and Colin said he would help but now he’s getting in the way and potentially ruining her by taking her by risking them being caught alone. It’s the final straw for the newly blooming wallflower who sees no other way to get through to the man. Penelope asks why he is meddling when he isn’t her brother or father and he certainly isn’t jealous since he doesn’t even think of her as a woman and would rather die than court her himself so she cannot understand what his problem is.

Colin tells Penelope that she should not be willing to settle for just any man who speaks to her. She needs someone intelligent enough to protect her and her future but certainly not a known charmer who’s old enough to be her father. That she deserves the sort of man who understands and respects her and puts her first. Someone who will love her. But Penelope’s heard enough and insists that it took her a long time to realize that she cannot keep waiting and hoping for love because this is her third season and she has to give up on love and settle for the security of a convenient marriage with someone kind so she could to a life for herself and to plan her future with a good man.

Penelope turns to leave and Colin instinctively grabs her pleading with her not to go. He appears pained and desperate and she can’t bear the look in his eyes so she asks why he is doing this and begs him to just be honest with her. Colin confesses that he wants her, that he hasn’t been able to think of anything but her for weeks. That she’s all he sees. That he wants to hold her hand and dance with her and talk to her, to make her smile and kiss her. That he’s mad for her and can’t bear it and as he’s telling her, he’s wrapped his arms around her like he’s terrified of losing her. Penelope can hardly believe what is happening but finds herself touching his lips to silence him. She leans in and their foreheads are touching as her hands slip into his hair and he leans forward and kisses her.

Their first kiss is sweet, but it very quickly deepens and hands are moving, clothing was shifting and Colin has her laid out on a chaise. His hands were warm and her skin was soft and everything felt right. Penelope knew that what they were doing was wildly inappropriate and so did Colin but neither of them cared because all that mattered in that moment was that they wanted each other so desperately. Colin asks if she wants him to stop, she tells him that she wants him, that she wants whatever this is between them, forever. She tells him she’s his if he is sure that he wants her and he tells her, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. That he needs her, that he belongs to her. That he will always belong to her. Body and soul.

Just then Eloise enters and they break apart. She is furious and accuses Penelope of trying to trap her brother but she won’t let Penelope get a word in and Colin is immediately defending Pen because she’s his intended and she’s going to be his wife so he demands that Eloise treats her with more respect and gets over whatever she is mad about. Eloise glares at Penelope and asks if she’s told Colin her big secret or if she intends to trick him into a lifelong commitment with Lady Whistledown.

Colin is shocked when Penelope confesses, admitting that she had to do something to earn money to support herself and her family because her father had gambled away everything including her dowry and that she’d wanted to tell them but couldn’t risk anyone knowing, Eloise looks surprised but Colin is speechless. He tells her he thought he knew her but he was wrong and he has much to consider. Colin leaves. Eloise tells Penelope that she should have known better than to lie to the people trusted her. Penelope tells Eloise that she has a large family full of good people who love her, that she’s blessed with so many wonderful things because she’s a Bridgerton. But their friendship was the one good thing in Penelope’s life. That Eloise was the sister of her heart and the only person she was sure loved her in her whole life. Penelope was simply too afraid of losing Eloise to risk telling her. Because if she lost Eloise she would be completely alone in the world, and clearly she was right because the instant Eloise found out she abandoned her and never even cared enough to find out why Pen did what she did. Whistledown was the only way Penelope could make enough money to save herself and her mother and sisters. That she was raised to be a fine lady, the daughter of a Baron, who never questioned her mama. Lady Featherington had taken Penelope and her sisters to a poor part of town when they were girls and warned them that they could be ruined and end up shunned from society with nothing if they didn’t obey their mama. That Penelope would likely have been forced to be her mother’s unpaid companion and if she lived to old age, Pen would be on the street like a beggar with nothing. Left to starve or worse. She did it because it was the only way she could think of to save herself from that fate.

Before Penelope leaves she admits to Eloise that she would never have tricked Colin or married him without telling him the truth because she was in love with him and only ever wanted him to be happy, and the worst part was that she thought he might love her too but now he would hate her forever. Eloise tries to go after Pen, but Cressida Cowper stops her to mention that she heard quite the commotion coming from the room her brother went into with Penelope Featherington. That she wouldn’t have imagined that pudgy little nobody capable of doing anything remotely interesting but then she heard Eloise clear as day, calling Penelope Featherington of all people, Lady Whistledown and now she would personally see to it that little snake got was she deserved for daring to mock her in her gossip rag.

Eloise Bridgerton, who has never been at a loss for words was left horrified and heartbroken and without a clue of how to save Penelope when she spots Lady Danbury who is looking at her as if she too heard everything. Penelope was right not to tell a soul it seems. Because once Eloise knew, it was only a matter of time before she opened her big mouth, ruined her brother’s chance at happiness and put Penelope’s very life in jeopardy.

[scoobydoodean]

There are a lot of posts about how to “fix” Sam and Dean's relationship that entirely focus on how Dean needs to change how he relates to Sam. Dean needs to stop conflating parenthood and being a brother in his relationship with Sam and just be his brother, and then boom. The relationship is fixed. This framing misses an incredibly crucial detail:

Dean is not the only one who perpetuates Dean's parentification.

Sam and even the larger narrative also participates in conflating Dean's roles and parentifying him, and Dean can rebel against his own parentification all he wants, but as long as others continue to demand he fill these roles, he will be guilted back into the cycle.

I think there is a tendency to see Dean as constantly seeing himself in the parenting role. I think Dean normally just sees himself as Sam's brother actually. He shoves himself into the parenting role when Sam is facing potential harm. It triggers that instinct to care for and protect his brother in a way that feels more parental than brotherly, and might also be overbearing, partly because those instincts and moving into that state of mind was a state informed by and originating from childhood necessity and abuse and the guilt and blame that would be applied to Dean (like John's co-parent) if Sam was harmed. Simultaneously, and crucially however, Dean can also be seen rebelling against the notion that he should have to parent Sam at key points.

There are multiple points where Dean is implicitly or even explicitly guilted and/or shamed into taking on the parenting role in Sam's life (or someone else's life), or is shamed for setting boundaries. In fact, fandom also loves to criticize Dean for not embracing a parenting role then turn around and criticize him for being in one, but they get the idea from the actual show. Take for example 4.22, where Bobby's response to Dean saying he doesn't want to see Sam anymore and is done with him, is to tell Dean to be a better parent to Sam (his 26 year old brother) than John was. "The End" is another example of an episode very crucially tied to the idea that Dean is not allowed to set boundaries, that he has to be there for Sam, being his guardian and supporting him, or else the world will quite literally burn.

That's the narrative and other characters, then there's Sam:

When things are going well in Sam's life, Dean is Sam's brother. When Sam's decisions have backfired, or Sam feels bad about himself, he often shifts Dean into the role of a parent so that he has a figure he can project responsibility for his actions onto or who he can accuse of thought crimes (Sam is going to fail, Sam can't be trusted, Sam is a freak) that come off like a child terrified that they're a disappointment to their parents. As an example of Sam shifting Dean into the parenting role to project responsibility for his own actions, take "Fallen Idols", where Sam shifts some of the blame for him going off with Ruby and drinking demon blood onto Dean (a person who was dead when Sam began doing those things) being bossy. If you go back and actually watch what happens in season 4 honestly (I might point you especially to "Criss Angel Is A Douchebag", but there are multiple things here) Sam was motivated by a desperation to secure his future and Dean's, by the belief that only he could save them and the world and get revenge on Lilith, that he needed to toughen up and be the strong one doing what's necessary, and that he had to do it all on his own in secrecy because Dean was weak. However, Sam begins experiencing consequences from the demon blood arc in 5.01, in the form of Dean saying that he is hurt, and asking for space and time that Sam isn't actually willing to afford him, as shown by the jump from

"I will earn your trust back" in 5.01 ->

Shoving Dean into a wall in 5.02 for not trusting him, which is explicitly stated to be a projection of Sam's own inability to trust himself at the end of the episode and is very clear regardless from Sam's temptation to drink blood (that isn't even actually demon blood!) inside the convenience store ->

"Actually you're part of the reason this happened in the first place" in 5.05

Dean can rebel against the parentification dynamic or he can embrace it, and either way, he'll be the bad guy in the narrative who is either 1) not feeding Sam enough fatherly love and pride thus signaling his destruction and causing him pain, or 2) stifling Sam, leading him to rebel like a child according to Sam's rewritten ordering of events and motivations.

In other words, no—you absolutely cannot "fix" the part of Sam and Dean's relationship that was broken by parentification by getting Dean to stop parentifying himself. Other characters actually have to stop doing it too—especially Sam.

[goodmorgan]

Perfect Strangers

Chapter 5: A Hand to Hold

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Series Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead. What follows is a reckless relationship with potentially dangerous outcomes.

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4)

Chapter Summary: Arthur returns earlier than expected to put you at ease.

Word Count: 4.8K

Tags: 18+. MDNI. NSFW. Smut, Porn With Plot, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Mentions of Guns, Knives and Drinking, Playful Banter, Scared Reader, Protective Arthur Morgan, Lots of Fluff and Comfort

Taglist: @how-the-heck-would-i-know

AO3 Link

The nighttime was never frightening before you met Arthur Morgan, probably because it never differed from the day. You were just as lonesome regardless of where the sun was, used to the tranquil solitude of your own company, your own heartbeat your only companion. But at least you were used to it, an easy living without any surprises made for a peaceful reality. You could always rely on the kindness of predictability.

But then Arthur walked into your yard and into your life. He left your house a few hours ago and suddenly the night is terrifying. Not just because last night's home invasion left your sense of security shattered, but because a night without him is now unbearably bleak. Being alone now feels strange, wrong even.

Arthur left late in the afternoon after getting some much-needed sleep by your side. You woke him gently with a kiss on his lips, his eyes widened in amazement before he realized where he was, deepening the kiss when he was aware of who you were. You said goodbye with a long-held embrace before he rode out of view from the yard where you met. His words lingered behind: "I'll come check on you soon."

The barrel of your shotgun now rests against the headboard of your bed, easy within reach, readied for the worst. You suspect it'll be there for the foreseeable future, at least until you go to bed one day and you don't feel fear anymore. You huddle the quilt close to your chest, waiting for sleep to come. It miraculously arrives when the sun is rising and you realize you've survived a night by yourself. The only thing keeping you sane is the pretend comfort of his arms.

The day goes by quickly since you wake up around noon and you spend the day idling, without the will to do much of anything. You're getting scared of the night again as you stand on your porch, the orange in the sky hastily slipping away from your grasp.

When you hear the sound of a horse on the road you surprisingly don't feel fear nor do you reach for the gun by your side. You know in your bones it's him, galloping gently so as not to startle you. When your eyes meet, you finally find the safety you so desperately need.

You both stare at each other until his horse finally slows.

"Hey." You feel yourself smile a little, a strange feeling on such an odd day.

"Hey." The brim of Arthur's hat tilts downwards.

"You're back early." You didn't expect him today, or the next few days for that matter. He said he had work waiting for him.

"Thought I'd come see you. See how you've been."

"I'm fine. No forced entries today."

He looks at you somberly, trying to figure out what lies behind your jest. "I'll take Titus to the stable. Be right back."

"You're staying the night?"

He brings his horse to a trot as he moves to head out back. "Yeah."

His answer is enough to make you sigh of relief. You're gonna survive another night after all.

You're still in the same place when he comes back, leaning on your porch rail as you watch him, his feet heavy on the wooden floor, making yours tremble as he comes closer. He places one of his hands next to yours as he assumes the same position you're in and you both look out yonder as you welcome back the night.

The last glow of the afternoon sun makes his eyes glimmer as he looks at the horizon. "You had any trouble?"

"No. Quiet as usual." It would've been an ordinary day if you hadn't been plagued with restlessness and insecurity.

"Good." He exhales. "That's good." He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "You eat today?"

It takes you a while for you to think about his question and you realize you honestly don't know. You don't feel any hunger at least.

Your lack of answer prompts Arthur to take your hand in his, forcing you to face him. "Come on. Let's get you something."

He squeezes your hand as he motions to lead you inside but instead, you tug him back and he stops in his tracks, looking down at you with vivid concern. You don't waste time until you throw your arms around him. He doesn't miss a beat until he does the same, finally giving you the hug you so desperately needed.

"Thank you for coming," you tell him as you take a deep breath, smelling the tobacco on his shirt.

"Of course." He places a small peck on your earlobe as he gently caresses your shoulders. You sink aimlessly into him and he lets you for quite some time.

You don't know how long you've been embracing him until he nudges you lightly. "Let's get inside, darling. It's getting cold." You raise your head to see it's now completely dark outside. You don't protest as you feel him parting from you, returning his hand to yours as he leads you inside.

It's embarrassing that you haven't even bothered to light a fire today, so Arthur heads to your hearth to start one while you fix up something for dinner. You still have plenty of bean cans Arthur got you, so you make the best of it as you heat them up in the fire. The bean stew is not much of a meal but neither of you expresses disappointment. You offer him some biscuits for consolation as he tells you about the escaped convict caught nearby, the cause of all the trouble two nights ago. It seems he tried to murder two farmers east of Emerald Ranch before robbing a wagon on his way to Valentine.

"I reckon they should hang him for what he did rather than send him to Sisika. He'll just try to escape again. No point in sending him east." He takes a few bites of a biscuit and you can tell he's not a fan of something so sweet. Your apple pie was more to his liking.

"Well, the further away he is from here the better. Dead or alive." Half of a biscuit lies on your plate and you're trying to decide if you have the appetite to finish it. You don't.

"Yes. That's true." He sips some of the wine you had in one of your cupboards. All the whiskey you had for him was drunk by the soldiers when they ransacked your home. He's not drinking much today, but you make up for his restraint as you serve yourself another glass. You can tell he's noticing your attempts to drown your sorrow.

When the conversation halts, you busy yourself with cleaning the dishes as always. Arthur tries to help but there's not much to do today on account of your plain meal. He settles by the fire when he unoccupies himself until you join him on your sofa with a clumsy thud. You're not even down when he stretches his arm over the back of the davenport, inviting you into his embrace again. You succumb to the openness of his warmth as you feel him breathing under you, both of you staring at the flames as they dance lively for you.

He lowers his arm onto your shoulder, giving you a few brushes before he speaks. "What happened wasn't right. It's ok to be scared, you know?" You feel him swallow before he speaks his next words. "Happens to the best of us."

You turn your head over his chest so you can look up at him, wrapping your arms around his frame for stability. "You get scared too? A big man like you?"

"Sometimes." He begins to run his fingers through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. "When others are in danger, I worry about them." His thumb traces the ridge of your ear. "I worried about you," he admits. "I'm glad you're ok."

You hum in appreciation as you begin to trace your fingers over the exposed chest hairs of his open collar as they twinkle by the fire. "What happens now?"

He ponders his answer as if trying to decide whether to tell you the truth. "It fades. Slowly. Then it goes away."

"How long will that take?"

"As long as it needs to, I guess." You must look dismayed by his answer as he stumbles to be more encouraging, squeezing your shoulder assuringly. "You're strong. It would be worse if you weren't. You just gotta be tough a while longer. One day you'll wake up and it won't hurt no more. Not like it does now."

"It's funny. It doesn't hurt as much since you arrived."

He moves his hand to caress the back of your head. "Maybe it's the food in your belly."

"No. It's you. I'm sure." You pat his chest convincingly.

"Well, you need to take better care of yourself. At least when I'm not here."

Your heart leaps as he tells you he plans to come back to you. "And when you are?"

"Well, then, I'm here." He takes a convinced breath. "I've got ya."

You'd never imagined that three little words could set your heart aflutter and you wonder if he can feel it in your chest as you move up against him to reach his plump lips, kissing him deeply as you tug at his bottom lip. He supports your back with his hands as he leans into you, breathing you in as you move against him, tightening your grip on his neck.

It's not a lustful kiss, but it's not a restrained one either, as you try to walk the line between affection, gratitude, and discretion. You don't want it to come off as suggestive. A night of unbridled passion is the last thing on your mind after such a distressing few days.

You break off the kiss and you return your head to the side of his chest. You see the firewood flames burning in his eyes, still looking at you with unashamed intensity. Perhaps the kiss was provocative after all and he expects something in return for his comforting words.

You unlatch your hand from his neck before you trail it down his abdomen, gently brushing over his shirt. You lower your palm further until you grab his belt buckle suggestively.

He quickly answers your silent query. "I ain't come here for that, darling."

You exhale of relief as you turn away to look at the fire, returning your hand to aimlessly graze his warm inviting chest as he continues to console you. You stay like that long enough to see the embers start to die down, at which point both of you are feeling the tender nudge of sleep.

You barely exchange words as you prepare for bed. Arthur removes his gun belt and places it on a hook on your wall before placing a pistol on the nightstand closest to where he usually sleeps. You lean your shotgun against your headboard like you did the night before. He helps you remove your dress with a fast swoop before you crawl on the mattress in your chemise, watching him undress until he's down to his underpants.

Arthur heads to his side, folding the quilt back to slide in next to you. When he readjusts his pillow so it lies higher against the headboard, a glint of metal catches his eye. You watch as he removes the large knife you hid on that side of the bed in case you needed to protect yourself.

He grins at you once he realizes he has an opportunity to tease you, maybe bring a smile to your worried face. “This a present for me?” He places it on the nightstand, now humorously crowded with weapons. “I usually prefer flowers, missy.”

Your lips stretch in amusement. "The knife seemed more your style."

Arthur climbs on the bed and leans down towards you on a bent elbow. "Well, I'm afraid I can't accept it." He kisses your temple softly. "I was hoping for something less sharp." He pecks other parts of your face except for your lips.

"What?" Your tone is cheeky as you play along and catch up to his ploy. "Surely not my tongue, then."

He tries to contain a chuckle but fails as he grins like you, both reveling in the spontaneous joy of the moment as his lips meet the tip of your nose. "I was thinking of something warmer." They reach a crease above your smile. "Something softer."

When he raises his lips again, you tilt your mouth towards them without making contact. "Something closer?"

You feel his hot breath on your lips. "Something like that." He takes a deep look into your eyes as he tries to contain himself, caressing your cheek with an impatient thumb.

When he finally gives in, it's a lot gentler than you expect. You still see him close his eyes in pleasure as he gets his gift, taking your warm soft lips as if he’s never had them before. He kneads into them slowly and gently with such care it feels like you’re discovering tenderness for the first time.

You’re quick to get hungry for more, grabbing his shoulders to make him close in on you, his arms soon caging you beneath him. Your breasts rub lazily against his broad chest as his whole frame leans into you, now tingling with pure delight. He feels your lips begging for more, your tongue seeking hurried entrance into his mouth. When he allows it, you both mewl at the intensity it sends over you as it cascades into aimless shooting stars across your bodies.

When the kiss ends, overwhelmed with exhilaration, wide smiles return to your faces and you're quick to continue to joke. "I told you it was sharp. Should’ve kept the knife.”

Arthur laughs unabashedly, his chest vibrating against yours as you see the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen in a man. You’re thankful it lasts so long because you get to notice every little detail. The round reddish form of his cheeks visible through his beard. The old white scars well hidden on his stubbled chin. The soft wrinkles drawn around his mouth and glittering eyes. His damp lips stretched so wide they might split. The pearly white teeth so visible they might blind you. The joy on his face so infectious it fills every crevice in your soul.

When he stops laughing, his smile is reduced but still as riveting, even as his lids begin to close heavy from fatigue. He places a few pecks on your lips before he slides back next to you, one of his legs still tangled between yours. He motions to slide his arm under you and you take the chance to turn to face him, resting your head on his large bicep, running your hand up and down his bare chest. When you raise a thigh over his hip, he ventures to hold it in his grasp, tracing gentle circles on your skin with his thumb. Your breathing steadies and synchronizes as you begin to lull each other to sleep.

You’re almost dozing off when you realize you’re now totally at ease. You've completely forgotten the burden of dread you've been dragging around the past few days, soothed by impromptu playfulness and passion. Arthur has delicately unwound you like a mechanical doll in his calloused deft hands.

You're still awake enough to hear his remaining mumbling thoughts. “You’re really something, you know that?” You feel his grip tighten around your thigh while his other hand rests assuringly against the small of your back.

You hide your eager smile against his flank, pretending to be settling into a more comfortable position. Somehow you summon the energy to defy your weariness. “Something warmer?” you suggest brazenly.

You feel him hum against you, treading his hand around your thigh, soon reaching your buttock tenderly. "Something softer too.”

His answer is enough to make you lift your head, placing it as close to his neck as possible. You lean your whole body against him, trying to leave no inch untouched. "Something closer?"

He croons again and you feel his lips tussle your hair as he kisses the top of your head. The hand on your back pushes you further into him as he welcomes your weight onto him.

As he buries himself underneath you, it becomes clear why he came back so soon after seeing you just yesterday. He craves sleeping next to you just as much as you.

He finally whispers his last remark before you drift off to sleep, soothed by the comfort of your cocoon. “Something like that.”

—

Arthur's ridiculously handsome face is what you see before you're barely even conscious as you wake. His head is placed neatly on his pillow as his eyes remain closed, his nose looming over his other striking features. Your eyes widen at the sight of his immaculate profile, soaking up the perfect view as you try your best not to move, set on not disturbing what looks like benevolent peace.

You take shallow breaths as you notice one of your arms is limp over his chest while one of your legs is jammed beneath one of his knees. To move an inch would entail waking him from his merited sleep, so you resign yourself to the slightly awkward position your body is in. You have no choice but to drink him in.

You're studying the length of his caramel-colored lashes that rest on his cheek when you see his rosy plump lips move, his eyes still closed. "You gonna pretend to be sleeping for much longer?"

You wonder what part of your body you moved. You could swear you were perfectly still. "Just as long as you."

Neither of you moves as you wait to see who will budge first. You see a brief twitch of hesitation flash across his mouth but he insists on faking sleep until you give up. You're no less stubborn than him so you keep still, wondering how long it'll take him to yield to impatience.

You bask in the stillness of the early morning, staring serenely at the illuminated face of your lover and realizing how much tranquility he brings you. Just a single night spent in his arms and it feels like all your troubles have melted away, left outside the repose of your secluded bedroom. You feel a quiet smile reach your lips as you find yourself in the middle of another humorous romp with Arthur. For the moment it's all that concerns you in this troubled world.

You keep up the mutual sham for several minutes before his patience finally runs out. "That's it, missy. You're done for."

You squeal in surprise as he suddenly jumps up, tossing the bed linens back, kneeling on the mattress while sliding his arms underneath your back and knees, picking you up from the bed with such force it feels like you've fallen off. Instead, you find yourself lifted, folded in his strong arms like you're made of paper, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. He bounces you a few times as you shriek with both glee and confusion.

He settles you with a charming grin on his face. "You awake yet?"

"Arthur!" is all you say in between giggles, entranced as this man treats you like his own rag doll, tossed around recklessly in his iron grip.

You're so dumbstruck you don't reply to his question so he jolts you again more forcefully as you feel your body hover briefly in the air. "I'm gonna keep doing this until you answer me, girl."

"Yes! I'm awake, Arthur!” You clinch his shoulders for mercy. “Put me down!"

He stops bouncing you as you see him chuckle, calming you down in his arms as he keeps holding you, enjoying the sight of your bemused expression. “Well, good morning then.”

He leans down his lips to kiss your temple as you try to catch your hurried breath, slowly loosening your grip on his shoulders. He rewards you by lowering his lips against yours, giving you a fiery kiss spurred on by the adrenaline still running through both your veins. As the kiss deepens, you involuntary clasps his shoulders again as you feel his hands tighten around your skin, holding you higher and closer to him, carrying you to new dizzying heights. He keeps holding you in his embrace as you continue to float in a euphoric state of refuge and delight.

As Arthur's tongue swirls around yours, you suddenly feel titillated with a sensation you haven't felt in days. Electricity ripples through your whole body, reaching its peak just below your waist as you turn hungry for the kind of touch you know only he can give you.

The feeling becomes more pronounced once he motions to lower you to your knees on the bed, searching for a better angle to sink into you. He grabs your hips tightly as he drags them against his own, your center settling at the top of one of his thighs. You find yourself grinding into him, clasping his shoulders to anchor yourself while his hands aid the movement of your thrusts.

When you decide to speak, his tongue leaves your mouth while you continue to straddle his thigh, looking him in the eye to tell him what you want. "Make me feel good, Arthur."

He kisses the side of your mouth tenderly in response. "You sure?" He knows you were in no mood for this last night.

You intensify the motion of your hips and the clutch of your hands. "Yeah. I'm sure."

He doesn't waste time as he reaches for your neck, planting a slobbering kiss there, grabbing your ass to support the movements against his thigh. You're now aching with full-blown desire as you try to get some friction against his leg, slightly grunting in frustration when it's not enough.

He notices your growing eagerness. "It's alright, missy. Let me take care of you." His hands reach under your chemise and grab the inside of your drawers before you feel them sliding down. You stop moving and lift your knees as Arthur takes them off, then raise your arms as he removes your chemise, thanking you with a rowdy peck on your lips.

Arthur’s hands return to your hips and you feel his fingertips running to the underside of your buttocks and squeezing, making you hum with urgency and expectation. You feel yourself getting wetter by the second, the burning in your core becoming impossible to ignore as he reaches around to the apex of your thighs. You grip his shoulders even harder now, mewling into his mouth to make him do something more.

Then you feel one of his fingers reach your folds, separating them before he reaches where your wetness gathers, earning a muffled grunt from him. He slathers your slick around your lips and two of his fingers and you feel your knees begin to shake on top of the mattress from anticipation. His free arm reaches around your back to steady you while his mouth slides down to the side of your neck, letting your mouth gasp directly into his ear. You’re much louder than either of you expect once his fingers finally reach your clit, now rubbed with soft circles that threaten to make you collapse. His hand on your waist keeps you from moving too much while your back begins to arch around his arm, keeping you in his tight brace.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

"Faster," you tell him between pants as you start approaching the point of no return.

Arthur picks up the pace, earning louder noises from you as his thumb reaches your clit. He slides his other fingers down to stimulate your entrance, building your arousal to a state of uncontrolled bliss. You're about to tell him to move them inside when he speaks, moving his head to look into your eyes. "It's all right, angel. I've got ya."

As he repeats the three little words he recited last night, the ones that echoed so deeply into you, you finally feel one of his fingers reach inside you, his touch soon finding the spot that makes you glimpse paradise. The simultaneous occurrence makes you sob with unrestrained melodic grunts. "That's it, missy. Keep singing for me, beautiful."

As your mouth hangs open, you feel compelled to keep your eyes on him, even as your head begins to tilt backward, your back sweaty against his bulky arm as you abandon any restraint in his embrace. He slips in another of his fingers, joining in the effort to prod against your wall at a keen pace. Your head falls further as you close your eyes but you feel his hand reach the back of your head, keeping you from dropping into the mattress. "I've got ya, darling. Don't worry." You open your eyes again, wishing to see him as your climax approaches. "Let go for me, missy." You're not sure how his fingers are working you so fast and precisely, but you feel yourself getting closer and closer to what you both want. "Let me feel you, sweetheart." You grunt uncontrollably as you begin to reach the unavoidable. "Show me what you've got."

The snap of the coil inside you comes fast and hard. Your walls flutter around his fingers while your back swerves wildly against his arm, his muscles flexed to keep you steady. A guttural sound leaves your lungs as you taste the sweetness of release, soon turning into oversensitivity as Arthur keeps writhing pleasure from you. You feel your knees quiver against the bed but he's quick to lower his hand to your hip, keeping you balanced as you come down from your high. Despite the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm, you never break eye contact with Arthur. You stare into his blissful reassuring eyes as they tell you he's got you over and over again without saying a word, all the while wringing from you the most depraved feelings of pleasure.

You feel obliged to tell him how much he means to you, how much you're willing to repay him for all his successful efforts in comforting you. You speak between shaky breaths. "You know I've got you too, right?"

His lips form a timid smile as his eyes sparkle even more. "I know, missy." He gives you an affectionate peck on your forehead as he gently removes his fingers from your core, wiping them down on the side of his bloomers. He lowers his arm to hook it under your thighs, laying you softly against the mattress so you can rest from your overexertion. He towers over you as his hands begin to soothe your forearms, caressing you until you even your breathing.

In your state of pure joy, you keep staring at his face, the one you've been carefully examining since you woke up. It's the face of a man that has purposely sought to spend last night and this morning with you and, if yesterday's talk is any indication, he might be spending some other ones too.

You trace your gaze down to his large chest, his soft belly, the patch of hair peeking from his bloomers. The fabric of his underpants is stretched thin as it barely manages to retain his fully hard cock, itching to break free from its enclosure. You were so enraptured in your own pleasure, you've neglected to help Arthur with his own. You decide to make amends as you greedily reach both your hands to his waistband, tugging at it as you threaten to pull it down. "It's your turn now."

He extends out his hands to grab both your wrists, stopping you before he gets some assurance from you. "You ready to go again?" His eyes glimmer with lust and expectation, hungry for an affirmative reply. Your chest swells at the possibility of him giving you more. The thought of thrusting around the hardness in front of you makes you blush, feeling a budding arousal again as you nod.

You whine for him to give you permission to release him. He lets go of one of your wrists from his grip, opening his palm up so he can give you a hand to hold, which you eagerly do. His other grip pushes your hand as you slide the undergarment down, finally freeing him fully.

"You gonna come for me again, angel?"

Your nod is anything if not enthusiastic. He lowers himself so his hips can meet yours, his length now sinfully close to your entrance. His breath is hot over your mouth as he leads the hand he's holding between your bodies, letting it go as he directs your fingers to encircle his pulsing member.

"That's my good girl."

From that moment on, you were his and only his. Even if you didn't know it yet.

—

A/N: Idk why but this one was a pain in the ass to write. Sorry it took so long! I tried to get some fluff in before things get more complicated…

[bubble-popping]

day 52 no typical drabble this time, just gonna rant abt an au i've had with drunznoblade in an SCP setting (just drunz for now but that will change :P)

Dream and Punz are partners at an undisclosed SCP foundation site. Dream has a history of working with sentient SCPs, particularly humanoids and animals. He started as a simple bio major in uni until a chance encounter led to him being hired by the foundation in which he had to leave his old life behind for this new opportunity. He met George and Sapnap, his best friends, and Punz, his soon-to-be partner, at the foundation site. George and Sapnap are fellow researchers--George specializes in technological SCPs and Sapnap has a special interest in fire-based/adjacent SCPs--while Punz is in fact an SCP himself.

Their exact age and birth date are unknown, but they've been documented throughout history as the most prolific assassin known to man. He's alluded capture for a long time until one day he randomly turned himself in, claiming he'd grown bored of doing the same thing over and over and dreaded the potential future of an eternity like that.

Some years passed of them staying at the foundation where it was found that their success came from a terrifying ability to know all the ways to kill a person and how any object can be turned into a weapon. They never received formal training for this, it was simply the truth of their life. His mother died during child birth and he killed his father at a young age after some disagreement. Punz doesn't remember the exact argument, but they do remember bashing him over the head with the toy he tried to take away.

He'd lived a life of crime since then, stealing and killing to survive, until they realized he couldn't die. (And believe him, he's tried.) It's completely unknown why they were born this way. Biological research on him has revealed very little in the way of an explanation, simply telling researchers that he's a healthy young adult with an abnormally fast healing factor. Some rumors at the foundation claim they're an immortal god of death that's just biding his time, saving up power to kill them all.

While at the foundation, they enjoyed a simple cell as a Euclid class SCP with basic restrictions and around the clock monitoring for any change in behavior. Punz mostly lazed around the place, free food (though they didn't really need it) and no rent to pay was quite nice. The researchers engaged him to talk and he responded, but always devoid of any emotion. It only strengthened the gossip that they weren't even human. Eventually, Dream joined the research team after reading and being intrigued by their profile. Things shifted when Dream was allowed to talk to Punz.

Dream didn't approach him with the simply objective of adding to the long list of Punz's history. He updated him on current events, talked about his own day, asked Punz how he was enjoying the food. He called them by their name, not their number. He treated them like a person at a time when everyone seemed hellbent on stripping that from him. They start to smile, looking forward to Dream's visits and almost completely shutting down around other researchers that try to talk to him.

It's clear to the rest of the team that Dream is getting too close and personal to the SCP, putting the research and himself at risk, so he's taken off the team. When Punz is told this after two days of not seeing Dream at all, they murder the researcher and break containment. Since he'd been so docile for his entire stay, security on his cell became lax. Everyone in the vicinity was killed, usually by pens thrown through their foreheads, some even passing straight through and lodging in the wall behind them. Punz went on a murderous spree until he found Dream in the food hall. Punz kills anyone in their way as they get to him, which he's horrified by but he calmly addresses them and tries to get them to return to their cell.

Armed personnel arrive to subdue the SCP, but Dream steps in, much to Punz's surprise. He convinces the upper level in charge to have a meeting to talk. All three are escorted to a secret room. Dream tries to reason with the both of them, but Punz is adamant that he stay with Dream all the time while the upper level refuses to negotiate any terms in which Punz leaves the foundation. So, Dream compromises by agreeing to stay in the foundation at all times with the primary objective to keep the SCP in check. If Punz kills another person at all, Dream will be terminated. In exchange, Punz may freely roam the foundation site provided Dream is always at his side. (For this purpose, Dream gives them the medallion, though he doesn't tell them that. It's a sensor attuned to a microchip implanted in Dream during the first days of his employment. If it's out of range of the medallion, it will explode in Dream's head, killing him instantly.)

They come up with the excuse that Punz is Dream's new assistant, and as an employee they're no longer classified as an SCP. It's an open secret at the foundation, but nobody questions them after the massacre

[kittenn1011]

Okay, I'm heartbroken, but I have thoughts...

... first off, something about the music cue as the scene ended makes me feel like this arc isn't... over. And maybe it is, 9-1-1 is a weekly serialized show, arcs can end abruptly due to actor availability and other things not under the control of the writers. But that music cue... no matter what happens, I currently do think that the team wanted to leave themselves the opportunity to invite Lou back and potentially let this be a temporary breakup sometime after what's currently scripted and contracted. Even if Lou does never come back, the editing of the scene just makes me think that in this moment, they wanted to leave the door open behind him on the arc. It's just that music, it was... tense, but in a "to be continued" vein and not in a "be sad" vein, and the way it just cuts off makes the scene feel like it's part of an incomplete arc.

Now onto my more story-based thoughts: personally, I don't think the scene was out of character. Tommy's character has really struck me, this whole time, as lonely. You don't do a potentially life-ending and if you survive career-ending favour for someone you barely talk to because you're secure in your current relationships. Tommy has a bad relationship with his birth family and never seems to have built a found family of his own. And his longing to be part of something is such an important part of his character that has been present from his reappearance to now.

I think Tommy was scared, when Buck asked him to move in-- Tommy saw himself falling in love with Buck (who gets a six month-aversary present for someone you don't see a future with), and when push came to shove, was too scared of the heartbreak of being left alone one day in the future that he decided to save himself the heartbreak and end it now under his control. It's just that line, "no matter how bad I want it to be"-- Tommy is already head over heels, lost on Buck, I think, and he broke his own heart because he was too scared of risking someone else breaking it for him.

I don't think it helped Tommy, the way Buck was talking about the discussion he had with Josh about "brave people who came before him" because I don't think Tommy sees his actions before coming out the way that Josh sees "pre-Glee" gay people. Remember, Tommy also came out in a post-Glee world. I think Tommy doesn't see himself as brave, he's terrified. He was terrified of Gerard, terrified of coming out even after Gerard left... and terrified of his feelings for Buck. And Buck talking like that may have just drove the stake in, Tommy sees that conversation where he didn't think Buck was seeing Tommy as he was and that just drove in the stake that Buck is a baby gay who maybe likes Tommy more as the idea of a boyfriend rather than a full unique person.

Right now, Tommy strikes me as one of those lonely people who pushes people away because people have disappointed them too many times before and just can't trust anyone with their heart. And maybe his whole arc is going to be left that way-- I hope not-- but I think it's extremely consistent with everything about his character. Honestly, I think when we look at Tommy not letting himself have the thing he desperately wants out of fear... I think we're looking at who Buck might've become if he never found that found family he was so desperately trying to grab onto when he joined the 118. Buck found security in the 118 and his returning sister all proving that they could still be with him, even if Buck fucked up, until Buck could become the person who is secure in his relationship and feeling like he's ready to move forward. And Tommy didn't have that, and that makes him such an interesting character to foil against Buck right now. Tommy is presenting himself as the older, more experienced Queer man who Knows that someone's first boyfriend can't be their last, but Buck is the one who is experienced enough to feel secure moving forward with serious steps in a serious relationship because Buck feels secure in himself and in loving someone.

And I have to say, even in a breakup, I think BuckTommy wins. No matter what happens going forward, Buck himself has said that he's not felt this way since Abby. No matter what, I think Tommy was already in love with Buck.

And honestly, right now I don't think Buddie is in the cards. I have always thought since the "Buck is bi" reveal that if Buddie is endgame, it's going to be end-season endgame. But the episode of Buck/Tommy breakup featuring Eddie saying on screen that he's straight? With follow-up interviews that emphasize Eddie's straightness? That just feels so deliberately like it's intended to say to Buddies that just because Buck is single and gay doesn't mean your ship is going to happen any day now. And after this shipwar, while I was okay with Buddie endgame going in, this breakup left me feeling so incomplete that I do honestly hope that Buddie doesn't happen anytime soon.

Anyways, I'm going to go comfort myself with BuckTommy fic, which I am going to continue to read... and now I really want to write something that really smashes Buck and Tommy together rather than as the "older more experienced queer Tommy" and "baby bi disaster Buck" that we've all been interpreting for the last few months, but as two extremely lonely people scared of being left alone and hurting each other in their fear even as they desperately try to hold onto the other, pining even within a relationship.

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

my thoughts on the plot for wothd

”Now, to secure his second letter, Percy and his friends Annabeth and Grover must agree to a new challenge – pet-sitting for the goddess Hecate while she’s away over Halloween week”

Are we getting the trio dressed in halloween costumes?? PRETTY PLEASE. Also, i can smell the chaos all the way here

They just need to follow her simple rules

Look after her pet polecat and mastiff like their lives depend on it (because they do).

Don’t touch anything – especially Hecate’s magic potions!

I am already laughing from the number of jokes they’re going to make of themselves just messing everything up. Also grovercabeth being pet parents>>>>

“But when Grover’s curiosity gets the better of him, the friends find themselves with a giant goat, a destroyed mansion, and Hecate’s (terrifying and potentially deadly) pets on the loose in New York City”

There’s so much to unpack here.

First of all….THEY’RE BEING PET PARENTS AND LIVING IN A MANSION TOGETHER???? THE THREE OF THEM??? DOMESTIC GROVERCABETH YES PLSSSSS Sorry this hits so hard after percy’s ideal future in cotg where three of them are living together in a beachside cottage i can’t—

Also, groverrrr no we dont touch magic potions HE’S A GIANT NOW LOL GIANT GROVER 😂

“Now the trio have only days to find the pets and restore the mansion to order – or face the full fury of Hecate and her horrifying three-heads. It’s going to take luck, demigod wiles, and some old and new friends to hunt down the animals and set things right again.

This seems like such a rollercoaster of emotions 🥹 give it to me now richard

Also, OLD AND NEW FRIENDS!!!! Imagine if rick is in a sadistic mood and just make jason one of the old friends and make him spend a lot of time with them to set up for the death news next book hooohooo

But im hoping for rachel, nico, or hey it might be thalia with her mist bending powers that’ll help or piper with charmspeak or—

But new friends, im guessing it’d be a supporting character like that iris girl blanche. Maybe a hecate kid??

GENERAL THOUGHTS:

This book might eat i fear

It sounds like such a bundle of chaos, fluff and even more chaos, the expectations are high. I cant wait to see how rick writes percabeth living together. Also, i know that annabeth has sodnyc and percy has school so it’ll be fun seeing grover being the parent in the situation and making them breakfast and getting them ready to school. And their daily routine. (LOL I DONT KNOW WHY IM DELULUING MYSELF THEY MIGHT NOT EVEN LIVE IN THE MANSION)

Im excited if you couldn’t tell

[masterskywalkers]

So I'm reading that new Larian interview for BG3, which has really popped up at a great time for me research-wise, and I see this for Ascended Astarion:

"So with Astarion, his evil ending is actually him…much of what he does is out of fear. And as a player, you can say to him, "You're right to be afraid." And that sends him to a really horrible place, and that I think is really powerful."

Now I've been doing a lot of research into vampires and vampire spawn in literature & D&D mechanics lately - partly for fic ideas, partly because this fandom frustrates me to no end sometimes with some of the things I read and I kind of want to do a breakdown on my own view and interpretation on the character - and this quote is very much something I agree with.

From Act 1 Astarion acts mainly upon fear and survival. He is not a good person, and he will do anything to survive. He literally uses any weapons or tools he has to build a net of safety within the group or with Tav, regardless of whether his methods are healthy for him or not. He knows no other way, because for the past two hundred years at least, he has known nothing but cruelty.

Even as you move further and further into the game, Astarion doesn't stop being afraid. As a Bhaalspawn who romances him but fails to kill Isobel, Sceleritas will comment that 'he is so afraid, so very afraid of everything, but you. The one thing he should fear the most'. In Act 3 after the other spawn attack the party, if a romanced Tav argues with him about the Ascension ritual, there's a response where Astarion will say 'I'm doing this for both of us, you know? To keep us both safe'.

Astarion is fueled by fear, and he believes that power is a way to ensure he won't ever have to fear anything again. That he won't have to be weak anymore (he sees himself as weak, ignoring the utter strength he has to even be able to survive the amount of torture and abuse he's lived through for so many years). During the decision of whether to allow him to Ascend or not, it takes an intervention from the person he trusts the most to even attempt to talk him down - and even that option is a journey of dice rolls and making the correct choices.

Astarion follows in the footsteps of the playstyle and the behaviors of the player character. He values his freedom and independence, but he doesn't know how to live without fear because, as far as he remembers, fear has been his entire existence. Even if you don't let him ascend, when you ask him how he feels about freedom he says it's both terrifying and exhilarating - it's a new kind of fear for him, the fear of a vast future open for him, one that isn't ruled beneath the hand of someone who controlled him.

In either ending - bad or good - Astarion gains and loses something. In a good ending, he gains freedom and the chance to start anew - to a limit, as he looses the ability to walk in the sun. In a bad ending, he gains security, safety and power - but loses himself in the process:

"Whether or not a vampire retains any memories from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once-pure feelings become twisted by undeath. Love turns into hungry obsession, while friendship becomes bitter jealousy. In place of emotion, vampires pursue physical symbols of what they crave, so that a vampire seeking love might fixate on a young beauty. A child might become an object of fascination for a vampire obsessed with youth and potential. Others surround themselves with art, books, or sinister items such as torture devices or trophies from creatures they have killed." - Players Handbook, 5e

^ This is something that really interests me, because how much of that extends to the Vampire Ascendent is up to the player. I have my own thoughts for what this means for a romanced Astarion - and maybe I'll write something about that at some point, or post my thoughts in more detail later if anyone is interested - but the fact that the Vampire Ascendent is different from a normal vampire due to it being born from a deal made with a devil, I think, gives enough creative leeway for writers and players to play around with how they interpret to fit with their own playstyle.

Astarion, throughout the game, is at the very beginning of a long journey of being a survivor of abuse and trauma. I don't think he's really able to process or work on recovery until Cazador is dead - he is the looming threat for Astarion, after all, the shadow that is always there. Because even if they defeat the Netherbrain but don't defeat Cazador, Astarion is still at huge risk of becoming his toy again - but how he chooses to work through that and learn to handle his fear, depends on the person he becomes throughout the journey. And the player character is a huge influence to this - for better or for worse.

[binary-bird]

😊💜🍸 for the OC asks?

😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc’s career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life?

David hopes to work at a local theater after he graduates, or teach drama/literature to high schoolers. He's not particularly ambitious, and only wants a future where he feels fulfilled and secure. He'd also want to study his inherited powers more thoroughly and explore their potential, but that's a goal he has to tread carefully toward. Because of his fourth wall seer status, he has front row seats to watch the many, many ways his story could take a turn for the worst. He's aware of how often his alternate universe selves fall into corruption arcs and become nihilistic, power-hungry monsters, so now he assumes he's doomed to follow suit. His fate terrifies him, but he'll still fight tooth and nail to change it once it rears its head.

💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc’s ancestry/genetic background?

His father is English and his mother is Egyptian. The distance he feels from his mom's culture bothers him (he spent most of his teen years away from her), but he's always trying to learn more about it as a way to reconnect to his roots. He's even making an effort to start learning Arabic, aiming to familiarize himself with the Masri dialect first before moving on to MSA. I also have half a mind to throw Filipino into the mix just because I can, and because one of his relatives is already pinoy. :P Fun fact: he picked up his dad's Mancunian accent, but it only really comes out when he's stressed, angry, or drunk. Speaking of which...

🍸 COCKTAIL GLASS — what is your oc’s favorite alcoholic drink, if they can drink?

He's averse to drinking because he's something of a lightweight and he wants to stay alert to avoid incidents, especially around his friends who have no qualms about getting sloshed. Though if he has to pick, he'd go for an Irish coffee.

[prompt list]

[thegingerwrites]

never too late to start again by thegingerwrites

obikin, ~100k, 13/15 chapters

On a trip to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Leia is dragged through time to the fall of the Republic. She has the chance to change things—if she can confront her anger towards young Anakin Skywalker.

"He’s so young, Leia thinks, despite herself. She has not a single ounce of sympathy for the man who will eventually become Darth Vader but she can’t keep herself from recognizing that for now, he is just a man. He might even be younger than she is now. He has hooded eyes that she has seen in the mirror. An expressive face that Leia has long since trained into submission. For all that she hates this man, she can’t deny the parts of herself that are him, at least the superficial bits, at least at this point in his life."

The Clones Wars have pushed the Jedi to their breaking point and Anakin isn't sure how much longer he can last. When a strange visitor from the future gives him the opportunity to spend more time with Obi-Wan, he's forced to confront his feelings toward the man that have been repressed for years.

"Anakin likes a lazy, sun-kissed morning. He is satisfied with where he is now. The war is terrible and cruel, but he has a purpose. He is making a difference. He is exactly where he needs to be. 

Which is perhaps why this morning feels so perfect. He is lying in bed, at ease and secure. He can still feel the warmth of someone he loves on the sheets beside him. There is nowhere else he is expected to be and no one else he would rather be. 

Of course he wants a future. Of course he wants kids and a family. Of course he knows that those things aren’t compatible with the life of a Jedi. 

But can’t he at least have a present that doesn’t terrify him first? Can’t he find a way to pursue his dreams now and worry about the rest later? Can’t he spend some time living his life in the company of all of the people he loves before settling down and potentially breaking his ties with them forever?"

[writerbuddha]

Your explanations of the Jedi and their teachings have really helped me understand them better and hopefully - in the future - write my own stories about them better.

I do have a what if question for you. I like Luke in the original trilogy. The more recent characterizations of him have felt off to me. Not sure why. But that is not where I'm going with this - I'm playing around with an AU where Luke falls to the dark side. Given the context of the original trilogy, how or where within the original trilogy do you think that would that happen?

I am really glad I could help to make things more clear! :)

Wow, it's an interesting topic, Luke possible fall to the dark side...

I would say, it could've happened between Episode V and Episode VI. Luke's biggest problem was that he had to understand, what he resents in Darth Vader is also within himself, that's what his vision in the cave on Dagobah symbolized. He viewed Darth Vader as a wicked monster who killed his father, he was afraid of him, he was angry at him, he hated him. And he could've reacted to Vader being his father very differently. There was a real risk that he reacts badly, Yoda explicitly said, he wasn't ready for this burden.

If Luke would've become terrified by the fact that just like his heroic, Jedi Knight father turned into this horrible monster, he also carries the potential to become something like him, without the right and deep understanding of what this means for good and evil, he would easily fall into a dark place, where he could feel comfortable and secure in his own goodness only by attacking and destroying the evil outside him, which is Darth Vader, of course. His fear of turning into his father would feed into being angry at his father and eventually hating him, wanting to erase him from his life. He would be like "I will kill Vader, this vicious monster, that's what the good guy does, right? No way I end up being like him if I save the galaxy from him!" Which would make things worse, as he would actively try to repeat what he did in the cave on Dagobah. In addition, his anxiousness would make him less confident and prone to violently lashing out, especially if him desperately wanting to confront Darth Vader wouldn't meet with Leia and the other's approval, for obvious reasons, which would make him even more anxious, more aggressive, and so on, until he would decide to leave on his own. And in my mind, this is the point when Darth Sidious would reach out to him, saying, he can train him to kill Vader. And Luke would end up in the same mindset as Anakin in Episode III: "I will be more powerful than Vader and the Emperor, I will kill Vader and I will overthrow the Emperor and I will make this galaxy a safe, just and secure place... which makes me a good guy!"

This would result in three Sith Lords at the beginning of Episode VI, and maybe the Rebellion would decide, the critical error they can exploit is the fact that there is an infighting between Vader and the Emperor, who is aided by his new apprentice.

[focusandrelaxforme]

Documenting My Subject's Hypno Slavery Journey (Part 10)

- More than a few of you dear readers have expressed an interest in KittySub’s marriage and just how that fits into our arraignment, so I had her write up something that explains their dynamic.

- While I have no problems with her seeing others in the future, I do have my concerns about securing her safety during any potential meet-ups, so that’s something to further discuss and explore down the line.

- At this point, most if not all sexual interactions between her husband and her are happening with my approval and guidance. As stated previously, I’m having her focus more on oral pleasures as a way to ensure that the idea of service is first and foremost. This includes being able to cum only if her mouth is filled. 

- Hypnosis-wise, this is manifesting as a craving to have a cock in her mouth (real or otherwise) at all times, so I expect that she’ll get more and more use out of that dildo gag of hers. Our primary roadblock here seems to be her aversion to swallowing cum, which I’m currently training her to crave more and more. Even vaginal sex should end with cum in her mouth.

- That said, being forced to feel pleasure at something that makes her gag does have its own benefits when it comes to training, as it reinforces her submission and feeling of being controlled.

--------

Dear Diary,

Master has asked me to write about my husband today so people can know more about our arrangement.  My husband and I have been married for almost 5 years and have known each other for over 11.  A few years into our relationship, my sister and I discovered the online game second life, and I started talking to people on it.  I was able to explore my submissive side more. After that my husband and I tried to explore it together irl. We discovered soon after that we weren't compatible as Dom and sub, but we did find out that my husband has a big kink for me speaking to others.   He loves knowing that other people want to do things to me. After our discovery, my husband allowed me to post an add on craigslist looking for an online Dominant. I was soon flooded with inbox messages and easily found someone to experiment with. I spoke to this person for a couple months before my husband suggested I meet him in person. My in person meet was terrifying. I met the Dom in a restaurant parking lot in the middle of the day, so I was safe. When his car pulled up, I got out to meet him and he instantly grabbed a fist full of my hair and pulled me to his car. Then he pushed me into the passenger side and shut the door behind me. We sat in the parking lot in his car and spoke for a long time.. while he watched for people walking by. We had an innocent chat. But every so often he would reach over and slap my breasts or my face. And he choked me a bit and put his fingers into my mouth to test my gag reflex. It all sounds weird coming out now, but it was very hot at the time.  He would ask me basic questions and then just hit me out of nowhere or he would reach down into my pants and rub my clit. I must have came 10 or more times in his car that day, and soaked his seat...Oof. After a while he asked me if I would want to go for a walk with him in a park down the road. I accepted and he walked me back to my car, then I proceeded to follow him to the park in my car. When we got to the park, we walked on the trail, into a wooded area.   He surprised me by pulling me to a tree and telling me to get on my knees.  He then proceeded to fuck my mouth until I gagged multiple times. I was so excited that I was practically cumming from his cock in my throat. He then had me bend over and pulled my pants down and slid himself into me. He fucked me for a few minutes until we saw a car pull up on a road nearby and we scrambled to hide ourselves.  After that he decided to finish in my mouth, right down my throat.  I loved it! I was in subspace heaven after all the impact, gagging and cumming, then he walked me back to my car and sent me on my way home. This is where the date went bad.  It was at this point that I came crashing down emotionally and called my husband in a panic.  He knew I was there, but it was so weird knowing he had just let me see another man. I repeatedly apologized and cried as I drove home. He calmed me and told me how happy he was.  And I told him all about my meet and when I got home ai was still soaking wet.   He was so excited that he fucked me right on the floor of our living room when I got home. He loved every minute... and so did I. Since then, I have met with several more people, and learned the dos and don'ts of BDSM. I also learned the proper aftercare is a thing that I deserve. I have many other crazy stories that I could tell, but I think I've gotten my point across.  My husband and I have a pretty open arrangement.  I meet people or speak to them online, and he gets to fuck me with little to no foreplay, and we are both pretty happy. Sometimes I give him details and sometimes I don't. Its really up to him. Over the years we have explored more with Doms giving us both instructions, and we also had a threesome once with one of my exes.  He enjoyed that a lot! It was very humiliating for me, and scary to be so open for 2 people at once.  Anyway...I am writing this whole journal with my dildo gag pressed into my mouth and drool dripping down my chin and into my cleavage.   .. I also have my dildo inside me per Masters instructions.  Master said that maybe sometime in the future, i could practice my oral skills on another man. I expressed my feelings of wanting to be able to deep throat better, so he told me that he might only let me cum with my mouth full. This morning I had to get ready for work with my gag in. it was so humiliating and I prayed that my husband wouldn't wake as I walked around the house drooling and casually gagging while I got dressed.  While he is aware of some of the things I do... that doesn't stop him from judging me at times. I am not quite sure he believes in hypno too. .  I'm sure soon he will start to believe more... especially if I have to wear this gag more.    It’s so embarrassing to wear. Why does my pussy get so soaked while wearing it though; it doesn't make sense. Anyway I will leave you with that!

Sincerely, Masters very drooly slave..

--------

[rebrandedstoryline]

Rebranded - 15.6- Recovery Prep

For now, the distressing content mostly concludes. But more such content will arrive in the future.

The animatronics helped Logan take down all of the photographs that had been hung throughout the house. It was a very time consuming task. More so when paired with the amount of time spent discussing Ayala’s history.

By the time that they had taken the bulk of the pictures down, it was well past noon. There was only one room left. The beautifully decorated bedroom.

Elain’s room.

The three of them made their way back upstairs to get into the room.

Logan hesitated upon seeing the state that it was in. Not because it was in a poor state, because it was quite the opposite. The room was neat and tidy. Everything was put away in its proper place.

He spent a long time simply taking in the appearance of the room, before calmly backing out.

“We’ll leave Elain’s room alone.” Logan calmly uttered, carefully shutting the door leading to the room.

Sun began to fidget awkwardly.

“Wouldn’t it be wise to put everything away, given all that’s happened?” Sun inquired. He was unsure as to whether or not it would be a good idea to leave any potential triggers where Ayala could find them. The male offered a quiet sigh, and shook his head.

“The therapist wanted her to start unpacking the box. She went too fast... But putting it all away won’t be much help either. The whole point of getting the box unpacked was to get her move on.” Logan replied, carefully pushing the Sad Box into the empty bedroom. “She can’t do that if she doesn’t face her problems.” He added. Once he had the Sad Box tucked away in the far corner of the room, he swiftly retreated. Elain’s room was a special place. A place where no one was allowed to tread. So he made sure to get in and out, and he made sure that the door was securely shut.

Sun allowed himself a moment to think about whether or not that was an appropriate course of action.

Ultimately, it was. Ayala would have to learn to confront her traumas. Just like he and Moon had.

A series of buzzes sounding from the man’s phone broke the momentary silence. An annoyed sigh escaped him upon checking to see what it was.

“Shit. Okay, I’ve gotta go... I left the medicine in the bag by the nightstand. Just... Just take care of her, alright?” He stated, casting the animatronics a pleading look before rushing down the stairs.

Whoever had contacted him, it must have been an important matter. He may very well have gotten into trouble for rushing out here so early in the morning. Chances were he had a job that he was supposed to be at.

Neither of the animatronics offered a verbal response to his request. There was no need to do so. They had already established a desire to care for Ayala. They would do exactly that.

“I’ll relocate the medicine.” Moon stated, having already concluded that it would be wise not to risk leaving the pills anywhere near Ayala without supervision. He wasn’t about to give her the opportunity to retry her previously failed attempt at an overdose.

“I think I’ll try to make a proper adult meal for Ayala. Hopefully she’ll be hungry when she wakes up.” Sun replied, making his way down the stairs so that he could head for the kitchen.

Moon made his way into Ayala’s room, where he found that she was very much asleep. Unfortunately, her sleep was restless.

She was having a nightmare. That much was obvious.

He found himself taking a moment to assess her behavior. She was unusually quiet for someone in the midst of a nightmare. She mostly held still as well. Nothing like the children that he had once watched over. They would always rouse easily from the fear that plagued their dreams. At which point they would burst into hysterical sobs. Oftentimes, if one child had a nightmare, their resulting crying would trigger a hysteria among the other children.

Ayala, meanwhile, had been so terrified of her nightmares that she had avoided sleep for nearly four days. Despite doing so, she was having such a minor physical reaction to her nightmares.

The only movement he really noticed was a twitching in her hand. If not for the fact that he could detect her emotional distress, he would have assumed that she was having a mostly comfortable sleep.

On impulse, he reached as if to try and comfort her, only to retract his hand. While he was more understanding of her and her situation, he still struggled to form connections with people. That fear of betrayal was still there.

Given how deep her sleep was, she would remain unconscious for a few more hours. So he simply retrieved the bag of medicine and left the room. He brought the medicine to his little den; the closet that he liked to hide in. To further hide the medicine, just in case she got it in her head to go looking for it, he tucked the bag away inside of Henry.

Once the medicine was thoroughly hidden, he made his way to the kitchen. For no reason aside from wanting to be near his twin.

For as concerned as he was about Ayala, he was also rightly worried about Sun. The solar animatronic was a meek character. One easily overwhelmed by worry. They were overly empathetic. Ayala’s history contained a lot of brutal, disturbing details. Details that were highly likely to have upset him.

Moon wanted to make sure that he was nearby in the event that his brother wound up in need of a shoulder to lean on. He had a strong suspicion that their next sleep cycle would not go well. Sun would undoubtedly be plagued by those repressed memories again the next time that he settled down to rest. So Moon would need to be keeping a close eye on him, just to be safe.

“What are you trying to make?” Moon inquired, admittedly at least somewhat curious as to what Sun was attempting to prepare. This would actually be the first time that he had seen his twin attempting to make ‘normal’ looking food. So he wanted to know what the meal was going to be. The daytime attendant offered a sort of unsure hum.

“We---ell... I’m not sure, really. There’s a lot of recipes that I could make. But we’re missing important ingredients. So I have to just... Be creative?” Sun responded, sounding rather uncertain of himself as he spoke. He had pulled out a small piece of beef to cook. After going three days without food, Ayala would need some protein. But he also didn’t want to overwhelm her stomach, so he only wanted to make a little.

“Well. You’re certainly good at that.” Moon chuckled, attempting to encourage his twin. He didn’t particularly know anything about cooking, himself.

Then again, that was because he had specifically gone out of his way to avoid learning. Sun was the one best utilized as a caretaker. Moon was more suited to deal with physical threats. All of his recent efforts were just the result of special circumstances. It wasn’t until Ayala’s health had taken a sharp decline that he felt the need to get involved.

Even after having experienced all of this, he had no desire to branch out and learn new skills. Once she was better, he would go back to ignoring her.

“Mn... Well. I suppose so. I’m just not quite sure what I can make.” Sun replied, sort of awkwardly looking through the various ingredients in the pantry. There had to be something relatively simple that he could throw together. The lunar attendant offered something of an awkward hum.

“Well, you’ve watched her cook, right? She seems to fancy anything that can just be thrown into a bowl... She eats a lot of starchy foods. Like rice and potatoes. You’ve already picked out the meat. Maybe just mix that into something and call it dinner?” Moon suggested, attempting to use his limited knowledge on cooking to lend his brother a hand.

No sooner had he made this suggestion had Sun happened across a small pouch of microwaveable rice.

That was something simple. There was no fancy prep work needed. The rice was already cooked and would just need to be heated up.

“Oh~! This should work nicely!” Sun exclaimed, holding up the bag. Now he wouldn’t have to fumble about trying to prepare rice from scratch. He had seen Ayala struggle to make rice correctly, so he was certain that it must have been difficult.

“I bet if I cut the meat up really small, I can mix it into the rice nice and easy~ I won’t even need to worry about the seasoning. The rice comes with a--a garlic and herb sauce~!” He explained, setting the bag of rice aside for the time being.

This should work out just fine. He could grill the beef no problem and cutting it into tiny pieces would be easy. Then all he would need to do was mix everything together and put it in a bowl. It would be a simple meal that Ayala would probably make herself. On top of that, she’d probably be more inclined to try and eat it because it was more familiar to her palate.

[reallypleasanttree]

A continuation:

His son, Riku, rested on Mitsuri’s bare chest. Skin on skin contact was important for bonding. According to the doctors and nurses, he is healthy. Soft black hair, green eyes, ten fingers, and ten toes. Obanai didn’t dare to hold his son yet. He looked so fragile at six pounds and five ounces. Seventeen inches from his toes to the crown of his head. Underneath the thin hospital grown, he curled up with his knees pressed against his stomach and his arms pulled in towards his chest. Riku ‘s nostrils flared out as he slept.

Only hours old and his son is the most terrifying creature to have ever existed for Obanai. There was so much potential for him. He could be interested in dinosaurs, swords, dogs, cats, trucks, or planes. He could be an introvert or an extrovert. In the future, he could be a lawyer, chef, or doctor. Obanai wanted his son to see everything he could and be happy doing whatever pleased him.

However, everything could go horribly wrong. Obanai could not help, but think of his own childhood. The abuse he endured at the hands of his mother and relatives. Riku would never experience anything like that, but there was still so much that could happen. He might have respiratory or gastrointestinal issues like Obanai did. He could roll over in bed and sleep on his stomach, increasing the risk of sudden infant death syndrome. He could-

“Obi, do you want to hold him?” Mitsuri asked. She readjusted the hospital gown in preparation to hand him to her husband. Obanai stiffened in his seat. What if he ended up dropping him? What if Riku stopped breathing? His heart beat rapidly in his chest and he could feel the panic settle in. What if he touched the soft spot on his head and accidentally killed him? What if he shook him too roughly? What if he- 

“Do you want to hold him, Daddy?” She repeated her question. Mitsuri pushed herself up in the bed to get a better look at the dark haired man. When she saw his face, she recognized the worry lines and panic in his two toned gaze.

When she called him Daddy, a new emotion twisted inside him. It was raw and real. For the past nine months, their baby had been a concept. Obviously, Obanai was there for the ultrasounds and could see Mitsuri’s body changing to accommodate for the baby, but now Riku was here. He was a separate being now. Anything could happen.

“What if I hit his head on the bedrail?” He pointed to the gray plastic railing on Mitsuri’s side. “What if I drop him?” He ran a hand through his hair. “What if I-”

“Obi,” Mitsuri interrupted him. “I know you’re scared, but it’ll be alright. Do you want to lay down beside me? Then I can just pass him over without worrying about the bedrail.” Her green eyes pierced him and steadied him as she spoke. Slowly, he nodded in agreement. Mitsuri shifted over to give him room. He laid down next to her with the hospital bed propped up. 

Mitsuri gently passed the baby to Obanai’s waiting arms. She corrected his hand placement, so Riku’s head and neck were secure. “See? You’re doing great,” his wife hummed and beamed while watching Obanai with their newborn. 

His son shifted slightly in Obanai’s arms before opening his bright green eyes. They couldn’t focus yet, but Obanai could tell his son was questioning who he was. 

“I’m your Daddy, Riku,” he murmured to his son. He stroked the baby’s dark hair. His panic subsided the longer Obanai held him along with the knowledge he would do anything to keep Riku safe. 

I need a one shot of Obani x Misturi! I want to see the struggles of them as parents! Probably add Planned Pregnancy and Angst/Fluff!

Do you even do requests? I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you! I just really need it!😞

No worries! I’m open to hearing requests, but it depends on the individual prompt. I actually have a WIP related to this prompt I'll share. It's mostly modern domestic fluff. ☺️ Hopefully, it fits the vibe you want. Please enjoy!

The morning light cast shadows over his wife’s face. Her eyes were shut, lost in a dream. He ran his hand over her long hair, making her sigh. His eyes traveled from her face to her swollen stomach. He loved seeing her pregnant. It was the first dream she had told him when they became friends telling one another their hopes for the future. She wanted a large family with three kids at least. At the time, he had been under the impression they were only friends despite his growing feelings for her. She was someone who deserved the world and then more. 

He had little to offer her. His family was filthy. Full of criminals, murderers, thieves, and occult members, sacrificing their newborns for rituals. Their goddess was a snake woman. From paintings she was half snake with a human torso and face. Her golden eyes haunted his childhood dreams. Two golden eyes shimmering in the darkness, her tail dragging across the wood floor. 

He would have been a sacrifice if he didn’t have one golden eye just as their goddess was depicted. They revered him and decided to wait to sacrifice him to their deity. When he was seven years old the cult was discovered and his family was taken into custody. He on the other side was put into foster care. 

Mitsuri rolled over and bent her legs up. Obanai turned with her and wrapped one arm around her. His hand rested over her stomach. Her skin was smooth from all the creams and lotions she used to help prevent stretch marks. It still stunned him thinking they would be holding a baby in four months. The upcoming scan would reveal if they were having a boy or girl. He did not care what gender they were. He only wanted them to be healthy in body and mind. Their baby would have a loving mother and a father who would try his best. 

For whatever reason Mitsuri picked him. He held her a moment longer before sitting up. He went down to the kitchen with two cats trailing after him. A pair of red tabby brothers Mitsuri named Matcha and Chai. He still confused them despite living with them for three years now. Obanai grabbed their food and poured it into bowls. He set them down on the mat and cats raced over. 

He started breakfast. Pancakes were always in demand. The first time Mitsuri stayed over she started chanting pancakes when he asked her what she wanted for breakfast. He had no idea then that it would become a tradition. Every Saturday morning he would cut up fruit, mix the batter, and deliver them to her while she was still in bed. 

Once he had two plates piled high he set them on a serving tray. Syrup, fruit, butter, chocolate chips, and everything in between. Mitsuri’s appetite had always been large. He had been worried before they found out she was pregnant. Her appetite became nonexistent for a week. He thought it was the flu since he had it the week before. They took her to the doctor when she couldn’t hold anything down when she did eat. 

The doctor was the first to mention the possibility of pregnancy. He and Mitsuri looked at each other and he facepalmed. Why hadn’t they thought of it? A blood test confirmed it and she was given medication to help with her morning sickness. They had been trying for a month. He never expected it would happen so quickly. 

Obanai sighed and picked up the serving tray. He walked back into their bedroom and set the tray down on Mitsuri’s nightstand. Sitting down on the side of the bed, he gently rubbed her shoulder. 

“I know you’re awake, Mitsuri,” he said. Her sense of smell heightened with her pregnancy and there was no way she would miss the smell of vanilla and fresh pancakes. Mitsuri smiled and opened her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her forehead before grabbing the tray to place over her. She sat up with her back resting against three pillows to prop herself up. 

“It smells so good,” she said, picking up silverware and cutting into the pile of pancakes. Obanai grabbed a strawberry to eat. He glanced at the foot of the bed and saw her wiggling her feet under the blankets in her own version of a happy dance as she ate. 

“Hey, so I was thinking about baby names. What do you think about Sora?” she asked. 

“No, I knew a kid in high school named Sora and he was insufferable,” Obanai answered, shaking his head. Mitsuri pouted. 

“You’ve said that about every name I suggested, so what names have you come up with?” Mitsuri asked. 

“Hikari for a girl. Riku for a boy,” he answered immediately. Mitsuri took a second to register the information. 

“Those were my grandparents’ names,” she whispered. Her bottom lip trembled. They passed away in the past three years and Mitsuri felt their loss deeply. 

“They were the first ones to welcome me into your family. I want to honor them,” Obanai explained. Her green eyes blinked rapidly, trying to prevent herself from crying. “If you don’t like the idea-”

“No, I love it,” Mitsuri interrupted him. She tried to reach for a tissue, but if she turned then her belly would tip over the serving tray. Obanai grabbed a tissue and handed it to his wife. She dabbed her eyes. Obanai ate another strawberry and rubbed her leg in quiet comfort.

[midori-laboratories]

Flowers and Ash, Chapter 13

Book 1, Calendula Chronicles series.

Story synopsis: When the eldest daughter of Edward Ashford accompanies her father and brother on a last-minute trip in 1968 to secure their legacy, an act of spite turns into a boon for the family. When tragedy and scandal strike, the survivors will have to be clever if they are to live long enough to pick up the pieces of their lives. Pre-slash/Gen.

Chapter synopsis: A time skip to 1998, and a single decision of a dying man spurs Marigold back into motion once more.

CW for implied death of family member, isolation, dissociation, and violence, drugs, manipulation, grief

July 23, 1998

Doctor John Clemens was sick.

They were all sick. The virus had been released into the ventilation systems, and there was nothing they could do. Quarantine had come down fast and hard, once it had been detected by the first of them. The lab animals were getting sick. Containment for the test subjects might hold, if they were lucky.

John Clemens didn’t feel lucky. If there were a silver lining to any of this, John Clemens would be too far gone to care about any of that soon enough.

John was beginning to feel feverish. He knew, clinically, that he was cool and clammy to the touch. It didn’t matter. The virus taking hold in him was rupturing the smaller blood vessels throughout his body. He could see the evidence of it in the blackened lines beginning to creep up his arms.

He was so tired.

He pushed back from his computer workstation, trying to remember what he was trying to do. Ada. He had written the letter. Begged whoever came next to....what? Avenge them? Umbrella? Laughable. No. He’d die down here, with the Tyrants and the rest of their secrets.

...wait.

There was something...

...something about one of the tanks. In the lab next door.

Humanoid, no visible mutations. Female. Legacy research subject, under no-tampering strict orders from the highest levels. When Birkin had been forced to stop working with ‘the woman’ who had been surrogate to his G-Virus, he had wistfully mentioned that they were wasting the research potential of the sleeping subject. Spencer, however, had been firm on that count. The Russian had been sent in to ‘gently’ remind the younger researcher not to overreach, and Wesker had shortly thereafter left for the Intelligence Division. Fractured and redirected to the Nest, Birkin’s ambitions had been refocused to the G-Virus, and Spencer had tightened his grip on the Mansion facility through his ex-Soviet recruit.

They all knew the stories. It was more of an urban legend of the place, but the amount of protocol and security surrounding the woman in the tank told its own story. Had she been less well-known, less networked into the external and external aspects of the company, she likely would have been purged from the records entirely.

Hell, the codename Spencer had conferred upon the subject - Project Placidia - had given the subject a doomsday air, calling upon the fall of Rome for the seal to be broken. Spencer seemed to be waiting more for a means of controlling this subject, if one existed, or might exist in the future.

Well. Not John’s future. John stumbled to his feet, swaying for balance. There were little blank spots in his memory already. Petite-mal seizures. He’d shut down sooner than later.

He could still work a keycard access point still. In the meantime, Rome was falling. Barbarians at the gates.

Somehow, he found himself in front of the woman’s tank, carrying a small duffel bag full of supplies. He couldn’t remember collecting any of it. He couldn’t afford to let that matter anymore.

Little wonder they had isolated her so. No one would mistake this woman’s family lineage on looking at her. He felt an odd pulling inside of him towards her. An interaction with the virus?

Good god. If she had been as cogent, as integrated as the stories suggested, this room was both the best place to ensure her sleep, and the very worst one if she awoke. The thought was terrifying.

Had been terrifying. Umbrella had to pay for what they had done. Would do. If they were this disposable, then what of the world?

He was one of the most senior researchers here on an ongoing basis, and thus the one with the emergency overrides. There had been a massive upgrade in the computer systems three years ago. The Russian had one. He had another.

It seemed...so much easier to focus just this moment. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and keyed in the codes. Set the tank to begin draining, and revive the subject.

He looked up. The woman looked so small in there. Would she even be able to wake?

A warm feeling came over him, entirely separate from the fever. Something calming, gentle. He whimpered. It would take some time for the tank to allow revival. He’d have gone under by then. He was so close now. His skin was already crawling from the sickness. John let the bag slide off his shoulder with a dull thud to the ground. If he turned before she woke, he might attack. Then again, given this feeling...he might not.

John sighed. “Give them hell for us, Miss.” This was all he could do. He let his keycard fall to the floor. He fumbled a moment longer and pulled his wallet from his pocket, letting it fall as well. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Best to leave, John, where he could still do something real, before he was sloughed out of his own shell.

He thought of Ada. His brain must beginning to shut down; it didn’t hurt quite as much as it did a moment ago.

Turning, he shuffled back toward his workstation. That door wouldn’t have sealed back yet, he could make it back in time if he was quick and lucky. The least he could do now was to make sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone else after he was gone.

---

The room was dark. lit only softly by the lights of the computer controls, and the emergency lighting by the doors.

And, oh yes. The tanks of monstrous mutated humans, serene and slumbering all around her. Each to their own tank.

She had awoken naked, on a circular platform. Something in the recesses in the floor of the platform suggested that she had inhabited a similar tank quite recently.

She...had done something. Hidden something. Bad enough that...it merited a place like this?

No.

Dangerous enough to...that wasn’t quite it either. The creatures themselves looked horrifyingly fearsome themselves. Whether they had done something seemed irrelevant.

Was...she dangerous? She caught a reflection of herself, faint and startled, in the tank glass next to hers. She looked...small. So pale she seemed almost bleached. A bit odd, but not really frightening. That person in the reflection had a name, a history. Somewhere. She...didn’t quite have it yet. Names and places swirled, slipping away when she reached for them. She had a bracelet on her wrist, inscribed with a name and a logo that swam in and out of focus.

She was cold. She ached all over, with the shadow of pain promising worse, and soon, behind her eyes. A fragment of memory whispered at her, and she saw a small duffel bag on the floor, abandoned. She sat up cautiously, unsure if the creatures around her would wake.

None did. But...something nearby...was.

Lots of somethings. She didn’t want them to find her. (Whoever she was. Save it for later. Cold.)

She eased herself off the platform, stepping down - then collapsing on legs that had seen almost no use in the last decade and a half. They burned briefly, blood reasserting its proper flow. Pins and needles shot over her body in a wave, and she squirmed at the discomfort.

A moment later, the feeling passed. Her head still ached, though. Cautious, she reached for the bag, pulling the zipper open.

These were...gym clothes? Sweatpants, t-shirt. Thin athletic shoes. The clothes were large, but she could at least manage a drawstring. Something about that gave her a profound sense of relief, though she elected not to examine the feeling too closely. No underwear. She’d have to deal without it. Something told her that she was lucky to get this much.

Other items. A compass. Utility belt.

Large knife.

Someone wanted her to have a knife.

Where was everyone, anyhow? She didn’t want to run into anyone -not like this - but the silence, coupled with the sense of the noise around and above - were setting off all kinds of alarm bells.

Other objects were on the floor nearby. A keycard. A few steps beyond that, a wallet. She rose tentatively, picking up the lanyard with its plastic card. “Umbrella,” She murmured, reading the name off the card. “John Clemens.” Did he let her out? Where was he?

Her eyes fell on the wallet. John had left it there. He was...gone. Not gone. Subsumed into something made of hunger and teeth. Her head began to pound.

How did she know that?

Umbrella.

So much trouble all of a sudden

There was an incident, but...Marcus was quite convinced that his mischief had rather luckily failed.

Tell me more about the headaches.

You’re being very helpful while your niece is being feted in New York.

Ghouls...they made. They know.

Sorry about your da.

Sonnetroppe doesn’t leave survivors.

It won’t go the way you think it will.

She stood still for several minutes, staring at the card in her hand. One of the scientists might have noted her elevated heat rate, her trancelike state, the utter stillness that stretched over several minutes, as if she had run down. Pretty little windup toy, shelved for future study.

She breathed out. In.

Out. Opened her eyes.

Marigold Ashford blinked. Looked around once more, sharply. The keycard suggested she was still in the Mansion, but...something was wrong with it.

“Guess your monsters got loose, eh, Frankenstein?” she chuckled darkly to herself. It was that or start crying, and she had work to do if she were going to get anywhere at all.

Her head was still foggy, aching. She didn’t dare try the terminals in this state. They looked strange, sleek, like a television show set. A set of lockers were set to the side of the room. Marigold set to prying open as many as possible. Even if there were no more keys, she was sure to find something.

Forty-five minutes passed. The duffel bag had taken on some shape with the amount of pilfered goods she had recovered, ripping aluminum doors open and rifling through as many as she could reach. A half-hearted attempt to put them back into place was attempted.

She retreated to a small space between two bookshelves , half-hidden behind a desk. She felt exposed in the open room . More importantly, there had been a box of granola bars and some jerky in one of the lockers. A few bottles of water had been in another. Not much, but she couldn’t see then wanting a kitchenette in here of all places. She had found a pot of cold coffee off to the side, draining the tarry liquid as fast as she could. Hydration and getting some strength back were more important than palatability right now.

The desk itself yielded more treats, a box of bullets, and a small handgun. Too small for the room’s current residents, but if something happened- better to go out fast, she supposed. She busied herself with loading the magazine, trying hard not to think of what she might have to do next. Tiny little thing. The knife might serve her better, in all honesty.

Something was outside. larger, calmer than those in and around the mansion. Watchful. She’d balked at the idea of moving upward through that space, but the door to the outside seemed sealed. Marigold went still, then stuffed her snacks back into the back, closing it up and scooting under the desk for cover.

She found herself wishing that she’d looked harder for weapons.

The heavy automated gears of the service exit began to churn. Marigold took a deep breath, and waited for an opportunity to present itself.

---

Sergei Vladimir, founder of the UBCS corps, head of the t.A.L.O.S. project, and loyal acolyte of Oswell Spencer, strode into the lab from the outer service entrance, flanked by his two re-engineered T-103 tyrant bodyguards. A few hours earlier, he had run into his old rival at the old training facility. Although the man had slipped past him as the training center had begun to cycle into a self-destruct sequence, Sergei's grim cheer was returning back to the forefront. Wesker wasn’t as subtle as he seemed to believe he was, although admittedly the secretive culture at Umbrella provided admirable camouflage. Still, he’d seen that type before. Time would prove him correct as far as Wesker’s traitorous inclinations went, he was quite sure. What was important now was to secure the critical specimens here before that happened.

And the data, of course. Decades of research data in a lovely removable bank of servers. He had come with the equipment necessary to ferry all of it safely out of this place, away from to chaos of the breach.

It was really too bad, about this place. Spencer had created a marvel of a facility. Sergei had done his best to cultivate this little garden of viral might, out of his own genetic contributions and on the shoulders of the giants before him. Doctor Birkin would have to be handled delicately after X-Day was concluded. That was fine. He had operatives on hand that could handle that part of the mission. They had the data, and they would rebuild. That was the way of empires.

He had been down here many times. The bestial glory of the completed tyrants lay before him, all laid out within the manifest to be reclaimed from the lab. The T-102 specimen would remain; one last test, should if any of the X-Day combatants made it this far. Satisfaction growing, he keyed int the terminal and initiated the program to connect the loader to the tanks. One of the Tyrant guards stepped forward, ready to easily maneuver the precious cargo into place.

Spencer had one specimen, code-named ‘Placidia’, on storage here. Her actual details were scrubbed from the database, but anyone with eyes and the ability to see the old photographs in the front lobby could see the resemblance to the Ashford heiress. There had been an incident in the early eighties, he’d heard from hushed whispers. Chance encounters with a family member of hers, down in the South Pacific, had yielded more. Spencer had extracted the samples he needed from whatever she had become, and had locked down any further work, for fear of a security breach. Even Doctor Birkin, obstinate little man, had agreed that extreme control measures would be needed to work further with that one.

Placidia’s tank was nestled squarely between the legacy T-102 specimen and one of the T-103 subjects being prepped for evacuation. And Placidia’s tank was empty. Checking the records, one of the researchers had extracted her - quite recently, as well. But she wasn’t here.

The other bodyguard, Ivan, prowled the room. His loyalty was unquestioned. This was his entire purpose, to serve, to protect. There was something else in the room. He would locate it, and deal with the disturbance as required.

He came across a desk across the room. Pitiful little hiding place. He stepped around it, seeking a target. Behind him, his brother (he didn’t have a word for such a thing, but the other was as another limb) continued his work securing the tanks. Sergei stood before the terminal, contemplating this new mystery.

A small, pale face peered out from their hiding place. Curious. A bubble of calm.

Ivan’s loyalty to his master was total. But this creature tapped into something that went beyond programming. Evasion. Escape. They would pose no threat to their master if they weren’t impeded.

Acceptable parameters.

Meanwhile, Sergei’s review of the video feeds showed ‘Placidia’ slipping from the platform to the floor. Staring off into space. Reviewing the contents of the bag before her and stumbling out of the camera frame towards the lab door. Presumably, into the belly of the beast.

Sergei frowned. Had he looked behind him at that moment, the mystery would have resolved itself. The guard loading up the tanks had paused for a moment, but they had always been sensitive to his moods. If the specimen had moved further into the mansion...he grinned, vicious. The man who had captured her in the first place would be coming through the mansion the hard way, soon enough. He still had a mission to do. Why not let one more angry little girl (Miss Trevor had been sighted in the vicinity, the more, the merrier) handle the situation for him? Pure poetry.

He never saw the woman sprint silently past him, up the ramp towards the exit.

His guards would never allow such a thing.

---

The training facility was nearby - close enough that she could follow the train tracks back to town if she were quick, and quiet. Marigold pushed aside the horrors of what she had just seen; there were monsters, without as well as within. If she kept her head, they didn’t seem interested in bothering her. A curious thing, but not the priority.

She raced up the hill towards, it, then stopped, stepping away from the trees. Things that gave her cover would do the same for others. And something in the trees was watching her.

The training facility itself was in sight. Gunshots rang out periodically in the distance. Whatever was causing the creatures to avoid her was limited to herself, it seemed.

A young man in an odd, elaborate outfit stepped out of the trees. She might not have recognized him had she not met him decades earlier, but the effect was still startling - and alarming. She drew her knife, reflective, ready to attack.

The young man held his hands up, placating. He stepped out of the trees with a self-assured smirk on his face. “Miss Ashford, I wasn’t sure you were going to make it to my little party. It’s *good* to see you up.”

Something about the man felt wrong- fragmented somehow, oily, hungry - but she knew the voice, if not the festive tone. “Doctor Marcus?!”

The man’s smirk widened into a grin.